Chapter Text
Tom Riddle’s diary has a menacing aura that grows more profound with every minute I keep it in my bag, so I’m not thinking straight when I dispose of it in the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. Myrtle’s flooded the place already, so I simply place the book on the floor and light it on fire, not looking back to check if it's destroyed.
Riddle’s diary is the only thing I can think of for the next few weeks. Term has started, so I can only research Tom Riddle and the Chamber of Secrets in my free time after dinner, although I can't, for the life of me, figure out how to kill Slytherin's monster. I’m always keeping my guard up for fear of Riddle these days, it’s like I’m expecting a seventy-something criminal to materialize out of the castle walls. I avoid walking alone as much as I can, and I’ve stopped going up the Astronomy Tower at night. There hasn’t been another attack in a while, so I hope the rumours of me being Slytherin’s heir die out soon.
I grasp my wand inside my pocket as I walk to breakfast with my friends. Wait, the hell happened to the Great Hall? It's covered in bright pink flowers and I extend my hand to catch heart-shaped confetti in my palm. I don’t know what’s tackier, the flowers or the horribly gaudy pink robes Lockhart has on to match the decorations. Beside him, Snape looks like he’s going to vomit, and Professors McGonagall and Flitwick seem to be itching to remove the flowers– and Lockhart– from the Hall.
“Why is Lockhart dressed like a clown?” I don’t bother hiding my disgust as I slide into a seat at the Slytherin table.
“Valentine’s day, Nessa?” Mizuki says while buttering a piece of toast.
“Oh.” There's an attacker loose in the school and they want to send chocolates and flowers?
Lockhart makes an announcement thanking the forty-six students who sent him Valentine’s day cards, making Mizuki go red in the face. I raise my eyebrows while chewing my cornflakes and she moves her neck in every possible direction to avoid meeting my gaze. Lockhart goes on to introduce his “card-carrying cupids”, golden-winged dwarves with harps. I almost choke on my pumpkin juice, Tracey ducks below the table and trembles with laughter.
“Find something funny, Potter?” My friends and I turn in our seats to see Malfoy saunter over to me. He’s flanked by his dimwitted lackeyes and wears his signature Malfoy scowl.
“I actually was, Malfoy, but then you decided to ruin the joke– oh wait. You are the joke.” I deadpan, making my friends snigger beside me.
“I suppose it’s understandable you’re in such a foul mood.” He snarks. “After all, no one’s going to be sending you a Valentine’s card.”
I snort. “And what made you think that?”
Malfoy smirks. “Of course, who’d ever send you a card?” He scans me from head to toe. The git.
“Oh, loads of people. But I suggest you worry about yourself, Malfoy. You’re never going to get a girlfriend with that awful attitude, girls don't much like gits.” I deliberately bump into his shoulder as I walk past, ignoring his “We’ll see about that, Potter.”
“What’s got him in such a foul humor?” Daphne stares after him.
“It’s just Malfoy being Malfoy,” Tracey mutters, but I’m barely paying attention to my surroundings as I speedwalk out of the Great Hall, my friends running to keep up.
“How much time do we have till class, guys?” I ask.
“Ten minutes,” Mizuki replies.
“What are we doing, Nessa?” Tracey asks, a hint of worry and excitement in her voice.
“You’ll find out in a minute,” I say as I walk up to Lockhart’s Valentine’s booth outside the Great Hall and request forty cards for myself. I turn to my friends, my hands full of red and pink paper. “Get your quills out, girls. We’ve only got ten minutes.”
Everyone in Charms, the Hufflepuffs and Professor Flitwick included, keeps glancing at me to figure out why my friends and I can’t get rid of the shiteating grins plastered on our faces. Malfoy keeps frowning at me, even Pansy Parkinson asks me if I got a Valentine’s card. I’m glad I practiced the Water Repelling Charm by myself before Christmas because I’m distracted for half the lesson. Any minute now… Three, two– The door to the classroom flies open as two golden-winged dwarves flutter in, carrying a satchel between them. They hand a card to Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Ernie Macmillan and a few other students I don’t recognize. And then, the dwarves rummage around in the satchel and pull out a stack of six scarlet envelopes.
