Chapter 34: 4-1

After that, I ignored Draco for a long time. I didn’t even respond to our communication parchment. Even when one of those ridiculous Valentine’s cards from Lockhart’s scheme arrived, I absolutely refused to accept it.

The Basilisk attacks had ceased, and part of me wanted to use this time to track down the culprit—but more than anything, I just couldn't bring myself to forgive the way he had looked at me that day.

After several months of us not being on speaking terms, the trio finally came to me together, pleading for a reconciliation.

"Malfoy is in a truly dreadful state, Maria. He looks so horribly pale." Hermione said. 

"He was born looking like that," I countered..

"I don't know what happened between you two, but I’m sure he didn't mean any harm," Ron added. "That posert wouldn't go out of his way to be mean to you, Maria."

"With all due respect, Ron, he used to be as wicked as they come," I replied.

"Maria... Draco is truly sorry," Harry said softly. "He told me the other day that he didn't even know how to apologize to you."

"I don't like his Slytherin nerve—using Harry because he knows I have a soft spot for him."

"""Maria... please...""" the three of them groaned in unison.

I turned my face away from their pathetic pleading. Was I being childish? Well, I am a child, so it can't be helped. Besides, the "me" from before was far more temperamental and childish than Harry ever was.

However, I couldn't maintain that attitude for long. I happened to catch sight of Draco in the corridor, and his complexion was unbelievably gaunt. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked a total wreck. The word "haggard" described him perfectly.

"Draco...?"

"Maria..."

He stumbled, and I instinctively rushed over to catch him. He looked just like he did back then—during the time he had been ordered to assassinate Dumbledore.

"Draco... look at the state of you."

"I've... been wanting to talk to you. For so long."

"...I was being too stubborn. I'm sorry."

"Your stubbornness is nothing new, and we’re both used to being at odds with each other. Aren't we?"

Even when weak, he didn't lose that provocative smirk. My shoulders slumped in defeat. Good grief... I really didn't intend to forgive him yet.

"Draco, how long has it been since you last slept?"

"Mmm... a little while."

"Right. Your 'little while' means 'ages.' Harry, we—"

"Leave the excuses to me, Maria!" Hermione chimed in.

"And the alibi-making to us!" the twins added.

"I'll save some lunch for you," Harry said with a smile.

"...You're all so reliable—my best friends and my brother."

I watched the three of them head off to Transfiguration ahead of us, then sat down near the Black Lake for the first time in a while. The wind blowing off the water was pleasantly cool, and the contrast with the sunlight made it feel like spring.

"Not being able to talk to you... it took a greater toll than I expected," Draco murmured, his voice devoid of its usual energy.

"Yeah. I was being immature. I'm sorry."

"...Are you still angry?"

"I was until a moment ago—but seeing your face made me forget all about it."

I leaned forward until our foreheads touched. When I cupped his cheeks in my hands, I realized he had lost that soft, youthful roundness, and a sharp pang of guilt pricked at me.

To get into this state... you idiot.

"It was a bit one-sided to call it a fight... but, we've made up now."

"Yeah."

As his eyelashes cast shadows over his blue-grey eyes and he began to drift off, I guided his head onto my lap. Draco didn't resist.

"Sleep well, Draco."

"Goodnight, Maria."

As the spring breeze fluttered around us, it finally felt as though the snow had melted.

Word reached us that Hagrid had been taken away by the Ministry of Magic. On top of that, Lucius Malfoy’s scheming had led to Dumbledore’s suspension. This happened shortly after Penelope Clearwater had been Petrified.

I heard all of this from the trio, who had been present at the scene under the Invisibility Cloak.

"It's true that Hagrid has a habit of wanting to keep large—and slightly dangerous—creatures. But even so..."

"Fifty years ago—what exactly happened fifty years ago? The girl who died in the bathroom, the water on the floor, the spiders acting strangely..."

"There's no way Hagrid is the culprit. Salazar Slytherin built the Chamber of Secrets. A Slytherin, right? Hagrid was never in Slytherin!"

The three of them were at a standstill, as they hadn't seen the vision of the day Hagrid was expelled from Riddle’s Diary. However, this time, Hermione was safe. With Hermione, they would surely find the truth. Even last time, she was the one who identified the Basilisk.

With Dumbledore gone, a sense of anxiety spread from the students to the staff. Amidst this, the second Quidditch match arrived—Gryffindor against Hufflepuff. After encouraging Cedric, whom I met in the kitchens (I’d overslept that morning and missed breakfast), and now I was in the Gryffindor changing rooms.

"Oh? Where's Harry?"

"He hasn't shown up yet."

"Overslept, perhaps?"

"Oliver is already throwing a fit," the players answered one after another.

What’s wrong with Harry? I overslept, so did he do the same?

