Lockhart’s disappearance in the opposite direction proved one thing: Draco’s route to the Chamber of Secrets was not the only one. Lockhart clearly had his own method of entering, unlike Hermione and the others, who had been stopped by the wall that required Parseltongue.
“Looks like I still have some time.”
Hearing the anxious voices outside, Draco realized what difficulty Hermione and the others had run into. He shifted his gaze around the chamber.
The battle between Norberta and the Basilisk had left half of the towering stone pillars shattered and collapsed. Draco doubted that if the fight had dragged on much longer—or grown any fiercer—the entire chamber might have come crashing down.
Fortunately, the Basilisk hadn’t been as powerful as he’d imagined. It had fallen quickly and miserably under the young Norberta’s claws. Perhaps it was simply too old…
Marveling once more at the sheer might of a dragon, Draco lifted his wand.
“Reparo.”
The wizard who invented the Mending Charm, Draco thought again, must have been a genius.
With a wave of his wand, the ruined chamber—battered by dragon and serpent alike—was restored in just a few seconds to its original state.
Draco put his wand away and glanced at the magic suitcase in his hand, which had just given a slight tremor.
“Just a little longer, Norberta.”
He couldn’t help but smile as he recalled the look of grievance in her eyes when he’d asked her to return to the suitcase earlier. Her drooping head and tail, her sulky, dejected look—it was such a stark contrast to her majestic, awe-inspiring presence in battle that Draco found it almost comical.
Lockhart, who had caught sight of this just before leaving, had nearly popped his eyes out in disbelief.
He could never have imagined that a proud and untamable dragon would be so close and obedient to a wizard who wasn’t even her kind. Surely Draco must have used some trick to control her.
What Lockhart didn’t know, however, was that from Norberta’s perspective, Draco’s scent had only grown more and more pleasant…
...
Completely unaware of any changes in himself, Draco shifted his gaze to the empty air beside him and whispered:
“Right on time.”
Whoosh—
The air twisted, and a small figure with bat-like ears appeared, his large eyes filled with both admiration and shame as he looked up at Draco.
“Sir, that was incredible… but please forgive Dobby. Dobby could not help. Dobby is useless.”
Draco, who had no time to soothe him as Dobby slipped back into one of his “episodes,” quickly spoke.
“Take this. Hide the magic suitcase under my bed. Don’t let anyone find it.”
“Yes! Leave it to Dobby. No! You must let Dobby handle this!”
“Dob—”
Before Draco could finish, Dobby eagerly grabbed the suitcase and vanished with a pop. Draco, who had wanted to say a few more things, could only sigh and close his mouth.
Still, curiosity tugged at him. How could House-elves Apparate so freely when even wizards faced restrictions? What exactly was the difference between their magic and wizard magic? It was something Draco had long wanted to understand.
But just as his hunger for knowledge stirred again, the sound of a door creaking open snapped him out of his thoughts...
It was the entrance Draco had come through.
“Another Parseltongue…?”
Unlike Hagrid, who blundered without thinking, or Hermione, who came from a Muggle family and trusted Draco for reasons even she couldn’t explain—if anyone else saw him fighting alongside a dragon, suspicions would inevitably follow.
That was why Draco had taken the time to cover his tracks. But just when he thought he had enough time, an unexpected turn threw his plans into chaos...
Boom—
“Draco!”
“…Ron!!”
“Dear Mr. Malfoy, would you care to explain why you’re here instead of safely in your own House?”
Draco froze.
Was it just his imagination, or did Snape’s gaze—though his words were aimed at him—lock firmly onto Harry Potter, who was now running toward Ron Weasley?
Could Harry have been the one to open the Chamber door just now?
Thinking back, that hissing sound he’d heard did indeed sound a lot like Harry Potter’s voice...
“What are you staring at? Don’t tell me you’ve been petrified by the Basilisk?”
Draco’s thoughts were interrupted by Hermione suddenly standing in front of him, glaring as if scolding him. Her words carried the sharpness of a jab, but the way her eyes darted over him, searching for any sign of injury, betrayed her worry.
Draco, who had only clashed with Voldemort briefly, was completely unharmed. It was Ron Weasley—the reckless one with no sense of self-preservation—who truly needed saving.
Just as Hermione let out a small sigh of relief, Harry Potter’s voice rang out, urgent and loud.
“Ron's still alive! I need help!”
“Step aside, Potter—unless you want Mr. Weasley to die here.”
Snape strode forward, pulling a vial of potion from inside his robes. Without the slightest gentleness, he forced it down Ron Weasley’s throat.
No one knew exactly what the potion was, but when Ron’s color quickly returned to normal, it was clear the effect was powerful. Relief washed over Harry, though at the same time, a tangle of complicated emotions toward Snape stirred in his chest.
“Tha—”
“Take Mr. Weasley and come with me. I expect an explanation, especially from our great savior, Mr. Potter. Why exactly were you following us?”
Any trace of gratitude Harry had just felt evaporated in an instant.
Head bowed, he didn’t notice the dark look twisting Snape’s face—a look of someone who had been deceived, furious, but unable to speak the truth aloud.
Meanwhile, Draco, who had been inexplicably overlooked, leaned close to Hermione and whispered to confirm the suspicion gnawing at him.
“Was it Potter who opened the door just now?”
“Too close… Yeah. Now that you mention it, I thought it sounded like… a snake. Wait—don’t tell me—!”
“It’s exactly what you think.”
“Parseltongue…”
Draco’s eyes fell on Harry Potter, who seemed completely unaware of the weight of what that meant.
After everything that had happened today, Draco’s doubts only grew deeper...