Author's Note:
Hey, everyone! Just a heads-up! This chapter, as the title hints, includes what some (everyone) would call an "innocent murder."
This will be the last warning I give since I feel like writing warnings in every chapter feels a bit... much. So, from here on out, it's all on you! Read at your own risk!
Hope you enjoy, and thanks for sticking with me!
P.S. Shoutout to Oioioioioi785 for the awesome review! :)
Now on with the story!
Chapter 32: a scent of obsession and an innocent murder.
That voice… Jakob froze mid-step. It wasn't just the words but the tone—cold, unnatural, and disturbingly familiar. It slithered through the air like an icy whisper, brushing against his mind and leaving a trail of unease in its wake.
His eyes darted around the corridor, instinctively scanning the shadows for movement. A prickling sensation crept up the back of his neck as if unseen eyes were fixed on him.
With a sharp motion, he drew his wand from the concealed holster beneath his robes, its familiar weight offering a small comfort in his grip. His fingers tightened around it as he pressed forward, his steps quieter now, each one placed with caution.
"Must be imagining things," he muttered under his breath. However, the unsteadiness in his voice betrayed the unease creeping into his thoughts. His wand remained ready at his side, its tip angled slightly forward as if anticipating the need to strike.
Rounding a corner, Jakob's stride faltered at the wet squish beneath his shoe. He glanced down, his frown deepening as he saw water spreading in uneven streams across the stone tiles.
He crouched, his fingers hovering just above the damp floor, tracing the growing puddle with his gaze as it stretched toward the girls' lavatory at the far end of the corridor. "That's… odd," he murmured as he slowly rose again, adjusting his robes before pressing forward.
He stopped abruptly as faint voices drifted into the corridor from another opening further down. He stiffened—he knew those voices.
"Harry, what do you mean you heard a voice?" Ivy questioned sharply, her concern barely concealed beneath her words.
Jakob pressed himself behind the cool stone of a nearby pillar, carefully pocketing his want as silently as he could.
"I don't know, Ivy," Harry shot back, sounding uneasy. "But it came from here."
Slowly, Jakob peered around the edge of the pillar, his green eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the Gryffindor golden group. They were clustered together, their robes faintly damp from the water pooling beneath their feet.
He craned his neck slightly, straining to see as they moved closer to the entrance of the girls' lavatory. But then, suddenly, they stopped.
"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware," Hermione read aloud, her voice trembling as her gaze locked onto the writing on the wall. "It's written in blood." Jakob heard her gasp, his frown deepening as he followed her pointed finger to something hanging on the wall. "Look—there's Mrs. Norris."
"Is it dead?" asked Ron, his voice a mixture of fear and curiosity.
Jakob rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching in disdain. Of course, it's dead, you idiot.
"No," Ivy interjected as she moved closer, her hand reaching tentatively toward the cat. "It looks like it's been frozen in time, like a doll."
Jakob's eyebrows rose at that, but he quickly shrugged, his smirk returning. Well, he's an idiot anyway.
"Harry," Hermione said as she turned to the boy who lived, her expression unreadable from where Jakob was standing. "We didn't hear any voice saying someone would be killed. It was only you. Maybe you should talk to Dumbledore about this."
Noted, Jakob thought, filing the information away. He had heard enough—he needed to leave. Someone was bound to show up soon, and he had no intention of being here when they did.
The Slytherin silently slipped out from his hiding place. He moved swiftly but carefully, avoiding the water puddles as the Gryffindors' voices grew fainter behind him.
By the time he reached the Grand Staircase, he allowed himself a small, satisfied exhale—he'd made it out.
He entered the Slytherin common room and gestured for Amy to follow him to the Slytherin five's private room.
Sitting with Isabella and poring over her homework, Amy glanced up as Jakob entered. His expression was unusually grave, a look she rarely saw from him. Without a word, she pushed back her chair, offering Isabella a small, reassuring gesture to stay where she was, and followed him into the room.
Closing the door behind her, the queen gave him a cautious glance. "What's going on? You look—"
"Amy, do you know what the Chamber of Secrets is?" Jakob interrupted sharply.
Amy blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Of course, I do. How could you not? You're a pureblood—and a Slytherin."
Jakob ran a hand through his hair impatiently. "My dear father made it a point to keep me in the dark about Hogwarts before I arrived. He thought it would be... better. Can you give me a quick rundown? Something's happened."
Amy sat on her throne-like chair, gesturing for Jakob to do the same. He ignored her and instead began pacing back and forth in the room restlessly. With a sharp sigh, she crossed her arms and began her explanation as she followed him with her eyes.
"They say Salazar Slytherin built the chamber as his private retreat. He had a falling-out with the other founders over admitting Mudbloods. When they refused to see reason, he supposedly left a monster behind—a weapon, if you will—to 'cleanse' the school someday."
Jakob halted mid-stride, tilting his head with a sceptical frown. "A monster to cleanse the school? Sounds a bit over the top. Wouldn't it make more sense to create something that actually protects the school instead of targeting its own students?"
Amy's eyes narrowed dangerously at his remark. Seeing the shift in her expression, Jakob knew better than to push further. With a casual wave of his hand, he relented. "Fine, fine. Go on. Anything else?"
"Jakob," she said, her voice cutting like ice, "first, letting Mudbloods set foot in this school is already an insult to everything magic stands for. Second," her wand slipped into her hand as her glare pinned him in place, "if you don't sit down right now, I will hex you."
He looked at her, smirked briefly, and raised his hands in mock surrender before settling into the seat beside her. Amy reached out, clasping his hand with a puzzled smile.
"Jakob, what is this all about? You seem… worried?"
He exhaled slowly, letting some of the tension leave his shoulders. "I'll explain, but I need all the information first. Is there anything else I should know?"
Amy sighed, her annoyance flickering across her face. "Well," she said, her tone edging toward exasperation, "about fifty years ago, the chamber was reopened, and a Mudblood died. That's… basically it."
Jakob blinked at her in disbelief. "That's it? Do they know where the entrance is?"
"No," Amy replied curtly.
"Do they know what kind of monster is inside?"
"No," she said again, her irritation sharpening.
Jakob stared at the table, his expression growing distant as his thoughts began to piece together the incomplete puzzle in his mind.
"Jakob!" Amy's sudden shout broke through his focus, making him jump.
She softened her voice, leaning closer and squeezing his hand. "Can you just tell me what's going on?"
"The Chamber has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware," Jakob recited, his gaze fixed on the empty air as though lost in thought again.
"What?" Amy asked, clearly confused as she studied him. Her sceptical gaze lingered on him, almost questioning his grasp on reality.
Finishing his mental puzzle and arriving no closer to an answer, Jakob blinked, as if snapping back to the present, and turned to face her. "There's a message written on the wall in the second-floor corridor," he said evenly. "It's written in blood."
Amy frowned. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Jakob replied firmly, giving her a slight nod. "I was taking a walk on the second floor, minding my own business, when I heard this voice saying…" He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the exact words before hissing, "Let me rip you… let me tear you… let me kill you."
Amy's mouth fell slightly open, her expression shifting as she registered the unnatural sound of the language he had spoken.
The boy sitting beside her didn't seem to acknowledge her reaction and instead continued on with his story. "I followed it, and it led me to the message. Then—"
"Jakob," she interrupted, grabbing his arm and stopping him mid-sentence. "You realize that you just spoke Parseltongue, right?"
"I spoke in Parseltongue?" he asked, clearly confused. Amy, who was about to answer, halted her voice, noticing how his expression suddenly shifted—like a lightbulb flickering on in his mind. He turned to her, his face bright with sudden realization. "Do you know what this means?" he questioned urgently as he watched her frown deepen.
"No? What does it mean?" she asked warily.
