Where she comes from

✩₊˚.⋆☾╶⃝⃤☽⋆⁺₊✧

𝓞𝓟𝓗𝓔𝓛𝓘𝓐 stood alone in the dim corridor, the flickering light from the lanterns casting an eerie glow across the ancient stone walls. Her gaze fixed on the scarlet letters smeared across the cold, grey stones—a warning etched in what appeared to be fresh blood. The message sent a shiver through her, a visceral mix of revulsion and something else—a darker, almost magnetic feeling tugging at her.

The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.

Each word seemed to pulse with its own menacing energy, but one word struck her deeper than the rest: Heir. The weight of it lingered in her mind, stirring questions, echoes of the old family lore she'd been reading only hours ago. She could practically hear the ominous whispers of her ancestors in those words.

For a moment, the corridor felt like it was closing in, her heart pounding as her mind swirled with possibilities. But then, her name echoed down the hall, snapping her out of her trance.

"Ophelia!"

Turning, she saw Hermes, Harry, and Ron sprinting toward her, their faces pale and tense in the dim light. They slowed as they neared her, eyes wide as they took in the words on the wall.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware."

Hermes read the words aloud, his voice low as he stood next to Ophelia, his gaze as fixed as hers on the wall. The word Heir seemed to resonate deep within her, stirring something dark, ancient—something that made her blood run hotter, almost like Salazar Slytherin himself was calling to her through the bloodline that ran through her veins. She could feel a strange sense of connection, a pull she wasn't quite ready to admit.

"It's written in blood," Hermes murmured, his voice tinged with disgust.

Ophelia snapped back into the present, pulling herself from her daze as Harry's voice brought their attention elsewhere.

"Oh, no," he said, his voice tight with worry. Following his gaze, Ophelia saw Mrs. Norris, Filch's beloved cat, hanging by her tail, petrified and lifeless.

Ophelia instinctively reached for her pocket, relief flooding through her as she felt her Niffler, Grim, nestled safely inside, sleeping without a care. She glanced down the corridor just in time to hear the murmur of approaching footsteps and caught sight of students from every house gathering around, their faces painted with horror, confusion, and a growing sense of fear. Their eyes flicked between the blood-red writing on the wall and Harry, suspicion already forming in their expressions.

Amid the whispers, a voice cut through with gleeful malice. Draco Malfoy stepped forward, a smirk on his face as he surveyed the scene.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware," he repeated, his voice practically dripping with satisfaction. Then his gaze shifted, hardening as he turned to Hermes with a mocking sneer. "You'll be next, Mudbloods."

Ophelia's grip on her wand tightened, her knuckles white as she shot him a glare fierce enough to make him falter. He opened his mouth to continue, but her unwavering stare silenced him, and he quickly looked away, an uneasy look replacing his smirk.

A grating voice suddenly pierced the tense air.

"What's going on here? Go on, make way! Make way!"

Filch pushed his way through the crowd, eyes wide with frantic worry as he took in the scene. His gaze landed on Harry and Ophelia, brimming with a mixture of rage and accusation. "Potter? Gaunt? What are you..." he began, but his voice died as his eyes landed on his beloved Mrs. Norris. He staggered closer, staring at his cat hanging in petrified suspension, and his eyes filled with a terrible grief and fury. His gaze darted back to Harry and Ophelia, a look of accusation sharpening his face.

"You two," he hissed, voice thick with grief. "You've murdered my cat!"

Harry took a step forward, his hands raised, trying to explain. "We didn't kill your cat, Mr. Filch, I swear—"

But Filch wasn't listening. He lunged toward them, intent on grabbing Harry and Ophelia, his face twisted with rage.

Ophelia raised her wand, her tone cold and fierce. "Touch me with your filthy hands, and you'll end up worse than your cat," she warned, her voice calm but laced with venom as she fixed him with a steely glare.

Filch hesitated, his hand dropping as he cowered back, his anger momentarily doused by the intensity of her gaze. Then, with a sweeping rustle of robes, Dumbledore appeared, flanked by the other professors, who cast worried glances at the petrified cat and the writing on the wall. His calm presence commanded silence, and his eyes held a deep sadness as he took in the scene. Dumbledore's voice rang out with authority.

"Everyone will proceed to their dormitories immediately."

The students began to shuffle away, murmuring among themselves, but before the crowd fully dispersed, Dumbledore raised his hand, halting their steps.

"Except for you four," he added, looking pointedly at Ophelia, Harry, Hermes, and Ron.

