t

What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded, placing himself between the two Toms on pure instinct.

Riddle's smile widened. "Stand aside, boy," he said. "You are not the one I'm interested in."

"That's nothing new," Harry snapped.

"What d'you mean 'the one you're interested in'?" Tom demanded loudly, pushing past Harry and crossing his arms. Harry staggered under Ginny's ungainly weight and toppled to his knees. Pain exploded in both kneecaps, and his calves went numb. He let Ginny slump to the floor next to him. They were still at the feet of the enormous statue.

"I've waited a long time for this, Tom Potter," said Riddle. "For the chance to see you. To speak with you."

"We can't talk here," Tom protested. "This is The Chamber of Secrets!"

"We are going to talk now," Riddle retorted, sliding Harry's wand up his sleeve.

Through the haze of the pain in his knees, something was bothering him. "Why—How did Ginny get like this?" he asked. She wasn't dead, thankfully, but nor was she Petrified. She might have been in some kind of coma, but she bore no sign of injury... He tried to stand, but his numb legs couldn't hold his weight, and he fell to the stone floor again.

"Well, that's an interesting question," Riddle said pleasantly, turning to Harry. "And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked worriedly.

"The diary," said Riddle. "My diary. Little Ginny's been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes: how her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school with second-hand robes and books, how she didn't think famous, good, great Tom Potter would ever like her…" Riddle's gaze slid back to Tom, and his eyes were hungry. "It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl. But I was patient. I wrote back, I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. No one's ever understood me like you, Tom… I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in… it's like having a friend I can carry round in my pocket…" Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't seem to suit him. It rang very wrong in the back of Harry's mind for some reason. "If I say it myself, Tom, I've always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted. I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her…"

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, sounding as if he dreaded the answer. Harry had some idea where Riddle was going though, and he didn't like it. In fact, this was a rare case when he hoped he was wrong, perfectly dead wrong.

"Haven't you guessed yet, Thomas Potter?" said Riddle softly. "Ginny opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the serpent of Slytherin on those four Mudbloods, the blood traitor, and the Squib's cat."

Harry flinched: he's been right. "No," Tom whispered.

"Yes," Riddle replied calmly. "Of course, she didn't know what she was doing at first. It was very amusing. I wish you could have seen her new diary entries… Far more interesting, they became… Dear Tom," he recited, his gaze still fixated on Tom. "I think I'm losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don't know how they got there. Dear Tom, I can't remember what I did on the night of Hallowe'en, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale and I'm not myself. I think he suspects me… There was another attack today and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I'm going mad… I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom!"

Harry could see his brother's hands balled into fists at his sides, and preyed he wouldn't do anything rash or stupid, though knowing that he probably would.

"It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary. But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And there's there you came in, Tom. You found it, and I couldn't have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it was you, the very person I was most anxious to meet…"

"And why did you want to meet me?" Tom demanded, his voice pitched somewhere between strident and terrified.

"Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Tom… Your whole fascinating history." Harry watched Riddle's eyes rove over Tom's crescent scar and shuddered at what he saw in his expression. "I knew I must find out more about you, talk to you, meet you if I could. So I decided to show you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust."

"But—we thought you made a mistake…" Tom gasped. "You framed him…?"

Riddle laughed that high laugh again. "It was my word against Hagrid's, Tom. Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school Prefect, model student; on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls. Bit I admit, even I was surprised at how well the plan worked. I thought someone must realize that Hagrid couldn't possibly be the heir of Slytherin. It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance… as though Hagrid had the brains, or the power! And a Hufflepuff!" He scoffed, shaking his head a little. "Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid might be innocent. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid and train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed. Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did…"

"I bet Dumbledore knew the whole time! I bet he saw right through you!" Tom yelled furiously.

"Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled," Riddle said casually. "I knew it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school. But I wasn't going to waste those long years I'd spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work."

"Well, it hasn't worked!" Tom shouted triumphantly. "No one's died this time! The Mandrakes will be waking everyone up tonight, and you won't be able to hurt anyone else!"

"Haven't I told you," Riddle said quietly, "that killing Mudbloods doesn't matter to me any more? For many months now, my new target has been—you."

Harry's stomach plunged.

"Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you. She saw you with the diary, you see, and panicked. What if you found out how to work it, and I repeated all her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I told you who'd been strangling roosters? So the foolish little brat stole it back. But I knew what I must do. From everything she said of you, and all I knew from your writing, I knew you to be brave to the point of idiocy, unable to bear the idea of a friend in danger... So I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and come down here to wait. She struggled and cried and became very boring. But there isn't much life left in her: she put too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last. I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I knew you'd come. I have many questions for you, Thomas Potter."

"Like what?" Tom spat.

"Well," said Riddle, as if the whole situation were as natural as talking of the weather, "how is it that a baby with no extraordinary magical talent managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

"How did I… escape?" Tom repeated, obviously puzzled. "I… I reckon I just…"

"Our grandma died to protect him!" Harry shouted. His legs were still numb, but he dragged himself forward a bit on his hands, like a pathetic imitator of the snake that was still somewhere nearby, waiting to appear... "There's nothing special about him: leave him alone!"

"Shut up, Harry!" Tom shouted. "Don't get involved: I can do this."

"And why do you even care?" Harry yelled recklessly at Riddle. Anything to keep his attention off Tom: who knew what he wanted to do with him… "Voldemort was after your time!" He had to be, if Riddle had been in Hogwars with Hagrid.

"Voldemort," Riddle said with slow relish. "Is my past, present, and future…" He pulled Harry's wand from his sleeve, and wrote three shimmering words in the air.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

He waved the wand once, and the letters rearranged themselves into new words:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Harry's blood turned to ice. "You see?" Riddle whispered. "You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No. I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

Harry's mind was racing in circles. He had to get them out, somehow! But he couldn't walk, not with his legs numb as they were, and Ginny was still unconscious… and if what Riddle had implied were true, it wouldn't even matter if they got her out, because her life was slowly flowing to him.

"You're not," Tom said in a low, furious voice, bringing Harry back to the matter at hand.

"Not what?" Riddle snapped.

"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world," Tom said. "That's Dumbledore! Even before you were born, he was amazing, and you never even dared attack Hogwarts because he was here, and he knew you were evil the whole time, and you're still scared of him!" He stopped, breathing hard. Harry had to be a bit impressed with his brother's gumption, but it was still a stupid thing to do: Riddle looked apoplectic.

"Dumbledore's been driven out of the castle by the mere memory of me!" he hissed.

"That's what you think!" Tom shouted, as though that were a legitimate comeback.

Riddle opened his mouth, but no sound came out: music was coming from somewhere. He whirled about to stare down the length of the Chamber, but there didn't seem to be a source, even though it was growing louder and louder. The sound was eerie, alien, and utterly beautiful. It made Harry's scalp tingle and his spine shiver. When it reached such a pitch that he could feel it vibrating around in his lungs, bright flames burst from the top of the nearest pillar.

A bird the size of a swan in brilliant crimson plumage appeared within the flames, warbling its unearthly music to the distant ceiling. It had a sweeping golden tail as long as a peacock's and its glittering talons clutched a ragged bundle. It circled once, then flew straight down over Riddle's head and dropped the ragged thing at Tom's feet. It stopped singing, and perched itself on top of Tom's head.

Harry had recognized it as soon as it came out of the fire, but Riddle was only just catching on: "That's a phoenix…" he said, staring shrewdly at the bird. "And that," Riddle continued, indicating the bulgy lump at Tom's feet, "that's the Sorting Hat."

Harry didn't know how he could tell that: it was a patched, frayed, dirty swatch of cloth, but that didn't mean it was the Hat.

"This isn't just any phoenix," Tom protested triumphantly. "This is Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix!" Harry didn't see what difference it made whose phoenix it was, honestly.

Then Riddle began to laugh. He laughed so hard and loud that it seemed like there were ten Riddles, a hundred, all of them laughing at once. "This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Thomas Potter? Do you feel safe now?"

"Tom!" Harry interjected desperately. "Give me your wand! Run while you still can, get the teachers! I'll stay and hold him off!" He could almost feel his legs again, like they were ghosts or something. He surely couldn't stand, but he could cast spells from kneeling just as well as he could normally.

"No, Harry. This is what Dumbledore had been training me for. I know what I'm doing." Harry resisted the urge to remind him that his experience with dueling boiled down to tickling Draco in the Great Hall. This was no time for brutal honesty. Tom drew his wand. Harry shut his eyes.

