The silence between them stretched, taut and unyielding, as though the very air in Grimmauld Place had thickened into something solid, something impenetrable and hard like steel. Harry's pulse was a frantic drumbeat in his ears as he stared at the space where the door to the outside world had once been. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms in an attempt to ground himself.
Calm down, he told himself, but his body didn't seem to be listening. There was something distinctly suffocating about this—not just the physical reality of the missing door and what that meant, but the unmistakable sense that Grimmauld Place was alive and watching them.
Malfoy was unnervingly quiet beside him, but when Harry turned to look at him, he caught a flicker of panic in his expression. His silver-grey eyes darted around the hallway, sharp and calculating as always, but underneath that, they held an undercurrent of fear, like a cornered animal searching for an escape. Malfoy's Slytherin mask of indifference was slipping, but he hadn't quite let it fall. Not yet. His arms were folded tightly across his chest now, and his jaw was set in a way that screamed denial.
"Potter," Malfoy finally said, his voice clipped, "tell me this is some sort of ridiculous joke, and that you didn't invite me here just to trap me in your crumbling death trap of a house."
Harry let out a humorless laugh, though his throat felt like sandpaper.
"Oh, sure. I've always dreamed of luring you into my haunted bachelor pad of doom just for a laugh. Really, Malfoy, you think I'd willingly choose this?" He gestured toward the solid wall that had once been the door, then to the dimly lit corridor that now stretched before them, unfamiliar and wrong. "BecauseIdidn't do this."
The panic was still rising in Harry's chest, clawing at the edges of his composure, but he forced himself to focus, to shove all that panic well inside his mind to focus on what was important at the moment. It was a practised thing, something he'd done for as long as he could remember. Grimmauld Place had always been temperamental—it was, after all, fuelled by centuries of Black family magic so dark it made Voldemort look like an amateur—but this was something else entirely.
"Well, clearly your house disagrees," Malfoy retorted sharply, though the faint tremor in his voice betrayed his unease. His eyes darted down the newly appeared corridor, and he sniffed disdainfully, as if the house's chaos were a personal insult to his person. "Honestly, Potter, I should've known you'd find a way to drag me into one of your messes."
"Yeah, well, feel free to go," Harry shot back, his own frustration bubbling to the surface. "Oh, wait—you can't. No door," he gestured pointedly to the wall again, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Malfoy rolled his eyes but didn't respond, choosing instead to straighten his trousers with a practised flick of his wrist, as though impeccable tailoring could protect him from the increasingly bizarre situation.
Before either of them could escalate the argument further, the house shifted again. At first, it was subtle—the faint creak of wood, the whisper of something unseen moving just out of sight. But then, in the blink of an eye, the hallway behind them was gone.
Harry froze, his breath catching in his throat as he turned slowly to look over his shoulder. The entryway where they'd collided just minutes ago had vanished entirely, replaced by a solid brick wall. Panic coiled tighter in his chest as he glanced back at Malfoy, who was now staring at the wall with wide eyes.
"Brilliant," Malfoy muttered, his voice strained. "This is just fantastic. Trapped in a cursed house with the Chosen One. I'm sure this is exactly how I was meant to go."
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped, though his heart wasn't in it. He was too busy scanning their surroundings, his wand now in hand.
The house continued to shift. A door at the end of the hall—the one that usually led to the drawing room—morphed before their eyes, stretching upward until it towered above them like some grotesque parody of an entrance. Its edges glowed faintly, pulsating like a heartbeat, and Harry could feel the magic radiating from it: wild, dark, and ancient.
Malfoy stepped closer to Harry, though he made a point of keeping an air of disdain as he did so. "Tell me you've got some kind of plan," he said, his voice low but urgent.
"Working on it," Harry muttered, his eyes fixed on the pulsating door. He could feel the house's magic tugging at him, wrapping itself around his mind like smoke, whispering in a language he couldn't quite understand. His wand felt heavy in his hand, the core vibrating faintly, as though reacting to the chaotic energy around them. He wondered if Malfoy next to him felt it as well.
The blonde, to his credit, seemed to sense the seriousness of the situation and refrained from making another snide comment. Instead, he pulled out his own wand, holding it with the practised ease of someone who knew exactly how to use it to make it count. Harry hated how competent he looked—hated how much he noticed it. In his mind, Malfoy had always been a useless coward.
"Let's not just stand here waiting for the house to eat us," Malfoy said, his tone sharp. "What's behind door number one?" He gestured toward the pulsating doorway, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his apprehension.
Harry hesitated. Every instinct he had screamed that walking through that door was a bad idea, but what choice did they have? The house had already made it clear that it was in control of the situation, and staying in one place didn't seem like a viable option.
"Fine," Harry said finally, his voice tight. "But stay close. And don't touch anything."
Malfoy scoffed. "What do you take me for? A first-year Gryffindor with no sense of self-preservation? Oh wait, that wasyou."
Harry ignored him, stepping cautiously toward the glowing door. As he reached out to touch it, the magic manifesting around them seemed to shift again, growing heavier and more robust. Harry's hand hovered just inches from the surface, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Well, Potter?" Malfoy's voice came from just behind him, close to his shoulder and surprisingly steady despite the situation.
Harry chose not to reply, instead taking a deep breath, then, he pressed his hand against the door. The pulsating glow intensified for a moment, and then the door swung open, revealing a pitch-black void beyond.
"Brilliant," Malfoy muttered again, his sarcasm cutting through the tension. "Absolutely bloody brilliant."
Harry glanced back at him, his grip tightening on his wand. "After you, Malfoy."
Malfoy glared at him but didn't argue further. With an affrontedhmph, he stepped forward, disappearing into the darkness. Harry hesitated for just a moment before following after him, the door slamming shut behind them with a deafening thud.
And then, there was silence.
