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Draco Malfoy sat slumped on the cold floor of the library, his back against the hard bookshelf, breathing heavily.
After a long while, the icy fear finally receded a little.
He looked down at the black notebook lying quietly in his arms. It looked so ordinary, even a little worn. Who would have thought that inside it dwelt a fragment of the soul of the most terrifying Dark Lord in the wizarding world?
He could not stay here forever.
Draco took a deep breath, steadied himself against the bookshelf, and forced himself to stand, his legs still weak. With a hand that still trembled slightly, he shoved the notebook into the inner pocket of his wizarding robes.
His gaze swept over the rigid Hermione Granger, frozen in her last expression of terror, and the unconscious Ginny Weasley, collapsed on the floor.
What should he do? Go call a professor? How would he explain this?
Just as his mind was in complete chaos, trying to fabricate a reasonable story, the library door was pushed open with force, and hurried footsteps approached.
Harsh light poured in from outside, illuminating several figures led by Professor McGonagall.
Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, and the caretaker Argus Filch, wearing an expression of "I knew it."
"I told you I heard noises!" Filch pointed at Draco and the dim library behind him. "It must be these rule breaking students causing trouble again!"
Professor McGonagall saw the petrified Hermione and Ginny on the floor at once. Her already stern face turned even paler, her lips pressed tight with anger and worry. "Mr Malfoy! What on earth is going on? Why are you in the library during dinner time? Miss Granger, she..."
Draco forced himself to stay calm and began the story he had prepared. "Professor, we just came to look something up, and then we heard a terrible sound. Then we saw Granger, she..." He fumbled for words, trying to create the image of a frightened witness.
Just as he was racking his brains to perfect the lie, a voice sounded from behind him, with an abnormal calm.
"He is telling the truth, Professor."
Draco jumped violently and turned sharply. It was Ginny Weasley!
She had woken up at some point and stood up on her own. Her face was still pale, but those brown eyes, once so lively, now looked somewhat empty, and her tone was calm in a way that did not belong to a first year who had just been attacked, or even fainted.
The moment Ginny's words fell, her gaze met Draco's for an extremely brief moment.
The glance was so quick it was almost an illusion, but Draco caught it. There was not a trace of the panic of an eleven year old girl in it, only a cold, knowing warning, as if to say, "Do as I say."
A chill shot up Draco's spine and into his head, making his hair stand on end.
Professor McGonagall was clearly more concerned about the students' safety. She accepted the simple explanation without digging deeper.
"Filch, go call Madam Pomfrey! We need stretchers!"
She ordered, then turned to Draco and Ginny, her tone brooking no argument. "You two, go to the hospital wing immediately for a full check up! For safety's sake, until this matter is cleared up, all students must be more cautious!"
Professor McGonagall personally escorted Draco and Ginny to the hospital wing and sent word to Harry and Ron.
At the entrance to the hospital wing, they met Harry and Ron, who had hurried over.
"Ginny!"
Ron saw his sister's pale, unsteady appearance and was scared out of his wits. He rushed over to support her, his voice almost tearful. "Are you all right? What happened? Why were you in the library too?"
The controlled Ginny was remarkably calm, even carrying a faint, barely noticeable detachment. She gently pushed away Ron's overly anxious arm and said in an almost indifferent tone, "I'm fine. Just scared."
Ron was clearly a little baffled by his sister's overly "strong" reaction, but worry overwhelmed everything, and he did not immediately notice anything unusual.
Harry's gaze locked onto Draco at once, his emerald green eyes full of tension and concern. He walked quickly to Draco and looked him up and down. "Draco! Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
Professor McGonagall interrupted their fussing. "Potter, Weasley, they are not seriously hurt, just a little shaken." She stepped aside and directed their gaze into the hospital wing. "But... Miss Granger..."
Harry and Ron's eyes followed, and they froze.
Hermione lay on the white hospital bed, her posture stiff, the last moment of terror still frozen on her face, her right hand clenched tight, as if holding something. She did not look asleep. She looked more like a poorly carved stone statue, without life, without warmth.
"Hermione..." Ron's voice trembled, full of disbelief.
Harry pressed his lips tightly together, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists.
Afterward, escorted by the professors, Draco, Harry, and the Weasley siblings were sent back to their respective dormitories.
The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet. The fire in the hearth could not dispel the cold in Draco's heart.
Draco went straight back to the dormitory and collapsed onto his four poster bed, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the diary through his robes in the inner pocket. The cold touch constantly reminded him of Voldemort's command. Give it to Harry.
To give, or not to give?
To give it meant pushing Harry into a designed trap. He could be controlled, or even... die.
Not to give it? Voldemort had already noticed him, noticed the Malfoy family. If he disobeyed his command and angered this cruel, murderous Dark Lord, what catastrophe would the Malfoy family face when he truly returned?
He had no doubt that Voldemort would not hesitate to punish traitors in the most brutal way. His previous life had already proven that.