"Going to fight, are you?" Riddle sneered. "In that case, I think I'll teach you a lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, heir of Slytherin, against the famous Thomas Potter, the so-called Boy Who Lived."

He smirked around at Tom, the phoenix, the Hat, and Harry before strolling a small distance away to stand squarely beneath the statue of Slytherin. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed—but it was a language Harry knew.

"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."

Harry twisted around and gazed in horror up at the statue's face as it moved and contorted: its mouth was opening wider and wider, and deep inside, something was stirring…

"Tom, RUN!" Harry yelled, but his brother seemed glued to the spot. All he did was grab the Hat and clutch it to his chest while the phoenix took his advice instead and flapped off.

He clamped his eyes shut as something huge landed on the floor. But he didn't have to see it: some sense was telling him how the serpent was uncoiling itself and awaiting its master's command.

Then Riddle hissed, "Kill the smaller one."

Ignoring Harry entirely, the Basilisk slithered towards Tom.

"Stop!" Harry's scream became a hiss and a snarl. He didn't know if the snake would listen to him, but what else could he do? He was crippled and wandless, and his brother was in danger. "He is not your prey!"

Riddle turned to him in amazement. "Another Parselmouth? How unexpected… But it matters not. The Basilisk responds only to its master."

Desperate, Harry turned his attention to Riddle instead. "Call it off!" he cried. "You don't want Tom anyway, Tom's nothing, he's no one! He's—he's not even The Boy Who Lived!"

"And who is?" Riddle asked dryly. "You?"

"Yes!"

Riddle's eyes glittered at him, so exactly like a snake's that Harry's neck prickled. But then, "Nice try, boy. The Parseltongue might be telling, but not even I believe Dumbledore could have made such an elementary mistake." And he turned back to Tom and the Basilisk still approaching him.

Harry watched despairingly as Tom, eyes closed tight, inched his way sideways around a pillar, trying to stay out of the serpent's trajectory, the Hat clutched in one hand and his wand in the other.

Harry was just about to yell for him to use the damned thing when the phoenix—Fawkes—dove down from near the ceiling and started to claw at the Basilisk's eyes, those famed and feared yellow avatars of death. The serpent gave a terrible screech of rage and pain, and began to flail, trying to dislodge the bird from its face. There was a squelching, ripping sound, and a splatter of dark blood formed under the Basilisk's head. It twisted and writhed, and Harry caught a look at its face full on: its eyes were gone. Fawkes had torn them out.

"No!" Riddle screamed. "Leave the bird! Leave the bird! The boy is behind you! You can still smell him! Kill him!"

The Basilisk swayed, wounded and confused, but still very deadly. And Tom—Tom, instead of doing anything smart, or useful, just went and jammed the damned Sorting Hat down over his head, as if subscribing to the 'if I can't see it, it can't hurt me' philosophy. All of a sudden, he staggered sharply and yanked the thing back off. What Merlin's name was he—?

There was something in the Hat. A silver something that glinted red in the dim light… Tom, wide-eyed and pale, pulled the thing from the ratty cloth. It was a sword. How the…?

Riddle was still screaming: "Kill the boy! Leave the bird! The boy is behind you! Sniff – smell him!"

Harry watched in amazement and horror as the Basilisk's fang-filled mouth spread so far open it might have swallowed Hagrid whole and lunged towards Tom. But Tom had the Hat's sword up, and he met the snake's downward plunge by stabbing up into the roof of the monster's mouth.

Just for a moment, as the enormous snake toppled over, Harry allowed himself to feel just a glimmer of hope: if the snake was gone, they only had to deal with Riddle! They could get out, they could—

There was a fang in Tom's arm. Paler than ever, the boy slid down against a pillar, feebly yanking the poisoned tooth out of his arm and letting it clatter to his side.

"No… no, no, please, Tom, no!" Harry shouted, straining against his useless legs to reach his brother. Fawkes gave a mournful cry and circled in to land next to Tom, laying his head just above the puncture wound. Riddle sauntered over and stood, looking down at the dying boy. Harry let his head sink to touch the ground. They had failed after all. He had failed… he should have made Tom stay back with Delf, or at the rockslide, or…

"You're dead, Thomas Potter," Riddle said, immeasurably pleased. "Dead. Even Dumbledore's bird knows it. Do you see what he's doing, Potter? He's crying."

Harry's head jerked up. Crying! He began to smile.