"The voice I heard on the second floor—it was Slytherin's monster," he began, but when she still looked puzzled, he almost laughed. "Amy, it's a snake!"
Now it was Amy's turn to look stunned, her usually composed demeanour cracking.
When she didn't respond, Jakob's lips curled into an amused smirk. He snapped his fingers in front of her face, breaking her trance. "Amy?"
Her head jerked slightly, and she blinked rapidly. "They've been wondering what kind of monster Slytherin created since... since the school was founded, and you figured it out in one night?!" she exclaimed in disbelief.
Jakob smirked, shrugging slightly. "Guess I'm good at solving puzzles," he chuckled, though his amusement faded quickly as he caught Amy's expression.
Her eyes narrowed, her focus shifted, and Jakob recognized that look all too well.
"Amy," he began, leaning forward slightly, his voice firm but low. "We don't know what kind of snake this is. If it's lasted this long and Slytherin called it a weapon… don't do anything reckless. Stay out of it."
She turned to him, a flirtatious glint in her eyes. "You worried that the big bad snake will take your precious queen away?" she teased.
Jakob didn't rise to her tone, his expression remaining serious, though a flicker of something softer crossed his face. He nodded. "Yes," he said simply.
Amy's teasing demeanour faltered for a moment as she studied him. With a reluctant nod, she agreed, though it was clear from the tension in her posture that every fibre of her being wanted to argue.
Jakob allowed himself a faint smile and gave her hand a quick squeeze, silently appreciating that, for once, she didn't fight him on this.
Amy exhaled heavily. "It really sucks that I graduate in less than two years," she said in a mock-whiny voice as she stood, draping her arms lazily around his shoulders.
"Yeah, it does, but why say it now?" Jakob asked, tilting his head slightly. Before she could respond, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his expression soft but questioning, giving her the space to answer.
"Wherever you are, things happen," Amy responded, her voice unusually warm with a rare softness in her tone. She kissed him back, her hands settling on his shoulders. Her grip was firm but gentle as if she were reluctant to let go. "I can only imagine the chaos I'll miss when I leave."
Jakob's expression shifted, a sadness flickering across his face. Her words pressed against something he hadn't wanted to acknowledge. His brow furrowed, and his response didn't come immediately.
"I don't like thinking about being here without you," he admitted reluctantly as he glanced away for a moment, not wanting to entertain the idea. He then looked back at her again.
Amy held his gaze, her usual sharp eyes seeming to melt at what she had seen and heard. For a moment, she didn't say anything, her silence carrying more weight than words could. Then she smiled, the corners of her mouth curving in a way that spoke of fondness and understanding. She leaned in, giving him one last kiss.
When she pulled away, her demeanour changed almost instantly. She turned toward her seat, sliding into her throne, straightening her posture. His queen's expression shifted back to the sharp confidence of her role.
"Did anyone see you?" She questioned sharply.
Jakob shook his head. "No, but I saw the golden group. I stayed hidden behind a pillar, so they didn't see me. They saw the same thing, though," he said, pausing as if weighing his next words. "But it's impossible that they have come to the same conclusion that we have."
Amy gave a small nod, her fingers tapping idly on the arm of her chair as her mind worked. "What do we do then? Should we warn the rest of the Slytherin house?" Jakob probed, his voice quieter now.
"No," she replied firmly, shaking her head without hesitation. "We don't mention the monster. The text on the wall will spread soon enough." She paused briefly, her shoulders lifting in a casual shrug. "And if it's true about the snake, it'll only target Mudbloods anyway. We're safe."
Jakob's nod came slower this time, his gaze flicking downward briefly. His jaw tightened, betraying the thought he wasn't voicing. Someone who might not be safe lingered in his mind.
Amy caught the change in his expression and leaned in, her eyes narrowing. "When this gets out, we act like we don't know a thing. It's for your safety. Do you understand?"
Jakob hesitated, her words pulling him from his thoughts. Her piercing gaze held him there until he nodded. "Yes."
"Promise me," she pressed firmly, but not unkind.
"I promise," he said finally, his eyes meeting hers with a steadiness that satisfied her.
Amy studied him a moment longer, then gave a small nod of approval. Rising from her chair, she adjusted her robes smoothly. Jakob stood as well, falling into step beside her as they moved toward the door.
As the two Slytherins stepped out into the common room, the low hum of voices outside caught their attention. They both halted in their steps, their eyes snapping to the entrance door as the sound grew louder.
Moments later, the heavy doors swung open, and a flood of Slytherin students from all years poured inside, chatting animatedly as they recounted what they had just witnessed.
Jakob's eyes moved over the crowd until they landed on his usual group of friends. Draco, mid-conversation with Theo, caught sight of him almost immediately. Draco broke away with a quick nudge to his companion, and the two made their way straight toward Jakob.
"Jake, you're not going to believe this," Draco said, a wide grin spreading across his face as he launched into his story. "The golden group—everyone's saying they were caught red-handed. They say Harry has petrified Filch's bloody cat! And the text on the wall… everyone's losing it."
Theo snickered beside him, but Draco wasn't finished. "Filch was absolutely livid. I swear, he almost punched Weasley in the face!" Draco added with a laugh, clearly savouring the memory.
Then, some thought made Draco's smirk fade, replacing it with a slightly disgusted scowl. "And then that bloody Headmaster showed up and ruined it all," he sneered. "Started rambling on about those useless plants from Herbology—like anyone cares about that right now! And then, of course, he had to stick up for Potter, saying it wasn't him who petrified the stupid cat."
Jakob nodded along absently, Draco's dramatics fading into the background as his thoughts began to wander. He didn't hear most of what was said, his mind circling back to Hermione. Before he could dwell on it further, a voice rang out from across the room.
He turned toward it and locked eyes with Amy. She met his gaze with a subtle nod, her expression leaving no room for questioning.
As he was the last member to arrive inside the room, he noted that the other members of the Slytherin Five were already seated, their faces reflecting varying degrees of curiosity and smugness.
Jakob and Amy took their places, the subtle shift in Amy's posture signalling her readiness to lead the discussion. The atmosphere was tense, but not nearly as much as he had expected.
The group dove into the day's events, dissecting rumours and speculating on what might come next. Amy navigated the conversation, avoiding any mention of Jakob's discovery or the truth about the monster. Her words were measured, her tone calm but authoritative, keeping the discussion firmly within the bounds of speculation.
As the meeting began to wind down, the decision was unanimous: they would wait and observe. There was no need to act hastily; let Salazar's legacy continue its work. This was a game to the others, something they seemed to rejoice in.
Jakob leaned back, his gaze flicking between the faces of his peers. They seemed almost happy, as though this was nothing more than a chance to bask in Slytherin's dominance. Yet, as their words carried on, the unease in Jakob's chest grew heavier. He couldn't shake the feeling that their confidence was misplaced.
They should be worried. Terrified, even. But they weren't, he thought as he sat quietly.
Amy caught his eye as the meeting concluded, giving him a reassuring smile as though she believed Jakob's silence was simply because of his worry about them getting caught. Jakob returned a quick, hasty smile before pushing the thoughts of his Muggle-born friend aside for now, following the others out of the chamber.
When Jakob stepped into his dormitory, he spotted Saliza curled comfortably on his bed. He crossed the room and dropped down beside her, feeling the familiar sensation of her smooth scales as she slithered onto his chest.
"Hello, you. Where have you been?" Jakob asked softly as he gently picked her up, placing her so she rested across his chest and stomach.
"I've been out in the forest," Saliza replied, her hiss carrying a hint of pride. "There's so much to hunt, and I've started to gain a reputation. A lot of creatures try to hunt me down now." She shifted closer, her face brushing his cheek, her tongue flicking out and making him smile.
"So why would they hunt you if you've got a reputation?" Jakob asked curiously.