He thought of all his attempts since his rebirth. It seemed that except for some subtle ripples around Harry, many things still stubbornly slid along their original tracks.
If he could not change the Malfoy family's fate of ultimately being controlled once more by Voldemort, then defying the Dark Lord now would undoubtedly sound the death knell for his family ahead of time.
"Draco?" Harry's voice sounded in the darkness, full of worry. "Are you asleep?"
Draco did not answer, only lay stiffly.
Harry groped his way over and sat on the edge of his bed. Silence spread in the darkness, broken only by the faint sound of their breathing.
"Are you all right?" Harry asked again, his voice very low. "Ever since we came back from the hospital wing, you have been acting strange."
Harry's powers of observation were astonishingly sharp.
"What is that in your robes?" Harry's voice took on a note of inquiry.
Draco's heart tightened, and he instinctively covered his chest with his hand. "Nothing, Potter. None of your business."
"What exactly is it, Draco?" Harry pressed, stepping closer, his emerald green eyes glinting with stubborn light in the darkness. "Is it related to the attacks? To Hermione being petrified?"
"No!" Draco refused flatly, suddenly standing up from the bed and trying to get around Harry.
But Harry was faster. He grabbed Draco's arm with one hand and reached directly for the inner lining of his robes with the other!
Draco struggled desperately, and the two of them tussled in the narrow dormitory.
Draco was forced to keep retreating until his heel hit the edge of his bed hard. He lost his balance and fell back onto the soft mattress.
Harry took the chance to pounce, pinning him down firmly with his body weight.
A term of good nutrition and Quidditch training had made Harry grow quite a bit, and his strength far exceeded Draco's thin appearance.
He pinned one of Draco's struggling wrists with one hand and reached hard into the inner pocket of Draco's wizarding robes with the other.
"Let go! You idiot!" Draco twisted desperately, his fingers clutching the corner of the notebook, refusing to let go.
He could feel Harry's warm breath on the side of his neck. This overly intimate, forceful contact made him feel extremely uncomfortable and humiliated.
The two wrestled silently on the bed, the sheets becoming a complete mess.
But Harry's strength really was greater. He could feel the notebook being slowly pulled from his palm.
The moment the notebook left his control, an indescribable emotion crashed through Draco's defences.
Anger, humiliation, fear, and... a familiar sense of helplessness.
In his previous life at Malfoy Manor, in the final battle, Potter had also taken his wand from him so easily.
A sharp ache shot up his nose, and his vision blurred instantly.
That emotion, mixed with the frustration of two lifetimes and immense pressure, burst out like a broken dam, uncontrollable.
Warm liquid slid from the corner of his eye and dripped onto the dark green sheets.
Harry successfully grabbed the notebook and had just breathed a sigh of relief when he suddenly met Draco's grey blue eyes, brimming with moisture and an almost overflowing sense of collapse.
Harry froze. He looked down at Draco, who had stopped struggling, his arm thrown over his face, his body trembling slightly. The suppressed, faint sobbing made his forceful momentum weaken instantly, as if doused with cold water.
But he still did not let go of the notebook. His tone was no longer so harsh, carrying a note of helplessness and stubbornness. "...Why are you crying? I was just..."
"Get off, Potter..."
"Hey... listen, Draco, I am not... I was just worried about you. You have been off since you came back. Hermione is already like that. I cannot let anything happen to you too."
Harry paused, looking at the notebook in his hand, his eyes growing firm. "If this thing is related to the attacks, I have to figure it out. I cannot just watch the next person petrified be you, or Ron, or anyone else."
Just then, a cold, distinctly displeased voice sounded from beside the bed.
"It seems I came back at the wrong time."
Theodore Nott was standing by the bed at some point, in his pyjamas, arms crossed, his pale face expressionless, but those pale grey eyes churning with an unprecedented coldness, like a frozen lake.
His gaze first fell on Draco's reddened eyes and dishevelled clothes, then, like an icicle, stabbed hard at Harry, who was still half lying on top of Draco.
Harry instinctively tried to explain. "We..."
But Theodore gave him no chance. He stepped forward abruptly, grabbed Harry by the shoulder, and roughly pulled him off Draco, shoving him aside!
"Take your spoils and get out, Potter." Theodore's voice was low and dangerous, with undisguised hostility.
Harry stumbled from the push, clutching the diary tightly in his hand. He looked at Theodore, then at Draco on the bed, who had pulled the covers over his head, clearly not wanting to face anyone.
He opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing. He pressed his lips together, turned, and quickly left the dormitory.
Theodore stood where he was, coldly watching Harry's back disappear through the door, then turned his gaze to the curled up figure on the bed.
He said nothing more, only stood silently for a moment, then turned and returned to his own bed.
Draco hid under the covers, listening to all of it, his mind in chaos.
The diary had been taken... He should feel panic, feel anger.