As the rest of the students reluctantly returned to their common rooms, the four friends exchanged uneasy glances, standing alone under Dumbledore's watchful gaze, waiting to learn what would happen next.

Ophelia let out a sigh as Professor Lockhart swaggered forward, casting a grandiose glance at the scene before him. Just as Dumbledore clarified, "She's not dead, Argus. She has been Petrified," Filch's shoulders sagged with relief. But Lockhart took the opportunity to bask in the attention, speaking with a self-satisfied tone.

"Thought so," he said with a slight smirk. "So unlucky I wasn't there. I know exactly the countercurse that could've spared her."

Ophelia shot him a sceptical look, her arms folding in challenge. "Then perhaps, Professor," she began, sarcasm lacing her words, "you'd be so kind as to perform this countercurse you boast about in your books. Surely, it'd be a simple feat for you."

Lockhart's confident grin faltered, and he looked momentarily sheepish under her pointed gaze. Ophelia didn't even bother hiding her smirk of satisfaction as Dumbledore, diplomatically, redirected the conversation. "But how she has been Petrified, I cannot say," he mused thoughtfully. Filch, however, was quick to latch onto his own theory, casting an accusatory glare at Harry and Ophelia. "Ask those two! It's them that's done it," he said, pointing a crooked finger. "You saw what they wrote on the wall!"

Ophelia met his accusation with a withering look, her dark gaze unwavering. "Oh? Did you see us physically write on the wall, then? No? Then there's no proof." She raised an eyebrow, deflecting his accusation with practiced ease. "We simply stumbled upon the scene, just as you did."

Filch sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Rubbish."

Ophelia's eyes narrowed, her hand twitching toward her wand. "Rubbish? Oh, I'll show you rubbish—" she muttered, her tone simmering with challenge, but Hermes stepped forward and placed a gentle, restraining hand on her waist, pulling her back before she could escalate further. She huffed, but his touch helped cool her temper, if only a little.

Snape, watching the entire exchange with a calculating eye, seized the chance to weigh in. "If I might, Headmaster?" he began, glancing between Harry and Ophelia with mild disapproval. "Perhaps Potter and his friends were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. However..." He paused, allowing a touch of suspicion to colour his tone. "The circumstances are suspicious. I, for one, don't recall seeing Potter or Miss Gaunt at dinner."

"Oh, that's my fault, Severus," Lockhart interjected, waving a hand with feigned modesty. "Harry was helping me answer fan mail." He paused dramatically, then added, "Though as for Ophelia, I'm afraid I don't know." Ophelia, still standing beside Hermes, spoke up smoothly. "I was studying in my room. I wasn't hungry, so I had no reason to be at dinner." She met Snape's eyes levelly, her voice calm and unwavering. Snape considered her for a long moment, his expression as unreadable as ever, before Dumbledore spoke with his usual calm authority. "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus."

"My cat has been Petrified. I want to see some punishment!"

Dumbledore's voice carried a quiet reassurance as he addressed the tense room. "We will be able to cure her, Argus. As I understand it, Madam Sprout has a very healthy growth of Mandrake. When matured, a potion will be made that will revive Mrs. Norris."

Professor Sprout, her cheeks flushed with satisfaction, stepped forward and gave a warm, confident smile. The tension in the air eased, but only slightly, as Dumbledore turned his gaze to the four students standing before him. His expression grew serious. "And in the meantime... I strongly recommend caution... to all."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione nodded sombrely, each with a flicker of worry in their eyes. But Ophelia, standing quietly beside them, felt a surge of anticipation ripple through her. There was an undercurrent of thrill within her—a call to something ancient and hidden, something that seemed to beckon her blood to life. Her hand brushed over the family crest engraved into her wand, a reminder of the lineage she bore, and a faint smile crept to her lips.

The Chamber of Secrets is open, she thought, her heartbeat quickening. That singular notion awakened a bold excitement, one that no one else seemed to feel. This was more than a mystery; it was a piece of her heritage. Her family's lore held tantalizing tales about a creature woven into the very fabric of her bloodline. Dumbledore's warning seemed to vanish in the back of her mind as her thoughts wandered to pages she'd pored over in the House of Gaunt's ancient tomes. Her eyes gleamed with something darker, more potent—a glimpse of a creature she'd dreamed of seeing, a creature she'd read about in secret, a creature that held meaning only she fully understood.

Unconsciously, a mischievous smile formed on her lips, a glint in her eyes that spoke of curiosity and ambition, a thirst for knowledge only her family's legacy could truly sate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾╶⃝⃤☽⋆⁺₊✧

By: SilverMist707

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I am sorry for not posting for a long time. <3