The morning light filtered dimly through the high, dusty windows of the girls' bathroom as Harry stepped inside. The chill in the air was accentuated by the hollow echoes of his footsteps on the stone floor. Moaning Myrtle, as expected, was hovering near the far end, listlessly watching him approach with an air of glum curiosity.

He'd come prepared, carrying a rudimentary binding ritual in mind, one he'd picked up from a former tutor, a Cambodian shaman named Sok who'd had experience dealing with spirits bound by necromancers. But as he looked into Myrtle's wide, misty eyes, he realized he might not need it.

"Myrtle," he greeted her politely, inclining his head. "I'm sorry to intrude this early, but I was hoping you could help me."

Myrtle blinked, startled at the courtesy in his voice. "No one ever comes in here to ask me for help," she sniffled, floating a little closer, her curiosity clearly piqued. Her eyes shifted to his forehead. "You're Harry Potter. All the girls talk about you, you know. Why would you, of all people, want my help?"

"Because I want to put an end to what happened to you," Harry replied, his tone even and sincere. "To find out what killed you all those years ago. Can you tell me how it happened?"

Myrtle's translucent face softened, her mouth wavering between a frown and a smile. She drifted a little closer, the bitterness in her gaze giving way to something that looked like hope. "I was in here, in my cubicle, when I heard someone come in. They made some weird hissing noises, over by the sinks. I was about to tell them to go away… but then… then I saw those eyes."

"Eyes?" Harry prompted, careful to keep his expression neutral, though he felt the final piece of the puzzle slotting into place.

"Yellow, big as dinner plates," she said, her voice hushed, reliving the moment. "I felt frozen, like I couldn't move or think. And then I—" She swallowed, her ghostly form trembling. "Well… that was it."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, sensing the memory's weight on her. "Thank you, Myrtle. That's all I need to know."

She looked at him, her gaze almost shy, and Harry hesitated for a moment. "I promise I'll do my best to put an end to this threat, Myrtle. No one else will suffer as you did."

Myrtle's face brightened, her silvery form seeming to glow faintly. "Thank you, Harry," she whispered, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

He turned to inspect the sinks, his fingers trailing along the ancient, cracked porcelain until he spotted it: a tiny snake etched onto the side of one faucet. He leaned in, studying the faint carving with a small, satisfied smile. This was it.

With a nod to himself, he turned back to Myrtle. "I'll be back soon, and when I am, I'll make sure it's the last time anyone has to worry about the Chamber of Secrets."

Leaving the bathroom, he felt his mind settling into focus. He'd return after classes. For now, preparations were in order.

—

After breakfast, George exchanged a meaningful look with Fred. They'd gone back and forth on this idea all night, but they'd finally agreed: desperate times called for desperate measures. Steeling himself, George spotted Percy a few steps away, still tidying up his robes with his usual prim focus. They made sure Ginny was heading off to her morning class, safely away from Gryffindor Tower, before approaching him.

"Oi, Perce," Fred started, falling in step on one side of him as George took the other.

"Hmm?" Percy glanced at them suspiciously, clearly not used to being flanked by his mischievous brothers unless trouble was brewing. "Whatever it is, I'm busy. I can't miss class."

"You'll want to miss this one," George replied, his voice completely serious. "We need to talk to you about Ginny."

Percy's brow furrowed, irritation turning quickly into concern, but before he could protest, Fred and George were guiding him back toward the Gryffindor dormitory. Once they were back, they wasted no time in explaining.

"Look, we think Malfoy slipped Ginny a cursed diary," Fred said, keeping his voice low. "She's been acting strange for ages, and we're sure she's hiding it in her room. That's the only place we haven't been able to check."

George added, "We'd go to McGonagall, but… if Ginny has a cursed object, it could mean serious trouble for Dad. He's already on thin ice with his work at the Ministry. We can't risk that."

Percy's face was a mixture of disbelief and exasperation as he shook his head, but his voice softened. "I'll admit, I'm glad you two are finally putting family first. Still, you could have found a better time…"

"Perce," Fred cut in, voice firm. "This is serious."

Percy sighed, glancing toward the girls' dormitory stairs thoughtfully. "Well," he said slowly, "it's fortunate for you that Prefects have access to the girls' dormitories. We're allowed up there as long as we announce ourselves loudly enough. And if what you say is true, I'd say it's warranted in this case."