"So ends the famous Thomas Potter," Riddle crooned. "Wounded and broken in the Chamber of Secrets, with equally broken and useless allies and tools, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You'll be able to see your dear granny now, Tom… you've lived out eleven years of borrowed time… but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must."

Tom twitched his head back and forth and heaved a deep breath. Harry's smile began to spread into a legitimate grin. They weren't done, not yet!

"Get away, bird," Riddle said suddenly. He was finally realizing. "Get away from him. I said, get away!" He leveled Harry's wand at the phoenix and there was a loud bang. Fawkes took to the air in a swirl of scarlet plumage and indignant squawking.

"Phoenix tears…" Riddle said quietly, staring at Tom's arm. "Of course… healing powers… I forgot… But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. I'm nearly at full strength: killing you will be no problem."

And all of a sudden, Harry knew what to do. He reached over Ginny's prone form and snatched up the diary. "Tom!" he shouted. Both of their heads came up. "Throw me the fang!"

Their expressions changed simultaneously. Riddle's was filled with a fury akin to the rage of the blinded Basilisk, while Tom's was puzzled but trusting as he snatched up the sabre-like tooth and tossed it to Harry. Easily catching it one-handed, Harry raised it high above his head. He locked eyes with Riddle, and plunged the incisor directly into the centre of the little book.

An ear-splitting scream seared through the Chamber, there was a blinding flash, and when he'd blinked the spots from his eyes, Riddle was gone. Harry gasped and slumped to the floor, panting with relief and pain. His legs were starting to come properly awake and were getting a wicked case of pins and needles.

Tom staggered to his feet and made his way to Harry. "Did you see that?" he asked breathlessly. "We just killed Voldemort! Again! I mean, for me again, but for you the first time—and a Basilisk! Merlin!" He was babbling. Probably in shock.

"Mm-hm," Harry murmured, tight lipped. His legs were really starting to hurt.

"And—Harry, did I hear—did I hear you right, that you said you're the—The Boy Who Lived? Why would you say that? Why would you—?"

"Lying," Harry gritted out. "Obviously. Trying to distract him so you could use your bloody wand for something useful—"

Just then, Ginny began to stir next to him. "Ginny!" Tom shouted, rushing around Harry and kneeling next to her. She moaned quietly, and sat up, casting a puzzled glance around the Chamber until her gaze landed on Tom and Harry. Her eyes welled with tears immediately.

"Oh, Tom, I'm—I'm sorry, I t-tried, I tried to warn someone, b-but I couldn't, it was me the whole time, but I—I didn't mean it, R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over, and how did you k-kill that th-thing? And where's Riddle? The last thing I remember is him coming out of the diary…"

"It's alright. Riddle's gone. You're safe now," Tom said with a grave authority Harry would have laughed at in another situation. As it was, his legs felt like they were being stabbed with a million tiny knives. It was a lot like regrowing his arm bones. He clutched the spots just above his knees and moaned, carefully curling up into the fetal position.

"Get up, Harry," Tom said brusquely. "We need to go back to Ron and Lockheart."

"I can't walk," Harry replied through clenched teeth.

"I just got bitten by a Basilisk! Stop whinging and get up. Honestly…"

"No one was asking you to do anything but sit there and get cried on when you got bitten," Harry said defensively, but he stood up all the same. He rolled his ankles and bit his lip as he endured the last shooting pains. "Alright, alright, let's get the hell out of here." So they made their way to the far end of the Chamber, Fawkes flapping ahead, Tom supporting a still-sniffling Ginny, with Harry, who barely remembered to grab his wand on the way out, limping behind. The doors hissed shut as they left the place. Good riddance to bad rubbish, Harry thought.

The way back seemed remarkably short. They reached the rock-fall in almost no time, and Ron had even cleared a good-sized hole near the top of the blockage.

"Ginny!" he shouted as soon as he saw the three of them coming down the passage. He thrust his arms through the gap and helped her through first. "You're alive! I don't believe it! What happened?"

"We'll explain later," Tom said firmly, clambering through the hole himself.

"But—"

"No, really: later," Harry agreed, glancing meaningfully at Ginny as he followed his brother through the opening. He doubted a detailed play-by-play would help her feel any better.

"Hey, wait: where's Lockheart?" Tom asked, looking around curiously. Harry blinked. He's put such effort into ignoring the man all year that he'd forgotten he was even supposed to be there.

