He heard the low grate of what could only be the Chamber's opening and would have turned around to look, but couldn't even open his eyes. He still couldn't believe what had happened, couldn't work out how it had gone so, so horribly wrong. He wished he hadn't tried to be so clever, wished he hadn't been so selfish, but knew he'd done, what he'd done – mostly – for her. He hoped Ginny would be all right. He'd never forgive himself otherwise.

Words that weren't his – words that weren't even words – slithered out of his mouth in a steady, menacing hiss.

Now, open your eyes. Don't look away from the mirror.

No, he told the voice.

Do it.

He opened his eyes, and, through the mirror, met a pair of slitted yellow ones.

"I'm hungry," she said, and got a blank stare in response. "Are you coming?"

"But- Professor Sprout said we're supposed to stay in tonight-"

"Are you scared?" she asked incredulously.

"No." His scent was nervous though, rather than defiant. "I'm just- not hungry."

"You've gone soft," she scoffed. "What would Father say if he heard that you were scared of a snake? You've got wizarding blood anyway- you'd be safe-"

"Father's dead," he told her. She glared at him. "And I just- don't want to go, Sarah-"

"You know I hate that name," she snapped. "Fine, stay." He was so frustrating, sometimes. She couldn't wait for summer, when they could get back home, and be with their family again. He was in dire need of it; she worried, sometimes, that he was thinking too much like a human.

"Well, I'm going to the kitchens," she announced to the common room. "Anyone else want to come?"

"Walker, I don't think-"

"I asked if you were coming, Diggory, not for your opinion," she snapped. Diggory frowned at her, but said nothing else. Smith's laughter started from his corner – he was so predictable – and he got to his feet.

"I'll come for a walk, if you'd like," he drawled. She wrinkled her nose. Smith was a pain, but she had asked.

"Fine," she said. "Keep up, then."

They were about halfway to the kitchen, when a voice stopped them.

"What are you two doing here?" It was the Fat Friar – she'd never met a more annoying ghost, always wanting to know about her day, and if she was homesick – wringing his hands. "Didn't Professor Sprout tell you – you're not supposed to be out tonight."

"We were hungry," Smith said. Derisively, she thought that the Friar would have some sympathy; if his size was anything to go by, he'd enjoyed food when he was alive. "The kitchens aren't far-"

"Even so…" The Friar made a little nervous titter, and then, from behind him, her sensitive ears heard another sound, one he hadn't made.

"What was that?" she demanded, and Smith just gave her a blank look. "Behind him," she said impatiently, pointing at the Friar. He spun around, blocking her view – and Smith's, if the small, annoyed noise he made was any indication – but before she could crane her neck to get a better look than that of the Friar's translucent midriff, an long tongue flickered around the corner, followed by a pair of large eyes.

He sighed as he looked at the shiny cup, and at the name on the plaque. He'd been a first year when Tom Riddle was in his final year, had heard the horrors of the Chamber (which had closed again by the time he started) and of Riddle's heroics in capturing poor Hagrid. He'd heard Riddle was charming and talented, and it had been Riddle's Charms score that he had set as his benchmark (and beaten by a single point in his own seventh year).

And now this. He sighed again, and hoped for it to all be over soon. He didn't even hear the monster come in behind him, but he did see it reflected in Riddle's trophy.

She heard something move, and froze. Was it her imagination – because she'd been reading an awful amount about magical snakes tonight – or had it sounded like scales? She listened, and there it was again, the sound of something dragging along the carpet, and the sound of something hard scraping against a bookshelf. She hoped it was her imagination – it was nearly three in the morning, and she hadn't slept yet, so it was entirely possible she was hearing things.

Heart in her throat, she glanced at the map, but there was nothing there, just her name in the otherwise empty library. But she could hear it, and it was closer this time. She felt tears prickle her eyes, and reached for the cloak. Perhaps, if it couldn't see her, it couldn't find her… But, she'd read enough that night to know that it would just listen to hear heart's pounding, or that it would smell her out. And, if she was under the cloak, they'd never find her, or what she'd found. She tore out the page she'd been reading, and shoved it into her bag.

"M-mischief m-anaged-d," she whispered.

Then, with shaking hands, she tossed her books, wand, the map and the cloak into her bag as well, heaved it over her shoulder, and stood. It was close now; she could hear it hissing faintly, and perhaps the flicker of an enormous tongue. She couldn't hear footsteps, though, and took comfort in that. Harry would kill her – again – if Riddle got the map and cloak. Swallowing a sob, she ran from her table. She'd never outrun it, she knew. She wasn't a very fast runner, and she had a bag full of books. She couldn't fight it, or it would eat her for sure, and if she closed her eyes and refused to look at it, it would probably eat her as well.

