CHAPTER TWO

The Midnight Duel

Professor McGonagall's office was impeccably neat, its stone walls lined with shelves of ancient tomes and enchanted trinkets. Harry stood at attention, heart thudding in his chest as Professor McGonagall closed the door behind them with a soft click.

"Mr. Potter," she began, her voice stern but not unkind, "what exactly did you think you were doing out there?"

Harry met her sharp gaze, swallowing hard before replying, "I was standing up to Malfoy, Professor. He took Neville's Remembrall, and I couldn't just let him get away with it."

For a moment, silence hung in the air, heavy with the echoes of Harry's words. Then, to his surprise, Professor McGonagall's expression softened. A faint smile touched the corners of her mouth.

"While I commend your willingness to defend your fellow students," she said, "you must understand that these matters should be handled by the proper authorities. Flying through the courtyard like that was reckless."

Harry's face fell slightly, but McGonagall continued, her eyes now gleaming with an unreadable light.

"That being said," she added, "your flying skills were remarkable. I haven't seen such talent since your father was at Hogwarts. James Potter was quite the flyer himself."

Harry's heart leapt at the mention of his father. He couldn't suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips. Professor McGonagall nodded, as if seeing something of James reflected in him.

"For standing up to a bully and helping Mr. Longbottom," she said, "I am awarding Slytherin five points. Let this be a reminder, Mr. Potter, that courage is not limited to any one house."

Harry's eyes widened. Five points? From McGonagall?

"Thank you, Professor," he said, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. She nodded once more and gestured to the door.

"You may return to the Great Hall."

As Harry walked back, the heavy feeling in his chest lightened. The murmur of students' conversations filled the Great Hall as he entered and made his way to the Slytherin table. The usual glances and whispers followed him, but before he could sit down, Daphne Greengrass appeared by his side.

"How much trouble are you in?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and concern.

Harry chuckled as he slid onto the bench. "Not as much as you'd think," he said, glancing at her. "Professor McGonagall gave me five points for standing up to Malfoy."

Daphne's lips quirked up in a smile, though she shook her head slightly. "You did the right thing, Harry. But it's not going to win you any friends with the other Slytherins."

Harry's smile faded a bit at that. He knew she was right—Malfoy's influence was strong, and the older Slytherins would take any excuse to make his life difficult.

Before he could respond, a whisper slithered through his mind, cold and commanding. 'You could make them fear you,' Tom said. 'Show them power, and they will fall in line.'

Harry's jaw tightened, his hands clenching under the table. "No," he muttered under his breath, dismissing the voice's dark suggestion.

Daphne's eyes flicked to him with a hint of concern. "Harry?"

He forced a smile, meeting her gaze. "It's nothing. Just thinking."

The voice retreated into silence, but a shiver ran down Harry's spine. He wasn't going to let it take him down a path he couldn't return from.

Professor Snape approached Harry; his expression as severe as ever. He stopped in front of Harry, his dark eyes narrowing. "Potter," he said, his voice low and cutting, "I heard about your antics from Professor McGonagall." Harry braced himself, expecting a scathing remark or a deduction of points, but Snape's next words surprised him. "I've decided to grant you permission to join the Slytherin Quidditch team as Seeker." Without waiting for Harry's response, Snape spun around and swept away, his robes billowing behind him.

Daphne, who had been standing nearby, raised her eyebrows as Harry turned to her, confusion evident on his face. "Why would he do that?" Harry asked as they began to make their way back to the common room. "Snape hates me."

Daphne chuckled, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Rumor has it that Snape's obsessed with beating McGonagall at Quidditch and winning the House Cup. He'd do just about anything to keep his streak—even if that means letting you play."

Harry nodded slowly, processing the information. In the back of his mind, the voice that had become an unsettling presence spoke up again. 'Snape sees your potential. He wishes to use your talents for his own gain.'

Harry pushed the voice away and continued the conversation with Daphne as they walked down the dimly lit corridor toward the dungeons. Just as they were nearing the entrance, a voice called out behind them.

"Harry!"

Harry turned to see Ron Weasley running toward him, slightly out of breath. Daphne glanced at Harry, then at Ron, and offered a small nod. "I'll see you in the common room," she said before slipping away.

Ron stopped in front of Harry, shifting from foot to foot. "Hey, Harry," he said awkwardly.

"Hi, Ron," Harry replied, his surprise evident. "What's going on? I thought you said you don't talk to Slytherins."

Ron's ears turned pink, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I thought you were like the rest of them, but you proved me and everyone else wrong when you stood up to Malfoy for Neville. That was… brave."

Harry's expression softened. "Thanks, Ron. And you know, not all Slytherins are bad. Daphne Greengrass has been a good friend."

Ron nodded, a smile breaking through his embarrassment. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He stuck out his hand. "Friends again?"

Harry grinned and shook Ron's hand. "Friends."

"By the way," Ron said, his eyes widening with excitement, "congratulations on getting on the team! Can't believe Snape let you."

Before Harry could respond, a drawling voice interrupted them. "Well, well, Potter," Draco Malfoy said, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, "think you're something special just because Snape let you play Seeker?"

