"Inherit the glory!"
Before Draco could finish the password, a stone serpent materialized, its coils arching dramatically to prop up the massive door. He slipped through into the Slytherin common room and collapsed into a nearby armchair, the carved wood digging into his back.
After the Quidditch match and Snape dragging him to the headmaster's office, the evening's chaos had left him bone-tired. But sleep wouldn't come—not with the night's mysteries swirling in his head.
Why had that house-elf been caught? Why was Vizette in Dumbledore's office? They'd mentioned pipes—what did that even mean? And Snape's orders... Could the heir really be in Slytherin?
Draco snorted to himself. Of course it was. He was the heir to the Chamber of Secrets; it'd be downright odd if he weren't.
A headache was building behind his eyes when Pansy's voice cut through the dim green glow of the room. "Draco!"
She dropped onto the arm of his chair, her face etched with worry. "Crabbe said Snape hauled you off. What happened?"
Draco hesitated, recalling Snape's sharp command: if anyone pried about tonight, report their name to him immediately. Pansy's concern seemed genuine, though—after all, she was a friend.
"Another attack?" she pressed. "Are you hurt?"
He shook his head. "What could possibly happen to me? The Chamber's just sorting out that mudblood filth."
Pansy leaned in. "But Crabbe said Snape looked furious when he took you. Does Dumbledore think you attacked Potter? Snape isn't going soft on that Gryffindor, is he?"
"Harry Potter?" Draco sneered, pitching his voice like Snape's oily drawl. "Just a weed-brained fool from Gryffindor."
Pansy giggled. "Spot on, Draco! So where'd you see him? The hospital wing? I heard his arm's a right mess."
"Nothing like that." Draco eyed her steadily. "You've been off tonight, Pansy."
Her smile faltered, replaced by a hurt pout. "I was only worried! If you won't talk, fine."
She stormed off, and Draco exhaled, massaging his temples before trudging to the dormitory. Snape would hear about her questions in the morning.
---
Pansy returned to the common room moments later, claiming the same armchair. She pulled out her diary, her fingers trembling as ink scrawled across the page unbidden.
Pansy, I'm furious! You've done everything for him, and he doesn't trust you a bit. He doesn't see you as a friend at all!
She gripped the quill tighter, nearly ripping the paper. "Have they figured me out? That house-elf popping up—too convenient."
Look at Malfoy. He knows you're concerned, but he clams up. We're upholding Salazar Slytherin's legacy, and he gets nothing!
"Yes... he doesn't understand." Pansy scribbled back, her handwriting shaky. "What now? Keep going? What's wrong with Draco?"
[We press on, of course! I know who's behind this—Albus Dumbledore! Only Hogwarts' headmaster could summon a house-elf like that.]
[I see! Draco's been fooled by Dumbledore, just like when he tried threatening you. He wants the Malfoys under his thumb.]
[Pansy, our cause is vital now. Purge the mudbloods from Hogwarts, topple Dumbledore, and rescue Draco!]
"Rescue Draco," she whispered, then wrote: "Mr. Riddle, what's our move?"
Dumbledore's on alert, so we can't strike blindly. Find a scapegoat, lie low, build strength, and strike later.
"A scapegoat? Vizette Lovegood!" The name spilled out. "Frame him? Your thoughts?"
[Brilliant as always, wise and beautiful Pansy. Use his bookish habits—lure him with something scholarly.]
Her cheeks burned as she wrote faster, letters blurring. "Done! What do I have the house-elves fetch? I'll set it up now."
I'll show you how to enchant objects... Craft another diary and slip it into the library. It'll draw Vizette right in. Then guide him to the Chamber, let him get caught—everyone will turn on him. Sound good?
"Perfect," Pansy sneered, quill flying. "Crowning him heir? What an honor we'll give."
Yes, the honor you deserve... But first, open your mind fully, as you always do. Let me merge with you—then you'll recall the spell. Ready?
"Yes!" Without pause, Pansy pricked her finger on the quill's tip, smearing blood on the page. Her eyes fluttered shut as she slumped forward.
Tom Riddle rose from the diary like smoke solidifying into flesh, his form almost tangible. He shot a look of revulsion at Pansy's limp body and edged away, perching on the chair's arm instead. Legs crossed, fingers steepled, a sly smile curled his lips.
"Can you sense it watching? Some detection charm? Good thing I warded the diary." He glanced at her slack face. "We've had our fun, you and I—quite the entertaining run."
"You served your purpose well. Your life force made me strong again... but now, we part."
"Not entirely, of course. You'll still prove useful. I'll gift you the title of Slytherin's heir—enjoy it."
Riddle rose, his shape shimmering into wisps of black-green light. Arms outstretched, he drifted toward Pansy and dissolved upon contact, scattering like embers. The fragments swirled, then funneled into her mouth, nose, and eyes in a single, piercing beam.
Pansy gasped awake, Riddle's essence now woven into her soul.
—