Power was a fragile thing, hard to gain and easy to lose, as were influences and alliances. It took Harry a year and a few months to win the sympathy of many of his fellow Hogwarts students, the hardest to convince were always the older ones. However, it was only a matter of people starting to fear him that things became easier, and the truth is that Harry did not understand it very well.

After he was found at the crime scene where Filch and Mrs. Norris had been the victims, the school had been divided into three; those who believed he was innocent and would defend him to the death, those who believed him guilty and respected him even more, and those who feared him, believing him to be a monster, avoiding him like cockroaches do the light.

Absolutely no one in the castle knew exactly what to make of it. It was well known that Filch had never been to Potter's liking, not because the man was a squib, but because he was completely unpleasant. Afraid of ending up like the janitor, many students tried to win Harry's sympathy, forcing smiles at him in the corridors, letting him walk past when space in the corridors was too small, and although it hadn't been planned, the truth was that Potter took full advantage of the situation; no one dared to cross his path, let alone bump into him, and Draco seemed strangely pleased with the reaction of the people around them. It wasn't that the blond was the center of attention, but he didn't need to be to benefit from such a turn of events; he was as respected and feared as Harry; all he had to do was smile evilly and say: " Harry's not going to like knowing that you dared to speak to me like that" for his adversary to apologize and run away from the place.

Filch, of course, wasn't dead; the school nurse and the teachers had ruled that he was merely petrified. Dumbledore had concluded that it couldn't have been the work of a student, so no one was under suspicion, though Harry thought that the old headmaster spent more time watching him during meals in the Great Hall, as if trying to guess whether Harry would be capable of such terrible deeds.

The janitor would be depetrified at the end of the year, when the mandrakes in Professor Sprout's greenhouse were ripe enough to be used. In the meantime, a much stricter curfew had been established for students and staff; no one, absolutely no one, was allowed outside their quarters after nine o'clock at night, and students were forced to go from class to class accompanied by the teacher from the previous class.

The younger students were grateful for the measures, the older ones accepted it with annoyance and resignation, however, no one could deny that whatever was happening was dangerous and big. No one wanted to end up petrified in some ghostly corridor and no one ever find them. Some even dared to compare the state of petrification with the dementor's kiss, although that was clearly an exaggeration.

Harry was in his room doing his potions homework, Draco was at his own desk, working on charms as Snape's homework was always the one he finished first. The brunette sighed as he turned over his second year potions book; he had already read and memorized it during the holidays and yet it never hurt to double check the information before putting it down on forty centimeters of parchment. It was nighttime, it had only been a couple of hours since they had come up from the common room where they had been playing chess against some of the other Slytherin boys. Harry had improved a lot, he was not better than Malfoy but he believed that with time he could equal or surpass him.

The Slytherins were especially delighted with the boy who lived or at least those who believed him to be the heir who had been tasked with opening the Chamber of Secrets. Most of the snakes were aware that Harry was a half-blood, the son of a mudblood, and yet they seemed to forget it when things like this happened; they believed that Potter was capable of hating those impure-blooded wizards or those born to wizards who had been stripped of their powers, just like Voldemort. He Who Must Not Be Named had shed his origins; son of a squib and a muggle, a story that few seemed to know and that Harry had only heard from Draco.

Voldemort hadn't been wrong when he'd told him they were similar, both powerful and ambitious, eager to prove themselves and the world how far they were capable of going despite having come out of a stinking hole. Half-bloods of the house of Salazar Slytherin, with the sole objective of showing that they were the best wizard on earth. However, Harry understood - and he supposed Voldemort did too - that to occupy that position it would be necessary to fight until only one remained standing and proclaimed himself as the most powerful wizard. Voldemort had already taken the first step, trying to kill him as a baby, failing completely, leaving him an orphan and forcing him to live among a group of people who treated him worse than garbage.

However, there was something that Voldemort didn't understand and that was that Harry did want to reach the top, but he also wanted revenge and that was his main motivation to get up every day and study to be the best. For Harry it was about power, revenge, family and personal pleasure even though the rest of the world believed that it was about simple and plain heroism that was the best cover for selfishness and ambition. He couldn't help it, he was aware of how manipulative and ambitious he was, but it was so natural that over time he had stopped trying to be different, at least until he entered Slytherin and met Draco who showed him that it wasn't bad, that he just had to work on discretion and he wouldn't have problems.

Draco Malfoy, the boy next to him who seemed extremely immersed in his tasks, his skin a little pale from the illness that had recently afflicted him, the one who had shown him a completely different world, the only one in which Harry could be himself, show his fears and insecurities, the only one who could see through that mask of indifference and security that protected him from anyone who wanted to harm him, his right hand, his faithful companion, intelligent, cunning and calculating. Draco was like the queen in chess, always by his side, the most powerful piece on the board, with a lot of moves in all directions that allowed him - like the king - to move slowly, step by step, towards his goal, while the blond cleared the way for him, helping him get as far as he wanted.