Harry's eyes narrowed, but he couldn't help the smirk that crossed his face. "Draco, I see you're a lot braver on the ground than you were in the air, is it because of your pals."

Draco's pale face flushed with anger. "I don't need them to challenge you, how about a duel, Potter? Tonight. Midnight. Trophy room."

Harry blinked, taken aback. "A duel?" he echoed, unfamiliar with the term. Ron stepped forward, his eyes lighting up with anticipation. "I'll be your second, Harry." Draco sneered. "Good, see you there," he said, turning on his heel and striding away with Crabbe and Goyle in tow.

As they disappeared, the voice in Harry's mind stirred once more. 'This is your chance. Show them fear, show them power.'

Harry's jaw clenched. "I'm not going to hurt him," he whispered. "What was that?" Ron asked, glancing at him curiously. Harry shook his head, forcing a smile. "Nothing, just thinking out loud."

They exchanged a few more words before parting ways to their respective common rooms. As Harry made his way through the cold, stone corridors of the dungeons, Tom's voice echoed in his mind once more. 'They're starting to realize who you are. They want your approval; they want to be by your side.'

Harry tried to ignore it, but doubt flickered in his mind before he pushed it away. Whatever was happening, he needed to stay in control

Harry pushed open the heavy oak door to the Slytherin common room and was instantly met by the buzz of conversations, the flicker of green-lit torches casting long, wavering shadows across the stone walls. Before he could take another step, Marcus Flint, the burly and imposing Slytherin Quidditch captain, strode over, his expression caught somewhere between a scowl and begrudging acceptance.

"Potter," Flint said, his voice rough and authoritative. He extended a large, calloused hand. "Professor Snape said you are o play seeker, so, welcome to the team," he added, the tone suggesting that he would rather be saying anything else. Harry took the offered hand and gave it a firm shake. Flint's eyes flickered with a mixture of annoyance and recognition before he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.

Harry's brows furrowed slightly as he watched Flint go, but before he could dwell on it, Daphne Greengrass appeared at his side. Her blue eyes, sharp and discerning, swept over him. "What was that all about?" she asked, her voice low enough to be private but tinged with curiosity.

"Flint was welcoming me to the Quidditch team," Harry explained, the corners of his lips quirking up slightly. Daphne's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before narrowing thoughtfully. "Interesting," she said. She hesitated, then continued, "I saw you talking to Weasley earlier. What happened there?"

Harry's expression softened. "Ron and I... we're friends again. He apologized for how he's been acting," Harry said. Daphne's face darkened momentarily, a rare flash of emotion breaking her usual composure. "I don't like him, Harry," she said. "Ron Weasley is a mean person. When we were Sorted into Slytherin, he stopped being your friend just because you were in a different house. I'm not saying he's incapable of change, but..." She trailed off, searching Harry's face for understanding.

Harry's jaw clenched, but he forced himself to remain calm. "I know he's said things, but people can change, Daphne. Just give him a chance, will you?"

She exhaled, the tension in her posture softening a fraction. "Fine," she conceded. "But be careful, try to be aware of the people you surround yourself with."

As they walked to one of the quieter corners of the common room, Tom's voice slithered into Harry's mind, an insidious murmur that sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

'The girl is perfect, Harry. Smart, ambitious, and loyal—she would make an excellent subordinate. A true Slytherin,' Tom said, the tone laced with approval.

Harry mentally shoved the thought aside, ignoring the chill that accompanied it. Tom's whispers had grown more persistent, and there was an edge to them—something darker than the harmless academic guidance he initially offered. Harry pushed the unease down and took a seat next to Daphne.

They pulled out their parchment and quills, launching into their assignments. To Harry's chagrin, Tom's voice returned, rattling off facts and corrections in a crisp, authoritative manner. The answers he supplied were sharp, precise, and often more advanced than what Professor Snape would have expected from a first-year. It made the work easier, but Harry couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that Tom's 'help' came at a cost.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry studied Daphne as she concentrated, the furrow of her brow signaling her deep focus. Here was someone who valued knowledge and precision, yet she seemed to understand the importance of connection, of alliances built on more than power.

'Power is all that matters, Harry. You will see that soon enough,' Tom whispered again, a dark promise that Harry deliberately ignored.

"Everything okay?" Daphne asked, not lifting her gaze from her parchment.

"Yeah," Harry said, forcing a smile. "Just... thinking."

For now, Harry decided, he would use Tom's knowledge to get ahead. But he resolved that, sooner or later, he would find out just what Tom's true intentions were—before it was too late.

As the candles in the common room flickered low, Harry and Daphne sat quietly, the scratch of their quills the only sound in the room. The weight of the day had left Harry restless, thoughts buzzing in his head as he put the finishing touches on his homework. Daphne stretched and closed her book, glancing at Harry.

"What is it?" she asked, noticing his fidgeting.

Harry looked around to make sure no one else was nearby. "I'm going to duel Malfoy at midnight," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Daphne's eyes narrowed. "With who? Malfoy?" she asked, already sounding unimpressed.