Saliza's gaze stayed level, unflinching. "Kill me, and you climb the food chain," she hissed like she was discussing something as trivial as the weather.
Jakob frowned slightly. "Are you careful out there? Do you need any help?"
"No, my little youngling," she firmly replied. "It's my hunting ground. If I can't prove I'm a good hunter, then it's only a matter of time before I end up as prey."
Jakob stayed silent, her words sinking into him like a stone. She was right, but the reply had cut deeper than he expected. Her stubborn refusal to let him help made something tighten in his chest. If anything happened to her... He exhaled, the thought slipping from his mind as quickly as it came. With a quick shift, he changed the subject, the tension in his posture easing just a little.
Jakob turned slightly, his gaze fixed on her. "Saliza, do you know of a snake that can petrify its prey?"
Saliza thought momentarily, the faint flicker of her tongue the only sign of life. After a moment, she met his gaze. "No," she replied, flicking her tongue again before asking. "Why?"
Jakob sighed, his fingers idly tracing her scale. "I heard a voice earlier," he began, his words slower now. "It was a snake, apparently. It said things like 'tear,' 'rip,' and 'kill.' When I followed the sound, there was water on the floor and then a cat, petrified."
Saliza's head tilted slightly, a sign she was processing the information. "I'll see if anyone in the woods knows anything," she hissed, turning her head towards the opened window. "I'll return shortly."
Without another word, she slithered off him and toward the night. Jakob watched her dark form disappear through the opening, her smooth, rhythmic movements fading into the darkness. When she was gone, he turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.
His mind drifted, caught by the fleeting idea that perhaps he could charm the ceiling to resemble the night sky—like the one in the Great Hall, full of glittering stars and a deep, endless blackness. It seemed like a small challenge, but it might offer the kind of distraction he needed, a way to block out the thoughts growing louder with each passing moment.
Pansy arrived shortly after, and Jakob gave her the same explanation he had given Amy.
"So you think it's a snake?" she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.
Jakob pulled her closer and lay his arms around her for a brief moment. "It might be a snake," he said softly, his voice more reassuring than he felt. "But don't worry. It won't do anything to you."
Pansy raised an eyebrow, studying him with a mixture of amusement and scepticism. Then the witch let out a short laugh. "Me? I'm a pureblood. Why would it do anything to me?" Her tone was light, but her eyes flickered with curiosity. Sensing where the conversation was heading, Jakob released her, his arms falling to his sides as he stepped back.
"I hope it gets rid of those filthy Mudbloods," she added, a sneer creeping into her voice. "Ah, I can't stand them."
Jakob closed his eyes for a moment, feeling irritation start to build inside him. Her words annoyed him more than he cared to admit. He didn't understand why he felt this way—after all, he didn't particularly care about most of them—but Hermione... Hermione was different. Magic was magic, after all, no matter where it came from.
"It might," Jakob answered in a clipped tone as he turned and entered the bathroom, closing the door with more force than he intended.
Pansy watched the door, her confusion deepening. She had expected him to share this moment with her, to stand by her side, but instead, he had dismissed her entirely.
When Jakob returned, his roommate, who had settled on the bed with her Potions book, noticed immediately that he wasn't meeting her eyes. He was tense and unusually distant; something wasn't right here.
"What's the matter?" Pansy asked, her voice gentle, the teasing edge gone. "You don't seem so happy about all this."
Jakob sighed, the sound escaping from him like he tried to breathe out a stone in his gut. He closed his eyes briefly as if trying to find the words that wouldn't worsen the situation.
His voice was quieter and more serious than she was used to when he spoke. "Pansy, can I be totally honest with you?"
Sensing his tone, Pansy's brow furrowed. She set the Potions book down with a soft thud, her fingers lingering on the edge of the page. "Of course, what is it?" She asked, a bit of concern seeping into her voice as she fixed her eyes on her closest friend, waiting for him to continue.
Jakob hesitated, his gaze shifting to the window. "I think Grindelwald had a point. He had an ideology I can understand. "
Pansy's expression faltered. Her frown deepened, the edges of her lips pulling tighter. "What do you mean, Jake?" Her words were slow and cautious, as if she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear more.
Jakob hesitated for a moment, choosing his words with care. He knew how Pansy could be... dismissive when the conversation veered toward anything she deemed wrong.
"Grindelwald thought muggles could become a threat," Jakob began, keeping his voice formal. "He feared their numbers, their weapons, and their ambition. That's why he believed all witches and wizards—pureblood, half-blood, and even Muggle-born—had to unite. Otherwise, we wouldn't stand a chance."
Pansy's brow furrowed slightly, her expression stiff as if she didn't like where the conversation was headed. Her lips twisted into a sly smile a moment later, though it didn't reach her eyes.
"Grindelwald might have been powerful," she said, flicking her hand dismissively, "but we don't follow his ideas, Jake. We follow the Dark Lord. He understood things properly." Her voice took on a sharper edge, and she turned her gaze to him, a hint of disdain in her expression. "And what could muggles possibly do to us? We have magic," she said lightly, as if the idea itself was laughable.
She leaned back, crossing her arms, the smirk on her face daring him to argue.
"Well, if you're not going to listen to me..." Jakob muttered while glaring at his roommate. Without another word, he marched to his chest, yanked it open, and leaned inside.
For a moment, only the sounds of shuffling and irritation filled the room. When Jakob reemerged, his expression was thoroughly sour, and a stack of magazines was clutched in his hand. He tossed them onto the bed with just enough force to make its occupant flinch.
Pansy, still unconvinced, kept her arms crossed as she glanced at the pile. Her defiance weakened when her gaze fell upon the striking image on the cover of a magazine. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she picked it up, her fingers brushing over the pages.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice quieter now, curiosity threading through her usual disdain.
Jakob folded his arms and nodded towards the magazine with a tightly set jaw. "That," he stated with a clipped tone, "is a muggle bomb. If it were dropped over London, it wouldn't just destroy the city—it'd obliterate it. About 2.1 million people would die, magical and muggle alike." His eyes bore into hers, sharp and unrelenting. "And no, Pansy, it wouldn't care that you're a pureblood."
Pansy's eyes stayed locked on the image, her fingers tightening on the edges of the magazine as her face drained of colour. "Jakob, this must be some kind of joke—or propaganda," she tried to reason with an unsteady voice. "There's no way a bomb like this could cause so much damage."
Jakob exhaled sharply in frustration as he ran a hand through his hair. "Grindelwald didn't think it was a joke. He saw this happening during his time. That's why he waged war—to stop the muggles from growing stronger. This was in 1935, Pansy. That's almost sixty years ago."
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. She just stared at him, pale and motionless, the magazine still in her trembling hands. "So… if they dropped one over Diagon Alley…" she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Forget about Diagon Alley," Jakob snapped, feeling his temper rising over the fact that his friend would not seem to grasp the bigger picture. Pansy flinched, her shoulders tensing as she recoiled slightly.
"Pansy," he continued, his tone more controlled but still firm, "if they've built something like this, what else do you think they've made in the decades since? This bomb is ancient by their standards. If the muggles ever decide to come after us, we wouldn't stand a chance. And if we start killing Mudbloods and other magical people, we'll be wiped out in months. All of us."
The room fell silent except for the faint rustle of the paper in Pansy's hands as it shook. She stared at the image again, trying to make sense of it all.
Jakob sighed heavily and sank onto the seat beside her, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of his thoughts had finally caught up with him. "Pansy," he began, his voice softer now, "you know my family would kill me if I ever said this to them. And if anyone here heard me, I'd be disowned from Slytherin faster than I could blink. But now you know why I've changed my mind."
He looked at her carefully before speaking again, watching for any sign of her thoughts. "I'm not saying we abandon our old ways or forget who we are. But we have to adapt. Killing off our own isn't the answer. Purebloods are already too few. And the muggles already outnumber us ten to one, and if we cut a third of our own because of pride, we'll be even fewer."