Breathe, she told herself. Breathe, it'll be all right. She sniffed, and kept running, and she knew it could hear her; the noise of its movement was getting louder and louder. Finally, she came to a halt, in front of a window. Through it, she could see the lake, dark and still, lit only by a sliver of light from the barely-there moon, and see the yellow glow of Hagrid's kitchen window.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and looked into the window, rather than through it. She could see movement behind her scared reflection.

Good luck, she thought toward her friends, and wondered if what came next would hurt.

She yawned and got out of bed, gently extracting herself from the bed so she wouldn't wake her twin. Her sister had always been a light sleeper, though, and stirred.

"Whererugoing?" she mumbled, squinting around.

"Back to my common room," she whispered. She'd been told to stay where she was last night, by Flitwick, and she'd been glad; she'd much rather have her twin's company at a time like this, than her sister's company back in Slytherin… even if it did mean they had to share a bed, and that she'd had to put up with her sister snoring and hogging the sheets. "It's nearly six and I want to get my things before breakfast."

"Isitsafe?"

"It's morning, I'm sure it is," she said reassuringly. "I'll see you in Defence."

She got a sleepy mumble in response, and smiled as she slipped out of the dorm. Rowena's statue watched her walk across the empty common room with that wise, severe stare. She'd just reached the first floor and passed Myrtle's bathroom when she heard an odd hissing sound.

"Hello?" she asked, and when there was no response, decided it must just be a pipe in the bathroom. She looked around, shrugged, and kept walking. Then, she saw the suit of armour ahead of her, moving. She frowned and drew her wand, and went to talk a closer look. It wasn't the armour moving, she decided after a second, it was something in the armour, casting dark green shadows over it. A reflection, maybe.

Then, she saw yellow.

"I would have gone earlier," Granger said, hopping off of Harry's bed, "only Harry was missing and I wanted to know…"

"Well, I'm safe," Potter said wearily. "And if you're going, I'm coming too. I want to know how to keep him out."

"No," Draco, Weasley and Granger said, all at once, but it was Granger that pressed on. "You're staying here, Harry; McGonagall would have you in detention until you finish your N.E.W.T.s if she caught you walking around the school after the night you've had."

"But with the cloak and map-"

Draco might have conceded the point, but Granger wrinkled her nose again and said, "I'm not standing under the cloak with you, when you smell like that." Draco snorted, amused, as Potter sniffed his Quidditch robes with a crestfallen expression.

"I'll shower-"

"Really, Harry, it'll be fine," she said. "I'll find a book on mind magic, and do a bit more reading on magical snakes-" She, Draco and Weasley had been doing some reading that afternoon, and found some interesting possibilities for Slytherin's monster, but hadn't had enough information to confirm anything, one way or the other. "-because now that we know who it is, sorting out the monster and how it's getting around is the next step. Then we can work out where it's being kept, and we can sort this whole mess out-"

"And the ring," Potter said. "The Gaunt ring."

"Yes," Hermione said impatiently. "I'll look for that too." She grabbed Draco's schoolbag off the ground and emptied it. "Do you mind? It's sounding like I'll have a lot to carry."

"I wouldn't mind a walk," Weasley said. "And I can help you carry the bag." Potter looked relieved.

"Don't be silly, Ron," she said. "Harry needs company-"

"And what am I?" Draco demanded, though he did agree that Potter needed company; he was keeping it together well, but Draco could tell he was shaken (and Draco thought he had every right to be). He wouldn't cope at all with having someone in his head. "Take Weasley, Granger, please. It's safer-"

"If what Quirrell told Harry is right, Riddle ought to be exhausted," Granger said primly. "And now that the teachers have his name, and the students, he'll be keeping a low profile. And we've all been told to stay in our common rooms, so he won't expect anyone to be out, and, even if he did, he'd be stupid to risk an attack tonight, with everyone on such high alert."

"She's right," Potter said, reluctantly. "Hermione, are you sure-?"

"Positive." She draped Draco's bag over her shoulder, and took the cloak and map from Potter with a smile. She gave Draco and Weasley pointed take-care-of-Potter looks, and headed for the door. "I'll see you all at breakfast."

She'd lied.

Draco and the others hadn't even made it to breakfast; a pale McGonagall had been waiting for them – and for Weasley One and Two - in the common room first thing in the morning.

She'd said, "Come with me, all of you," and that had been it, but Draco had known. And Weasley and the twins were panicking too; they, like Draco, had noticed that not only was She-Weasley missing, but Prefect Weasley was as well.

"They're not-?" Draco had choked, and McGonagall had shaken her head.

"Petrified, Mr Malfoy," she'd said thickly. "Thankfully. Miss Weasley will meet us there." Weasley had sagged, and Weasley One had put an arm around him. Weasley Two looked more serious than Draco had ever seen. Potter didn't even seem to have heard. His face was white and blank and he hadn't said a thing all morning.