Harry nodded, and Daphne rolled her eyes. "You know he's not going to show up, right? The whole thing reeks of a trap. And even if he did, do you know how to duel?"

Harry's silence was all the answer she needed. Before he could come up with a defense, a voice in his mind spoke with an edge of amusement.

'I'll teach you what you need,' Tom whispered inn his mind.

Daphne's expression softened slightly. "I'm coming with you," she said firmly. "If this is a trap, someone needs to make sure you don't get caught."

Harry felt a rush of relief and nodded. They exchanged a glance before heading to their respective rooms to prepare. As the minutes ticked closer to midnight, Harry lay awake, the shadows in the dormitory stretching long and dark. He slipped out of bed and met Daphne in the common room. She eyed him, waiting for a plan.

"Do you have any idea how we're getting there without being seen?" she whispered.

Before Harry could respond, Tom's voice echoed in his mind, sharp and confident. 'Use the Disillusionment Charm. I'll show you.'

Suddenly, memories not his own flooded Harry's mind: a clear incantation, a precise wand movement. He blinked, momentarily stunned, then raised his wand and performed the charm. The air shimmered around him, and Daphne's mouth fell open as they blended into their surroundings.

"How did you—" she began, but Harry motioned for silence. Daphne took a deep breath, adjusting her expression back to one of steely determination. Together, they crept through the dim hallways, careful to avoid the flickering lanterns and shifting portraits.

When they reached the trophy room, the silence pressed heavily around them. Moments later, the soft scuffling of footsteps announced Ron, Hermione, and Neville's arrival.

"Hey, Hermione," Daphne acknowledged Hermione, before nodding briefly to Neville and then to Ron. "Why are they here?" she asked, eyeing Hermione and Neville.

"I caught Ron sneaking out and followed him to make sure he didn't lose Gryffindor any points," Hermione whispered, her tone defensive. "And we found Neville outside—he'd forgotten the password again."

They settled into an uneasy silence, eyes darting around the room. Minutes stretched on with no sign of Malfoy. Ron's face twisted with impatience. "Maybe he chickened out," he muttered.

Daphne shook her head, her expression grim. "No. This is a trap."

Before anyone could respond, the voice of Argus Filch echoed through the hall, accompanied by the low growl of Mrs. Norris.

"Sniff them out, my sweet," Filch murmured, his voice gleeful.

Daphne shot Harry and Hermione a pointed look, her eyes saying what they all knew: I told you so.

Harry signaled urgently to the others, waving his hand to follow him. In his mind, Tom's voice growled with irritation, urging Harry to stun the old caretaker and be done with it. Harry clenched his jaw and ignored Tom's dark suggestion. They crept down the corridor, steps light as whispers, but the tension cracked like a whip when Neville, in his nervousness, tripped over a loose stone and grabbed Ron for balance. They crashed into a suit of armor, the clang echoing through the silent castle.

Daphne and Hermione exchanged wide-eyed, panicked looks with Harry, who didn't need to say anything more. "RUN!" he shouted.

They bolted down the corridor, feet pounding against the cold stone, breath ragged in their chests. The echoes of their footsteps raced ahead of them, giving them away at every turn. When they reached the Charms corridor, they skidded to a halt, doubling over and gasping for breath.

"I—told—you—that—this—was—a trap," Daphne hissed between gulps of air, glaring daggers at the boys. Hermione nodded, her face flushed and eyes narrowed with frustration.

Before anyone could respond, Peeves zoomed into view, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Ickle firsties out of bed! Naughty, naughty," he cooed, swaying in the air above them. "Should I tell old Filch? Or let him find you all himself?"

"Get lost, Peeves!" Ron snarled, making a wild swipe at the poltergeist. It was a mistake. Peeves' smile broadened, and he let out a shriek that seemed to rattle the very walls.

"Students out of bed! Students out of bed!"

In Harry's mind, Tom's voice roared with urgency. Shut him up, Potter, or you'll all be caught! Before Harry knew it, the spell was on his lips.

"Langlock!"

Peeves froze mid-yell, eyes wide in shock as his tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. The silence was sudden, but the damage was done. The clattering steps of Filch's hurried approach sent a fresh jolt of panic through the group.

"Go, now!" Harry whispered harshly.

They sprinted again, turning down a dark hallway that seemed to stretch endlessly. Just ahead, a heavy wooden door loomed, locked and formidable. Harry felt Tom stir within him, the solution ready in his mind.

"Alohomora," Harry muttered, pointing his wand at the door. The lock clicked, and they tumbled inside, slamming it shut behind them.

They stood in the dark, listening as Filch's angry voice interrogated Peeves, who sputtered soundlessly in response. The footsteps eventually faded, and they allowed themselves a moment to exhale. But before the relief could settle, Neville's hand tugged at Harry's sleeve, hard.

"Neville, stop," Harry began, turning to glare at his friend. The words died in his throat as he faced three pairs of gleaming eyes, set on the three heads of a massive, snarling dog that towered to the ceiling.

"I guess we now know why it's called the forbidden room," Harry whispered, too stunned to even panic.