Ron grinned. "He's not so well. The Memory Charm backfired on him. He doesn't remember a thing about who he is or where we are or anything. I put him back here." He led the way back to the opening of the pipe, where Lockheart perched on the lip.

"Hello," he said pleasantly. "Who are you all?" His hands were folded primly in his lap and he swung his legs back and forth like a little boy out to the park.

"See?" Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"That's great, but…" Harry said. "Has anyone thought of a way out of here?" Tom and Ron looked at each other. "I suppose that's a 'no'," he sighed.

But all of a sudden, Fawkes hopped up on the edge of the pipe next to Lockheart and sort of wiggled his tail feathers.

"This is no time for a mating ritual," Harry said to it sternly. "We need to focus."

Fawkes shook them harder. "I think…. I think he wants us to take hold," Ron said tentatively. Harry looked again.

"You may be right," he said dubiously.

"Well, come on then," Tom groused, and grabbed a handful of brilliant plumage. Ron took his hand, and already had Ginny's hand in a vise grip. Harry took her other hand and a most amazing lightness grabbed hold of him. It was like his whole body had been filled with air.

"Take my hand, Professor—er, Gilderoy," he said, uncomfortable with the necessary familiarity. Lockheart smiled at him vacantly and took his proffered hand.

"Oh!" he said softly, looking gently amazed. Harry thought he could get used to this new Lockheart. But before he had time to think anything else, they were flying up the pipe, much faster than the rate they'd descended. He could hear Tom whooping exuberantly up above, and Lockheart eagerly exclaiming, "Amazing! This is just like magic!"

But long before he'd ceased to enjoy the experience, it was over, and they were spilling helter-skelter across the floor of Myrtle's loo. The sink rose back into place behind them.

"Harry!" Delf screamed, rushing towards them from where she'd been pacing near the door. "You're bleeding! Are you alright? What happened?"

"I knew you'd like that," Harry muttered, disentangling himself from Lockheart, who had landed squarely on top of him. "I'm fine. I just hit my head. We should get to McGonagall's office though. I take it Roderick hasn't come?"

She shook her head. "No. Either all the professors disappeared, or no one believed him that Tom would actually be stupid enough to go into the Chamber of Secrets."

"Hey!" Tom protested.

"Let's not debate semantics," Harry said placatingly. "Let's just go find everyone."

They left the bathroom and made their way through the empty castle, footsteps echoing loudly off the walls. Tom, of course, pushed to the lead, with Ron and Ginny hurrying after, leaving Harry and Delf to shepherd Lockheart at the back. When they got to McGonagall's office, Tom pushed the door open without hesitation.

None of the people inside seemed to realize anything had happened: Roderick was gesticulating angrily to Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape and Flitwick, all of whom looked something between mournful and resigned and ashamed; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat by the fire. Mrs. Weasley was crying noisily. Lily sat in the corner, her face the colour of bad milk while James paced back and forth in front of her.

"We're back!" Tom announced loudly. Everyone looked up at once.

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked, and hurled herself upon her daughter.

"Tom!" Lily screamed, launching herself at her younger son.

What followed was a confusing mess of shouted greetings and hugs and tears and demands for explanations. These last soon drowned the rest out, and everyone calmed down enough to listen quietly.

Ginny cried again as she explained her part, poor girl, but Harry had to laugh when Mr. Weasley said in flabbergasted tones, "Ginny! Haven't I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain!"

Tom took over the narrative soon after, and of course most of it was superfluous exposition about how he had suspected something was going on the whole time, blah blah blah but then he got to the bit in the Hospital Wing.

"…so then I asked him how he knew it was snakes, and he said—"

"Tom—!"

"—he's a Parselmouth! Um…"

There was a silence. Harry shut his eyes.

"He's a what?" Lily asked, more puzzled than disbelieving.

"Yeah," said Harry heavily. "Thanks a lot, Tom. I've known for about five years. I tripped over a snake when I was nine. Didn't seem important enough to tell anyone."

"Didn't seem…" James repeated faintly. "Merlin…"

"So we went to the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets—which is Moaning Myrtle's loo—and went down inside and Lockheart tried to wipe our memories because we found out his books were fake, and the ceiling caved in, so Harry and I had to go on alone, and Ginny was there, and Riddle was there—"

"Riddle? I thought he was in the diary," McGonagall said.

