The Chamber of Secrets.

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The Great Hall fell into a heavy, uneasy silence. Then James burst to his feet, ecstatic and unstoppable.

"I MARRIED EVANS! PADFOOT, MOONY, WORMY -I HAVE A KID WITH HER!" he shouted.

He sprinted across the floor and swept Lily into his arms, spinning her in sheer joy. His laughter shook the hall. Euphemia and Fleamont Potter wept openly as they realized they had a grandson.

Severus Snape, seated at the Slytherin table, stiffened. His face drained of colour. The girl he once knew - the person he thought understood himself - would marry James - "that Mongrel." It was hard to believe.

The scene shifted.

Isadora.

She moved like a shadow cutting through moonlight, silent, composed, and terrifying in her stillness. No trembling fingers. No shuddering breath. Only calm. Cold, methodical calm.

She pushed open the door to the second-floor girls' bathroom, her footsteps echoing in the tile chamber like the ticking of a clock before a detonation.

Myrtle hovered near the sink, her wide eyes following Isadora with the rapt attention of someone sensing something ancient just below the surface.

"Are you feeling angry, Isadora?" Myrtle asked, her voice drifting like fog. There was no teasing this time - only a haunted curiosity. "I can feel your magic bubbling. It's like... like the air's gone stiff."

She drifted lower, hesitant. "You know, I was angry once. The boys mocked me. Laughed. Hurt me. Anger's what got me killed. But you..." She leaned in, voice hushed. "You're not like them. You're magic's heavier. If you ever need to hide, Izzy... you can share my toilet."

It was an odd offering. Myrtle rarely tolerated anyone - she wallowed in self-pity and shrieked at the smallest slight. But now, she offered Isadora sanctuary.

Isadora tilted her head. Her expression didn't soften.

"Thank you, Myrtle," she said, voice low and oddly poised. "But I do not intend to die."

The ghost blinked, startled. She said nothing as she faded into the nearest stall, retreating like a mouse before a hawk.

Isadora turned toward the cracked mirror.

She didn't blink.

In the Great Hall, students still whispered about Harry and his future. The elation from James's announcement had curdled into unease. Something unspoken hung in the air.

Why had she gone to the Girl's Washroom?

What was she doing?

A sudden shift in magic sliced through the castle like a razor.

Cold. Compressed. Dense with something unnameable.

Back in the Washroom, Isadora reached for her collar.

No hesitation. No flinch.

She unbuttoned it slowly, with regal precision, and swept her hair back behind her shoulders.

The tattoo gleamed like wet ink - black as pitch - winding across her collarbones like a coiled serpent. But it wasn't just a snake. It was a chain. Fangs open. Loops tight. It looked less like a symbol and more like a brand, like it was binding her, keeping something beneath the surface restrained.

The snake didn't move. But it felt like it could.

In the Great Hall, the silence fractured. One gasp. Then another.

"That-" Marlene murmured. "Isn't that the Dark Mark. That's-"

"It's binding her," whispered Alice Longbottom, her voice barely audible. "Like a cage."

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