Sleep didn't come easily that night.
Harry lay in bed, staring at the emerald canopy above him, the hissing still echoing in his mind.
"Massster… where…?"
It hadn't just been a voice.
It had been a presence.
Something old, something restless—something that recognized him as its own.
And that?
That was a problem.
Because whatever was lurking in the walls of Hogwarts?
It was coming for him.
Breakfast & A Very Irritated Theo
The next morning, Harry walked into the Great Hall with Noctis curled firmly around his shoulders.
The Tenebris Fox had refused to leave his side all night, its tail coiled protectively against his neck.
Theo wasn't much better.
The moment Harry sat down, Theo shoved a plate in front of him.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Are you force-feeding me now?"
Theo, scowling, spread jam onto a slice of toast with unnecessary aggression. "You look like you didn't sleep."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Gee, wonder why."
Theo didn't smile.
Instead, he leaned in, voice low and sharp. "Did you hear it again?"
Harry hesitated.
Then, reluctantly—"No."
Theo's eyes narrowed. "Liar."
Harry sighed, grabbing a piece of toast before Theo stabbed him with a butter knife. "Alright, fine. No, I didn't hear it again. But I dreamed about it."
Pansy, sitting across from them, perked up. "Ooh, haunted dreams now? We're really escalating, Potter."
Harry glared. "Yes, because that's exactly what I need right now. Sarcasm."
Blaise chuckled. "Oh, don't mind us. We're just deeply fascinated by your ongoing descent into Dark Lord territory."
Theo huffed. "He's not a bloody Dark Lord."
Blaise smirked. "Not yet."
Harry groaned, rubbing his temple. "For Salazar's sake."
Enter: Gilderoy Lockhart, Disaster in Human Form
Unfortunately, breakfast was not the worst part of Harry's morning.
No.
That came during Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Because the moment Lockhart entered the classroom, smiling far too brightly, Harry immediately regretted everything.
"Class!" Lockhart beamed, flashing his too-white teeth. "Today, we embark on a thrilling journey of practical defense—starting with my exclusive pop quiz!"
Harry froze.
"What."
Lockhart clapped his hands. "Now, now, no complaints! Learning about your professor is just as important as learning defense!"
Harry glanced at Theo.
Theo looked like he was actively restraining himself from committing several crimes.
The entire class groaned as stacks of parchment floated down the rows.
Harry grabbed his, glaring at the title.
"How Well Do You Know Gilderoy Lockhart?"
Harry skimmed the questions.
And then froze.
Question 1: What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?
Question 2: What is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest ambition?
Question 3: How many times has Gilderoy Lockhart won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award?
Harry slowly turned to Theo.
Theo slowly turned to him.
Neither of them spoke.
Because there were no words.
Noctis, sitting on Harry's desk, hissed.
Theo exhaled sharply. "This is actual torture."
Pansy, already done filling out the quiz at record speed, smirked. "Oh, lighten up, boys. Some of us are actually having fun."
Harry groaned.
This was going to be a long year.
The Hissing Returns
That night, Harry left the common room again.
He didn't plan to.
But something pulled him.
A whisper in his blood.
A call he couldn't ignore.
He wandered through the dark corridors, the torches flickering uncertainly, the castle eerily silent.
Then—
"Massster… are you here…?"
Harry's breath hitched.
The voice was closer this time.
More desperate.
More real.
"I have waited… so long…"
A shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.
A slither of movement.
Harry's heart pounded.
Because this wasn't just a voice anymore.
This was something waking up.
Something that had been waiting for him.
And soon?
It was going to find him.
The hissing wrapped around him, curling through the air like a whisper carried by the wind.
"Massster… so close…"
Harry swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at him to turn back.
But he didn't.
Because something inside him was answering.
Not consciously. Not willingly.
But in the deepest part of his blood, there was a pull—something that recognized this voice, something that felt almost familiar.
His fingers curled into fists.
This was wrong.
"I sssmell your magic… you are not whole yet… but ssssoon… ssssoon…"
Harry stiffened.
Not whole yet?
What the hell did that mean?
He took a slow step forward, his magic buzzing loud beneath his skin, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs.
And then—
A soft scuttling noise echoed through the hall.
Not a slither.
Not a whisper.
Something running.
Fast.
Panicked.
Harry turned his head just in time to see a blur of movement down the corridor—something small, trembling, scrambling across the floor in sheer terror.
A spider.
And then another.
And another.
Harry's stomach twisted.
They were fleeing.
The same way they had in his dreams.
The same way creatures ran from death itself.
And suddenly—
He wasn't alone.
A figure stepped out of the shadows, silent as a ghost, his presence immediate.
Theo.
Harry exhaled sharply, his muscles tensing.
Theo didn't say a word.
Didn't ask why Harry was out here.
Didn't even look surprised.
He simply studied him, dark eyes calculating, his wand already in hand.
Then—low, even, knowing—
"You heard it again."
It wasn't a question.
Harry didn't lie.
"…Yes."
Theo's fingers tightened around his wand.
"Where?"
Harry exhaled slowly, turning back toward the darkness of the corridor. "Everywhere."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Theo, voice flat, muttered, "Brilliant."
Harry huffed a humorless laugh. "Tell me about it."
And together, they stood there—watching the spiders flee toward the Forbidden Forest.
Because whatever was coming?
It wasn't just looking for Harry anymore.
It was waking up.