He nodded toward the paper in her hands. "They've evolved. They're creating things we once thought only magic could achieve. If we don't adapt soon, we may not get the chance."
Pansy's expression wavered, torn between defiance and uncertainty. Her fingers curled around the edges of the magazine, crinkling it slightly as she stared at him.
"Now that you know everything I do… are you with me? Or do you think I belong in a cell next to Grindelwald?" Jakob asked calmly. He wasn't going to explain further, wasn't going to offer more arguments. He had said his piece. Now, he waited.
Pansy set the paper aside, her hands trembling as she reached out to grab his. "Jakob, if this is true… if it's really like you've described," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "then I believe you. I'll stand with you. But… people won't listen to you. They'll never follow you. You're not the Dark Lord."
Jakob squeezed her hand, offering a small but sincere smile. The feeling of her hand in his brought an unexpected warmth, a quiet joy at the thought that, somehow, she was standing beside him.
"They won't listen to me yet," he said in a steady voice, though there was a certain darker edge to it now. "But one day, they will. I'll finish what Grindelwald started. And if they choose to ignore it, or stand in my way… I'll force every magical being to fight for us."
Pansy felt a shiver run through her, the hairs on her arms prickling as she looked at Jakob. His words echoed in her mind, and it was the determination in his gaze that sent a jolt of something strange through her chest.
For the first time, she understood what Jakob was destined to become. And she knew, without a doubt, that she would be there with him every step of the way.
She slowly pulled her hand from his grip and wrapped her arms around him. They sat like that, holding each other, the world outside forgotten for a moment. Pansy's mind raced with worry about the trials Jakob would face in the future, while Jakob, in the quiet comfort of her embrace, felt an unexpected sense of relief—knowing she would be with him.
There were no more petrifying attacks that week, and things seemed to be returning to their usual pace. Yet Jakob wasn't fooled. He knew better, and tonight, he would make sure his friend knew it, too.
As the Slytherin and the Gryffindor packed up their study materials and the last of the students filed out of the room, Jakob saw Potter and Weasley once again telling Hermione to hurry up. But this time, Jakob didn't let her slip away. He shot her a sharp glance, one that stopped her in her tracks.
"Miss Granger," he said with a firm voice, carrying a tone she wasn't used to. "I'd like to have a word with you. There have been complaints."
Hermione hesitated, caught off guard by the change in Jakob's behaviour.
She nodded, and Jakob flicked his wand, closing the door with a definitive slam. Harry and Ron flinched back, glaring at him through the closed door.
Turning back to Hermione, Jakob's expression softened, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.
"Why are you avoiding me? Have I done something to upset you?" he asked, his warm smile returning as he stood and moved a step closer.
Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and smiled back, though there was a hint of reproach in her voice. "Don't scare me like that," she said, the edge of concern giving way to relief. "And no, you haven't. I'm sorry. I just have a lot going on right now. I feel really terrible about it," she added, noticing the slight disappointment that flickered across her secret friend's face.
"Would honestly be better if I had done something. Then I could fix it, and we would return to normal, but it's not me. It's you."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Jakob cut her off before she could.
"I want you to be careful, okay?"
The bushy-haired girl frowned, knitting together her hands in her lap as she sat down, waiting for him to continue.
"The Chamber of Secrets, if it really exists, will have a monster inside it," Jakob began with a low voice, almost as if he were trying to calm his own thoughts.
Hermione blinked, her brow furrowing slightly. "I know, McGonagall told us in class, remember?" she replied, her voice a little more confused now.
Jakob sat down beside her, the chair creaking under his weight. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, giving her a warning glance and silently praying she would listen. "It's supposed to target people like you. Salazar created it to purge 'dirty blood.'" He let out a sharp, derisive snort. "How anyone still believes that rubbish is beyond me."
Sensing the worry beneath her friend's composed exterior, Hermione reached out and took his hand, giving it a firm and reassuring squeeze. "I'll be careful, I promise."
Jakob's shoulders relaxed slightly, and a small, soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He didn't pull his hand away, letting her hold it for a moment longer before speaking again.
"I know that your friends have a hero complex," he said, a trace of frustration creeping into his voice. "They're always seeking danger. But Hermione, promise me you won't go out looking for it."
The Gryffindor fell silent, her gaze dropping to the floor as her fingers idly traced the edge of the desk. Jakob watched her closely, his eyes narrowing with concern. Her expression had softened, and it was clear to the Slytherin that she was torn about something.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice quieter now, as he reached out and gently touched her arm.
She hesitated, biting her lip as she shifted uneasily in her seat. "We… we're trying to figure out who the Heir of Slytherin might be."
Jakob raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing together as he considered her words. "Any suggestions?" he asked, trying to sound neutral.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her hands fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.
"They think it's either you or Draco," she started, her voice faltering slightly as she continued. "I tried, honestly, I did, to shift their attention onto Draco, but after what happened between you and Harry last Quidditch game… he's absolutely certain it's you."
Jakob's lips pressed into a thin line. "It's neither Draco nor me." He replied with a biting tone.
Hermione's brow furrowed as she hesitated, her eyes closing briefly as though bracing herself. She sighed, clearly reluctant, before finally asking, "They wanted me to ask you if…" Her voice trailed off, and she sighed again. "Do… do you have any idea who it might be, then?"
Jakob raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into something close to a smirk, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Just because I'm a snake, Miss Granger, doesn't mean I'm the one they're after." His gaze was sharp, cold and unforgiving. "It seems your friends are starting to rub off on you. You might want to keep an eye on that."
Hermione looked away momentarily, her hands tightening into fists at her sides as she rose to her feet.
"No, they're not!" she yelled. "And I'm asking you as a friend. Don't you want to know so we can stop whoever it is?"
Jakob's breath hitched, frustration knotting in his chest like a tightly drawn string. Granger had spoken like them and had accused his best friend without a second thought. She was listening to those idiots—instead of him. His jaw clenched as he stared into her defying eyes, losing his inner battle to keep his composure.
"You're siding with them?" he hissed coldly.
Abruptly, he stood, the legs of his chair scraping against the stone floor with a jarring sound. His furious gaze bore into hers as he took a single step forward. His voice, though low, carried an edge of disbelief that struck the Gryffindor girl deeper than any shout.
"First, you insult my friend, then you insult me, and now you're upset because I'm speaking the truth?" Jakob's voice came out colder than he intended, each word sharp and biting. "Why don't you ask your little friend Potter who the heir of Slytherin might be? If you ask me, I'd say it's him."
"Why would Harry be the heir of Slytherin?" Hermione questioned incredulously. As if the accusation was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard.
Jakob raised an eyebrow, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and mockery.
"Oh, I don't know," he said sarcastically. "Maybe the fact that he hears voices no one else can? Or is that detail not worth considering?"
"So what? And how do you know that?" Hermione shot back sharply, but Jakob could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes.
"Because I know," he smirked, the words coming out almost too easily. "And he hasn't told you how he hears them, has he? Your friends are hiding secrets from you, Granger. Maybe they're the real snakes."
Hermione's face flushed, her anger rising as Jakob's smirk stretched further. Without a word, she turned sharply and stormed out of the room, slamming the door with everything she had.
Jakob stood frozen for a moment, the fury within him smouldering like a volcano ready to explode. He didn't pause to think. He simply acted.
With a roar and a jabb forward with his wand, the air crackled—then exploded. A bright Purple fire shot from the tip, tearing furiously through the air in a wild, twisting column of flame. It bellowed like a living creature, as though the fire itself was feeding on his rage, spiralling in violent loops that seemed to stretch and bend the very fabric of the room.