In the hospital wing, Weasley had given Granger's bed a miserable look and then run to hug his sister, and join his brothers at Prefect Weasley's bedside. Potter went straight to the chair beside Granger's bed, and Draco followed him. His legs felt stiff. Five other beds were occupied – Draco recognised Astoria, and Flitwick, Smith, the Hufflepuff ghost, as well as a girl from Huffpuff whose name he didn't know. All of them looked shocked, or confused, and so incredibly still. It was unnerving.

"Riddle had a busy night, it seems," McGonagall said unsteadily. Draco moved his bag – the one that Granger had borrowed last night – off the chair next to Potter's - and sank into it. He didn't feel up to looking through her research now, and could only bring himself to stare at her frozen face. She didn't look surprised at all, Draco didn't think. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and her eyes were terrified. Draco looked away.

"Why?" Potter croaked. "I mean- the Greengrasses are purebloods, and so's Percy, and Smith-"

"I was wondering if you had any insight," McGonagall said shakily. She swallowed again. "The Headmaster ought to be here shortly. He's had to meet with the Board this morning, after-"

"Where?" Potter asked. "Where were they all-"

"Miss Granger was in the library – that's her bag there - Miss Greengrass was in the first floor corridor… and – awful as this might sound – it's a lucky thing, because we'd never have found Mr Weasley otherwise. He was in the bathroom." Draco saw Potter frown at that, but he didn't say anything, and McGonagall didn't seem to notice. "Miss Walker, Mr Smith and the Fat Friar were all found near the kitchens, and Filius was found in the trophy room." Her tartan handkerchief emerged from a pocket in her robes, and she dabbed at her eyes. "Thankfully, none of the attacks were fatal, but I do wonder what the point of it all was-"

The doors of the hospital wing opened and Snape swept in, accompanied by Daphne who walked over to her sister's bed, looking more confused than anything else, and a teary Vivienne. Sprout was the last to arrive, with a tired-looking, lanky third year boy who Draco had seen around but couldn't name.

He swallowed and looked at Granger again.

"-letters written to the families of those affected, of course, but beyond that-"

"The Prophet will want a statement, I'm certain," Lucius said, smoothing his robes as he and Dumbledore approached the hospital wing. "And admirable as it is for you to want to keep things quiet, I don't think you'll have much say in the matter." Dumbledore said nothing. "In light of recent events, I also think it might be best that you are removed from the school. Clearly, your ability to protect the students has been grossly overestimated." Again, Dumbledore said nothing. Lucius had never seen him this tired, or this… broken. He delighted in it. "Oh, and Hagrid too-"

"Not Hagrid," Dumbledore said sharply. "I have provided the Board with ample evidence-"

"Potter's evidence. None of which is tangible," Lucius said, dismissively. "Hagrid was responsible last time; removing him now isn't likely to hurt the situation, is it?" He smiled; Dumbledore's disapproval was written all over his old face, but he seemed not to have anything to say. Or, perhaps he knew that Lucius' mind was made up.

"You should close the school," Dumbledore said. "Percy Weasley was attacked, and he's a pureblood-" Lucius may not have masked his derision well enough, because Dumbledore frowned and said, "-as is Astoria Greengrass, and Zacharias Smith. Tom's motives have changed." That was interesting, in Lucius' opinion, that Dumbledore referred to the diary's work as if it was actually the Dark Lord's work… The diary wasn't sentient, for Merlin's sake, it just a key of sorts, or at least, that was the impression that the Dark Lord had given him when he first gave Lucius the diary. He put it down to one of Dumbledore's many eccentricities. "No one is safe."

Lucius made a non-committal noise; he couldn't understand why the Greengrass girl had been attacked, but Smith was a Hufflepuff name, and Weasleys were almost as bad as mudbloods… and, one of those had been attacked too. The other Hufflepuff girl was entirely ordinary, as was Flitwick and, while they wouldn't have struck Lucius as high-risk targets, there was nothing special about them that might give them protection either.

"Hogwarts will remain open for as long as students wish to attend it," Lucius said. The way he saw it, Hogwarts could use a bit of selective pressure on those who were in attendance, and if the mudbloods and bloodtraitors weren't smart enough to leave, they deserved whatever happened to them. Dumbledore shook his head, anger sparking behind his half-moon glasses, but he said nothing. Lucius gestured to the hospital wing doors. "May we?"

"After you," Dumbledore said curtly.

The seven beds on the far side of the hospital wing were full, with the Heir's victims, and Madam Pomfrey was over on the other side, attending a boy with a cough. All around the hospital wing were other students, gathered around the beds of their friends, though what they hoped to achieve with that, Lucius didn't know. He spotted the red herd of Weasleys, all gathered around their petrified brother. They youngest – the girl – looked stricken, and Lucius wondered if she knew what her diary had unleashed, and then disregarded the thought; if she had known, she'd have handed it right to the Headmaster and he'd have burned it and Lucius wouldn't be visiting.

