Malfoy froze, a chill running down his spine as he turned sharply.
Pansy.
What was she doing here?
"My Lord, you misunderstand!" he stammered, forcing a nervous smile. "She's a pure-blood witch from the Parkinson family—absolutely pure-blood—and she's my girlfriend. Completely loyal."
He shot Pansy a quick, desperate look, silently urging her to step forward and swear allegiance. But Pansy only stared back blankly, eyes wide and uncomprehending.
"Oh, little Draco," said Riddle, his voice a low, amused purr. "You're rather naïve. Your eyes aren't nearly as sharp as my Basilisk's nose."
Malfoy blinked in confusion.
"She's a Mudblood," Riddle declared. His wand rose smoothly, and Malfoy's breath caught. The spell that followed was not green, and that, for a fleeting instant, gave him hope. He prayed his months of training would be enough.
"Not bad," Riddle said, eyes glinting. "That little performance just now—do it again."
The words echoed cruelly in Draco's mind, reminding him of Pansy's odd behavior in the common room earlier.
"Protego!" cried Hermione, raising her wand out of sheer instinct. The protective charm shimmered—but the curse Riddle had cast sliced through it as though it were mist.
"See?" Riddle laughed softly. "Polyjuice Potion, is it? I must admit, even for a Mudblood, brewing such a potion in your second year is quite remarkable."
His tone hardened. "So, after receiving my praise, you may die. You are, after all, the first Mudblood I've ever found praiseworthy."
He raised his wand again. This time, the spell would not spare her.
Malfoy stood frozen, horror etched across his face. Before his eyes, Pansy's features shimmered, melting away until Hermione Granger's pale, terrified face emerged—anger, fear, and despair flickering in her eyes.
All of Pansy's strange behavior now made sense.
So this is the butterfly effect? Draco thought wildly. How could things have twisted so far from what I planned?
"My Lord—!"
Hermione, hiding behind a pillar, almost cried out when she heard Draco address Riddle that way.
"Dragon blood…" she whispered to herself, her mind racing. She remembered the incident in their first year, when Malfoy had tried to intimidate them into stealing dragon blood.
"My father," Malfoy continued, his voice trembling but steady enough to carry, "never believed you were truly dead. He always said the Dark Lord cannot die—that your body may perish, but your power is eternal.
"He returned to wizarding society, not in rebellion, but to prepare the ground for your return. You may have already seen, from Lockhart's memories, that our family is wealthy—very wealthy—and we can be of great service to you.
"So please, my Lord, forgive what might have seemed like betrayal before. It was never disloyalty."
Hidden in the shadows, Hermione's heart pounded.
So Lucius never stopped serving Voldemort. He and his son brought him back.
Her earlier doubts suddenly seemed absurd. She had pitied Malfoy—wanted to protect him. Worse, she had begun to feel something for him. Guilt. Curiosity. Maybe even tenderness.
But why does it hurt so much? she thought bitterly. It felt as though a dull knife were sawing through her chest—slow, relentless, bleeding her heart dry.
Was that day in Hogsmeade fake? she wondered. Was that note, that warning, all a lie?
"Yes," she answered herself harshly. "He was just playing with me. That's what pure-bloods do, isn't it? Toy with Muggle-borns for sport. He only pretended to care so he could humiliate me later."
She clenched her fists. And that note… maybe he wanted to lead us to our deaths. Maybe he wanted us to face the Dark Lord ourselves, to be wiped out at the final moment.
Her reasoning was desperate, but chillingly plausible.
Enough. She forced herself to breathe. You've heard too much. You have to get out alive. Tell Dumbledore everything. Forget Draco Malfoy. Let the school judge him as it will.
Her brief, fragile love—if it could even be called that—had barely taken root before being cruelly torn away.
"You seem to have brought a tail," Riddle said suddenly, turning his head slightly. "And a dirty little Mudblood at that."
Hermione froze.
No… he found me!
Riddle's laughter filled the chamber. "How delightful. Draco, let's see what this Mudblood intends to do."