“I'm supposed to read out these messages for Draco Malfoy.” The dwarf says.
Malfoy bristles, failing to hide the red hue rising up his face. Before he can protest, the dwarves burst into song:
Draco you’re my hero,
You’re so charming and smart.
I wish you’d be my Valentine,
For I’d give you all my heart.
The room erupts in laughter as a bright red Malfoy covers his face with his hands. I don’t bother stifling my laugh, staring directly at Malfoy as I clutch my sides and wheeze. I’m actually proud of the rhymes I came up with, considering I only had ten minutes. Neither Malfoy nor Professor Flitwick can make the dwarves leave before they’ve read all six messages out loud. And while I can tell Professor Flitwick wants nothing more than to charm Lockhart into becoming a human carpet, this might be the only good thing he's ever come up with.
The dwarves follow Malfoy around the entire day, not giving him any respite even at lunch. Malfoy has the hood of his robes pulled up over his head all throughout the day, hoping the dwarves would miss him. They don’t. By Potions, everyone in the school follows Malfoy around to see the ‘Dwarf Valentine Show’ in person. He wordlessly brews our Swelling Solution in class, barely glancing away from the cauldron.
“I know it was you.” He says while stirring the contents of the cauldron.
“What are you talking about, Malfoy?” I ask nonchalantly, measuring out an ounce of flobberworm mucus.
“The cards, Potter. I’m not stupid.” He spits.
I let the vial of mucus clatter onto the table and face him with a smirk. “You think it was me?”
Malfoy studies my face with a frown. “I know it was you.”
“Prove it,” I say just as the door to the class flies open and a dwarf floats inside, landing on Professor Snape’s desk, who looks like he wants nothing more than to reduce each one of Lockhart’s dwarves to smithereens. The dwarf clears his throat and says, “I’ve got a Valentine’s message for Draco Malfoy. Is he here?”
Malfoy doesn’t answer, instead, he drops to his knees to hide under our desk. I signal to the dwarf and point to Malfoy’s crouching figure. The dwarf flutters over and stands on our table, everyone in the room turns in their seat to witness the performance.
“Not bloody again," Draco mumbles and straightens up. “Right, get on with it.” He sighs defeatedly.
The dwarf clears his throat and sings:
His smile gives me butterflies,
His eyes make me pine,
All I want is for him to be mine,
Draco dearest, please be my Valentine.
The room bursts into applause, many of the students laughing and hooting. Harry and Ron almost tumble to the ground, even Hermione fails to hide a smirk. Malfoy has a deep frown etched into his features, and he all but pushes the dwarf off the table.
“If you’re done, stop interrupting my class and get. Out.” Snape says coldly to the dwarf. The latter leaves while muttering something under his breath and Snape slams the door shut with a flick of his wand. The sound makes everyone fall silent, although Malfoy trembles with anger beside me. No one makes a sound for the rest of the class after Snape snaps at us to get back to work.
If one good thing came out of Valentine’s Day, it was the fact that people seem to be less anxious about the heir of Slytherin attacking Muggleborns. Malfoy’s little humiliation at the hands of Lockhart’s Valentine cards also lightens the mood, and Malfoy has to evade people's teasing comments for a whole week before the discussions of his “secret” admirer die down. I also scour through all the library records for any more information on Tom Riddle, but nothing comes up about him after 1961. It’s like he vanished into thin air. But this also means I can keep my mind off a criminal’s activities and focus on the most important thing I’m here for– my education.
I sit in the library and finish writing my list of third-year subjects that I'm supposed to send to my Head of House. During the Easter holidays, the second years were instructed to select their elective subjects for third year onwards. I chose everything available except Divination and Muggle Studies, I don’t particularly think Divination to be a reliable branch of magic and I’d like to think I know enough about Muggles having lived with them for most of my life. The Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff Quidditch match is not going to start for another hour, might as well stay around and do a bit of light reading, eh? I wander through the bookshelves, looking for something quick to read before the game. I'll leave soon though, I want to wish Harry luck before his game. My eyes fall on a worn out copy of Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them, maybe I could read this .for a while. After all, I am doing Care of Magical Creatures next year. As I reach for the book, my hand brushes with someone else's, who likely wants to read the same book. I turn to see who it is and retract my hand like it's on fire. It's Draco Malfoy and his scowl.