Fred and George exchanged a look of shock. "Wait—Prefects can go in there?" George said, his tone incredulous.

Percy rolled his eyes. "Of course. It's called responsibility." With that, he drew his wand and nonchalantly headed up the stairs, making a loud, alarm-like sound with a flick of his wand. "Percy Weasley, Prefect, entering the girls' dormitory on official business!" he announced, his voice carrying through the stairway.

Fred and George watched with newfound respect, impressed in spite of themselves, as Percy disappeared up the steps. A few minutes passed, and they waited in tense silence until Percy reappeared, holding a worn, black diary in his hand.

They immediately reached for it, their eyes wide with excitement, but Percy held it back, eyeing them seriously. "And what, exactly, do you plan on doing with this?"

George glanced at Fred, and then back at Percy. "We're giving it to Harry. He's got it all figured out, and he's been on this from the start. He'll know what to do."

Surprisingly, Percy's expression softened, and he even nodded, looking more mollified than they'd ever expected. "Very well," he said slowly. "Potter… despite his age, he does seem to have a solid head on his shoulders. This sounds like something he could handle, though I should speak with him regarding his plans. This could be very dangerous, if it belonged to Lucius Malfoy."

With a reluctant sigh, Percy handed the diary over to George, who took it carefully, as though the diary itself might bite. Percy gave them both a firm nod. "Be sure to give that straight to Potter, don't try messing with it yourselves. Good luck, and for once, please… be careful. Now I must get to class, I advise you do the same."

The twins exchanged a brief look of relief and gratitude, as Percy hastened out of the dormitory. They quickly followed him out, intending to stash the diary in their hideout until they could arrange a meeting with Harry.

—

The bathroom was eerily quiet as Harry slipped back in after his last class, his heart steady but focused. Myrtle hovered near the sinks, her wide, silvery eyes fixed on him, a mix of curiosity and apprehension in her gaze.

He made his way to the sink with the snake engraving. He assumed there was a Parseltongue password, and it was probably easy to guess, the rarity of Parselmouths already providing sufficient security. He leaned forward, addressing the snake carved into the faucet. Parseltongue slipped smoothly from his lips: "Open."

Myrtle gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, but she only whispered, "Good luck, Harry." Her eyes were wide with something between fear and awe, but she didn't try to stop him.

Fortunately, the most obvious password worked, sparing Harry the effort of guessing more. The sink shifted and slid backward, revealing the gaping black entrance to the Chamber's passage. Without another word, Harry stepped onto the edge, preparing to drop down, but instead of sliding blindly, he blinked into shadow—moving down the tunnel in swift, silent jumps through darkness. The walls whipped past him, and with each shadow-blink, he felt himself sinking deeper, as if moving through layers of ancient magic, the power palpable.

When he reached the end of the descent, he landed lightly, the damp chill of the Chamber pressing in around him. He closed his physical eyes, letting his third eye open fully. Through this vision, everything glowed with a dream-like, ethereal light—the Chamber's raw magic illuminating each stone, casting a greenish glow that radiated from the ancient stones and pulsed in rhythm with the Chamber's dormant power.

The floor was littered with bones, remnants of past creatures, each one black as ink in his third eye vision, stark against the ambient glow. He stepped around them with care, weaving his way forward through the eerie silence.

At last, he reached a large stone wall, its surface engraved with two intertwined serpents. The snakes seemed alive, pulsating with a viridian energy that danced like fire. There was no doubt in his mind what he needed to do.

Without hesitation, he hissed the Parseltongue again. "Open."

The serpents seemed to uncoil, sliding apart in response to his words, their viridian glow intensifying as the wall parted, revealing the depths of Salazar Slytherin's lair.

Harry stepped into the heart of the Chamber, his gaze sweeping over the towering pillars carved with writhing serpents, each one seeming to watch him as he advanced. The entire space felt alive with an ancient, unyielding power, thrumming in the stone beneath his feet and echoing off the damp, green-lit walls. At the far end of the chamber, looming over all else, was the immense statue of Salazar Slytherin, his hollowed mouth open, waiting. While he could not see shadows with his third-eye, he could easily predict where they'd be deepest—behind columns and in corners. He mentally mapped out spots he could shadow-blink between if the Basilisk chose to attack and forced him into evasive maneuvering.