Harry's first thought upon stepping into the darkness was that he'd been swallowed whole by a whale, like Pinocchio. The air around the room was so warm and dense that it felt like a weight pressing down on his chest, and he had to consciously remind himself to breathe. It was so dark that he couldn't even see Malfoy in front of him, where he should've been and, for a brief, panicked moment, he feared he'd gone blind—until the faintest glimmer of light flickered to life ahead, illuminating Malfoy's pale hair like a halo around his head as he stood, motionless, just a few paces in front of him.
"Potter," Malfoy hissed, his voice tight, wobbly, yet cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. "What the hell have you got us into?"
Harry ignored him at first, too focused on their surroundings to rise to the bait. The room—if it could even be called that—was vast and featureless, stretching into shadows on all sides. The only source of illumination came from the faintest glow of the floor above their heads, which pulsed faintly in uneven intervals, much like the door they'd just passed through and Malfoy's wand. It was disorienting, like standing on the surface of a still, black lake with no shore in sight.
"I told you, I didn't exactly plan this, you know," Harry muttered after a while, squinting into the darkness beyond the faint light. His wand was still clutched tightly in his hand, and so he muttered his own faintLumos, hoping it would help them see further into the room. But the light spell seemed almost pointless in the suffocating void, swallowed whole before it could reach more than a few feet ahead.
"I know you said your house has been doing all kinds of crazy things to make your life even more hellish, but this takes the cake," Malfoy complained, the sharp edge of his voice and the fast way he spoke betraying his unease. He turned on his heel to face Harry, his expression livid. "If trapping me in another one of your heroic schemes is its way of bringing us together, Potter—"
"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Malfoy," Harry snapped, his patience wearing thin. He took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. "The house has always been all kinds of difficult, but this? This is new, even for Grimmauld Place."
Malfoy opened his mouth to retort but froze mid-motion, his gaze snapping past Harry's shoulder. Harry noticed the shift immediately—the sudden shiver that went through Malfoy's body, the way his hand tightened around his wand as though preparing to strike. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and a cold dread seeped into his bones as he turned to follow Malfoy's gaze.
The darkness wasn't empty anymore.
Shapes began to emerge from the shadows, indistinct and writhing, as though they were part of the shadows themselves. At first, they were little more than formless blurs of movement at the edges of his vision, but then they grew closer, more defined. The shapes elongated, stretching into grotesque figures that seemed almost human, but not quite. Their limbs were too long, their movements too jerky, and their glowing, hollow eyes were fixed unerringly on the two intruders in their domain.
"Well," Malfoy said after a moment of stunned silence, his voice strangely calm but dripping with fear. "Isn't this a delightful new development?"
Harry didn't waste time responding. His wand was up in an instant, pointed toward the nearest shadow figure. "Lumos Maxima!" he shouted, and the tip of his wand erupted with blinding light. The figures recoiled violently, their forms dissolving into the darkness like smoke, but the victory was short-lived. As soon as the light began to fade, more of them emerged, clawing their way closer with every second.
"Great plan, Potter," Malfoy drawled, though he was already raising his own wand. His movements were quick and precise, spells rolling off his tongue like second nature. "Let's blind them with light and invite the rest of their friends to the party!"
"I don't see you coming up with a better idea!" Harry snapped, hurling a non-verbalStupefyat one of the advancing shapes. It dissolved with a sound like tearing fabric, but again, more came to take its place.
"How about, don't get trapped in a homicidal house in the first place?!" Malfoy shot back, though the sharpness of his words was somewhat undercut by the tremor in his voice.
Harry bit back a retort, his mind racing. The shadow creatures didn't seem to have any physical substance, but they were relentless, surging forward like a tide of pure malevolence. Every spell they cast seemed to push them back for only a moment, but it was clear they couldn't keep this up forever.
"Malfoy, move!" Harry shouted, grabbing the git by the sleeve and yanking him backward just as one of the creatures lunged. Its misshapen claws swiped through the air where Malfoy had been standing, and the resulting burst of icy wind made Harry's teeth ache.
Malfoy stumbled slightly, but he didn't complain, his attention fully focused on keeping the shadows at bay.
"We can't fight them at all," he said through gritted teeth, his wand slashing through the air as he cast another spell. "We need to find a way out."
"You think I don't know that?" Harry growled, his frustration mounting. He glanced over his shoulder, searching for any sign of an exit, but the vast, featureless space offered nothing—no doors, no windows, no hint of escape.
And then, as if responding to his desperation, the floor beneath them began to shift. Harry barely had time to register the sensation before the ground split open, a jagged chasm tearing through the glowing surface. The shadow creatures recoiled as the rift widened, but the sudden instability sent both Harry and Malfoy stumbling to the edge.
"Potter, if you've summoned some kind of magical sinkhole—" Draco started, but his words were cut off as the floor beneath them gave way completely.
Both men tumbled into the abyss.
The sensation of falling was immediate and gut-wrenching. Harry's stomach flipped violently, and his mind screamed at him to grab onto something—anything—but there was nothing but empty air around him. His wand clattered against his palm as he flailed, desperately trying to orient himself in the weightless void. Somewhere beside him, Malfoy was shrilly shouting something, but the sound was drowned out by the rush of wind roaring in Harry's ears.
And then, just as abruptly as it had started, the fall stopped.
Harry landed on his back with a thud that knocked the breath clean out of him. His wand rolled out of his hand, spinning to a halt a few feet away, and for a moment, he could do nothing but lie there, gasping and staring up at what he assumed was a ceiling—or at least, a vague expanse of blackness far above him.
"Brilliant," came Malfoy's voice, somewhere to his left, breathless and pained. "Absolutely brilliant, Potter. First, we're trapped in your deranged house, then we get attacked by the tragic figures of your past, and now we're plummeting to our deaths like some grim wixen version of Humpy Dumpty. You do know how to show a guest a good time, don't you?"
