Draco raced to the Hat, then skid to a halt as it levitated. Its brim opened as he gaped up at it.

"And you Mr. Malfoy. Quite a Gryffindor you've become. Perhaps we need another Sorting Ceremony."

And then the Hat flew forward, swirling once around Draco before launching at his head. Hermione cried out—

Draco stumbled back, wrestling with the Hat before its opening finally attached itself onto his face. The basilisk fang clattered to the ground as Draco fought it, blindly casting spells as it shivered around him, as though it were sucking in his soul.

Hermione's stomach lurched, and she released the Protection Spell, sprinting to him. The objects in the room flew at her, a painting slamming into her shoulder, but she hardly felt the blows.

"I can see your heart, Draco Malfoy." The voice came from every corner, sensuous and booming.

Dropping to his side, Hermione ripped at the Hat, her heart in her throat and her fingers burning as she tried to tear it from his skin. She could hear him screaming from inside, but suddenly, the Hat released him.

Hermione whipped her head to watch it bounce to the side just as something rocketed at her from the left. A hiss from Draco, and a boom in her eardrums — the shard of wood deflected just in time. Dust rained over them as Draco tugged her to her feet, her ears still ringing from the blast.

"Find the fang!" she croaked. He nodded, pale as a sheet, and she caught sight of a ring burned into his face before he spun to the debris. A chair flew at her from the left, and she flung up another Protection Spell.

A hollow wind rose behind her, and Hermione turned over her shoulder and saw the Hat. It lay on its side, the opening facing them. A darkness twisted inside of it, and Hermione's stomach rolled as it widened, growing taller and taller. Terror gripped her ribs. She spun around for Draco, and found him crouched a few feet away, his eyes on the opening, his wand pointed down the chasm. His other hand empty.

A small object flew at her, knocking her shoulder back. Her feet stumbled as she recast her Protection Spell, and she stared back at the tunnel. It was almost the height of the room now, and her heart stopped as she made out a pale wisp of something, growing larger and larger.

A figure.

Cold sweat broke across her skin as the person grew taller, walking closer until it stepped out of the abyss. A person she recognized.

Jet-black hair. Slender and handsome. Only when he turned his brown eyes on her did Hermione know it wasn't Harry — it was Tom Riddle.

"Draco, don't listen to a word he says—"

Tom Riddle raised his ghostly white hand, and her Protection Spell vanished. The wind shrieked at her face as the maelstrom came hurtling for her head.

A voice called her name as it swallowed her, flinging her backward. Her head cracked against the cavern floor, knocking her breath from her lungs. She forced her eyes open and her shaking legs to stand. She had to get up.