Hermione's hands shook as she clutched the stack of Howlers she'd brought for distraction. With a quick motion, she threw them into the air.
Nothing happened.
"I just praised your cleverness," Riddle said, amused. "How can you be so foolish now? Magical contraptions are useless here. Those anti-cheating wards your professors designed—quite impressive, really."
His compliment made Hermione's blood run cold.
"Oh? Are you going to turn yourself into a chicken next?" Riddle laughed harder, folding his arms. He watched her wave her wand desperately, as though she were some entertainer performing tricks.
Spell after spell fizzled into nothing.
Hermione's heart plummeted into an icy void. Every nerve in her body screamed that this was the end.
"You truly thought that killing my Basilisk would end everything?" Riddle's smile was razor-thin, his words venomous.
"If not for the dragon blood my loyal servant gave me, perhaps I wouldn't be much of a threat. But that was then." He spread his hands, admiring them as if they were a work of art. "Now my body is almost perfect."
He turned back to her, voice like silk drawn over steel. "More than enough to deal with a Mudblood like you."
His wand rose, the air itself trembling around it. The amused predator was finally bored with his prey.
"My Lord, wait!" Draco blurted.
Riddle stopped mid-gesture, frowning slightly. "What is it, Draco? Are you pleading for this filthy Mudblood?"
"N-no, my Lord!" Malfoy said quickly, shaking his head. "Of course not."
He swallowed hard. "Forgive me, my Lord—I forgot something."
Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a small vial filled with a shimmering silver liquid.
"The first battle of your resurrection should be flawless," Draco said carefully. "This… this is unicorn blood. With it, your body will reach true perfection. I was foolish to forget. I deserve punishment for my negligence."
Riddle's expression softened into a satisfied smirk. "From the standpoint of vitality, unicorn blood is even more potent than dragon blood." He chuckled, taking the vial from Draco's trembling hand. "A small mistake, but one that brings me an unexpected gift. Consider yourself forgiven."
Hermione, hidden behind him, stared in horror.
He uncorked the bottle. The silver liquid caught the torchlight, gleaming like mercury.
Riddle tipped it back and drank.
At once, a thin mist began to rise from his skin, curling like smoke. His pale flesh glowed faintly, as though moonlight itself were trapped beneath his surface. The cracks in his spectral form sealed, his outline sharpening, his movements gaining weight.
"Magnificent," he breathed, flexing his fingers. "I can feel it… life itself flowing through me."
Hermione could no longer look away. She wanted to scream, to run, to do something, but her body would not obey.
Riddle turned to her once more, his eyes bright with manic power. "Now then," he said softly. "Where were we?"
Draco's thoughts spun out of control. Every path he imagined ended in disaster. He had bought Hermione a few seconds—nothing more.
Think, Draco, think!
But Riddle was already lifting his wand again. The faint green glimmer at its tip shimmered, reflecting in Hermione's eyes.
"Avada—"
"Expelliarmus!" Draco shouted, voice cracking.
The spell shot from his wand before he'd even made the decision. A burst of red light slammed into Riddle's hand, sending the Elder Wand spinning across the stone floor.
For one stunned second, silence reigned.
Then Riddle's expression turned deadly.
"You dare—"
But Hermione had already thrown herself sideways, grabbing Draco's arm. Together they dove behind a crumbling pillar as a jet of emerald light blasted through the space where they had stood. Stone shattered, dust raining over them.
"Run!" Draco hissed.
They stumbled to their feet, sprinting through the maze of ruins. Another curse seared past, splintering the wall beside them. The air reeked of smoke and ozone.
Hermione's lungs burned. "Why are you helping me?" she gasped between breaths.
"I don't know!" Draco snapped, his face pale and desperate. "Just keep moving!"
Behind them, Riddle's laughter echoed like thunder. "Run all you like, little fools! You cannot escape me!"
The chamber trembled. Magic pulsed through the air, ancient and furious.
Draco's hand tightened around hers.
For one fleeting instant, Hermione felt warmth in that grip—a strange echo of the boy he might have been before darkness claimed his world.
Then the floor beneath them cracked open, and they plunged into darkness.
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