The flames lashed out, devouring everything in their path. The walls buckled under the intensity, cracks appearing as though they had been struck by an unseen hammer. Furniture splintered into jagged pieces, tossed aside by the furious magic. Paintings that he once had hung proudly on the walls now curled into nothingness, their colours melting into ash as the fire tore through them.
When it was over, Jakob stood in the midst of the destruction, his breath coming in uneven gasps.
The room was unrecognizable. Desks, once neatly arranged, now lay in shattered ruins. The walls bore the marks of the purple fire, scorched and cracked, as though they had been scarred by something ancient, something untamable.
His desk and Hermione's—nothing more than a pile of charred fragments.
And yet, amidst the wreckage, the carpet remained strangely untouched. It lay there, as smooth and untroubled as though the chaos had passed it by completely.
"Fuck this. Go ahead with those idiots," Jakob muttered, the words barely escaping his lips, thick with the bitter taste of finality.
Without so much as glancing back at the chaos he'd left behind, he turned and strode out of the classroom, leaving the door open. The sound of it creaking faintly in his wake was the only reminder of the mess he'd made. But it didn't matter.
Nothing mattered anymore.
That evening, Jakob lay sprawled on his and Pansy's four-poster bed. In his right hand, he gripped the hilt of the mysterious blood-red knife, its edge catching the flickering light of a single enchanted lantern. His left hand clutched an old book on rune deciphering, its brittle pages resisting his attempts to uncover the knife's secrets.
He squinted at the cryptic etchings carved into the blade's surface, trying to make sense of the ancient runes that seemed to mock him with their refusal to yield. Granger. Her face and words flashed through his mind, and his grip on the knife tightened as the memory of her defiance surfaced.
Without a second thought, Jakob flung the blade across the room. It flew in a gleaming arc, striking the intricately carved pillar of his bed with a solid, resounding thunk. The knife buried itself deep into the wood, the hilt trembling slightly as though it, too, shared in his agitation.
He sat bolt upright, chest heaving, his green eyes fixed on the embedded weapon.
Why would the Head of House Nott gift me a knife without a single explanation?
The thought coiled in his mind like a serpent. Was it a gift or a taunt? A test, perhaps? Or a reminder of just how much he still had to learn?
Jakob swung his legs over the side of the bed, his shoes scraping softly against the cold stone floor. He pushed himself upright, grabbing his cloak from the foot of the bed and pulling it over his shoulders in a single, sharp motion. He needed some air.
Jakob crossed the Slytherin common room, the faint echo of his footsteps trailing behind him as he stepped into the dungeon outside. The cold, damp air enveloped him, and he climbed the stone staircase with no clear destination, his mind as aimless as his steps.
Entering a corridor, a memory emerged so vivid that it halted him mid-step. His gaze locked onto the wall ahead, the very spot where the warning made of blood had once been smeared.
Slowly, he approached, his eyes scanning the smooth, unblemished stone. Nothing, it was spotless.
His eyes shifted to the bathroom door nearby, and another memory bubbled to the surface: his conversation with Berrow. The recollection of the earlier event pulled him forward, and he stopped just outside.
Jakob's gaze darted quickly up and down the corridor, ensuring he was alone before his hand reached the door. The old wood faintly creaked as he pushed it open.
The Slytherin stepped lightly, his boots meeting the tiled floor with a hesitation that betrayed his usual confidence.
His eyes narrowed as he spotted a ghost drifting aimlessly above the stalls, her translucent form wavering as though caught in a faint breeze. She was muttering to herself, the sound grating enough to make him wish for something—anything—to throw at her and put an end to the incessant noise. Instead, he folded his arms and watched her momentarily, his annoyance giving way to curiosity.
The ghost appeared older than him, perhaps by a few years, though she still wore student robes that looked oddly neat for someone who wasn't alive. Her hair was tied in pigtails, and round glasses perched on her nose, uncannily similar to Potter's. Jakob let out a soft snort before he could stop himself, the observation striking him as absurdly amusing.
The ghost froze mid-drift and turned sharply toward him, her ethereal face twisted into a suspicious glare.
"Wh...what are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice trembling between indignation and uncertainty. "Have you come to make fun of me?"
Jakob tilted his head, schooling his expression into one of mild innocence. "Hello. Of course not. Why would I do that? Who might you be?"
The ghost squinted at him, her eyes narrowing further. "Who am I? Who are you? This is the girls' lavatory. You shouldn't be here."
A slow, disarming smile spread across Jakob's face as he weighed his options. Thinking quickly, he conjured a name. "My name is Victor—Victor Smith. Now that I've told you mine, would you be so kind as to share yours?"
The ghost seemed momentarily taken aback by his politeness. She floated lower, her expression softening slightly as she studied him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Finally, she spoke.
"My name is Myrtle," she said, her voice carrying a faint edge of bitterness. "But everyone calls me Moaning Myrtle." She paused, her gaze sharpening again. "Have you come to throw things at me, too?"
Jakob shook his head, his expression sincere.
"Absolutely not. I was merely admiring your... charming little home here, Miss Myrtle. Would you care to tell me about it?"
Myrtle giggled, a shrill, echoing sound that made Jakob suppress the urge to wince. She floated higher, her ghostly form bobbing slightly as she glanced around the room as though searching for something particularly noteworthy.
"Oh! There's the best toilet!" she exclaimed, pointing toward a stall as though it were a prized artefact. "And over there—" her voice dropped conspiratorially, "—once, I saw a girl pee her pants. It was wonderful!"
Jakob followed her gestures with feigned interest, his gaze flicking to each point of supposed significance. He nodded thoughtfully, maintaining an air of polite fascination as Myrtle prattled on about the highlights of her peculiar afterlife.
When she finally paused, seemingly satisfied with her tour, Jakob turned his attention back to her. His voice was measured, careful, as he asked, "Say, Myrtle, you seem to have witnessed a great deal here. Why, if I may ask, did you end up as a ghost in this place? You look like you were a student."
The transformation in Myrtle's demeanour was instant. Her cheerful, if unsettling, expression crumpled, and her translucent form seemed to dim slightly.
"I died here," Myrtle said, her voice soft and trembling as though the memory itself weighed her down. "I was a student once, a Ravenclaw. But I was muggle-born, and I never really fit in." She paused, a flicker of bitterness crossing her ghostly face. "One day, I was crying in this very bathroom when I heard a voice."
Jakob's brow arched slightly, his curiosity piqued. "A voice?"
Myrtle nodded solemnly, her translucent form drifting slightly closer to him. "Yes. It was strange—like a made-up language. I opened the door to tell whoever it was to go away, and... well... I died."
Jakob frowned in confused suspicion and narrowed his eyes. "You just... died? No green light? No pain?"
Myrtle shook her head, her pigtails bobbing slightly. "No. It was like... like I just stopped. But," she added, her voice taking on a nervous edge, "I do remember one thing."
Jakob followed her line of sight as she pointed a ghostly finger toward the sinks.
"I saw a pair of glowing yellow eyes over there," she said, her tone dropping to a whisper as though the words themselves carried danger.
Jakob's eyes widened, his mind already racing. "Myrtle," he said slowly, his voice low, "how long ago did this happen? When did you die?"
Myrtle tilted her head, pressing a translucent finger to her chin as she thought. "Oh, it must be... fifty years ago now," she replied lightly, as though it were a trivial detail.
Jakob stepped closer to the sink, his fingers brushing against the intricate snake carving etched into the stone. The texture was unmistakable. His mind raced as he recalled Saliza mentioning the faint scent of a snake lingering in this very spot.
"Holy shit," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I found it."
The awe in his tone was cut short by the faint sound of footsteps approaching the door. His heart leapt into his throat, and he darted into one of the stalls, shutting the door as quietly as he could. Myrtle, who had been floating nearby, drifted down with an amused expression.