But strangely, after the initial breakdown and shame, a secret, shameful sense of relief, like tiny bubbles, rose from deep in his heart.
The heavy choice had been made for him by Harry, in this rough way.
He no longer had to bear this terrible secret alone, no longer had to struggle between loyalty and fear.
At least for now, he was temporarily... safe.
The next day, Draco had clearly not slept all night, with heavy dark circles under his eyes.
He sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall eating breakfast. The voices of the students around him buzzed like flies, spreading an explosive piece of news. Dumbledore had been taken away by Ministry officials!
"...They say it is because of poor management, the attacks happening one after another..."
"The new headmaster may be appointed by a vote of the board of governors..."
"Then our chance for Slytherin has come!"
Quite a few Slytherin students began to deliberately or unconsciously gather around Draco, their words full of flattery and ingratiation.
"Draco, your father must be an important figure on the board of governors, right?"
"Maybe the next headmaster will be a Malfoy!"
Draco faced a plate of fried eggs and sausages with no appetite at all.
Given his father's personality, he was surely already frantically spending money to win over the other governors. Getting more than half the votes was almost a certainty...
And he, his dear son, had almost been killed by the Horcrux his father had personally sent into the school! A small resentment, mixed with fear and lingering dread, grew in his heart.
Harry also appeared at the Slytherin table. He finished breakfast quickly and left, seemingly wanting to study the notebook while the dormitory was empty.
Draco ate without tasting anything, his thoughts in chaos.
Just then, a figure silently stood beside him.
It was Ginny Weasley.
Her face was still pale, but her eyes carried an unquestionable command. In her hand was the black diary that should have been with Harry!
Draco's heart stopped.
"Come with me."
"Ginny" said in a low voice, in an unquestionable tone, her voice flat, without any inflection.
Draco froze. He wanted to refuse, to run, but he also knew this was not a request, but a summons.
Under the curious or puzzled gazes of the surrounding students, he stiffly stood up and followed Ginny out of the Great Hall.
"Ginny" led him, avoiding the crowd, to a remote corridor on the second floor.
This was exactly where Colin Creevey had been petrified.
"Ginny" stopped, and below the writing, cut her wrist with a small knife and wrote a new, chilling line:
Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.
Draco gasped, feeling his blood freeze. Perhaps he should be grateful it was "her" and not "him"?
After writing, "Ginny" turned her head and looked at Draco with those empty brown eyes, a twisted smile on her face that did not belong to her. "Relax, Malfoy."
"I only need this girl's life to exchange for my true, powerful body. You only need to... be a quiet bystander."
He forced Draco to follow behind him, heading toward the girls' lavatory.
Moaning Myrtle was not there. It was frighteningly quiet, with only the drip of a leaking tap.
As they walked, the Ginny in front suddenly swayed and fell softly, losing consciousness.
From the diary that fell to the ground, a black mist like rising smoke gradually condensed into a blurry, then increasingly clear human form.
A tall, black haired, handsome but sinister young man appeared in the dim light of the lavatory.
He wore Hogwarts robes of decades past, his eyes holding no warmth, only a deep, greedy ambition.
He glanced at the terrified Draco, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile without any mirth.
"Well done." His voice was low and clear, with a hypocritical note of praise. "You have completed your task perfectly."
He stepped forward a few paces, like a master surveying his domain, his gaze falling on Draco's pale face.
"Tell me your name, boy."
"...Draco... Draco Malfoy." Draco's voice was as faint as a mosquito.
"Draco..." The man repeated in a strange tone, trying to appear friendly but actually utterly cold.
"Very good... I will remember this name. After I fully regain my power, I will find a suitable place for you... for the Malfoy family."
This false promise, this cold "appreciation," made Draco feel as if he had returned to the final battle of his previous life. Amid the clamour of the battlefield, the Dark Lord had also given him an equally warmthless, exploitative "embrace."
"Bring her."
The young Dark Lord no longer looked at him, pointing his chin at the unconscious Ginny on the floor, his tone carrying a faint note of disgust. "Come with me."
Draco trembled, trying to lift the unconscious Ginny, but he himself had most of his strength drained by fear, and he seemed very clumsy.
Voldemort frowned, seemingly impatient with his incompetence, and waved his hand casually. A silent Levitation Charm lifted Ginny's body lightly into the air, following behind him.
"Hurry, Draco. We should move on. Our 'guest' should be arriving soon."
Then he turned to one of the taps carved with a serpent pattern, opened his mouth, and let out a series of scalp crawling, cold, slimy hisses. Parseltongue.
The sink began to shake, emitting a huge, stone grinding roar.
The sink and the wall behind it slowly moved, revealing a huge, dark pipe entrance, from which a thick, damp, rotting stench poured out.
"Go." Voldemort commanded.
Draco could only move his weak legs, stumbling, and follow behind this young Dark Lord, walking toward the deeper, unknown darkness of the Chamber.