Scotland's Highlands in autumn never got as drenched as London, but the dampness still hung in the air like a low-grade buzz. Tiny beads of water seeped from the castle's stone walls, as if the whole building were breathing slow and steady.
Julien sat by the window in the Ravenclaw common room, Advanced Transfiguration Theory open on his lap—one of McGonagall's extra-credit books for the Transfiguration Club. His mind, though, had already drifted out to the gray, misty sky.
His right hand kept rubbing the collar of his robes. Hanging there on a thin leather cord was the ice crystal Liriya had given him right before summer break—the Tear of Evernight.
Right now the stone that should've felt freezing was giving off a weird, pulsing warmth, like a sleeping heart that had just started beating.
It reminded him of Starfall Cove. When he'd stepped into that sunken ghost city beneath the sea, the Tear had reacted the exact same way. Back then the eerie blue glow and the shifting underwater light had made everything feel dreamlike, and the shock of the whole place had drowned out the faint throb. He'd missed it.
Now he knew better. It was a warning—an ancient power detector.
And this time the reaction was ten times stronger. The heat was almost burning his skin.
"Spacing out again? Thinking about some girl?" Casen Moretti's voice floated down from above, followed by the faint metallic whir of a golden Snitch model. Julien looked up to find his roommate staring at him like he'd grown a second head.
"Just feeling cooped up," Julien muttered, tucking the crystal back under his collar and closing the book. "Gonna step outside for some air."
He left the tower, rounded the corner—and nearly collided with Harry Potter hurrying from the direction of the Defense Against the Dark Arts office. The kid's face was white as a sheet.
"Harry?" Julien blocked his path. "What happened? You look like a Dementor just French-kissed you."
Harry stopped, green eyes still wide with leftover terror. He glanced both ways down the corridor, then dropped his voice. "Julien, you're never gonna believe this… I was helping Lockhart answer fan mail, and suddenly… I heard a voice."
"What kind of voice?"
"A… hissing one," Harry's voice shook. "Coming straight out of the walls. It kept saying stuff like 'kill… rip… blood.' But Lockhart didn't hear a thing. He just told me I'm stressing too hard and it's all in my head."
Julien's pupils tightened. Parseltongue. The word slammed into his brain along with every creepy memory from the books. Before he could reply, hurried footsteps echoed from the other end of the corridor.
"Harry! We've been looking everywhere for you!" Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley came jogging up, Hermione clutching her usual tower of books.
"Julien? You're here too?"
"Yeah, just out for a walk. You guys catch up—I'll leave you to it."
"See you later, Julien. It's getting late—don't stay out too long."
"Will do. Catch you around."
Julien had zero interest in tagging along with the Golden Trio right now. He had his own mission. Ever since term started he'd combed every inch of Hogwarts looking for that meteorite fragment. Nothing. (He hadn't exactly dared to snoop in Dumbledore's office.)
He'd paced back and forth in front of the tapestry of the troll clubbing Barnabas the Barmy on the eighth floor, thinking I need a room that can find the meteorite… and the Room of Requirement had stayed stubbornly shut.
If Dumbledore hadn't taken the fragment, the Chamber of Secrets was the next most likely hiding spot. Going down there alone right now? Suicide—especially since he didn't speak Parseltongue. Better to let Harry do the heavy lifting and cash in on the cleanup.
After Julien left, Harry spilled the whole story to Ron and Hermione.
"That's a bad sign, mate," Ron's face went green, twisting the hem of his robe.
Hermione shot him a glare, but her own fingers were trembling. "Yeah, Harry. In both the Muggle and wizarding worlds, hearing voices no one else can hear is never a good thing. Should we tell a professor?"
"And say what?" Ron snorted. "'Hey, I hear whispers telling me to murder people.' Sounds totally sane, right? Oh—Harry, I didn't mean—"
"I know," Harry muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. "Even Julien looked like he didn't quite buy it. Let's just… wait and see."
Julien kept walking the corridors. A light, almost weightless figure drifted around the next corner and almost crashed straight into him.
"Oh—careful, Black."
The voice sounded like it came from another dimension.
Julien looked up into a pair of silver-white eyes set a little too wide. Luna Lovegood—the Ravenclaw first-year everyone quietly called "Loony"—tilted her head at him.
"Sorry, Luna. Wasn't watching where I was going."
Luna didn't move. "I wasn't talking about that." Her words rarely followed normal logic.
Those misty, all-seeing eyes locked onto his chest—specifically the faint blue glow leaking from under his collar.
"Your amulet is singing," she said softly, voice dreamy and far away. "An old song. About stars."
Julien's heart skipped. "You can hear it?"
"Not with my ears." She tapped her temple. "With this. You know how Wrackspurts love swarming around secrets? Right now they're thick as fog around you—so thick you can't hear the song yourself."
She stepped closer. Pale gold hair brushed her shoulders. Her whisper was barely audible. "Anyway… be careful, Julien."
"Thanks, Luna. I will."
Luna gave a vague, hazy smile, hummed a half-forgotten tune, and floated away barefoot across the cold flagstones without making a sound.
"Like a tear slipping through a star-filled night… that's a shooting star, weeping for the summer that's gone…"
"Beneath the low-hanging clouds, the piper plays the wanderer's song… only that one shooting star hears the promise the traveler made…"
A few scattered raindrops began to fall. Julien turned back toward the castle. The moment he stepped inside and rounded the final corner near the trophy room, the Tear of Evernight flared hotter and brighter than ever.
Up ahead came a commotion—lots of students gathering. Julien quickened his pace.
Then he saw it.
Filch was on his knees in the middle of the corridor, hunched over, making a horrible noise somewhere between a sob and a howl.
In front of him, torchlight lit up the nightmare: Mrs. Norris—skinny, yellow-eyed, always glaring at students—was hanging stiff as a board from a torch bracket, limbs splayed like some grotesque cat sculpture.
Between two windows, smeared in blood-red letters:
The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware.
"No… no…" Filch reached out with shaking hands but couldn't bring himself to touch his cat. "Who did this… who…"
Suddenly he spun around, face twisted with rage, and stabbed a finger at the nearest person—Harry.
"You! Potter! You killed my cat!"
No surprise Filch went straight for Harry. The trio had been the first ones spotted at the scene, and this term Harry had been caught by Filch and Mrs. Norris more times than the Weasley twins combined. They were basically sworn enemies.
"The Chamber," Julien whispered, so quietly only he could hear. "It's really… open."
Just as Filch grabbed Harry by the collar, rapid footsteps and startled cries echoed from the far end of the corridor.