His heart pounded, each beat a reminder of the risk he was about to take. He was going to try to subdue one of the deadliest magical creatures known to wizardkind, a creature bound to Voldemort's will by dark magic and driven to madness. Harry felt the weight of his ambition pressing down on him—the ambition to claim this place, to turn this beast from a weapon into a guardian, perhaps even an ally. He breathed deeply, willing himself to be calm, though every instinct within him screamed of the danger.

With a steadying breath, Harry lifted his chin and called out in Parseltongue, his voice carrying through the Chamber. "O Great Basilisk, I summon you in the name of Amaru, the god of snakes."

From the depths of the statue's mouth, a massive, shadowy head emerged, followed by endless sinuous coils rippling with muscle. To his third eye, the Basilisk's eyes shone like twin lanterns, pulsing with deadly green light—a beam aimed directly at him, freezing in its intensity. The coin at his chest went ice-cold. He could feel it against his skin even through the leather sleeve of the necklace the coin hung on, a biting chill that seemed to burrow into his bones. He gripped it instinctively, heart hammering; the coin was responding to the Basilisk just as it had to the Diadem and the Diary.

Before he could speak again, the Basilisk lunged. Harry blinked into the shadows, narrowly avoiding the strike, and reappeared behind the serpent, eyes shut tight, relying on his third eye to sense the Basilisk's movements as it wheeled around to face him again. The creature's dark curse thrummed through the Chamber, thick and pulsing, its magic twisting the Basilisk's instincts into a frenzy of violence.

Harry pulled chunks of rubble from the Chamber floor, forcing them to rise around him in a whirling shield. The inert stone flickered in his third-eye vision, barely visible, ghost-like. He tightened his mental hold as the Basilisk struck, its fangs crashing into the barrier, sending a jagged shard into his arm. He grunted in pain, blood soaking into his sleeve, but there was no time to slow down—another strike sent a stone skimming across his ribs, driving the breath from his lungs. He braced himself, holding the spinning wall firm.

The Basilisk reared back, its movements erratic, its eyes blazing with a dark, twisted light. The coin at his neck grew colder, sharper, as though resonating with the curse's violent power. Through his third eye, he could sense the dark magic clinging to the creature, thrumming with each strike.

The Basilisk struck again, smashing against the spinning wall of rubble. Harry ducked, feeling fragments of stone slicing through the air, one grazing his cheek, another tearing through his shoulder. Blood dripped down his arm, each cut sharp and stinging, but he forced himself to hold the rocks steady, keeping the barrier between them intact.

The serpent reared back, coiling with furious energy before lunging forward, fangs bared. Harry's focus strained, his vision blurring as he forced the rubble into motion, but each fragment barely held its place in his third-eye vision, flickering as he struggled to keep a solid grip.

The Basilisk's head smashed into the stones with brutal force, sending another shard spinning loose, this one biting into his thigh. Harry hissed in pain, his concentration slipping as his grip on the rubble faltered, the barrier thinning with every heartbeat. The creature's eyes burned with dark magic, pulsing with a relentless, twisted will, driving it to kill, to tear through anything in its path.

Another strike cracked the barrier apart, stones scattering, and Harry blinked into shadow, slipping away just in time. He reappeared on the opposite side of the Chamber, pressing his back against a column to steady himself, feeling his wounds pulse as he caught his breath. His chest burned from the weight of the coin, now cold against his skin, its chill biting into him like frost. He felt the cursed magic throbbing from the creature, its twisted instincts fueling each vicious attack.

"Remember Amaru!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the Chamber as he peeked from behind the column, his third eye focusing on the dark haze of magic clinging to the Basilisk.

The serpent's gaze flickered, its head tilting, a faint stutter in its movements as if something inside it recognized the name. The violent green energy in its eyes dimmed for a split second, and Harry's heart leapt, but the cursed magic reasserted its grip, the Basilisk's eyes blazing once more with lethal intent. The massive head turned in his direction, drawn by his voice, and with terrifying speed, the serpent lunged across the Chamber, covering the distance in a single, fluid strike.

