The Slytherin common room buzzed with gossip that night.
News of Harry's dive to catch the Remembrall had spread like Fiendfyre. Some claimed he'd nearly crashed into the stone wall. Others said Professor McGonagall had snatched him up for an immediate expulsion. Even in the dungeons, Amaechi could feel the energy—students chattering about Gryffindor's new golden boy and how he'd gotten himself a spot on the Quidditch team instead of detention.
Amaechi sat near the hearth, legs folded beneath her, a thick green and black scarf looped around her shoulders. Her purple-red eyes glowed faintly in the firelight, scanning a text on elemental incantations. The page blurred, her mind drifting back to the envelope, to the pulsing runes now etched in her memory.
A voice broke through her thoughts.
"You're not impressed by Potter's dive?" Draco had approached with a casual confidence, arms folded.
She didn't look up right away. "It was clean, well-timed," she admitted. "But anyone with instincts and a decent broom could manage it."
Draco smirked and dropped into the armchair beside her. "Exactly what I said."
She finally met his eyes. "Then why did you throw the Remembrall in the first place?"
"I was bored," he shrugged. "Thought I'd stir things up a bit. Didn't think he'd actually catch it."
Amaechi's lips twitched, but she didn't smile. "I did."
He leaned forward slightly. "You always seem to know things others don't."
"Maybe I just pay attention."
Draco tilted his head, gaze sharpening. "Or maybe you're hiding something."
A flicker of tension passed between them—mutual curiosity wrapped in house pride. But before she could reply, the portrait hole opened and Ron Weasley stormed into the room, having snuck in behind a distracted Slytherin second-year.
His face was flushed, hands balled into fists.
"I heard what you said about Neville," Ron snapped, his eyes boring into Draco's. "Saying it was hilarious how he flopped around like a flobberworm after his broom went wild?"
Draco didn't bother standing. "Well, it was funny. He dangled there like laundry."
Amaechi's eyes narrowed, displeasure flickering in her gaze.
"You're vile," Ron growled. "Always mocking people just because they don't have rich daddies and fancy brooms. Let's settle this—properly. Duel. Midnight. Trophy room."
Draco stood, all pretense of laziness gone. "Fine. I'll enjoy wiping the floor with you."
Amaechi sighed quietly as Ron stormed out. She met Draco's gaze again. "You really enjoy pushing people, don't you?"
"I push," he said, "to see who pushes back."
The Duel at Midnight
Hogwarts' stone halls seemed to hold their breath. Torchlight flickered across silent corridors as six students crept through the darkness.
Draco led the way with Crabbe and Goyle. Behind them came Harry, Ron, and Hermione, whispering nervously.
Amaechi kept to the side, silent but alert. She had no intention of dueling, but curiosity and a growing sense of foreboding made her tag along. Something about the way events were unfolding didn't sit right.
They reached the trophy room. Ron and Draco faced off, wands raised. Crabbe and Goyle loomed nearby, grinning.
"Scared?" Ron asked.
"Hardly," Draco sneered.
But before a single spell could be cast, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.
"Filch!" Hermione gasped.
"He must've heard us!"
"Run!"
They bolted from the room in different directions. Amaechi grabbed Draco's wrist and pulled him toward a side passage she'd spotted during a previous exploration. The others followed close behind.
Filch's angry shout rang through the air. "I know you're out here! Students out of bed! I'll have you scrubbing bedpans for a month!"
They dashed up a staircase, turned a corner—and found themselves in front of a locked door.
"It's locked!" Ron whispered frantically.
"Alohomora," Amaechi said softly, and the lock clicked.
They spilled into the room and closed the door just as Filch's footsteps approached. They waited in tense silence until his muttering faded into the distance.
Then Harry turned, and everyone froze.
In the corner of the room, a hulking shape shifted.
Three massive heads rose from the shadows, each snarling with a mouth full of fangs.
"A three-headed dog?" Hermione gasped.
Amaechi instinctively reached for her wand.
"It's guarding something," Harry said, pointing to a trapdoor beneath the creature.
"Let's go!" Ron hissed.
They stumbled back into the corridor and slammed the door shut.
Only when they were safely back in the common rooms—breathless and wide-eyed—did Amaechi feel the pulse again. Not from danger… but from the lake.
The surface was calm.
But beneath it, something had stirred.