The Petrified Muggle-born and the Ghost (I)

"The Polyjuice Potion will be ready in less than two weeks. Then we can get into the Slytherin common room and hear what they say in private. Maybe we'll find a real clue. Maybe we'll find the real—"

She did not finish, but Harry knew what she meant.

The real heir.

Outside the window, the sky darkened a little more. The candles in the library brightened automatically, their light spilling down from above and casting a warm orange glow over the three of them.

Hermione began packing up the books on the table, closing them one by one and tucking away the slips of parchment. She moved quickly, as if pressed for time. But as she stacked the books, her hand paused. She looked up at Harry.

"Over there—does it feel awful, being watched?"

Harry glanced at the entrance. The prefects had changed shifts, and one of them was someone Harry knew—Oliver Wood. He leaned against the doorframe, holding a copy of Quidditch Tactics Monthly.

But his eyes were not on the magazine. They were on Harry.

Harry felt that gaze, but did not turn around.

"It's all right," he said. "Percy said I should just act like they aren't there."

"But you can't act like you aren't there," Ron said, a trace of sympathy in his voice. "They're watching you. How can you possibly pretend you don't exist?"

Harry did not answer. He lowered his head and looked at the parchments Hermione had covered with lines and notes. He looked at the two thick lines beneath "Slytherin," at the words "pure-blood supremacy," blurred slightly where the ink had soaked through.

They were watching him. He knew they were watching him. But he could not let the feeling of being watched crush him. He had to do what he needed