Harry ducked behind the column just as its fangs punched into the stone, cracking the granite. His pulse hammered as he blinked back into shadow, reappearing a few feet away, adrenaline forcing him to keep moving. The creature was relentless, the curse driving it forward with fury beyond its own instincts. He could feel the coin at his chest, the cold radiating through him. His breathing came sharp and quick, his bruised ribs flaring in pain in synchrony with each breath.

The Basilisk whipped around, its gaze searching, a deadly green light skimming the floor. Harry pulled more rubble toward him, forcing the stones to hover around him again, but his strength was waning, his control slipping with each passing second. His wounds burned, his muscles strained, but he forced himself to hold the barrier steady as the creature's gaze fixed on him again, a lethal glare.

"Amaru!" he shouted one final time, louder, desperate to reach the creature beneath the curse. Harry was already preparing to shadow-blink his way to safety when he saw the Basilisk hesitate. Then the cold of the coin softened, a warmth spreading against his skin as the creature's gaze unfocused, the light emanating from them dimming.

Harry let go of his grip on the rocks, allowing them to fall to the ground with a sharp clatter. The serpent's head hovered, and in the settling silence, the fog of madness began to clear from its gaze. In his third eye vision, Harry watched as a crown of dark magic, faint and barely visible, faded from around the Basilisk's head. The ebony magic lifted like smoke, vanishing as the creature spoke of the old god, its mind released from Riddle's curse.

"A blessing from Amaru," Harry intoned, a feeling of reverence flooding through him like a heavy weight gluing him to the floor. He watched as clarity began to return to the serpent's eyes.

The Basilisk's gaze softened, the fierce light of its deadly beam extinguishing. "Yes, the curse is… gone," it said, its voice thoughtful, as though savoring the freedom from Riddle's binding spell. "Tom Riddle, he bound me to his will. Twisted my mind to hate, to hunger… but now, I am free."

Harry gave a nod, the sense of weight easing, leaving his knees feeling wobbly. He steadied himself with a deep breath. "You're free of Riddle's curse," he said. "And with this freedom, I'd like to offer you a new purpose."

The Basilisk regarded him thoughtfully, its massive head tilting as if curious. "What would you have me become, speaker of Amaru?"

"You need a name," Harry replied slowly, searching through his mind until it landed on one in particular. "One that befits a protector. I suggest… Vercingetorix. A mighty name for a noble serpent who serves with wisdom and strength, no longer a weapon of fear."

The Basilisk seemed to consider the name, its head bowing slightly in acknowledgment. "Vercingetorix," it repeated, a glint of pride entering its eyes. "Yes… I will accept this name, and I will accept this new path. No longer am I bound to the Dark Lord's madness. Now, I must rest. I feel a great weariness after these long years of foul imprisonment."

Harry inclined his head, accomplishment and awe vying in his chest as the great serpent slithered back into its lair inside the massive statue. He had won the loyalty of the Basilisk, claiming the Chamber of Secrets. Not as the Heir of Slytherin, but as himself, Harry Potter.

Harry took out his wand and grimly began casting Episkey, trying to stop the bleeding where he'd been cut. Fortunately none of the wounds were too deep, and with repeated applications of the basic healing charm he was able to stitch the flesh back together. They still hurt, but Harry did not mind the pain. Gellert had often quoted Nietzsche to Harry, when he'd complained about such trivial things as a young boy. Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich stärker. What doesn't kill me, makes me stronger.

He would fortify the Chamber, make it into the base of his power. He would turn Voldemort's old stronghold against him. Just as he'd secured the Dark Lord's diary and Ravenclaw's diadem, both corrupted with slightly different variations the same foul necromancy, something far beyond Harry's very limited experience in the subject. But he would learn. Slowly, one by one, Harry would turn Voldemort's weapons against him, just as he'd done with Dobby and the Malfoys.

Now, it was time to find a way out of here. First, he'd see if the easy option was available, or if Salazar had found some way to ward against it.

"Dobby!"

When Dobby appeared in the Chamber, he froze, his large eyes growing impossibly wider as he took in the towering pillars, the vast space, the looming statue of Salazar Slytherin. His mouth hung open, his hands twisting nervously at his sides.

"M-Master Harry…sir," Dobby whispered, voice trembling as he glanced around, "this is the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry gave a single nod, watching Dobby's reaction with faint amusement. "It was," he replied. "It's mine now. I've claimed it."