Harry groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows. His ribs ached, his head was spinning, and he was pretty sure there was dust in his hair.Great, he thought.I'm stuck in a magical death trap with Draco Malfoy, and now I'm filthy.
"Shut up, Malfoy," he muttered, though there wasn't much bite in the words. He reached for his wand and gave it a quick flick, muttering,Lumos. The light flared to life, illuminating their surroundings—and Harry's stomach immediately sank.
They were in another room, though calling it that seemed generous. The walls, if they could even be called walls, were an irregular patchwork of brick, wood, and what looked disturbingly like bone, but Harry dearly hoped was limestone. The floor beneath them was cracked and uneven, as though it had been hastily cobbled together from scraps of other rooms. Everything about the space felt wrong, like it had been pieced together by someone—or something—with no understanding of how architecture, or reality, was supposed to work.
"Oh, fantastic," Malfoy said, sitting up and brushing dust off his nicely tailored trousers. "It's like the house couldn't decide whether it wanted us dead or just severely traumatised. Very considerate," with a flick of his wand, he smoothed over his recently dishevelled hair, combing it over with his magic until it lay flawlessly across his forehead once more.
Harry shot him a glare. "Do you ever stop whining?"
"Do you ever stop being a magnet for disaster?" Malfoy shot back, his silver eyes narrowing as he stood and surveyed the room. Harry couldn't help but envy the effortless way Malfoy put himself together despite their fall, while he stood there, looking like a street urchin. Though there was a faint smudge of dirt on Malfoy's cheek that Harry found strangely satisfying.
"Look," Harry said, pushing himself to his feet and trying to focus. "We're still alive, which is more than I can say for a lot of people who've been stuck in this house," he turned slowly, his wand held high to cast as much light as possible. "Let's just figure out where we are and how to get out."
Malfoy scoffed but didn't argue, which Harry supposed was as close to cooperation as he was going to get.
The room was eerily silent as they began to explore, their footsteps echoing against the uneven floor. The air was heavy with the smell of damp stone and something metallic—blood, maybe, or rust. Harry's stomach twisted at the thought.
"You do realise this is still your fault, don't you?" Malfoy said after a few moments, his tone conversational but edged with accusation.
"Myfault?" Harry turned to glare at him. "How exactly is this my fault?"
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, gesturing vaguely to their surroundings. "Because everything is somehow always your fault, Potter. If something catastrophic is happening, you can bet your Gryffindor arse that you're at the centre of it."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Right. Because I woke up this morning and thought,'You know what would be fun? Getting trapped in my own house with Draco sodding Malfoy,'" he gestured around them, his frustration mounting. "If anything, you brought this on us by showing up. The house probably sensed your infuriating personality and decided to retaliate."
Malfoy looked genuinely offended, which Harry considered a minor victory. "Excuse me? My personality is not the problem here. You were the one who called me to fix your unhinged bloody house! With threats, might I add!"
"Maybe it's unhinged because you keep insulting it!" Harry snapped.
Malfoy opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, the walls all around them groaned—an ominous, low sound that made Harry's skin crawl. Both men froze, their wands snapping up as the floor beneath them trembled.
"Great, here we goagain," Malfoy muttered. "Now you've made it angry."
"Me?" Harry hissed, indignant. "You're the one who—"
Before he could finish, the ground gave another violent shudder, and a section of the far wall began to move. At first, it seemed like the stones were shifting of their own accord, rearranging themselves into something new. But then Harry realised, with growing dread, that it wasn't the wall moving—it was something behind the wall.
The stones bulged outward, groaning and cracking as they struggled to contain whatever was pushing against them. A faint, inhuman growl echoed through the room, and Harry felt his blood run cold.
"Potter," Malfoy said quietly, his voice high and urgent.
"I see it," Harry replied, his grip tightening on his wand.
The wall finally gave way, collapsing inward with a deafening crash. Dust and debris filled the air, and Harry instinctively raised his arm to shield his face. When the dust began to settle, he lowered his arm—and immediately wished he hadn't.
Standing in the wreckage of the wall was a creature that defied description. It was tall and gaunt, its limbs impossibly long and twisted, with a face that he could only describe as an ugly mix of humanoid and something else. Its eyes—or what passed for them—were empty, dark voids that seemed to bore straight into Harry's soul.
"Right," Malfoy said, his voice shaking slightly. "So, new plan: we don't die."
"Brilliant plan," Harry muttered, raising his wand. "Absolutely brilliant."
Malfoy didn't waste another second before raising his wand and firing off a spell.
"Reducto!" The bolt of magic hurtled toward the creature, striking it dead centre, but the spell only seemed to ripple over its shifting form like water disturbed by a stone. The creature cocked its head—if you could even call that warped, amorphous mass a head—and let out a low, guttural sound that made Harry's teeth ache.
"Good job, Malfoy," Harry said through gritted teeth, his wand already pointed at the thing. "Expulso!"
This time, the spell hit the creature with enough force to send shards of the floor flying, but the impact barely fazed it. It staggered back a step, as though more annoyed than injured, before surging forward with unnerving speed.
"Wonderful," Malfoy snapped, sidestepping just in time to avoid the creature's lunge. "Your spells are so much better than mine, Potter. What's next? A strongly wordedStupefy?"
"Feel free to stop criticising and start helping anytime now!" Harry shot back, dodging the creature's swipe. He could feel the air crackle as its claws sliced through the space he'd just occupied, leaving faint, glowing lines that pulsed like veins.
Malfoy muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like'bloody Gryffindors,'but he didn't argue. Instead, he flicked his wand in a wide arc and shouted, "Eviscerare!"
The sound of the spell hitting the creature was deafening. The blast lit up the room like a flash of lightning, throwing both Harry and Malfoy back several steps. When the dust cleared, the creature was gone—or at least, what remained of it had melted back into the darkness, leaving behind nothing but the faint stench of burned magic and blood.