Jakob held a finger to his lips, silently begging her to stay quiet. Myrtle, catching on to what she assumed was a game, nodded eagerly and mimicked his gesture, her finger raised to her translucent lips. A mischievous grin spread across her face, and Jakob resisted the urge to groan.
The footsteps grew louder and louder. Then, a voice cut through the stillness, low and hissing, speaking in a language Jakob recognized instantly.
"Open."
The word was hard and commanding. Jakob's pulse quickened. His whole body tensed with the urge to crack the door open, just a fraction, to catch a glimpse of whoever it was. If only he could see the face of Slytherin's heir.
The voice sounded like it belonged to a boy, but it was older than Harry Potter. That much was certain. And he was a Parselmouth.
Jakob's thoughts raced as he heard the unmistakable sound of something massive shifting, a deep, rumbling noise that echoed through the bathroom. The silence that followed was oppressive, almost suffocating, and Jakob barely dared to breathe.
He turned to Myrtle and gestured for her to take a look. She obliged, floating silently through the door to survey the room beyond. A moment later, she returned, her face alight with the thrill of discovery.
"Coast is clear," she whispered excitedly.
Jakob stepped out cautiously, his mind whirling with questions.
"Thank you, Myrtle, but I think I should be going now he said, stepping toward the door.
Myrtle's expression crumpled into a pout, her ghostly form drooping slightly.
The Slytherin offered her a small, reassuring smile. "But I'll be back soon, alright?"
The ghost perked up instantly, giggling as she nodded enthusiastically. "Promise?" she asked, her tone bordering on playful and hopeful.
"Promise," Jakob replied. As he opened the door, a thought struck him. "Myrtle, can you do me a favor?"
She shrugged, floating closer. "Sure, Victor. What do you need?"
Jakob glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice slightly. "If you want me to come back, this has to stay a secret—just between you and me. No one else can know about this, alright?"
Myrtle nodded earnestly, her pigtails bobbing.
"Oh," Jakob added, his voice taking on a casual air as though it had just occurred to him, "could you also keep an eye out for me? Next time I visit, let me know if anyone else has been here."
Myrtle's laughter rang out, echoing off the bathroom tiles. "That's two favors, silly! But fine—I'll be your guard." She saluted dramatically, grinning from ear to ear.
"Thanks, Myrtle. I'll see you soon." Jakob slipped through the door, letting it close softly behind him.
His steps quickened as he made his way back to the Slytherin common room. The temptation to linger, to discover the identity of Slytherin's heir, gnawed at him, but the
weight of what he'd heard—the monster, the command—was enough to make him think twice. He couldn't risk it, not yet. Not until he was certain of what he was up against.
The next few days passed uneventfully. Jakob's routine settled back into its usual rhythm—enduring tedious meetings with the Slytherin Five, spending time with his friends, and using the quiet moments to catch up on his studies, particularly on rituals.
He had spoken with the headmaster and the Slytherin Five about the state of his classroom, reporting that someone had broken in and destroyed everything. The headmaster had been curt but firm: Jakob would need to replace the paintings and desks after Christmas if he intended to continue his punishment. The thought filled him with irritation; the prospect of fixing the room was bad enough, but the reminder of the incident—and knowing that he needed to continue with Miss Granger left an unpleasant weight in his chest.
In the meantime, Jakob had spent hours talking with Saliza, trying to piece together any information about the snake he had encountered—or whatever creature it might have been. Yet, despite her impressive knowledge, Saliza hadn't found anything that matched his description. Each conversation ended in frustration, leaving the mystery as unsolved as ever.
Now, Jakob found himself half lying in an armchair in the Slytherin common room, the green-tinted light from the lake above casting shifting patterns on the wall, which he followed as he thought about everything.
Draco sat cross-legged in front of him, frowning at a self-creating potion recipe he clearly didn't understand, while Pansy sat at Jakob's side, her quill scratching against parchment as she attempted to copy his notes.
"I think it's done," Draco said hesitantly, handing over the recipe he had painstakingly written to his best friend.
Jakob skimmed it quickly, his exasperation evident as he stopped only after a few seconds of reading it. "No, Draco," he sighed, pointing at a particularly glaring error. "You can't just mix powdered moonstone with asphodel at the same time. It'll explode—and not in the fun way."
Pansy giggled, nudging him playfully with her elbow. "I think you secretly enjoy playing the professor."
Jakob smirked, shifting his gaze back to the page. "Maybe. But at least I know my potions. You two, on the other hand, would probably blow up the dungeon if I weren't here."
"So I need to stir it counterclockwise for three minutes, add the beetle, and then lower the heat?" Draco asked, his brow furrowed as he tried to remedy the error.
"Mhm," Jakob replied absently, stretching his legs out before him. He stood, rolled his shoulders, and pulled out another book from his bag before slumping back onto the couch this time. His head came to rest near Pansy's legs, his own draped lazily over the armrest.
Draco glanced at him, his tone tinged with jealousy. "How do you even know all this when you barely study? You just show up, do the tests, and somehow get full marks."
Jakob smirked, flipping open his book. Before he could answer, Pansy spoke up in a teasing tone. "That's because he does study, Draco. He's boring, but he gets the work done. He's actually pretty smart—almost like a Ravenclaw." She giggled when Jakob gave her leg a gentle nudge with the spine of his book.
"Slytherins are more like Ravenclaws than you think, Pansy," Jakob remarked, his voice calm as his eyes scanned the page in front of him.
Pansy tilted her head, intrigued, while Draco frowned, carefully adding the beetle to his potion before lowering the heat as instructed. "What makes you say that?" Draco asked with a sceptical tone.
Jakob didn't look up, flipping a page absently. "Because the only thing that separates me from a Ravenclaw is why I learn. They study for the sake of knowledge itself. I study to help my ambitions."
"atleast you have a good ambition," said a voice, and Jakob glanced up to see Daphne standing over him, her arms lightly crossed as she looked down with a faint smile.
He returned the smile and shifted his legs to make space for her. As he prepared to sit up, he felt her hand gently press against his legs, discreetly guiding them back over her lap. Surprised and amused, Jakob let it pass and returned to his book.
"What are you reading?" Daphne asked, her voice soft but curious as she watched him intently.
"A book from my family library," Jakob replied, not lifting his eyes from the page. "It's about Herpo the Foul. Fascinating, really," he chuckled lightly. "Though some of his ideas were... questionable."
Draco, intrigued, leaned closer while Pansy barely glanced up, uninterested in the topic. "Why Herpo the Foul?" Draco asked, his tone sceptical.
Jakob shrugged, still flipping through the pages. "I needed a break from the usual, and he…" Jakob stopped mid-sentence, his expression freezing as his eyes locked onto something on the page. His frown deepened, and the colour drained slightly from his face.
"He what?" Daphne asked, her brow furrowing with concern. "You've gone pale."
Jakob didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the text as though it held some terrible revelation. Finally, he closed the book with a soft thud and stood abruptly. "I need to go. Where's the queen?"
The question left the others puzzled. They exchanged uncertain glances before shrugging in unison. Before Jakob could take a step, the door to the common room swung open, and a Slytherin girl hurried inside, her expression alight with urgency.
"There's been another attack," she announced breathlessly. "That mudblood Creevey—he's been petrified."
The words hung in the air, silencing the murmurs in the room. Without hesitation, Jakob moved toward the door, out of the common room and headed for the Great Hall. He needed to find Amy quick.
Jakob stepped into the Great Hall, his eyes sweeping over the crowded tables. The low hum of conversation filled the space, punctuated by bursts of laughter from a group of Slytherins near the far end. He didn't see Amy Frome, but his gaze landed on Marcus Flint, who was seated with his usual entourage, gesturing wildly as he recounted some story.
With a steadying breath, Jakob approached, his expression composed even though he could hear his own heartbeat quickening. He stopped at the edge of their group, and Marcus turned his grin widening.