Dobby's ears wobbled as he looked up at Harry, astonishment plain on his face. "But—but Master Harry, the Chamber of Secrets is…" His voice trailed off as he took another step, eyes darting from the pillars to the shadows and back to Harry. "It is a place of dark magic, of danger… You conquered it?"

Harry shrugged, but there was an unmistakable glint of pride in his eyes. "Yes, Dobby. And it isn't just a chamber or a secret room anymore—it's going to be my stronghold. My base of power."

Dobby took this in, glancing back at the massive statue of Salazar Slytherin with wide-eyed reverence. "Harry Potter truly is a Great Wizard," he said, his voice full of awe.

Harry crossed his arms, his gaze steady as he looked around the room with a faint smile. "I have a great many plans for this Chamber. If this is to be my–our—stronghold, there's a lot of work to do getting it ready," he continued, his eyes flicking to the grime-covered walls, "I will need your help."

Dobby's head snapped back to attention, his nervousness quickly replaced by a proud, eager expression. "Anything, Master Harry! What does Master Harry require?"

"These walls haven't been cleaned in centuries," Harry said, gesturing to the layers of grime covering the walls. "Restore this place to how it should look, as if Slytherin himself just left it."

Dobby nodded vigorously, eyes glistening. "Dobby will make it shine! Dobby will clean every inch for Master Harry, until it is just as it was meant to be!"

Harry watched Dobby dart about the Chamber, already eager to start cleaning, but paused him with a raised hand. "Dobby, there's something else you need to know," he said, his tone measured.

Dobby stopped in his tracks, ears twitching as he looked up at Harry attentively. "Yes, Master Harry?"

Harry nodded toward the statue of Salazar Slytherin, the massive stone figure looming with its open mouth waiting in the shadows. "There's a Basilisk here—left behind by Salazar Slytherin himself. Voldemort discovered this place as a student, and bound him with dark magic, forcing it to obey him. But I've… freed it from that control."

Dobby's eyes went wide with shock, and his fingers twisted nervously. "A… a Basilisk, sir? Here?"

Harry gave a slight shake of his head. "Yes, though it's weak and recovering from the effects of the curse Voldemort used on it. It won't pose a threat to us, but only as long as we're careful." He paused, watching Dobby closely. "If you hear anything emerging from Slytherin's statue," he said, pointing toward the open mouth carved into the stone face, "leave the Chamber immediately. The Basilisk won't expect a house-elf, and there's a risk of its gaze reaching you by accident."

Dobby nodded vigorously, his eyes still wide with nervous awe as he glanced toward the statue. "Yes, Master Harry! Dobby will pop away right quick if Dobby hears anything." He swallowed, clutching his hands to his chest, then added, "But… but Master Harry… you freed it? You… you spoke to it?"

Harry's expression turned thoughtful, his gaze drifting momentarily to the statue as well. "Yes. I summoned it and spoke with it. The Basilisk isn't a mindless creature, Dobby. It's… intelligent. And powerful. And after decades under Voldemort's control, it deserves a chance to recover, free from dark magic."

Dobby's face softened with admiration as he looked up at Harry. "Master Harry is a great wizard," he said quietly, awe filling his voice. "To free such a creature from the Dark Lord's hold… Dobby is honored to serve one so powerful."

Harry simply nodded, though a faint, pleased smile tugged at his mouth. "Just remember what I told you. Keep your ears sharp for any movement, and stay out of its way. That creature is as much a part of this place as we are now. For now, though, let us return to Ravenclaw Tower. I need a shower and my bed."

Dobby bowed, determined and eager. "Of course sir! Dobby will clean and protect Master Harry's stronghold, just as Master wishes! Dobby will make it safe and shining!"

His elf grabbed his hand, and with a sharp crack, they were back in Harry's dormitory.

—

The next evening, Harry met Fred and George in their secret hideout. George fetched the diary from under a loose stone in the floor, and handed it to Harry with a small smirk of triumph.

"We managed to snag it from Ginny's room," Fred whispered, glancing around cautiously. "Courtesy of Percy, actually. Seems there are some perks to being a Prefect that he'd been keeping from us."

Harry took the diary carefully, eyeing its worn cover and feeling a strange chill as he held it. This object had bound Ginny to something dark and twisted—possibly even to Voldemort himself. "Are you planning on telling your parents? Or Dumbledore?" he asked, his voice low.