For a brief, blessed moment, there was silence.
Harry slumped against a nearby wall, panting as he tried to catch his breath. His wand hand was shaking slightly, and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears.
"What the hell was that?" he managed, glancing at Malfoy, who was brushing dust off his coat with an air of exaggerated nonchalance.
"Oh, I don't know," Malfoy drawled, though his voice lacked its usual bite. "Some malevolent shadow creature summoned by your horrifyingly cursed house, perhaps? Just a guess."
Harry groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. "How is this happening? I understand that Grimmauld has its secrets, but unknown monsters hidden away?"
"Yes, well," Malfoy said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "I'm sure it's comforting to know your homicidal home has reached new heights of insanity. Shall we stay and wait for the encore, or are we actually going to try to escape?"
Harry glared at him. "I'm thinking, Malfoy. If you've got a brilliant idea, now would be the time."
Malfoy opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, the room began to shift again. The floor rippled like the surface of a pond, and the walls groaned as though they were being bent and twisted by some unseen force. The oppressive darkness seemed to close in tighter, pressing against Harry's chest like a physical weight.
"Not this again, this is thethirdtime," Malfoy muttered, his voice laced with equal parts fear and annoyance.
"Stay close," Harry said sharply, gripping his wand tightly as he scanned the room for any sign of what was coming next.
"Oh, don't worry," Draco said dryly. "I'm just dying to go out there on my own."
The sarcasm in his voice might have been irritating if Harry wasn't too busy trying to figure out their next move. The rippling floor was growing more erratic, pulses of light beneath it now flickering in and out like a dying heartbeat. Harry's instincts screamed at him to move, to run, but there was nowhere to go.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the shifting stopped.
The silence that followed was deafening, so absolute it made Harry's ears ring. For a moment, he thought—hoped—that whatever burst of magic had been manipulating the room was done. But then he heard it: a faint screeching sound, far off in the distance, barely audible through the room's thick, broken walls.
"Do you hear that?" he asked, his voice low.
Malfoy frowned, following Harry's gaze. "Yes," he said after a moment, his tone cautious. "Though I can't imagine it's anything good."
"Maybe not," Harry admitted, "but it's the only thing we've got."
Malfoy sighed, clearly unimpressed with the logic. "Wonderful. Let's head toward the ominous, murder sound. That's never gone wrong in the history of wixenkind."
Harry didn't bother responding. He was already moving, his wand held out in front of him as he made his way toward the distant noise. Malfoy followed close behind, his own wand raised and ready. The walk across the uneven floor was tense, every creak and groan of the shifting space setting Harry's nerves on edge. The sound grew louder as they walked through the debris, until it became clear that it was emanating from another door—a tall, arched thing that seemed to shimmer and ripple like water.
"After you, Potter," Malfoy said, his voice deceptively light but his expression grim.
Harry hesitated for only a moment before stepping through the doorway, bracing himself for whatever came next.
The air around them seemed to grow heavier with every step they took towards the tall door, thick with a magic so ancient and so chaotic that Harry could feel it pressing against his skin. He couldn't shake the feeling that something in the room was watching their every move, though he prayed it was just him being paranoid. Malfoy walked behind him, his wand arm rigid, and Harry noted how tense his wide shoulders were. Malfoy never seemed to know how to look relaxed in a crisis, which Harry might've found reassuring if it weren't for the fact that he felt exactly the same way.
"Do you think that...thingis still alive?" Harry asked quietly, half-joking, though his voice came out more strained than he'd intended.
Malfoy snorted without turning around. "Knowing your luck, Potter, it'll probably run us down the moment we're not looking."
"Thanks for the reassurance," Harry muttered, his grip tightening on his wand.
Then, they finally stood in front of the door, a heavy oak monstrosity that didn't look nearly as wrecked or sinister as the rest of the dilapidated room. But Harry had learnt by now not to trust appearances in this house, especially when it was behaving like a sentient death trap.
"Bespectacled gits first," Malfoy said with mock courtesy, gesturing to the door with his wand.
Harry shot him a glare before reaching for the silver handle. He hesitated for a fraction of a second—just long enough for the door to shudder slightly, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. His gut told him not to trust it, but there wasn't much choice.
He pulled it open, and the sound stopped.
The transition was seamless—too seamless. One moment, they were standing in the unsettling stillness of the dank, oppressive room where they'd faced the creature; the next, they were stepping into a hallway that looked quiet and peaceful. At first glance, it almost looked normal, like it could belong in any other house.; and that made Harry more suspicious. The walls were lined with the faded wallpaper he'd grown used to, and the floor beneath them creaked softly as they walked, like the hallway outside his room. But Harry quickly realised that this wasn't Grimmauld Place as he knew it. The hallway twisted and curved in ways that defied all logic. Corridors that should have been straight bent sharply around sharp corners, looping back on themselves. Closed doors that seemed to hum with the promise of something wicked appeared into blank walls.
"Right," Malfoy said, his voice tight and nervous as his eyes darted to the endless corridors around them. "This is officially worse than the time I got lost in the Malfoy Manor forest."
"You got lost in a forest next to your own house?" Harry asked, unable to help himself.
"Savernake's a big forest, and I wasseven," Malfoy snapped, shooting him a withering glare. "Besides, Mother and Severus found me before anything could eat me, so spare me the judgment."
No wonder he had been such a ferrety little coward during our first year detention.Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing, focusing instead on the corridor ahead of them. He could feel the house's magic tugging at him—softly at first, like a whisper in his ear, but growing stronger with every step they took. It wasn't just disorienting; it was unnerving, like a cold hand curling around his chest and squeezing.
"This housereallydoesn't want us to leave, huh?" Harry said, more to himself than to Malfoy.
Malfoy scoffed. "You don't say. I thought it was just redecorating for Samhain."