Yes, Harry appreciated Draco more than any wizard he knew; more than Ron, more than Hermione, more than Dumbledore, more than McGonagall. He knew, he was aware that without him, he would probably never have stopped being the insecure boy who didn't want to be placed in Slytherin. But there was something, something that had him really worried lately and that was that Draco didn't seem like himself; he got irritated easily and he didn't even bother to hide it under his mask, which was earning him a bad reputation among his people. Most of the time he was absent, as if he was planning something behind his back. Sometimes he would disappear for a couple of hours and come back without any excuse, just silence and a mysterious smile followed by a kiss on the cheek.

Harry sighed without taking his gaze off his companion, he knew he was probably overthinking things but he couldn't help it, Draco was hiding something from him and it made him feel uncomfortable. He was sure that if Draco wanted, he would bring him down and take the crown from him, but his greatest fear wasn't that, it was being betrayed by the person he trusted the most. He was terrified of not being able to keep his loyalty, he was terrified that he would decide to be someone else's guide, someone like Nott, someone like Zabini or Parkinson, he was terrified of not being worthy, that what Draco had seen in him was no longer enough to keep him by his side. And yes, it was insecurity, because Malfoy had never given him reasons to doubt but why so much mystery lately?

"Aren't you tired of looking at me?" he asked her then, with a crooked smile, without looking up from his homework.

"Does it bother you?" he asked, brazen, indifferent.

"Not at all," she replied then, looking at him and smiling. Harry thought it was time to ask her if everything was okay but instead she said:

—What do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?

Draco's smile slowly faded and his eyes fell back to his books. Anyone who didn't know him could tell that it had been completely casual, but Harry knew that it had made him uncomfortable, at least a little, that it was even likely that he was lying to him, he didn't look him in the eyes as he usually did. He waited silently for a response, Draco wrote a few words on his parchment and when Harry thought he wouldn't answer he said:

"You know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded about a thousand years ago by the four greatest wizards of that time: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. The four of them built this castle together, far from the eyes of Muggles," he said the last word with some disgust and resentment. "That was a time when people were afraid of magic, and wizards and witches were hunted down and brutally murdered, burned alive, put in boxes that were thrown into rivers and lakes until we died from lack of oxygen, skinned, having our heads cut off or dismembered." He sighed, trying to contain the rage that Harry was not yet used to seeing in him. "For some years, the founders worked together in harmony, looking for young people who showed signs of an aptitude for magic and bringing them to the castle to educate them." But then disagreements arose between them and a rift arose between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wanted to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He thought that the teaching of magic should be reserved for wizarding families. He disliked having students from Muggle families, because he did not think they were trustworthy, and I do not blame him, after all they put us through. One day there was a serious dispute about this between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school. Legend has it that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing. Slytherin, according to legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that no one could open it until his true heir arrived at the school. Only the Heir could open the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, a powerful and legendary monster that only the Heir could control and use to rid the school of all those who have no right to learn magic, people like Filch, a useless Squib or Creevey, your Gryffindor boyfriend, a talentless Mudblood.

—You seem too much in agreement with Slytherin.

—And you don't? —he asked seriously, stopping his writing on the parchment. Then he looked at him—. The muggles fear us and not in a good way, they fear us and want to see us dead, they damaged ancient magical bloodlines because of their ignorance, ignorance that is the main reason why they screw up everything they don't understand. Your uncles are the clear example of this, they treated you like garbage all your life because they feared you, they needed to believe that they had control and they made you believe that you were worthless, they hid the truth about your parents, about your true essence, about your true power.

"But not all Muggles are like that," he said, but for a moment he didn't even believe it, remembering all the bad times the Dursleys had put him through.

—Probably not, but that doesn't make them equal to us either —he smiled fondly—. We are superior —and Harry smiled back, understanding.

-You're right.

—...And one day we will need someone to unify our worlds... and rule them... —the blond stood up and walked over to him, Harry watched him sit on his legs—. Someone like you Harry Potter.

"I think you're exaggerating," she said, blushing all the way to her ears. Draco burst out laughing.

—Think about it, Voldemort tried it and it didn't work, I think you could, you have something he doesn't —he brought his whitish nose closer to the dark-haired boy's and rubbed them.

-I have it?

—Uh-huh... me —Harry closed his eyes, enjoying the soapy scent Draco possessed.

—Does that mean we should let the heir do his thing?