"Hey, Jake, what's up?" Marcus said, leaning back in his seat with an air of casual confidence.
"I need to discuss something with Miss Frome," Jakob replied, his tone clipped but polite. "Do you know where she is?"
Marcus shrugged, lazily spearing a piece of roast beef with his fork. "Pretty sure she's got Divination right now. You know where that is?"
Jakob nodded curtly. "I can find it. Thanks." He hesitated, then his voice dropped slightly as he added, "You might want to head back to the common room. There's been another attack—Creevey's been petrified."
Marcus raised an eyebrow but didn't seem particularly fazed. He glanced at Pucey, and the two exchanged a smirk before slapping their hands together in a loud high-five. "Why would I need to do that? The monster knows I'm a pureblood."
Jakob's jaw tightened, but he forced a small nod. "Right," he murmured. He turned away. Does it, though? He silently questioned as he made his way out of the hall.
By the time Jakob reached the top of the tower, he had to pause, bracing himself against the cool stone wall to catch his breath. The endless spiral of steps left his legs burning, and he muttered under his breath. "Those bloody stairs were not made for running."
He straightened, wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and stepped toward the Divination classroom door. Just as he reached it, the lesson ended, and a stream of students began pouring out, their chatter filling the narrow hallway. Jakob scanned the crowd until his eyes landed on Amy Frome, who was walking out alongside Vanity.
"Mr. Quade," Amy acknowledged in a cool but slightly curious tone. "Can I help you with something?"
"Yes," Jakob replied, steadying his voice. "I've come across some new information—something I think you'll want to hear."
Amy tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes sweeping over him. She noted the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead and the controlled tension in his posture. After a moment's thought, she gave Vanity a small nod. "Go ahead. I'll catch up."
Vanity hesitated briefly, then moved past Jakob, leaving him alone with her queen. Amy gestured toward the classroom behind her.
"We can talk in here," she said with a low voice. "The professor's left already. Close the door behind you."
Jakob nodded, stepping inside as Amy followed. He reached for the door and shut it firmly.
They stood alone in the quiet classroom, the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. Jakob leaned casually against a table, his sharp eyes studying Amy.
"Divination," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Why would you choose that? Isn't it a little…?"
Amy crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow and giving him a, Oh, really? Look.
"I chose it because I find it interesting," she said flatly. "Do you have a problem with that?"
Jakob raised his hands in mock surrender, a charming smile tugging at his lips. "None at all. I just find it intriguing, that's all."
Amy sighed, her arms dropping to her sides. "Jakob, you couldn't wait until I came back? You showing up here might raise suspicion, and—"
"It's a basilisk," Jakob interrupted, giving her a serious look.
Amy stared at him, exhaling another, more frustrated sigh. "Alright, I'll bite. What's a basilisk, and why does it matter?"
Jakob's expression darkened as he stepped forward, pulling a book from under his arm. "Slytherin's monster," he said gravely. "It's a basilisk." With a sharp motion, he slammed the open book onto the nearest table, the force knocking one of the transparent crystal balls off its stand. It rolled away unnoticed.
Amy frowned, her eyes dropping to the page. As she began to read, the weight of his words seemed to sink in. She picked up the book, pacing back and forth as her fingers traced the lines of text. Minutes passed in silence, the only sound being the soft rustle of pages and her quiet breaths.
Then, abruptly, she froze mid-step. Her face went pale, and the book trembled slightly in her hands.
"Holy shit," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Right?" Jakob said, his own expression still tinged with the same disbelief he'd felt upon discovering it. Amy turned slowly, meeting his gaze, her face as pale as he had been when the realization first struck him.
"But it can't be a basilisk," Amy said, her arms folded as she leaned back slightly. "The cat and that mudblood were petrified. They didn't die."
Jakob lowered himself onto one of the cushions, running a hand through his hair as he collected his thoughts. "I can only offer my theory about the cat, but I'd bet that Creevey experienced something similar."
"Go on," Amy said, sitting down beside him.
"That night," Jakob began, leaning forward slightly, "when I saw Filch's cat—Mrs. Norris—petrified, there was water on the floor. If she saw the basilisk's reflection—"
"She wouldn't have looked directly into its eyes," Amy finished, her voice calm but her brow furrowed in thought. The pieces seemed to click into place as she spoke.
"Exactly. Amy, we need to tell Snape. This snake, or whatever it is, doesn't care about bloodlines. People are walking around thinking they're safe because they're purebloods, but they're wrong. If you look into its eyes, you're dead. It's as simple as that."
Amy's gaze dropped to the book in her lap, her fingers brushing lightly against the page, tracing the coiled image of the basilisk etched there. She stayed quiet for a moment before looking back up at him.
"No," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for debate. "How would we be able to explain this without outing that you are a parselmouth? We're not saying anything about this. Not yet."
Jakob stared at her, disbelief etched across his face. "You're joking, right? What if Isabella or Marcus sees it? What if you see it on one of your prefect patrols?"
Amy shook her head. "No, Jakob. We won't tell anyone yet. So far, it's only attacked a cat and a mudblood. I don't see a problem with that."
Jakob's mouth fell open slightly. "But tomorrow, it could be anyone! Don't you get that?"
"Mind your tongue," Amy snapped coldly. "You're speaking to your queen."
Jakob met her glare with one of his own, clenching his jaw. "I came to you," he said in a low, infuriating tone. "I came to you because I trusted you. And now you're willing to risk yourself—and everyone else—because of some—"
"Enough!" Amy interrupted, rising to her feet. "You're upset," she said, her words clipped. "But don't let your temper make you reckless."
She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a hiss. "You forget your place, Jakob."
He had had enough. The raven-haired boy stood abruptly and turned to leave.
Before he could take another step, her hand closed firmly around his wrist, halting him mid-stride. He turned, glancing over his shoulder to see Amy standing there, her expression uncharacteristically soft.
"Jakob," she began, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "I care about you… I'll think of a way to deal with this, but I'll do it in a way that doesn't put you at risk." Her grip tightened slightly as her gaze held his. "You just need to trust me. Can you do that?"
For a moment, he held her gaze. Her usually unshakable confidence was replaced with something else—something almost vulnerable. Jakob sighed, his anger still simmering but ebbing slightly at the edges.
"Yes," he said at last in a low and resigned tone. "My queen."
A small smile broke across Amy's lips, and she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him in a gentle embrace.
"Our first fight," she murmured, resting her chin against his shoulder. "And I think we handled it quite well, don't you?"
Jakob didn't respond, his silence a quiet protest against her earlier stubbornness. Amy pulled back slightly, studying him with a faint smile before changing the subject.
"When did you get taller than me?" she asked, tilting her head in mock confusion.
Jakob raised an eyebrow. "I've always been taller than you."
"No, you haven't," Amy said, her smile growing. "This summer, I was taller than you. I remember it." She paused, looking him over as though seeing him for the first time. "Now, suddenly, you're taller than me?"
Jakob shrugged, but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying the faintest hint of amusement.
"Well," Amy said, stepping even closer and letting her voice drop, "I find it very hot."
Before he could respond, she leaned in and kissed him lightly. Jakob hesitated for only a moment before kissing her back, the earlier tension between them dissolving with every passing second. By the time she pulled away, it felt as though the fight had never happened at all.
That evening, Jakob made his way back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, the knife gifted to him by the Notts tucked securely in his bag. He had deciphered a symbol on the blade and needed to test it to see if the dagger held up to its promises.
He moved silently through the second-floor corridor, his steps barely a whisper against the stone floor, before easing the door to the girl's lavatory open.
Myrtle was hovering in her usual spot, her mournful expression as dramatic as ever. But the moment she noticed him, her face transformed, lighting up with joy like a child on Christmas morning. She floated down toward him eagerly.