Harry ignored him, his mind racing as he tried to piece together what was happening. He frowned, his thoughts racing as he struggled to make sense of the sudden shift in the house's magic. What had triggered it to this extent? Again, Grimmauld Place had been temperamental before, sure, but nothing like this. Nothing this dangerous; certainly no shadow creatures or demonic-lookingsomethings.
But this was different. This was chaos, dangerous and dark. And it didn't make any sense to Harry why it had turned this bad when the worst it had done to him was drop him on his head.
Still, now that he thought about it, the house had been eerily quiet since he contacted Malfoy, its usual moodiness manifesting in subtle, manageable ways—creaking floorboards, flickering lamps, the occasional slammed door when it didn't want him to leave. The magic had been dormant, almost sulking, until the exact moment Malfoy's hand touched the door. Now, it was as if the house had come alive, electric and unpredictable, shifting between welcome and warning. Why? The house didn't want them to leave—Harry knew that much from the way it had reacted to Malfoy trying to do so. But this... this wasn't just about keeping them in. It felt purposeful, deliberate, like the house was trying to communicate something he couldn't yet understand.
Harry glanced at Malfoy, whose face was a carefully controlled mask. Did he feel it too? Or was this some new game the house was playing, one Harry wasn't prepared to win?
"Potter," Malfoy said sharply, pulling Harry out of his thoughts.
Harry turned to see Malfoy staring down a corridor that had been empty just moments before. Now, another faint light flickered at the far end, casting long, dancing shadows against the walls.
"Do we follow it?" Malfoy asked, his voice low.
Harry hesitated, every instinct telling him that following the light was a terrible idea. But there wasn't much choice. They couldn't stay in that corridor forever, and standing still seemed to make the house do weird things to make them move.
"Yeah," he said finally. "Let's follow it."
Malfoy didn't look thrilled by the answer, but he didn't argue. Together, they moved toward the light, their wands raised and their steps cautious.
As they walked, the house continued to shift around them. The walls pulsed faintly, as if they were moving behind the paint, and Harry could feel the magic pressing down on him, growing heavier with every step. It was almost suffocating, the kind of heavy weight that made it hard to think, let alone breathe.
"Do you think the house is actually trying to kill us?" Malfoy asked after a while, his tone nonchalant now, but his grip on his wand betraying his nerves.
Harry frowned. "I don't think it wants to kill us," he said slowly. "If it did, it would've done it already. I think it's... testing us."
"Testing us?" Malfoy echoed, his eyebrows shooting up. "What, like some twisted obstacle course? Forgive me if I don't see the appeal."
"I don't think it cares about your opinion, Malfoy," Harry said dryly.
Malfoy muttered something under his breath that Harry didn't quite catch, though he was fairly certain it wasn't complimentary.
They reached the end of the corridor before a sharp turn, only to find that the light they'd been following wasn't there anymore. Instead, it was now emanating from the walls themselves, the faint glow pulsing in time with the rhythmic tremors that had slowly begun to rattle the floor beneath them. Harry's heart pounded as he glanced around, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The walls were shifting again, the cracks between the floorboards widening and closing like mouths. The air was thick with the scent of old magic, raw and untamed, and Harry could feel it tugging at him, urging him to move forward.
"This is a trap," Malfoy said flatly, his silver eyes narrowed.
"Probably," Harry admitted, his voice tight.
Malfoy sighed. "Well, at least you're honest about it. Lead the way, Potter."
Harry didn't bother arguing. He took a deep breath, gripping his wand tightly as he stepped into the glow.
The moment he stepped into the new corridor, the floor beneath him seemed to tilt, and he stumbled forward, catching himself against the nearest wall. Malfoy cursed behind him, the sound echoing in the empty space, and Harry turned just in time to see him regain his balance with a scowl.
"This house hates us," Malfoy muttered, dusting himself off.
"It's not personal," Harry said, though he wasn't entirely sure that was true, them being trapped like this felt pretty personal to him.
They moved cautiously through the corridor, the glow growing brighter with each step. The floor, inclined as it was, was trembling more violently now, and Harry could hear the faint sound of cracking stone beneath his feet. It was as though the house itself was coming apart at the seams, unravelling in response to their presence.
"Potter," Malfoy said suddenly, his voice sharp.
Harry turned to see him pointing at a door that had appeared out of nowhere at the end of the corridor, a dozen feet in front of him. Its surface was covered in strange, jagged runes that seemed to writhe and shift like living things.
"I don't think it's safe," Malfoy asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
Harry hesitated as he walked towards it, his eyes narrowing as he studied the door. The magic radiating from it was very similar to how Grimmauld had felt since it had trapped them inside—wild and chaotic, but also strangely familiar.
"We don't have much of a choice," he said finally.
Malfoy didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue.
Harry reached for the handle, bracing himself for whatever was waiting on the other side.
And then he opened the door.
The door swung open with an unsettling groan, revealing a room that was so disorienting it made Harry's head spin. For one dizzying moment, he couldn't make sense of what he was looking at. The walls weren't walls at all—they were towering, jagged spires of stone, twisting and curling toward the ceiling like the ribs of some ancient, petrified beast. The floor beneath them shimmered like molten glass, warping and rippling as though it wasn't quite solid; it reflected the room they were, making it look infinite, like they were standing on glass over the abyss.
Harry felt like he was standing inside a kaleidoscope that had been dunked into some dark wizard's worst nightmare.
"Well," Malfoy said dryly, stepping in beside him. "This looks promising. Nothing says'this way to safety'quite like a room designed to give you vertigo."
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry muttered, though his voice lacked bite. He was too busy trying to figure out what the room was—or, more importantly, what it wanted.
The air inside was thick with magic, so heavy and clammy that it felt like wading through water. Harry could feel it pressing against his skin, tugging at his magic like an insistent hand. It wasn't malicious, exactly, but it wasn't friendly either.