"I'll go look for him," Draco announced from outside the door where he’d been listening. The Gryffindor players stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Maria, you stay here. If you go, you might miss him if he comes this way."

"Oh, right. Thanks, Draco. I'll leave it to you then."

The Gryffindor team watched Draco leave with bated breath. The moment his green robes disappeared, they crowded around me.

"Goodness, you're still associating with him...? And what if something has happened to Harry because of it?"

"Draco isn't the culprit, Alicia."

"Well... you might think so, but..."

Everyone looked grim, except for the Weasley twins. Because the twins had interacted with Draco through our group, they knew Draco’s personality better than anyone else here besides Harry. They nodded without hesitation, agreeing that Draco wasn't the culprit—though they still didn't miss the chance to tease him by calling him "The Heir" whenever they could.

"Harry will be here soon. He probably just overslept. More importantly, Oliver, what about your usual speech—"

Is it okay to skip it? Fred didn't get to finish his sentence.

Professor McGonagall, looking terribly shaken, announced that the Quidditch match had been cancelled.

"""It’s Harry!"""

Everyone bolted out, forgetting they were still in their kits. I followed close behind, running toward Professor McGonagall.

"P-Professor, what on earth...?"

"Oh... Miss Potter... follow me. And you too, Mr. Weasley."

Ron, who had been heading toward us from the stands, looked at me, his face pale. If the two of us were being summoned together—it couldn't be.

"There has been another attack. This time... there are two victims."

My throat went completely dry.

Ron, Professor McGonagall, and I walked solemnly toward the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey let us in, her expression grief-stricken. Ah, I knew it.

"Hermione!"

Ron’s voice choked as he reached out to touch her cold hand. I told her—I told her so many times not to go off alone!

But Ron’s despair didn't end with Hermione.

"...Ginny?"

The girl I was supposed to be watching over—the one who was the culprit last time—was lying there Petrified, wearing the same expression as Hermione.

"How...?"

"They were found near the library. Do you have any idea why?"

At Professor McGonagall's question, a distraught Ron answered.

"We were supposed to go support Harry. But Hermione suddenly said there was something she had to check. She wanted to go to the library—and when I told her it was too dangerous to go alone and to wait until later, Ginny said... she said she'd go with her..."

Oh, no. My warning to avoid being alone backfired.

"I see... I must go and report to the other teachers. You two stay here. I will escort you back to your common room shortly."

Though she was strict, the Professor was surprisingly soft-hearted. There was a glint of tears in her eyes, which were usually set in a stern gaze. Once Professor McGonagall left and Madam Pomfrey stepped away, I examined the two of them closely.

"Ron."

"Hermione... Ginny..."

"Ron, I know how you feel, but listen. What is Hermione holding?"

"What? Holding...? What’s this?"

Ron let go of Hermione’s hand and wrenched a torn page from her clenched fist.

"A Basilisk...? Th-this is—!"

It was a page describing a Basilisk, with the word Pipes added in Hermione’s handwriting.

"A Basilisk—it’s a Basilisk! That’s the monster in the Chamber of Secrets! We have to tell Harry!"

"......"

Harry.

Before I could tell Ron to be quiet so Madam Pomfrey wouldn't hear his shouting, our conversation was cut off by a much louder voice—a warning far more dire than the cancellation of the Quidditch match.

"All students are to return to their House dormitories immediately. All teachers are to report to the staff room at once."

No.

"What? What does that mean? Professor McGonagall said she was coming to get us..."

"Ron, let's get back to the common room."

"Maria? But—"

"Just do it! Now!"

I grabbed Ron’s arm and started running. The corridors, usually patrolled by teachers who would scold you for running, were now overflowing with panicked students. Because Ginny Weasley, a Pure-blood, had been attacked, the distinction between Pure-blood and Muggle-born no longer mattered.

What do I do? What do I do?

My heart was pounding so loudly it hurt, and it wasn't just because I was running.

The culprit—and the student who had been taken—was Harry.

It was something I had been thinking about ever since that day Harry tried to tell me something. Harry, who had no alibi. Harry, who was constantly looking around as if terrified of something. Harry, who looked driven to the edge. Harry, who, like Ginny, had been trying to summon his courage.

The key to the Chamber of Secrets is Riddle’s Diary because you need to pour your soul into it to be controlled by Riddle and speak Parseltongue. Parseltongue is the true key—and even without using the diary, there was only one person here at Hogwarts who could speak it.

I raced up toward Gryffindor Tower, pushing through the crowds. Of all times to leave my messaging parchment in my room—I am such a fool!

If Harry himself, the key, has been taken, how am I supposed to open the door? I can't ask Hermione. I can't figure it out alone. I have to talk to Draco—

"—Maria!"

"......Eh?"

As I burst into the common room, Harry caught me in his arms.