That night, I left on my own for the secret home that Dumbledore had allowed me to use for nights such as this. As the sun descended, it took with it the warmth of the day, quickly replaced by the cold night air. I took a breath, the warm air from my lungs forming a small cloud that rose above the Whomping Willow under which I stood. Its branches were broken and torn, evidence of the damage I had heard Weasley and Potter caused on their entry. The tree slowly stirred, sensing my presence, so I pressed on the portion I had come to know well, freezing its lethargic movements.
"Ugh... I really need to clean this," I muttered, dusting off my robes as dirt sprinkled onto them while I crawled through the small hole beneath the Willow's roots. The damp stone beneath my feet threatened to seep into my shoes, rainwater pooling in that very spot. I made my way through the darkened passage, my ability to see in the darkness aiding me on the long walk. Finally reaching the trapdoor at the top of the stone steps, I pushed on the old metal handle.
The room had come far from how it originally was—there was no way I would be sleeping comfortably in a sty. The dust had returned in my long absence, though the once cracked and rotten wooden floorboards had been fixed, along with the torn wallpaper and bed sheets. With a flick of my wand, I easily removed the dust surrounding me, silently wishing I could take down the boards on the windows to let in some fresh air. The musky scent of mildew, though weakened, was still noticeable.
But I knew the boards were necessary. They kept the glass from shattering during my episodes, preventing too much of a scene that might attract unwanted curiosity. I couldn't risk that. So, I left them as they were, only repairing the worst of their splinters and tears. Stripping off my clothes to avoid another incident of magical destruction, I nestled under the covers. The coldness of the night and sheets didn't bother me; the energy within me kept me warm—almost too warm.
The next morning, I awoke feeling refreshed. Letting out a contented sigh, I stretched from the fetal position I had been resting in. All the pent-up energy was gone, leaving me at ease—much like how my mother described the massages she sometimes got for her stiff shoulders.
After dressing, I made my way out of the Willow and into the school, ready to feed Val and take him with me to classes. However, as I walked through the halls, I immediately noticed something was off. The students I passed looked unnerved, their usual conversations underscored by a sense of fear. Everyone except the Slytherins.
At breakfast, Pansy was late, leaving me to talk with Draco. "I heard you went to sleep early last night," he said with a smile. "You missed out on something big." He was practically itching to gossip.
I glanced at him in confusion while feeding Val under the table. "What happened?"
Draco smirked, leaning in closer. "Last night, someone petrified Filch's cat."
I froze in shock at the strange news. "Why? I hate Filch as much as anyone, but why go after his cat?"
Draco's grin widened. "A warning. The cat was next to a message written in blood, saying the Chamber of Secrets has been opened. 'Enemies of the Heir, beware.'"
My stomach sank, and the unsure glances from the other Houses suddenly made sense. I vaguely remembered the stories of the Chamber of Secrets, and that message clearly referenced them. But what truly worried me was who had opened it—and how they would judge those they considered 'enemies.' I had never subscribed to the Mudblood beliefs.
"Anyway!" Draco exclaimed, moving the conversation along. "Today is the first day of Quidditch practice! You're coming, right?"
I sighed. I had never been good at riding a broom, struggling to control it even without my magical build-up. "Draco, I don't know..." I mumbled, poking at my meal.
"Don't worry, Victoria says just watching the practices to get a feel for our formations is good enough."
I frowned, knowing exactly what she was planning. In the few matches I had begrudgingly helped with, I had a record for Bludger hits on the opposing team. Having me watch practice was just her way of getting a foot in the door—first to help coach, then to make me captain while she stood out on the field with my helpful commentary. I didn't want to waste my time on this, but Draco's pleading expression, combined with my desire to avoid standing out (turning down an offer any other Slytherin would jump at was bound to raise questions), steered me along. "Sure."
Draco cheered, and soon we were on our way to the field. Luckily, I didn't need to wear the uniform since I wouldn't be on the field. On our way, we ran into Pansy, who quickly noticed my predicament—my parents had been pushing me to join Quidditch 'for the memories.'
"Perhaps I'll watch with you. I did have a few questions about the spells we're covering in Transfiguration today," she excused herself, taking the spot beside me. I shot her a silent look of gratitude, which she smirked at.
As we cut through the courtyard, we noticed the Gryffindor team approaching from the other side.
"Where do you think you're going, Flint?" the Gryffindor captain, Oliver Wood, asked, folding his arms in exasperation.
"Quidditch practice," Flint, the second-in-command to Victoria, announced. She was already waiting at the field.
"I booked the pitch for Gryffindor today, Flint..." Wood said, clearly unimpressed.
I wouldn't have minded if our practice was canceled, so I stayed quiet.
"Relax, Wood, I've got a note," Flint said smugly, producing a rolled-up parchment. Wood angrily snatched it and unfurled it, reading aloud while the rest of our team snickered.
"I, Professor Snape, do hereby give the Slytherin Team permission to practice today, owing to the need to train their new Seeker."
"You've got a new Seeker?" Wood asked, rolling the parchment back up, clearly debating whether to crumple it.
Everyone turned to Draco beside me.
Pansy and I both gasped as Draco stepped forward. "I wanted it to be a surprise, but I guess this'll do," he shrugged, smirking at us.
"That's the Nimbus 2001! Those are the newest on the market! How'd you get those?!" A sudden voice yelled in disbelief. We turned to see Ron, Hermione, and even Chiara standing at the sidelines, Ron's jaw hanging open at the pristine black brooms.
"A gift from Draco's father," Flint announced, polishing his broom with his uniform.
"You see, Weasley, unlike some, my father can afford the best," Draco sneered.
Hermione grit her teeth in anger, her tongue itching to strike back. "At least nobody on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in—they got in on pure skill."
Draco's smirk faltered. Hermione's grew in response. But then, he stepped toward her, hatred flashing in his eyes. He only stopped when Chiara silently placed an arm in front of Hermione, shielding her. He glanced between the two before rolling his eyes and smirking again. "Say what you will, but it won't be long before your kind and those who protect you are gone from Hogwarts... permanently. Filthy Mudblood."
Hermione gasped, Chiara's reassuring tug barely keeping her grounded. But Ron didn't hesitate.
"You'll pay for that, Malfoy—eat slugs!"
I chuckled as Ron's spell backfired, sending him tumbling onto his back, puking slugs. The Slytherins laughed as we made our way to the field, but beneath my smile, fear twisted
inside me. If my true beliefs were ever discovered, I could be next.