Malfoy crossed his arms, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room. "Well? What's your plan, oh Chosen One? Or do you prefer to wander aimlessly into cursed death chambers without a strategy?"
"I'm thinking," Harry snapped, though he wasn't sure what, exactly, he was thinking. The house's magic was clouding his thoughts, making it hard to focus.
He stepped further into the room, his wand held tightly in his hand, and the floor beneath him shifted slightly, rippling outward like a stone dropped into a pond. He froze, his heart pounding in his chest, but nothing else happened.
"Brilliant," Malfoy said from behind him, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let's see how many mysterious ripples we can cause before something decides to eat us."
"You don't have to follow me, you know," Harry shot back, glancing over his shoulder.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Oh, believe me, Potter, I'd love nothing more than to leave you here to deal with this nonsense on your own. Unfortunately, your blasted house seems to have other ideas."
Harry sighed, turning his attention back to the room. The rippling floor was strange, but it didn't seem to be outright hostile. If anything, it felt like... an invitation.
"Stay close," he said, taking another cautious step forward.
"Don't you worry," Malfoy said, trailing after him. "I wouldn't dream of letting you hog all the fun."
As they moved deeper into the room, the magic pressing against them grew stronger, more insistent. The ripples beneath their feet followed their movements, spreading outward in concentric circles that disappeared into the shadows. The jagged spires of stone seemed to lean in closer, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the shimmering floor.
"This place looks alive," Harry said quietly, half to himself.
Malfoy snorted. "Indeed. The question is whether it's alive and bored, or alive and actively trying to murder us."
Harry didn't respond. He was too focused on the strange pulsing beneath his feet, the rhythmic thrum of magic that seemed to echo through the room. It was almost like a heartbeat—steady, unrelenting, and deeply unsettling. They reached the centre of the room, where the floor was completely smooth and the ripples seemed to converge into a single, shimmering point. Harry crouched down, his wand casting a faint light over the surface, and frowned.
"What is it?" Malfoy asked, hovering just behind him.
"I don't know," Harry admitted. The glow wasn't coming from anything physical; it was just... there, as though the magic itself had coalesced into a single, concentrated spot.
Malfoy leaned closer, peering over Harry's shoulder. Damn the git for being taller than him.
"Lovely. Another mystery. What do you plan to do with it? Poke it and hope for the best?"
Harry shot him a glare. "Just shut up, Malfoy."
"No," Malfoy said cheerfully.
Harry rolled his eyes and reached out cautiously, his hand hovering just above the glowing spot. The magic beneath his palm was warm and alive, buzzing faintly against his skin like static electricity. He could feel it pulling at him, urging him to touch it.
"Potter," Malfoy said warningly, his voice sharp.
But it was too late. The moment Harry's fingers brushed the glow, the entire room erupted into chaos.
The ripples beneath their feet surged outward, making them stumble and the spires of stone began to tremble violently, shaking loose shards of debris that clattered to the ground before it sunk into the watery-floor. The air crackled with raw magic, and the crushing weight of it pressed down on Harry's chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Delightful," Malfoy shouted over the din, his voice laced with panic. "Absolutely wonderful! What did you do?"
"I just touched it, I swear!" Harry shouted back, stumbling as the floor beneath him bucked and shifted.
The glowing spot at the centre of the room expanded rapidly, engulfing them both in a blinding light. Harry felt the ground vanish beneath his feet, and for one terrifying moment, he thought he was falling again—falling into nothingness, the magic around him roaring like a storm; and he felt sick. His stomach lurched, and his head swam, and he closed his eyes against the brightness, trying desperately not to throw up.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.
Harry groaned, holding onto his side as his nausea subsided, and blinked against the lingering brightness in his vision.
"Potter," Malfoy's voice came from somewhere nearby, strained and irritated. "If we survive this, I'm going to kill you."
Harry sat up slowly, his head spinning, and looked around.
They weren't in the stone-spired room anymore.
Instead, they found themselves back in the narrow hallways, though they seemed more disorganised than before. The once-smooth walls now bore deep cracks, their surfaces uneven and warped, as though the house itself was buckling under some invisible strain. Every few metres, there were doors—so many doors—some hanging crookedly on their hinges, others leading to seemingly nowhere. Debris littered the corridor, fragments of stone and plaster scattered across the uneven floor. There were holes punched through in places, exposing glimpses of lower levels or nothing at all, just a dark void that made Harry's stomach lurch when he peered too long. Sections of the ceiling had caved in, the jagged edges framing ominous gaps above their heads. Even random pieces of furniture were strewn haphazardly around them—a battered armchair missing half its upholstery, a tea table overturned and splintered, and even a grandfather clock lying on its side, its face cracked but still ticking faintly. The air was thick with dust, and each step Harry took sent up little puffs of it, clinging to his already grimy clothes.
It looked like a labyrinth. The thought alone gave Harry a horrible sense of déjà vu.
"This," Malfoy said, his voice low and unhappy, "is barely an improvement."
The floor beneath Harry's trainers creaked ominously as he surveyed the narrow hallway they had ended up in. It felt like the house was leaning into him, pushing against his shoulders like a weight he couldn't shake off. The jagged cracks spidering across the walls looked almost purposeful, as though the house was opening itself up from the inside, its very foundations peeling apart.
His breathing was heavy, more from the rising anxiety than the exertion of the last room's chaos. Malfoy, leaning against a crooked door frame that looked ready to collapse under his weight, looked no better. His clothes were splattered with dust and bits of plaster, and a streak of grime still marring one pale cheek. Somehow, he still managed to look irritatingly smug.
"Honestly," Malfoy began, brushing dust off his sleeve with all the indignity of someone being inconvenienced at a tea party, "I would have taken the stone kaleidoscope death trap over—whatever this is."