“I was here first, Potter.” Malfoy narrows his eyes.
“No you weren't. I almost had the book. And why aren't you at the Quidditch match?” I argue.
“I'm not at the Quidditch match because it doesn't start for another hour, genius.” Malfoy drawls. “Now, move. I want the book.”
I pull it off the shelf before Malfoy. “Find another copy,” I say, clutching the book to me.
Malfoy clenches his fist and retracts his hand. “I can't find another copy, Potter, because they've all been issued already.”
“Why can't you read something else?” I ask exasperatedly.
“Why can't you read something else?” He retorts.
I sigh. “Fine then.”
And that is how I end up on a chair beside Malfoy, at the same table in the library, reading from the same book. I'm trying to read about Runespoors, but he keeps flipping the pages hastily. Eventually, I slap a hand over his to make him stop.
“What's wrong with you? Can't you see I'm trying to read?” I hiss.
“Shut up, Potter. There's something I want to find out. I think I might know what Slytherin's monster is.”
I immediately pull back my hand and push the book towards him. “Why didn't you say so before?”
Malfoy clicks his tongue, before finding the exact page. “Ah, here it is. The basilisk.” He points to a picture of a large heinous serpent.
“The basilisk? Of course, I've read about this before,” I say.
Malfoy nods. “I should have guessed as much after we saw the snakeskin down there. The basilisk can grow up to sixty meters. Instant death awaits anyone who looks into its eyes.” Malfoy reads aloud.
I recall Tom Riddle's memory. Of course, Myrtle looked at something near the pipes, that's how she died. She must have looked into the basilisk’s eyes. “That's probably how it's moving throughout the castle– through the pipes!” I speak out loud.
Malfoy thinks about it before nodding. “It's possible. And I suspect no one's dead yet because they didn't directly look into its eyes. I'm pretty sure there was water on the floor when Mrs Norris was attacked, I think I heard the others say that Creevey had his camera, and the Hufflepuff– what's his name? Justin, yeah. I suppose he saw the basilisk through the ghost.” Malfoy explains everything without pausing for a breath, and all I can do for a few seconds is stare at him silently. He's a bloody genius. But I won't tell him that.
“Not bad, Malfoy. How'd you figure this out anyway?” I ask.
“I began researching right after we got out of the chamber last year. It was easy enough to figure out it was a snake, what with it being Slytherin's beast and all.” Malfoy shrugs. “But I'm surprised that you didn't figure this out sooner, Potter.” He smirks.
I roll my eyes. “I was busy, okay?”
“Doing what? Petrifying students?”
“Don't joke about that, Malfoy.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “What were you so busy with, hm?”
I stutter. “I just- I had… work.”
“Work?” He cocks an eyebrow.
“Yes,” I gulp. “Work.”
Malfoy rests an elbow on the table and leans against it. “And what was this work, pray tell?”
“Research.”
“Work or research?” He asks.
“Work. That was research. The work was research. I mean, the research was my work.”
“For someone so smart you're awfully stupid at times.” Malfoy deadpans.
Stupid? How dare he? “I'll have you know, Malfoy. I was extremely busy finding out who opened the Chamber of Secrets last time and who the heir of Slytherin was. And let me remind you, every person in this school thinks I'm the heir of Slytherin so I was trying to find evidence to support myself and I was researching what the monster is and after Christmas I suddenly had to research this Tom–”
“Tom?” Malfoy repeats, making me pause. I slap a hand over my mouth, silently cursing myself for not shutting up at the right time. “Who's Tom? You got a boyfriend, Potter?” Malfoy asks, straightening his posture.
“No!” I cry.
“So who's Tom?” He presses.
I sigh. Oh well. It's just Malfoy, Nessa. “There's this file,” I begin, “Now don't ask me how I got it, but this file was about a guy named Tom Riddle. Wanted criminal, no one knows where he's been for the past twenty odd years. And for whatever reason, I'm supposed to investigate him.”
