The only family I have Left.

Chapter 35

The door creaked again.

Not fully opening just enough to remind them it could.

The hallway light outside flickered once, twice, then steadied into a weak, sickly glow that didn't reach the far end of the corridor. Shadows clung there like something waiting to be invited in.

Draco moved first.

"Stay here," he said sharply, already stepping away from the window.

Hermione didn't argue this time. Her wand lifted instantly, angled toward the doorway, her stance firm but tense. "If he's trying to re-enter physically after mind contact, it means he's stabilising a link. That's not good."

Gracie swallowed, pulling the blanket tighter around her fingers. "So he can come in?"

"Not if we stop him first," Draco replied, voice low.

Another sound.

Not a creak this time.

A scratch.

Like something dragging softly along the wood just outside the room.

The air thickened again subtle at first, then undeniable. The warmth that had returned seconds earlier drained away, replaced by that same unnatural cold that seemed to sink beneath skin rather than sit on it.

Gracie's chest tightened.

"He's here again," she whispered.

Hermione didn't look away from the door. "No. Not fully. This is projection. Influence. He's testing boundaries."

"Or buying time," Draco muttered.

The scratch stopped.

Silence followed but it wasn't empty. It was waiting.

Then Gracie felt it again.

Not a whisper this time.

A pull.

Deep behind her eyes, like something inside her mind had been hooked and tugged gently, insistently, toward the hallway.

Her breath caught.

"No—no, stop," she whispered, pressing a hand to her temple. "He's—he's doing it again."

Hermione turned slightly. "Gracie, don't follow it. Focus on me. What do you see right now?"

But it was already too late.

The room blurred at the edges.

The candlelight bent.

And for a split second, the hallway wasn't outside the room anymore.

It was inside her.

A long corridor stretched before her impossibly tall, impossibly cold. Doors lined it, but none of them had handles. At the far end stood the figure.

Silver mask.

Still.

Watching.

And this time, he tilted his head slightly, as if acknowledging she had finally looked back.

There you are.

The voice didn't come from outside.

It came from within her thoughts, smooth and precise.

Gracie gasped, stumbling back so hard she nearly slipped off the bed.

"I see him," she said, voice breaking. "I see the hallway. He's he's not outside anymore. He's—"