"Yes, but he'd come out because he was taking Ginny's soul or something," Tom explained clumsily. "And anyway, he was going to kill me, but then Fawkes came with the Hat, and then he called the Basilisk, but Fawkes blinded it and the Hat gave me this sword, so when the Basilisk tried to eat me, I stabbed it instead, and it died, only one of its fangs got stuck in my arm—" He proudly displayed the tear in his robes. "—and I was going to die, but Fawkes cried on me and healed me, and I gave Harry the fang and he stabbed the diary—"

"Why did he do that?" Lily asked. Tom shrugged and looked at Harry.

"Er." Harry wasn't used to being the centre of attention like this, and stumbled a bit before he got out, "I just thought that since the diary was the link between him and Ginny, severing it would remove his power." That sounded believable, he hoped.

"Yeah, and then he disappeared—Riddle did—and Ginny woke up, and Harry was whinging about his legs, but we came back out and got Ron and Lockheart and came here."

Snape frowned at Harry. "What did you do to your legs?"

"I just banged the nerves on my kneecaps. Pins and needles. I'm fine now."

"My," said Dumbledore mildly. "It sounds as if you've all had quite an evening." If that wasn't the understatement of the century, Harry would eat the Hat. "But now, I think it would be in Miss Weasley's best interests to go down to the infirmary and have a nice hot cocoa. I always find that cheers my up immeasurably." Harry glanced between Delf and Roderick. Delf rolled her eyes, while Roderick discretely covered his mouth to prevent his grin from showing. "Molly, Arthur, Ron, Minerva, perhaps you'd like to escort her?" They left, Ginny still clutched to Mrs. Weasley's chest.

"So," said Dumbledore, peering keenly over his half-moon spectacles right at Harry. "A Parselmouth. That interests me."

Harry shifted uneasily. "I, er, talked to my tutor and the portraits about it… they reckon Mum must have something really old in her, since there's never been a Potter who has it."

James glanced at his wife with a faintly accusatory air.

"Hm. That would not have been my first intuition…" Dumbledore murmured.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked suspiciously.

But even without his memory, Lockheart managed to stop him from learning anything: "OW!" he yelled suddenly, leaping away from some small, sharp object on McGonagall's work table, sucking his finger.

Rather than reacting with concern like a normal person, Dumbledore chuckled. "I think it would be best if our Professor Lockheart went to the Hospital Wing as well. Tom, you're looking peaky too. Lily, James, perhaps you want to go down with him. Filius, perhaps you could escort our former Defense professor down to make sure he doesn't hurt himself again. And Severus, if you could please write to Azkaban, I believe we are unaccountably short a gamekeeper."

All the persons named dutifully filed out, leaving Harry, Delf and Roderick with Dumbledore. Tom glanced at him with a combination of confusion and jealously as he left, but made no other protest.

"That wasn't very subtle, sir," Harry said once the door had clicked shut.

"Perhaps not," Dumbledore admitted easily. "But I want to talk to you, Harry." Harry bristled at the familiarity. He wasn't Tom, and stabbing a book with a tooth did not change that. "Mr. Malfoy, Miss Greengrass, would you be so kind as to leave Harry in my care temporarily?"

Delf's expression hardened. "No offense, Professor, but I don't think I want to do that," she said, tone verging towards disrespectful. "I've had quite enough of letting him do everything alone today. And anything you say, he'll tell us, so we might as well just hear it first-hand."

Dumbledore looked mildly astounded.

"And I want them to stay." Harry backed her up quickly. "She's right. I would just tell them everything."

The Headmaster blinked. "Very well. Really, Harry, all I want is for you to tell me your version of everything your brother already said."

"Well, I mean, he gave a pretty complete—"

"Harry, I think you and I both know your brother well enough to say that is not true. He's a well-meaning child, and will grow up to do very important things, but he is quite excitable. Your opinion is all I ask."

Harry was trying to cast his mind way back to October when he'd first heard the Basilisk when he felt it: a ripple in his mind… Dumbledore was using Legilimency on him, the rotten wizened old bastard! He immediately focused his mind on rejection and defense, forcing Dumbledore's mind away.

Harry glared at him furiously. Dumbledore's blue eyes were very wide.

"Harry, what—?" Delf said just as the door banged open behind all of them. Lucius Malfoy had entered the scene. Just what they needed. Dobby trailed after him, looking even more miserable and woebegone than Harry had seen before.