“And what are you going to do after you've investigated him?”
“That's the thing.” I sigh. “I don't know. All I know is that he's the heir of Slytherin.”
“The heir? Potter, whoever gave you this file… can you trust them?”
I nod. “With my life.”
Malfoy bites the inside of his cheek. “I feel like I've heard that name before. Can't remember where.”
“He's got about seventeen criminal charges against him, I'm sure you've heard of him somewhere, Malfoy.”
“Perhaps, but–” Malfoy is interrupted by someone approaching our table. I meet eyes with a breathless Hermione, who seems to have sprinted up at least three flights of stairs.
“Hermione, hi,” I say. Hermione looks between me and Malfoy with a faint knot between her brows.
“Hey, Nessa. What’s he doing here?” She gestures to Malfoy.
“None of your business, Granger.” Malfoy drawls.
“We're studying,” I say nonchalantly. I don't know if she believes us or not. “Were you looking for me?”
“Actually,” Hermione leads me away from Malfoy by the elbow before whsipering, “I think I know what Slytherin's monster is. I have a theory that I need to confirm–”
“Kill. Kill. Tear. I want to kill.” That voice. It's the same voice I heard when Mrs Norris was attacked.
“Hermione. The voice. It's going to attack someone.”
“The voice? But–”
“Do you have a glass?” I interrupt her. “Anything to cover your eyes?”
“Yeah…” Hermione rummages around in her bag and pulls out a magnifying glass.
“Good. Use that.” I say, but the voice seems to be moving away from the library. We should get out of here, but I need to make sure Hermione knows what the monster is. If she and Harry can tell Dumbledore, they could do something about the basilisk. I don't think anyone will believe me over two prized Gryffindors. I race back to Malfoy and whip out my quill.
“What's wrong, Potter?” Malfoy asks.
“She has to know. And there might be another attack. You should go back to the dorms.” I say as I hastily scroll the word ‘pipes’ in the margins of the copy of Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them. I glance around, and making sure no one's looking, rip the page about the basilisk in one smooth motion.
Malfoy gawks at the tear in the book. “I can't believe you just did that.”
“I'll repair it with magic later.” I mumble as I sprint back to Hermione.
“Here.” I hand her the paper. “Give this to Harry.”
Hermione scans the print before nodding. “Thanks.”
“It’s the only way we'll get to the end of this.” I shrug. “Come on, I'll walk with you to your Common Room. It's not safe staying out,” I say.
Hermione shakes her head politely. “Thanks, Nessa, but I'll be fine. I'll get to the Common Room myself, you should hurry on, though. You don't want to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time again.”
I put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure? It might be dangerous walking by yourself, Hermione.”
Hermione chuckles. “I'll be alright, Nessa. Besides, I've got this.” She holds up the magnifying glass in her hand.
“If you're sure.” I smile before returning to collect my things. Malfoy has packed all his things and stands up from his chair when he sees me approaching.
“Why are you still here?” I frown.
“You said there might be another attack.” He shrugs.
“Yeah, that's why I told you to get back as soon as possible.” I say, shoving my ink pot and a scroll of parchment back in my bag.
“I was waiting for you, numbskull.” He drawls.
I pause, gawking at him. Did I hear him right? “You were waiting for me?”
“You haven't got anything to cover your eyes, genius.”
“Neither do you.” I point out.
Malfoy rolls his eyes, rummages in his bag and pulls out two magnifying glasses, holding one out for me. “I was trying to be… well…”
“Chivalrous?” I try. “Brave?”
“Kind, Potter. I was trying to be kind.” He mumbles under his breath, making me stifle a laugh.
“Right then,” I sling my bag over my shoulder and look at Malfoy. “Shall we?”
Malfoy clears his throat. “Don't get used to it, though. I'm only doing this because if you die I won't have any worthy competition in class.”
“For the record, Malfoy,” I say as we reach the Slytherin common room, “Kindness. It's a good look on you.”