The twins exchanged a look, and George shook his head. "Not yet. If Dumbledore gets involved, Dad could end up in trouble without even meaning to. And telling Mum and Dad would just make them worry themselves sick."

Fred nodded, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "We'll keep an eye on her ourselves. If she's still… strange over the summer, then we'll fill them in. But for now, we'll manage."

Satisfied, Harry was about to tuck the diary away and head back to his dorm, but George reached out, touching his arm lightly. "Before you go, there's… something else," he said, his tone unusually hesitant.

Harry turned back, waiting.

"We didn't mention this earlier because it seemed too odd to make sense of," George continued, looking over at Fred, who nodded solemnly. "While we've been watching Ginny, we kept seeing a name pop up on the Marauder's Map—Peter Pettigrew. But when we check, there's no one near him."

Harry's pulse quickened. That name… he remembered Luna mentioning it when he'd asked her about his family's betrayal. "Pettigrew," he murmured, piecing things together in his mind. "You're sure?"

"Positive," Fred replied. "We asked around—no one by that name is a student here. But he's always near Ron, almost like he's…" He trailed off, a confused look in his eyes. "Following him."

Harry took a slow, deep breath as realization dawned. If Peter Pettigrew was alive, it raised questions—serious ones. Everyone believed Pettigrew had been killed by Sirius Black, yet here he was, sneaking around Hogwarts. If Pettigrew was hiding, that meant Sirius might not be guilty after all.

"I know that name," Harry said quietly, his expression hardening. "Pettigrew were good friends with my father, along with Sirius Black. From what I've learned, Sirius Black was secretly a Death Eater. He betrayed my parents, and murdered Pettigrew. He's in Azkaban for it. But if Pettigrew's alive and sneaking about, then—"

"He's the real traitor," both twins concluded at the same time.

George's fists clenched as he absorbed the idea of someone as dangerous as Pettigrew hiding in plain sight, right next to their family. He could see Fred's jaw working in fury. "So Pettigrew's alive and hiding as," he began.

George and Fred looked at each other, their voices full of fury and disgust as they realized. "Scabbers!"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Pettigrew must be an Animagus. He won't have realized anyone's caught on yet, but now that we know, we have to be careful. We can't let him slip away."

As they discussed their options, Fred's brow furrowed in thought. "Look, Harry… this is serious. We're talking about a potential Death Eater hiding in Gryffindor Tower. This is bigger than any of us—don't you think we should go to Dumbledore?"

George nodded, looking just as unsettled. "For once, we might actually need the Headmaster's help. If Pettigrew's really been here all this time, he could be dangerous—especially if he knows he's been found out."

Harry paused, considering their points, but shook his head. "I get it, but Pettigrew's been hiding for years, and Dumbledore's no fool. Pettigrew won't underestimate him. If he catches the slightest whiff that the Headmaster is onto him, he'll be gone before anyone can stop him."

The twins exchanged a look, uncertain. "But wouldn't Dumbledore still have a better chance than we would?" Fred asked, his voice laced with genuine concern. "We're just students, Harry. Dumbledore's got magic we can only dream of."

Harry's gaze sharpened, his tone steady but intense. "He may be stronger, but that's exactly why Pettigrew would be on high alert around him. He knows Dumbledore's a threat, and has already been hiding under his nose for years. But a few students… we're not even on his radar. He's likely to underestimate us, to think we're too inexperienced to pull off anything serious."

George's expression shifted, the truth of Harry's logic dawning on him. "So we're… what, the distraction? The last thing he expects?"

"Exactly," Harry replied. "He'll think he can outwit us, slip away before we even know what's happening. But we have the Marauder's Map, and the element of surprise. Pettigrew won't see it coming."

Fred looked at his twin, a newfound determination in his eyes. "All right, Potter. We're in. What's the plan?"

Harry allowed himself a small smile, a glint of satisfaction in his gaze. "We use the tools we have and the knowledge we know. Pettigrew is clearly a coward, he wouldn't have spent a decade as Scabbers otherwise. He'll do anything to avoid a direct fight. That means we force him into a corner where the only way out is toward us."

As the night wore on, their voices grew quieter, the three of them huddled together, hashing out every detail, readying themselves to confront a hidden threat within Hogwarts.