"So," the elder Malfoy hissed. "You've come back."

Harry quit listening right then because Delf was plucking at his sleeve, so he moved away to talk to her. "Yeah?" he said quietly.

"What happened just there? You were going to say something, but then you turned white as a sheet and gave Dumbledore this really evil look."

"He used Legilimency on me!" he hissed, still enraged at such a massive breach in etiquette and trust and plain old ethics.

"He did not!" she gasped, eyes going from the hazel of concern to the burning orange that usually meant someone should duck and cover. "Are you sure? It's been a long time since Master Jerome did that with us…"

"No, I'm sure," Harry said grimly. "Master Jerome wasn't trying to hide what he was doing, that's the only difference. Dumbledore was… sneakier about it. It still felt the same. And I picked it up faster than you or Roderick."

"I know, I know… it's just… is that even legal? Shouldn't there be rules about how it can be used?"

"You'd think, wouldn't you? We can check with Master Jerome this summer. He obviously didn't know I'd be sensitive to it, or he never would have tried. That seems to indicate he's not supposed to…"

"Yes, but what do we do? Who would believe the Headmaster of Hogwarts used Legilimency on a student to try and exhort information?"

"Exactly no one," Harry replied grouchily. "But I don't think we should say anything even if that weren't the case. We should just be cautious, and not trust him."

"I thought we didn't do that anyway."

"Well, even more so after this."

"We're going, Dobby!" Mr. Malfoy's voice cut through their concentration like a hot knife through butter, and they turned to watch the blonde man stride out the door, kicking his house elf the whole way. Dobby's squeals of pain could be heard echoing all the way down the corridor. Harry glanced at Roderick out of the corner of his eye, and wasn't surprised to see his face was twisted with fury and revulsion.

But suddenly, a light seemed to go on behind his friend's eyes. He quickly stooped and ripped off his shoe and sock. He abandoned the shoe on the floor, but he took the sock with him as he approached McGonagall's desk.

"This is his," he said, lifting the ruined diary up off the polished wood. "I'm going to return it to him."

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed. Roderick gave him a look that clearly said 'I wasn't asking permission', but didn't verbalize the sentiment before he followed his father out the door. Delf and Harry went to the door as well, but stopped on the threshold, recognizing that whatever Roderick was doing was important and that he could take care of it.

Roderick and his father wound up being too distant for their would-be audience to really hear what was going on, but body language is a powerful asset, and they were both putting it to good use. Roderick thrust the book towards his father, throwing his head back arrogantly. Lucius took the diary as if it were a smelly dead Grindylow. They exchanged some words, and then Mr. Malfoy tossed the ink-drenched diary to Dobby, turned on his heel, and marched off down the hallway. Roderick made a small gesture to Dobby, and Dobby let the book fall open. It took Harry a moment to realize what the limp thing he lifted off the pages was.

"Oh, Merlin…" Delf gasped, grabbing Harry's elbow.

It was the sock Roderick had just taken off.

"That was genius," Harry whispered.

The following scene was not a pleasant one: when Mr. Malfoy realized what had happened, he literally looked like he might explode. He raised a hand as if to strike his son across the face, but Dobby raised his own hand and did something that created a loud bang and sent Lucius reeling back down a set of stairs. He had no choice but to retreat after that, though his look promised severe retribution for Roderick later on. As soon as he was gone, Dobby threw his arms around Roderick's waist and began wailing shrilly how grateful he was. Harry and Delf rushed forward.

"That was so clever!" Delf exclaimed, hugging him tightly.

"Yeah, we were down there and I actually said it was genius," Harry agreed, grinning.

"Thanks. I did think my dad wanted to kill me though," Roderick replied, smiling weakly.

"So Dobby," Harry said, grinning down at the tiny elf. "How does it feel to be free?"

Tears were still pouring down Dobby's face, but his smile just radiated joy. "Dobby is the happiest elf in the world, Harry Potter, and all because Master Roderick freed him!" Roderick looked abashed, which Delf teased him about, and Dobby disappeared soon after, with that same loud crack as before.

