The moon hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the Forbidden Forest as Harry and Ron trudged through the underbrush. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, and every step they took seemed to echo into the night. After Dumbledore's cryptic words to "follow the spiders," they had no choice but to do exactly that.
The ground beneath their feet grew spongy as they ventured deeper into the woods, their nerves strung tight. The eerie silence of the night was broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the low hum of distant creatures. But as they pushed forward, a strange, unsettling sound began to fill the air: the unmistakable patter of many legs.
"Harry…" Ron whispered, his voice a mixture of fear and awe. "I don't like this."
Harry swallowed hard, but his resolve didn't waver. They followed the trail of webbing until the trees parted, revealing a clearing where a massive, unearthly creature waited—its enormous body glistening in the moonlight. Aragog, the giant acromantula, towered over them, his eight eyes gleaming like polished marbles.
"Who dares enter my domain?" the spider's voice rumbled, deep and menacing.
Aragog's massive form loomed, and Harry and Ron stood frozen for a moment. But when the spider spoke again, its tone was more curious than threatening.
"You seek answers, do you?" Aragog asked, his voice oddly calm. "Hagrid was my friend. He did not open the Chamber of Secrets. It was not he who caused the attack all those years ago. It was a monster—a basilisk. A serpent, deadly in its gaze."
The air around them seemed to hold its breath as Harry and Ron exchanged a look. The giant spider continued.
"The Chamber's creature does not kill by biting. It kills by looking. Anyone who meets its eyes dies. But those who only see it indirectly… those are the ones who are petrified."
The revelation hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. Aragog's eyes flicked to a dark corner of the clearing, his voice dropping low. "But beware… there is no way to defeat it without knowing the truth. That is why the basilisk still lives."
Harry's heart raced, and Ron looked pale, but they had learned enough. The creature in the Chamber was not a mere legend—it was real. With that knowledge, they turned back, retracing their steps, the weight of their discovery settling uneasily in their minds.
⸻
The next morning, the Great Hall was bustling with students, but Lennon felt a familiar heaviness in her chest. She had barely managed to get a few hours of sleep after the long night, and now, as she slouched tiredly in her seat at the Gryffindor table, her eyelids grew heavy.
The soft murmur of voices around her was like a distant hum in her ears. She tried to focus on her breakfast, but soon enough, her head dipped, and she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
From the Slytherin table, Mattheo, Lorenzo, and Theodore couldn't help but notice.
"Look at her," Lorenzo muttered, watching Lennon's head rest on her arms. "She looks like she hasn't slept in days."
Theodore raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What did you two get up to last night? She looks completely wiped out."
Mattheo, who had been staring at Lennon quietly, blinked and turned his gaze back to his food. "We just talked," he said simply, his voice low.
Lorenzo leaned forward slightly, his tone a bit more probing. "Just talked? About what?"
Mattheo hesitated for a moment, a flicker of something passing through his eyes. "I promised her I wouldn't tell anyone," he said firmly, his voice carrying an edge of finality.
Theodore watched Mattheo closely, sensing the weight behind his words. He leaned back in his seat, nodding. "Alright, alright. I won't push."
But Lorenzo, not one to miss a detail, smirked and added, "We do know you were in the Hospital Wing last night because of Hermione."
The mention of Hermione made Mattheo stiffen, but he quickly regained his composure, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "That's not the point," he replied, his voice tight. "I said I wouldn't tell anyone, and I'm not going to."
Lorenzo raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin spreading across his face. "Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off."
Theodore, sensing the conversation winding down, smirked to himself. He'd known Mattheo long enough to understand when he was holding something back. Whatever it was that had happened last night, it was clearly important—and personal.
Mattheo's gaze flicked once more to Lennon, still asleep at the Gryffindor table. There was something about her, something that made him want to keep his word, even if it meant keeping a secret for a while longer.
"She'll be fine," Mattheo said quietly, though his words were more to himself than anyone else. The others didn't respond, each lost in their own thoughts.
The rest of the students carried on with their breakfast, unaware of the quiet tension that lingered between the Slytherins. Mattheo had made a promise to Lennon, and it was one he wasn't about to break—not for anyone.
⸻
Later that morning, Fred and George, always up to something, noticed Lennon sleeping at the Gryffindor table. A mischievous glint appeared in Fred's eye as he nudged his twin.
"Oi, look at this," Fred whispered. "Let's give her a little wake-up call."
George smirked. "You read my mind. She won't know what hit her."
The twins were about to pull out one of their usual pranks when Oliver, who had just entered the Hall, intercepted them with a stern look.
"Don't even think about it," Oliver said, his voice low but firm. "She needs rest. Let her be."
Fred and George, caught off guard, exchanged a glance before they reluctantly backed off.
"Fine, fine," Fred grumbled, clearly disappointed. "But she owes us one."
Oliver gave them a pointed look. "Maybe next time, after she's had some sleep."
As the rest of the students continued their meals, the sound of clinking silverware and quiet chatter filled the Great Hall. But Mattheo couldn't help but glance at Lennon once more. There was something about her, something he still couldn't put his finger on. And as much as he wanted to ask her about the conversation they'd had last night, he kept his promise to her—he wouldn't say a word.
Not yet, anyway.
⸻