Harry glared at him, his patience already thin. "You're welcome, Malfoy. If I hadn't gotten us out of there, we'd be splattered on those weird spires by now."
"Don't flatter yourself, Potter," Malfoy replied coolly, pushing off the door frame. "You didn't get us out. You stumbled us into whatever fresh hell this is. You're as good at navigating magical chaos as you are at Quidditch—overrated and hopelessly reckless."
Harry ground his teeth, clenching his wand tighter in his hand. He refused to rise to the bait. He absolutely refused.
"Look," he said through gritted teeth, gesturing to the warped hallway ahead of them, "the house is falling apart. We need to figure out how to stabilise the magic before it gets worse."
Malfoy snorted. "Worse? Oh, please. What's next? The walls sprouting teeth? The floor turning into quicksand? Or perhaps we'll just plummet into the void conveniently located under all these holes you've been so graciously leading us toward."
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say a word, the hallway shuddered violently. Dust and bits of plaster rained down from the ceiling, and one of the crooked doors slammed open and shut repeatedly, as though caught in a windstorm that didn't exist.
"Right," Malfoy said, his tone strained as he took a step closer to Harry. "Care to comment on why your house seems to be actively plotting our demise?"
"It's not plotting anything," Harry snapped, though the words felt hollow even to him. "The house is... I don't know anymore. You are the magical specialist here!"
Malfoy raised a sharp brow. "You're hopeless, Potter," he huffed, picking at invisible pieces of lint on his sleeve before glancing nervously around. "It's reacting to us, obviously."
Harry resisted the urge to hex him. Barely.
"Magic isn't random, Scarhead," Malfoy said, his voice taut with frustration as he gestured toward the wreckage around them. "Especially not ancestral magic like this. It's old, deep, and interwoven with one's house's structure. It doesn't just happen—it responds to intent, emotion, time,blood. And this house issaturatedwith it. Years of enchantments, curses, and Circe knows what else. If it's acting out, it's because something has disturbed the balance."
Harry frowned, glancing at a section of wall where faint etchings were now glowing faintly. "What's your point?"
Malfoy gestured sharply at their surroundings, he looked pensive, as if he was figuring things out as he spoke. "My point is that the house isconfused. It doesn't know who to obey—me, as the heir, or you, as its current lord. That tension alone could destabilise everything. Add its clear displeasure at your ownership and my leaving, and we've got this—chaos."
"So what? You're saying this mess is my fault?" Harry shot back, his voice rising.
Malfoy rolled his eyes, though he didn't deny it.
"I'm saying we're triggering its defences, which, if you'd bothered to study advanced magical systems like I have, you'd know are tied to emotional resonance. It's not rejecting you per se—it's trying to find balance. However it can achieve it, magic doesn't really care."
"And how do we stop it?" Harry demanded, his patience wearing thin.
Malfoy smirked, his gaze flicking to a particularly large hole in the floor. "That depends. You said you trust me, but do you trust me enough to listen, or shall we wait for the house to swallow us whole?"
Harry bristled, his fists clenching at his sides. "Trust you? You've spent the last hours insulting me and acting like this is my fault. Why should I trust you?"
Malfoy sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose as though Harry were a particularly dim student. He reminded him of Snape, and the thought gave him unexpected chills.
"Because, Potter, despite your baffling inability to grasp even the basics of magical theory, I am the one person here who actually understands what's happening," he said, to Harry's displeasure. He knew that. He did. It didn't make it any easier to trust the man. Malfoy gestured broadly to the decaying hallway. "Unless, of course, you have some brilliant plan that doesn't involve both of us being crushed under a collapsing ceiling or eaten by the shadows?"
"If you know so much, why didn't you say anything before we were almost killed?" Harry ground out, his voice acidic and annoyed.
Malfoy huffed, his face contrite. "Because, Potty, I needed to observe the situation to understand it better. Not to mention, you never asked."
Harry glared but said nothing, his jaw tight as he struggled to bite back another retort. Malfoy's smug expression only fuelled his irritation, but deep down, he knew the git had a point.
"Okay,fine," Harry muttered finally, though the word tasted sour. "What do you think the house is trying to do, then? If you're so bloody clever?"
Malfoy tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint smirk.
"Ah, progress. A question that doesn't sound like it was spat out in frustration."
Harry crossed his arms, levelling him with a glare. "Don't push it, Malfoy."
Malfoy huffed a quiet laugh and waved a hand dismissively. "The house isn't just lashing out, Potter, we've established that. It's attempting to establish balance, and with it, control—or re-establish it. Like I said, likely by pitting us against one another to see which of us is fit to claim it."
Harry frowned, the idea making his skin crawl. "So I was right when I said it's testing us? Playing some twisted game of 'Who's the better heir?'"
Malfoy repeated flatly, his expression unamused. "Well, it's doing a bloody awful job of it, wouldn't you say? So far, it's more likely it'll kill us both with all its antics."
Harry ignored the fact that the blonde didn't deny that Harry had been right, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the situation from all the information he had gathered. So, the house's magic wasn't just unstable—it was volatile. The longer they stayed here, the more dangerous it could become. He could still feel it pressing against him, pulling at his own magic, like a tide dragging him out to sea.
"We need to try something," Harry said finally. "A spell, a charm—anything to stabilise the magic."
Malfoy crossed his arms, his wand held loosely in one hand. "Ah, I see. This is the part where you tell me to use my 'Dark wizard' magic to fix your mess. That's why you brought me here, isn't it?"
Harry turned to him, his temper flaring. "You know that's not the reason, Malfoy! I asked you to come because of the expertise you were so happy to show off just a minute ago, and now we're both stuck dealing with this. So unless you want to sit here and wait for the house to crush us both, I suggest you stop whining and start helping."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer. "Oh, of course. How very Gryffindor of you, Potter. Charge in head first, break everything in sight, and then expect someone else to clean up the mess."