And then there was a feast. Harry had been to a good number of Hogwarts feasts before, but this one topped them all: for one thing, everyone was in their pajamas and dressing robes, since it had somehow managed to become night time during their ordeal in the Chamber and talking to Dumbledore. For another thing, it went all night, with endless rounds of dessert and singing and the twins setting off sparklers. Harry had a difficult time deciding what part he liked best: was it when Tracey came in, alive, well, and very much de-Petrified, making Roderick look the happiest he had for several months? Was it when Hagrid came in around 3, none the worse for wear after his stint in Azkaban? Was it when Professor McGonagall stood up and announced that final exams were canceled? Was it when it was put about that Lockheart couldn't come back the next year, even though he'd known that previously? Or was it when Delf fell asleep on his shoulder and he and Roderick drew squiggles of custard across her face?

The rest of the term finished off normally enough, though there were a few differences: Defense Against the Dark Arts was canceled, which gave Harry, Delf and Roderick a chance to catch up on studying to be Animagi, which they'd fallen seriously behind on because of all the snake research. Mr. Malfoy was kicked off the board of governors of Hogwarts, making Roderick even more apprehensive about returning home for the summer.

But soon enough, summer it was, and it was time again to pack their things and head for the train.

"I can't believe Gryffindor won the Cup," Delf complained as they dragged their trunks down towards the train. After everything had calmed down to some extent, it came out that Tom and Ron had both been awarded 200 House points, while Harry had also gotten 200, and Delf and Roderick had each gotten 50. Gryffindor came out 44 points ahead, so they got the Cup. Delf was still bitter.

They found a compartment with Tracey, Zadie, and Cedric, and the ride home was relaxed and fun.

"Next year," Harry declared, "everything had better be normal." Roderick laughed at him.

Mini-Chapter: Dumbledore

Watching the students leave was always odd. Each passing year was like a wave on the beach, making minute changes, but leaving it essentially the same. Dumbledore wasn't sure where the thought came from, but it was surpassing true.

The door creaked open behind him, and soft footsteps announced Severus' arrival. "You called for me, sir?" the man inquired.

"Yes, I did." Dumbledore turned away from the window and its view of departing students to face the Potions Master. "I find myself conflicted."

"…Conflicted."

"Quite. In fact, I've been troubled about this for some time, but it's recently become more acute, and I was hoping to suss out the root of it."

"What is it?"

"The Potter boys."

"Ah."

"Indeed. Tom is, of course, The Boy Who Lived. That was established years ago, and he has done nothing to dissuade me of its truth. Harry, on the other hand… Severus, what do you make of the boy?"

"I?" Snape paused. "I find him intelligent and respectful and as opposite from his father as it's possible to be."

Dumbledore's mouth lifted into a small smile. "A point of great appreciation to you, I don't doubt. A shame they look so similar. And I'm sure you also appreciate the Basilisk skin swatch he brought for you. I agree with the assessment, though I would add he is stubborn and loyal and very proud in his own way. However, his character is not what concerns me. What concerns me is that he continually gets involved in situations logically best left for his brother to deal with."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Last year with Quirrell and Voldemort… he said it himself in the Hospital Wing: I was expecting to have that conversation with Tom. And this year: going into the Chamber with Tom and Mr. Weasley and Gilderoy. The boy troubles me, Severus, and not because he is stubborn or intelligent or loyal. You were there that day in Minerva's office. Lily and James had no idea he was a Parselmouth, but his friends showed no surprise whatsoever. He represents a number of unknown factors. What else is he hiding? Or omitting? I confess: I tried a touch of Legilimency on him because he was so reticent, and he sensed me immediately! His power, Severus… it is unformed as yet, but it is immense. He has made it clear that his only motive was to keep his brother safe, but better men than he have been lured by jealousy and greed into things better left alone. Riddle is one example. I'm seeing some disturbing similarities between the two."

"Headmaster, don't be hasty. Potter's upbringing may not have been ideal, with a younger brother like that and a father who's worse, but it's no Muggle orphanage. And he has real relationships, and close friends. Do not assume the worst from the scant clues we've been given."

"I do not call Parseltongue a 'scant clue', Severus. The last known one was Riddle himself. I am beginning to wonder if, after Voldemort was vanquished by Tom, some of his powers might not have attached themselves to Harry as his soul fled…"

"But sir, he wasn't even in the room, you know that. They found him in the passageway with half the roof on top of him. It would be more logical to assume that about the younger one."

"I realize that, but the evidence counters it quite neatly."

"So essentially, you have a thousand questions, and not a single satisfying answer."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Essentially, yes."