Lucius' eyes moved past her, past several other offensively bright heads, past Potter's scruffy black one, to a more familiar platinum one.

"Draco," he said, surprised. Draco didn't hear him, nor did he appear to have noticed Lucius; his eyes were fixed on the girl in the bed beside him. It was the bushy-haired mudblood, Granger. "If you'll excuse me," he said to Dumbledore. "I'd like to speak with my son."

"Of course," Dumbledore replied. "I daresay some comfort will do young Draco well right now." Lucius rolled his eyes and strode up to his son. Draco looked up, and seemed not to recognise him for a few moments.

"Father," he said, seeming startled. Lucius thought the tremor in his voice was unbecoming. Potter watched them, wary, and Lucius ignored him.

"Walk with me," he said to his son. Draco gave Granger a long look, and then glanced at Potter.

"Back in a minute," he mumbled, and Potter nodded. Lucius led the way out of the hospital wing – noting that Dumbledore had approached Potter – and Draco shuffled after him, silent.

"Are you here for the Board?" Draco asked, when they'd found a quiet part of the corridor.

"I am."

"What do they make of it all?" Draco asked.

"Dumbledore will be out by dinnertime," Lucius said, curling his lip. "He's trying to talk me into closing the school, but that's rubbish-"

"You're keeping it open?" Draco asked, aghast. "Father, you can't!"

"I'll thank you not to tell me what I can and can't do, Draco," Lucius said curtly. The look he was giving Draco would have cowed Hydrus, and likely even earned him a muttered apology, but Draco's eyes blazed. He thrust a hand back toward the hospital wing doors.

"You can keep the school open," Draco said in a chilly tone that reminded Lucius of Narcissa, somehow, "but you'd be stupid to." Lucius opened his mouth, angry now, but Draco ploughed on. "Are you blind, Father?! Five people and a ghost were attacked last night-"

"A pity, to be sure," Lucius said, "but hardly worth closing Hogwarts over. This is Slytherin's work-"

"Slytherin's work?" Draco asked flatly. "The way you always told it, Slytherin cared about blood purity, except Granger was the only muggleborn; the rest were purebloods, or halfbloods. The Heir's a lunatic, Father, he's attacking people because he can, not because he's doing Slytherin's work-"

Lucius just wished his son was a little older, or a little more reasonable than he was at present. Then, Lucius might have been able to better explain that this was the Dark Lord's work, and that it wasn't their place to question it. Lucius hadn't approved of everything the Dark Lord did during the war, but he did believe it had contributed toward the best cause, and so he'd gone along with it. It was the same now.

"The Heir has his reasons for choosing them," Lucius said delicately, "I'm certain of that much." For some reason, that made Draco go very still.

"Reasons," he said in a strained voice. "Right. Do share, then, Father." He folded his arms.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're involved enough to know some of them, at least." It was almost flippant, the way he said it, but his eyes were sharp, and watching Lucius closely.

"I beg your pardon?" Lucius asked again, incredulous. Draco's grim, angry expression didn't change at all, nor did his closed posture.

"You heard me. It's disgraceful, Father." His lip curled. "A member of the Board, involved with the Heir and attacks on students and refusing to close-"

Lucius' first thought was to wonder how much Draco knew about the diary, or had guessed, and how. His second thought was that Draco ought to know better than to make such bold accusations mere feet from the door of the hospital wing, which held the Headmaster and a significant portion of the staff. His third, was that, no matter what Draco thought he knew, he had no right to speak to Lucius in such an impertinent manner.

"Your mother and I have tolerated an incredible amount since your Sorting," Lucius said in a low voice. "Including all sorts of awful stories from Hydrus about your antics with your little Gryffindor friends. He's told me how rude you can be to the pureblooded children-"

"You clearly don't care about them, or you'd have closed the school on Astoria's behalf," Draco said coolly.

"Don't interrupt me, Draco," Lucius hissed. "We have tolerated mockery and questions from our friends, about how you ended up in your House, and then there's the fact that you get caught up in Potter's foolish heroics-" Lucius took a deep breath, to calm himself. He did his best not to let his children see him riled, and he had no intention of starting now. "If you truly want to talk about disgrace, Draco, how about we talk about the miserable look on your face when I found you at Granger's bedside? She's a mudblood, she is nothing." Draco was pale, but his expression hadn't changed at all. "Or how about your accusations of me, in the middle of the school?" Lucius took another deep breath, and stood tall over his son… though, not as tall as he once had. Draco had grown this year, it seemed. "I am on Board duty at the moment, and can't take the time to deal with your insolence now, but your behaviour is unbecoming and will be dealt with later, I assure you."

Lucius left his son standing there, and went to find Dumbledore. He was sick of Hogwarts, and quite wanted to go home.