"Victor!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing off the tiled walls. "I missed you, and I have so much to tell you!"
Jakob's signature smile appeared smoothly, as always. He raised a hand gently, signalling for her to pause. "We'll have plenty of time for that," he said with a soothing, warm tone, "but first, I want to know—how is the best ghost in Hogwarts doing?"
Myrtle, clearly unused to such flattery, raised her hands to cover her mouth, giggling like a schoolgirl. Jakob tilted his head slightly, watching her with a mix of amusement and discomfort. The reaction was… odd, to say the least.
"I'm just fine, Victor," she said, floating closer. "And don't worry, I haven't told anyone about our little secret. But you should know—there have been quite a few visitors here recently."
"I'm all ears," Jakob said, leaning casually against one of the bathroom doors, his expression carefully neutral.
"First," Myrtle began, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, "there were four students in here brewing some sort of potion. They looked younger than you—probably second years? They were all Gryffindors, and two of them were siblings. I think their names were Passer… no, wait, Losser…"
"Do you mean Potter?" Jakob asked, his voice sharp but calm.
Myrtle's eyes lit up, and she nodded eagerly. "Yes, that's it—Potter. They were in here talking about some Quade and Malfoy, I think." Her face twisted into an exaggerated grimace, and she floated closer, her tone dripping with disdain. "From the way they described those nasty boys, I think that Quade should be expelled. Nasty, horrible little boy!" She huffed dramatically. "Always sneaking around, up to no good. If I were alive, I'd probably avoid him altogether!"
Jakob's jaw tightened, but he quickly masked his irritation with a faint smile. "Did they, now?" he said evenly, keeping his tone calm.
"Was there a bushy-haired girl with them?"
Myrtle nodded again, her face lighting up with curiosity. "Yes, actually. How did you know that?"
"They're a well-known group," Jakob said smoothly, though his mind was already racing. "Tell me, Myrtle—what did the bushy-haired girl say?"
Myrtle floated in a slow circle, tapping her chin as she thought. "Nothing, really. She was busy brewing the potion while the other three were talking."
Jakob sighed quietly. Hermione, you idiot. Are you really that blind? The thought simmered in his mind, though he quickly masked it with his usual composure.
Myrtle noticed the change in his expression, her own shifting to one of worry. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked, looking a bit worried that she had angered the boy somehow.
Jakob's practised smile returned as he shook his head. "Not at all, Myrtle. You've been wonderful." He said with a warm and reassuring tone. "Do you happen to know what potion they were brewing?"
The ghost's demeanour changed instantly. She began to circle him with a sly smirk, her translucent form spinning just a little faster. "No, I don't," she said playfully, "but they hid it in that stall over there." She pointed dramatically toward the far end of the bathroom.
Jakob turned, following her gesture. He walked to the stall and opened the door, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the sight before him.
A cauldron sat in the corner, glimmering faintly under the effects of a freezing charm. He stepped closer, lifting the lid to examine its contents. The thick, bubbling liquid inside was unmistakable—Polyjuice Potion. It was about halfway finished.
He observed it for a moment, his mind turning over the possible ways they could use this against him.
He could sabotage it now, render it useless, but doing so would leave him in the dark of their motives. He needed to know what the Gryffindors were planning, and this potion might hold the key.
He considered Hermione briefly. She had promised to spy for him, to always give him information if he just asked, but forcing her to betray her friends again might only deepen the rift between them. No, this wasn't the time to act impulsively.
"I'll just have to wait and see," Jakob murmured, closing the lid carefully. Turning, He walked back to where Myrtle was hovering, giving him a curious look.
"Hey, Myrtle," Jakob said, keeping his tone casual as he leaned against one of the sinks. "Have you seen anyone speaking that funny language you mentioned last time?"
Myrtle floated a little higher, her translucent figure wobbling as she thought. "No, I haven't heard anything. Or… well, I did hear something, but I didn't mind it. I was busy, with... you know… moaning and being sad."
Jakob had to summon every ounce of self-control to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Instead, he plastered on his charming smile, the one she seemed to find irresistible.
"Very well then," he said smoothly, stepping closer to her. "Myrtle, do you… enjoy being a ghost? Haunting this place?"
Myrtle tilted her head, looking at Jakob with a puzzled expression as she floated closer. "What do you mean, Viktor? I enjoy being in the castle. The company of the other ghosts is nice enough."
"Sure it is," Jakob replied, his voice soft but probing. "But don't you ever wonder what it would be like if you just let go of this world? Aren't you curious on what's waiting for you on the other side?"
Myrtle let out a laugh, high-pitched and echoing. "I can't, even if I wanted to," she said, spinning lazily in the air. "And I wouldn't want to anyway. I like it here, and who would be your friend, Viktor, if I left?"
She pointed to one of the toilets, her grin widening with childlike glee. "I've even picked one out for you! When you die, you can haunt it right here with me."
Jakob raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching as he fought the urge to laugh. "How thoughtful of you, Myrtle," he said smoothly, taking a step closer. His tone softened as he added, "Actually, I thought of you today."
Myrtle's translucent form froze mid-hover, her eyes widening. "You… you thought of me?" she asked, her voice breathy with excitement.
"I did," Jakob replied, reaching discreetly into his robes. "I even got you something. Would you mind coming down here?"
Myrtle's eyes sparkled, her usual suspicion nowhere to be found. Instead, she floated down toward him, her grin widening as she said, "You got me something? Really? What is it?"
Jakob clasped his hands behind his back, his expression turning mischievous. "Before I show you," he said with a more formal tone as he straightened, "I just want to thank you. For all the valuable information you've given me."
Myrtle's grin faltered slightly, her curiosity piqued. "Well, you're welcome, Viktor, but what—"
Jakob leaned in, his previous gentle smile shifting to something sharper, darker. "The thing is, Myrtle," he said slowly, "my name isn't really Viktor. It's Jakob. Jakob Quade."
Myrtle's smile faltered, a strange, breathy sound escaping her lips as confusion clouded her face. Her gaze dropped, and the confusion turned to disbelief, then pain. Her expression finally twisted into pained horror as she saw it—a glowing red knife, not passing harmlessly through her ghostly form as it should, but buried deep into her stomach.
"What… what did you do? What's happening to me?" she whispered, her voice trembling as her hands clutched desperately at the hilt. She silently begged him to let go of the dagger, but his grip remained unyielding.
Jakob met her gaze, his expression unreadable, cold. "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, Myrtle," he said evenly. "And eventually, you would've figured out who I really was. I can't have that." His voice softened, but the words were no less cutting. "Your time here is done. It's time for you to move on—to the afterlife."
With one swift motion, Jakob pulled the knife free. Myrtle's form wavered, her knees buckling beneath her. She crumpled to the floor, her hands pressing against the wound as tears spilt down her translucent cheeks.
"It… it doesn't feel like I'm moving on," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "It feels wrong… it feels like I'm dying…"
Her form flickered, fading like smoke in the air. The sobs grew quieter, weaker, until there was nothing left of her but silence. Jakob's eyes lingered on the spot where she had been, the image of the crying Ravenclaw ghost burning into his memory.
When the room was still again, when the faint echoes of her voice had fully vanished, Jakob whispered to the emptiness.
"It was because you were dying," Jakob said in a calm, almost detached tone. "Ghosts can move on if they've finished their business. But you… you didn't. There was no afterlife waiting for you."
He stood there for a moment, staring at the space where Myrtle had faded away. Then, with a sombre nod, he silently said goodbye to her, turning his attention towards the sinks.
His footsteps echoed softly in the now-empty bathroom as he approached it, slipping his blood-red knife back into the folds of his robe.
Standing before the sink, he ran his fingers along the smooth edge of the basin. Closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath, he prepared himself for what he was about to do. Opening them again, he hissed.
"Open."