Malfoy stares at me with wide eyes before nodding and disappearing inside, the Common Room door disappearing into the walls behind him. I stand outside the common room like an idiot, what was that Nessa? Since when have you started saying nice things to Malfoy? “Kindness is a good look on you?” Ugh, my friends would smack me upside the head if they heard me.
“Could I have your attention please?” Professor McGonagall’s voice echoes in the dungeons. “The Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff has been cancelled. All students are to report back to their Common Room immediately.” The match is cancelled? But they never cancel Quidditch? Unless… Shit.
I sprint to the Hospital Wing through deserted corridors, fearing the worst. Please, don’t let it be Hermione, please. I reach the Hospital Wing huffing and panting, and hide behind the door as Professor McGonagall exits the room. I peer inside to see Harry and Ron staring at Hermione’s rigid frame with slumped shoulders. Not Hermione. I should have stayed with her. Swallowing the lump that forms in my throat, I walk to Hermione’s bedside and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder from the back, squeezing it gently.
“I’m sorry, Harry.” Harry shakes his head, and sighs.
“They might close the school, Nessa. Professor McGonagall said they’d have to, if the attacks continue.”
“They’ll find the culprit, Harry. I’m sure of it.”
Harry exhales a shaky breath and faces me. “The last time, it was Hagrid who opened the chamber.”
“What? Harry, that’s impossible.” I cry. But wasn’t Tom Riddle the heir? “How do you even know this?”
Harry’s about to say something, when Ron tugs on Harry’s robes and interrupts him. “Nevermind how we found out, but we know it’s him.” Rom gives me a tight lipped smile. He still doesn’t trust me.
I shake my head, trying to conceal the hurt on my face. “Hagrid could not have opened the Chamber, Harry. I don’t believe it. He’d never hurt a fly!”
“But Nessa–”
“If Hagrid really was Slytherin’s heir, shouldn’t he be a Parselmouth? Besides, why would Hagrid attack Hermione of all people?” I try to reason, my eyes falling on Hermione’s pale figure. Isn’t it my fault she’s like this right now? I knew there might be an attack, but I still let her go by herself, and for what? To save my skin in case someone brands me a vicious serpent controlling maniac. When did I get so selfish?
“It does make sense for the heir of Slytherin to be a Slytherin. There hasn’t been a single attack on a Slytherin yet.” Ron muses. You don't say.
“But it’s not Malfoy,” he continues, "and who else can speak Parseltongue in the entire house except for you, Nessa?”
Both Harry and I slowly turn towards Ron with the same cold, angry expressions.
Ron clears his throat, his eyes downcast. “Right, sorry. I don’t mean to accuse you…”
I scoff. “You know, perhaps I’m wasting my time trying to help you two. I’m sure Hermione has more information that can help you.” I hope they get the hint. Hermione’s bag and the magnifying glass are right on her bedside table so I’m sure she still has the paper I gave her. I turn to Ron with a hard gaze. “You don’t trust me, I’m fine with that. But I won’t let you accuse my house, Ron, I’d trust them with my life.” I say and turn on my heels, storming out of the Hospital Wing.
Because my luck this year has been pretty awful, a couple students had spotted me speaking to Hermione in the library before she was attacked. Naturally, this means I petrified Hermione. The rumours lurk behind every corner of the castle, creeping behind me like a dark shadow, blanketing my ears in hushed whispers. I try denying the accusations as much as possible, but such is the nature of rumours. They spread like wildfire, and everyone believes them just because the idea of Slytherins being horrible is so popular among the other three houses. Even Fred and George, my only two friends outside of my house, have stopped smirking and bumping fists with me in the hallways after the attack on Hermione. Like everyone else, they cease their conversations and jokes when they see me, train their eyes on the ground and don’t even look at me as I pass.
Sometimes I feel like I want to stand on the Slytherin table during dinner and yell that I’m not Slytherin’s heir at the top of my lungs so every person in this castle will stop looking at me like a venomous snake with my fangs out. Daphne, Tracey and Mizuki have been very worried about me because I keep zoning out during classes, I go from dinner straight back to my dorms and barely speak to anyone these days. But they don’t have to worry about me, I can tell they’re getting tired of defending me when someone mutters “criminal” or “traitor” behind my back. Honestly, I sometimes feel like my friends would be better off without me. So would Harry. He shouldn’t have to clear my name in front of his house members when he’s already so sad because of Hermione. And the Slytherins wouldn’t have become bigger outcasts than they already were because of me.