"I'm trying to think of a plan! And, that's rich, coming from you," Harry shot back. "If I remember correctly, your grand solution to every problem during the war was to run crying to Daddy."
The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and the moment they did, he regretted it. Malfoy's expression hardened, his pale skin flushing with anger.
"You don't know anything about me," Malfoy said, his voice low and venomous, cutting him deeper than aDiffindo. "You think you're so noble, don't you? So righteous. But you're just as broken as the rest of us. The only difference is that everyone else is too blinded by your scar to notice."
Harry bristled, his own anger rising to match Malfoy's. "At least I didn't spend the war hiding under my mother's skirts and blood status, pretending to be better than everyone else while doing nothing but making things worse!"
"Oh, spare me your sanctimony," Malfoy snapped. "You're not some untouchable saint, Potter. You've got blood on your hands, too. Or have you conveniently forgotten—"
"Shut the fuck up!" Harry shouted, his voice echoing down the hallway.
The house reacted immediately. The walls groaned, twisting and shifting as though in pain, and the floor bucked beneath their feet. A gust of wind tore through the corridor, scattering debris and sending loose papers flying. From the shadows, a swarm of bats burst forth, their shrill cries filling the air as they darted toward Harry and Malfoy.
"Brilliant," Malfoy muttered, raising his wand. "Just brilliant."
"Stupefy!" Harry shouted, aiming at the oncoming swarm. The spell hit its mark, stunning several bats and sending them crashing to the ground. But more kept coming, their sharp teeth gleaming as they dove toward the pair.
"Protego!" Malfoy cast a shield charm, deflecting the bats as they swarmed around them. "This is your fault, Potter!"
"My fault?" Harry shot back, blasting another group of bats with a well-aimed spell. "You're the one who keeps provoking the house with your complaints!"
"Provoking the house?" Malfoy repeated, incredulous. "Oh, of course. The house is clearly upset because I had the audacity to point out your incompetence!"
Before Harry could respond, the floor beneath them cracked loudly, splitting apart to reveal a gaping void. The jagged edges of the broken floor seemed to pulse with dark magic, and everything suddenly around them grew colder, the powerful energy almost suffocating.
"We need to move!" Harry shouted, grabbing Malfoy's arm and pulling him away from the widening crack.
"Don't touch me!" Malfoy snapped, yanking his arm free. But he followed Harry nonetheless, his wand held tightly as they navigated the collapsing corridor.
The house's magic was spiralling out of control, the walls and floors shifting chaotically around them. Doors slammed open and shut, furniture flew through the air, and the very air itself seemed to vibrate with an unsettling, powerful energy. Finally, they stumbled into a room that seemed relatively intact. Harry recognised it immediately—the main sitting room. Though it was damaged, with cracks running through the walls and the furniture scattered haphazardly, it was still standing. Harry collapsed onto the nearest sofa, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Malfoy sank into an armchair across from him, his face flushed from their escape but composed.
"Well," Malfoy said after a moment, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That was fun."
Harry glared at him, but he didn't have the energy to argue. Instead, he leaned back against the sofa, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to calm the racing of his heart. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the tension between them still thick but tempered by exhaustion. The room, though damaged, felt like a brief escape from whatever was happening outside.
"We need to figure out what's causing all these outbursts," Malfoy said finally, breaking the silence. "It feels like the house's magic's reacting to us, though."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You're saying my house is throwing a tantrum because we had an argument?"
"I'm saying we need to stop fighting if we want to survive this," Malfoy replied.
"It's you who keeps saying awful shit!" Harry said, indignant.
Malfoy leaned back in his seat, his expression thoughtful before he nodded. "Fine, I'll try not to upset your sensibilities," he said after a moment. "But don't expect me to hold your hand through this, Potter."
Harry smirked faintly. "I wouldn't dream of it."
They rested amidst the rubble-strewn sitting room, surrounded by broken bookcases and the eerie hum of Grimmauld Place's restless magic. Despite their bickering, they finally began to strategise, the sharp edge of their words softening as necessity took over. They knew their combined magic was potent, powerful enough to stand against most things they could think of. Which meant they needed to work together if they ever wanted to get out of Grimmauld alive.
Malfoy glanced around at the destruction. "I hope you're right about this."
Harry snorted, his mouth twisting up into a wry smile. "I hope I am too. We've got a better chance together than we do apart."
"I know," Malfoy sighed, running a hand through his hair.
Harry leaned against the back of his couch, his arms crossed, while Malfoy moved his leg up and down, his polished shoe clacking the uneven floor every time.
"We need to focus on the magic first," Malfoy said, his tone clipped but laced with a grim determination. "If I can isolate its magical core, I might be able to stabilise the surrounding wards enough for us to Apparate out."
Harry frowned, rubbing at his temples. "And how do we even do that? The house shifts every time we turn around. For all we know, the core of the wards could be in a room that doesn't exist half the time."
Malfoy stopped his leg's nervous up and down and shot him a pointed look. "Think, Potter. It's not about chasing it. Magic like this responds to intent."
Harry raised a sceptical brow. "And how do you propose we do that? Politely ask it to come out for tea?"
"Don't be daft," Malfoy snapped, though there was no real venom in his tone. He gestured to the crumbling walls. "Well, we can try..."
Harry listened, trying to keep up, though half of what Malfoy said sounded like gibberish. Despite his frustration, he couldn't help but notice how focused Malfoy was, how his sharp features softened slightly when he was deep in thought. For the first time since this ordeal had begun, they were working together—not as enemies, but as something close to reluctant allies bound by necessity. There was no room for rivalry or old grudges here, as much as the two of them seemed incapable of stopping their arguing for more than a minute.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Ayooo, Merry Hexmas and Happy holidarks to everyone 3 I hope y'all are having a brill end of the year. This chapter is a little shorter than the last one, but I hope you guys enjoyed it all the same!