"It means we track him down, watch him, and then"—she paused, and Harry could feel her breath on his lips—"get rid of him. When everyone at school finds out that we… no, that you stopped him, they're going to adore you."

—Like last year.

—Exactly like that.

—Draco?

—Um?

—You... you would never betray me, right?

"Does it scare you?" The green-eyed man swallowed and twisted his face in a look of distress.

"Yes," he finally answered, not quite sure about exposing himself in that way. "You're my best friend."

But Draco didn't answer, instead he kissed the corner of his lips and stood up to close his books and go to sleep. Harry watched him do all this in silence, suddenly feeling nervous, overwhelmed, as if this silence meant much more than he could understand. He wanted to open his mouth and ask again, but he knew that if he did his voice would shake and that was not worthy of a Slytherin. Draco had already turned off the light on his side of the room so he simply stood up and, already dressed in his pajamas, went to bed. The next day they had a match against Gryffindor and the captain would be furious if he wasn't at one hundred percent.

But deciding to go to sleep was much easier than doing it, and for forty minutes Harry hadn't been able to sleep, thinking about Draco, the chamber, the heir, and the beast it hid. He wondered who it was that had opened the chamber of secrets and for what purpose; he thought that annihilating anyone whose blood was impure was counterproductive, since nowadays half-bloods were the most abundant. As the heir of Slytherin, Harry suspected that there must be something else, a second intention that he couldn't glimpse because he didn't know the full context. He had to study, investigate, and prepare; the heir could only be from Slytherin, but, although that reduced the possibilities, it still meant a lot of work. He thought that he could talk to Ron, Hermione... and even Diggory, sure that they would help him investigate everything that the students of their respective houses knew about the matter.

He didn't know when he fell asleep, so distinguishing that dream from reality was costing him more work than he would have liked. In his dream he was on his bed, in the darkness of the room, perhaps that was why distinguishing himself from reality was impossible for him. It was then that that voice in the walls, eerie and mysterious, made itself present, forcing him to get up suddenly and make sure that Draco was safe in the bed next to him. The blond rested like a porcelain doll on the mattress, with his hands on his chest and so pale that he shone slightly in the darkness, like the absent moon that night. However, the voice was still there, whispering to him about death and blood through the walls, like a ghost.

The boy stood up, wand in hand, ready for whatever was happening. He opened his mouth to call his roommate and alert him, but his voice did not come out, as if he had suddenly become mute. He walked on the carpet of the room that muffled his footsteps, he walked around the room, following the voice, which slowly slipped from one side to the other, making him feel trapped within those four walls. The voice passed close to the blond's bed, who, unmoved, remained asleep and distressed, as if he were in a nightmare. The voice passed close to Malfoy's nightstand, over the diary that still rested on it. And then it stopped.

Harry tried using a lumos, but when the light was turned on, it went out almost immediately. There, inside the room, the only thing that illuminated was Malfoy's body, inert as a dead person. Being the only source of light, the dark-haired boy approached him and observed him, completely forgetting his last nightmare. He didn't look so different from just a few moments ago, however, the more he observed him, the more the boy's vitality was consumed, with each second he became paler, more dark-circled, thinner, his hair slowly fell out and withered until it was a dull blonde. Frightened, Potter tried to wake him up, shaking him, but it was useless, he weighed more than one of the pillars at the entrance of the school.

Just when Harry thought Malfoy would be left in his bones, a sound coming from the diary made him look away from his best friend. It was like a slow, weak sigh, as if the book was breathing on its own. Then Potter was forced to separate himself from his friend to approach the object and take it in his hands. The whole diary screamed Draco Malfoy, in essence, however there was something else, something that wouldn't leave him alone. He looked at Draco on the bed. He had opened his eyes, they were fixed on him, accusing him, warning him that under no circumstances should he dare open it, that it was his and he had no right, but Harry did it anyway.

Inside there was only one thing, one word. Riddle, it said. From the letters that made up that word, foul-smelling, almost coagulated blood began to flow. Frightened, the boy dropped the diary and the pages ran in front of him by themselves, splashing blood everywhere. He pointed his wand at it, trying to destroy it but nothing he did worked. He looked at Draco, who smiled weakly at him and then, when the blood was already reaching his ankles, he woke up.

The sun was peeking through the water of the black lake, Harry was upset as he was, the first thing he did was make sure his magic hadn't done its thing again. The sound of the shower told him that Draco was already awake and taking a bath. He looked at the diary on the table and took it; he didn't feel anything strange, however this time he decided to open it, he didn't care what Draco might think, later he would manage to get him to forgive him, it was much more important to make sure that his bad dreams were just a coincidence. With trembling hands he held the black leather cover, took one last look at the door that led to the bathroom and opened it.

There was not a single word written inside.