I can’t do this. The castle walls tower over me, and I suddenly don’t think I can breathe. Dazed, I drop my bag in my room and walk past blurry faces and incoherent sounds. I keep walking till I exit the Clocktower Courtyard and only stop when I’m a few hundred meters away from the Forbidden Forest. White and yellow wildflowers bloom in the grass around me and I drop to my knees in the dirt. My heart races in my ribcage, blood rushes to my ears as I try to control each breath rising heavily against my chest.
“Nessa?” I whip my head around, relaxing slightly when I see Hagrid ambling over to me carrying a large pile of wood in his hands.
I breathe in deeply and muster a smile. “Hey, Hagrid.”
“What’s get yeh soundin’ like that?” Hagrid frowns and sits in the clearing beside me, crushing several wildflowers beneath him as he drops the pile of wood beside him.
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
“Codswallop. You’re trembling and sweating all over.” He gestures to my hands. I follow his gaze and notice my fingers shaking furiously. I intertwine my fingers and rest them in my lap.
I swallow and realize my mouth is drier than a desert.
“Nessa? Are yeh alright? I can take yeh to Madam Pomfrey if you–”
“No, Hagrid, I’m alright, really. I just wanted… some air.” I say.
Hagrid dusts his palms together, making clouds of dark brown soil rise up from his hands. “And why’d yeh need some air, if I may ask?” Hagrid looks at me with kind, twinkling eyes. I can’t lie to him. I can’t pretend everything’s fine, not in front of Hagrid.
“I don’t like how everyone is back there.” I whisper. “Everyone hates me.”
“Hates yeh? That’s nonsense if I ever heard of it!” Hagrid cries.
“Everyone thinks I’m the heir of Slytherin.” I sigh.
“Well everyone can go drown themselves in Slug Repellent, I say. Yeh’d never hurt a soul.” Hagrid says.
“Do you really think so, Hagrid? I mean, I was sorted into Slytherin for a reason. And it’s not difficult to guess which house has produced the most evil witches and wizards.” I chuckle sarcastically.
Hagrid lets his fingers run through wisps of dark green grass. “Ah, every house has good and bad wizards, Nessa.”
“I sometimes think it would have been better if I never came to Hogwarts.”
Hagrid frowns, his mouth disappearing behind his bushy beard. “Nonsense, Nessa. Do yeh think Hogwarts would be the same without you?”
“Wouldn’t it? I mean, my friends are all so tired of these rumors and they shouldn’t have to keep standing up for me. Harry, too. He has his friends and they’re good for him, and me, well, I don’t do anything but cause him more trouble.”
A breeze flutters past us, caressing my cheeks and ruffling Hagrid’s beard, before Hagrid begins to laugh in a thunderous voice. “Oh, Merlin’s beard, Nessa. Ye don’t even realize how lucky yeh are, do yeh? I mean, yeh’ve got friends that look out for yeh, an’ I’ve never seen Harry happier than when he’s with yeh.”
I blink in confusion as Hagrid extends a giant palm, waiting for me to place my own small one in it. He puts another hand on top of mine reassuringly. “I’m telling yeh, Nessa, I’m telling yeh. Hogwarts is better with yeh here.”
I blink back tears as Hagrid smiles at me warmly. “You think so?” I croak.
Hagrid nods, the smile never leaving his eyes. “And don’t yeh worry about everyone else. Only yeh can decide who you want to be, Nessa. No one else, yeh hear?”
“Yeah, thanks, Hagrid.” I put my arms around him in a hug, scrunching my nose as the smell of coals and wet dog engulfs me when Hagrid pulls me into the warmest, most comforting hug of my life. I have people who love me just the way I am. Tracey and Daphne and Mizuki and Hagrid. I don’t need to be someone I’m not. This is why Hogwarts is home. In this castle, with these people, I am home.