In the dimly lit corridor, Snape strode ahead with his usual brisk pace, forcing Draco to jog just to keep up after the Quidditch match.
"Did your father say anything to you?" Snape asked sharply.
"About what?" Draco panted, confused. "Professor Snape, I don't follow..."
"Before term started, did I give you instructions? About the Chamber of Secrets, for instance?"
"No... Dad never mentioned it. Professor, is the Chamber really open? With those Mudbloods—"
Snape halted abruptly, his voice a whipcrack. "Draco Malfoy! Never use that word. That's my advice to you."
Draco's flushed cheeks drained to ashen white. Gasping, he stammered, "Professor... I won't say it again..."
Snape's tone iced over once more. "Think hard. Did your father truly say nothing? Like urging you to befriend certain people, as last year?"
"Yes," Draco admitted, nodding. "Dad told me to get along with Vizette. But for safety, only inside Hogwarts Castle."
Snape's brow furrowed; he absently rubbed his left forearm. "Only inside the castle?"
"Exactly!" Draco nodded. "He said the best decision he ever made was befriending you. He's grateful..."
Snape snorted derisively, his stern face cracking into a mirthless half-smile. "Don't mimic his games, boy. Come on—keep up."
---
Vizette stepped forward, pressing his wand tip to Dobby's temple and closing his eyes in focus.
Harry watched, baffled, and glanced at Dumbledore. "Headmaster, is this a Memory Extraction?"
"Indeed. If you're keen, check the Restricted Section," Dumbledore replied with an encouraging nod. "My recall isn't Vizette's caliber—I remember the book as The Brain Like a Moth Pupa, but not the page."
Harry managed a dry laugh. "The Restricted Section's not exactly welcoming."
Dumbledore and Harry shared a knowing look. "A professor's note? That shouldn't trouble you."
"It could open doors to more magic. Hermione's a brilliant witch; she'll lend a hand. Apply yourself!"
Harry shifted, feeling exposed. "I'll do my best, Headmaster."
Magical creatures like house-elves harbored straightforward emotions, which explained Dobby's drastic efforts to protect Harry—sealing platforms, launching rogue Bludgers—all to drag him home from peril.
Their memories, however, tangled like knotted yarn, demanding finesse to unravel. Vizette had handled similar chaos before, so this came easier now.
"A 'fulcrum' to pry them loose... I barely know Dobby, but he fears me—or rather, what I evoke. Fear as the anchor."
What else terrified Dobby? His odd reverence for Harry as "the great Boy Who Lived" hinted at shared trauma. "Voldemort, then. Make him the nightmare incarnate."
Vizette conjured Voldemort's form from last year's remnants: the pallid, serpentine wraith that fled Quirrell's corpse—grotesque, lipless, with slit-like eyes.
As the image solidified, a fleeting rune-pattern shimmered in Vizette's mind, gone before he could grasp it.
Fear unlocked the flood. Dobby's recollections sharpened, ripe for extraction.
"Memory Extraction!" Vizette incanted, wand drawing a slender silver filament.
Harry's eyes widened at the glowing thread. "That's memory?"
Dumbledore stroked his beard, pleased by Harry's rapt attention. "Precisely. Marvelous, isn't it? Hunt down that book."
---
A sharp hiss echoed from beyond the office door.
"Professor Snape, you all right?" Draco's voice followed.
Snape's reply was glacial: "Inside."
"Vizette, what're you doing here?" Draco entered, spotting Vizette and the limp Dobby amid swirling shadows. He peered into the dark bubble, then at Dobby's twisted face. "Dobby? What's he up to?"
"That's where you chime in," Snape said, dabbing sweat from his brow as he entered. "Or he'd sooner dislocate his jaw than talk."
Vizette nodded to Draco, sealing the silvery memory into a vial. He flicked his wand: "Rennervate!"
The spell jolted Dobby awake with a piercing wail: "The Dark Lord! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"
His eyes bulged, threatening collapse, but the charm held him alert.
"Quiet, Dobby!" Draco snapped imperiously. "Why're you skulking around school?"
"Dobby... Dobby is a bad house-elf!" He gaped wide, tongue lolling as if to gnaw it off.
Dumbledore snapped his fingers; a splinter of wood jammed into Dobby's mouth.
"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said mildly, "care to explain?"
Draco shrugged. "Looks like he went rogue—no orders from Dad. So when I question him, he self-punishes."
"As a house-elf, failing your master makes you worthless trash. Dad insists on harsh penalties."
Harry's simmering fury ebbed into pity for the elf.
"Veritaserum?" Snape suggested coolly, his gaze pinning Harry like a hex.
Dumbledore rose, heading to the Pensieve cabinet. "Actually, Vizette's extract might serve better than potions..."
Vizette's face tightened; he barked, "The Basilisk—it's here!"
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