Chapter 5: Year Two, Part 2 1/2

Harry huddled under the invisibility cloak with Tony, having traced the serpent's voice to a corridor on the first floor.

"Look, I think that's the Heir," he breathed.

Tony lowered his hand mirror and squinted. "The Weasley girl—I don't believe it!"

Harry nudged him. "Come on, don't lose her."

They tiptoed down the hallway, keeping to the shadows. A rather disheveled Ginny plodded ahead, carrying a sloshing bucket in one hand, and clutching a thin black book to her chest with the other.

She stopped before the spot the last message about the Chamber had been found at and set the bucket down. Glancing around furtively, she dipped her fingers into the liquid and began smearing dark red letters on the wall.

Tony shifted next to him. "Ew. Whose blood do you reckon it is?"

"Mate, you have to go get Dumbledore. Right now," Harry whispered.

Tony bobbed his head and stepped backwards, but froze when Ginny suddenly turned to look in their direction. The boys held their breath while her wide brown eyes roved over their invisible forms. Finally, she looked away and went back to her task.

Harry hissed, "Quick, around the corner."

Moving as swiftly as they dared, the two backpedaled until they were out of Ginny's line of sight. Tony took off towards the main staircase, while Harry adjusted the cloak to make sure he was hidden before sticking his head around the corner.

The girl was gone.

He swore and advanced, warily at first, then breaking into a run when it became obvious that she was nowhere in sight. Glancing at the message on the wall, he skidded to a halt.

Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.

This wasn't good. Ginny was clearly not acting under her own will, and Harry knew of only one individual capable of possessing people. He stood no chance against Voldemort, eleven-year-old host or not.

Steeling his nerves, he began moving again. His father's cloak had already proven to be effective, providing a measure of protection he hadn't had last year. All he had to do was track Ginny down and let the teachers handle the rest.

He started by checking the doors along one side of the hallway. The first led to a storeroom, its floor covered by a layer of undisturbed dust, and he closed it without investigating further. The second opened into a spacious classroom barren of furniture, which Harry circled for a couple of minutes failing to discover anything of note.

The third door was locked, which put him on his guard. Taking a calming breath, he cast an Alohomora. The door swung open, revealing a cramped, windowless room holding an assortment of battered broomsticks and stained cans of paint. He lowered his wand and sighed, but still went inside to poke around.

Dumbledore arrived as he was lifting up the corridor's tapestries in hopes of stumbling upon a secret entrance. The venerable wizard looked grim as he nodded to Harry and said, "I have asked Mr. Goldstein to alert Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. It is imperative that we find Miss Weasley as soon as possible."

Harry took his cloak off and stuffed it into his pocket despite the headmaster evidently having no issues seeing through. "I've lost her, sir. I don't know where she went," he said, ducking his head.

Dumbledore patted his shoulder as he looked around thoughtfully. "It is unfortunate that this part of the castle is devoid of portraits. Yet, as I recall, one of our ghosts dwells nearby."

Harry looked up in sudden realization. "The Moaning Myrtle!"

"Indeed. The poor girl tends to be reclusive, however; I could never get a word out of her unless she was in one of her exceedingly rare good moods."

"In that case, let me handle it," Harry said. He had no wish to meet the capricious ghost again, but she was their only hope at this point.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly, but he merely gestured Harry to lead the way.

He dashed down the hallway to the girls' loo and knocked. "Myrtle, may we come in?"

No answer came, so he pushed the door open and entered, Dumbledore following him without a word.

There was a muffled gasp in one of the stalls, and Myrtle floated out through its door, rubbing her eyes and beaming. "Harry, you came to visit me! And... you brought the headmaster," she added in a more restrained voice, and curtsied respectfully.

Harry smiled back at her. "Myrtle, this is very important—have you seen a red-haired girl around here recently?"

Her face lit up. "Yes, yes, I have! An ugly freckled thing—she hissed at the sinks and disappeared somewhere. I got scared so I hid in my stall."

Harry ran to the spot Myrtle was looking at and started inspecting the mirrors, turning the taps, and knocking on the walls. Dumbledore came up and wordlessly vanished the years-worth of grime off the porcelain and metal. A tiny snake etched on the now-gleaming copper faucet caught Harry's eye. He suddenly knew what to do; he just hoped this thing didn't need a password.

"Open," he hissed, then jumped back as the wall behind the sinks rumbled and split to reveal a wide, downwards-sloping pipe.

He beamed proudly at Dumbledore, then turned to the resident ghost.

"I guess we'll be going in. You've been a great help, Myrtle."

She clasped her hands in front of her chest. "If you die, we can share this bathroom, Harry."

He nodded solemnly. "Thank you. If I could touch you, I'd flip up your skirt and peek at your knickers."

"That's... why, that's the sweetest thing a boy has ever told me!" She blushed a deep silvery color and plunged head-first into a toilet with a happy squee.

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "I must admit, I do not recall Miss Warren ever being so cooperative... or so lively, as it were."

"We have an understanding of sorts," Harry said, not meeting the headmaster's eyes. He really didn't want to get into the details of what his 'favor' to the ghost girl had been.

"Bringing her out of her shell is quite an achievement. Now, Harry..." Dumbledore peered at him through half-moon glasses. "You appear eager to venture into the Chamber, and as much as it pains me to place you in such peril, I suspect your Parseltongue will prove indispensable down there. I ask that you follow my orders and put your own safety first. Can you promise me that?"

"Yes, sir," he said, nodding. "Before we go... I don't suppose you could magic up a rooster?"

"You have done your research," Dumbledore said, looking pleased. "Alas, so have I, and it leads me to believe that conjuring one now would do us little good. The magic of a rooster's crow, you see, lies not in the sound itself, but in the greeting of the coming dawn—in chasing away the darkness and the evils that lurk therein. No, we shall have to rely on the strength of our spells in this battle, I'm afraid."

"Oh." He took a bracing breath. The prospect was scary but exciting; he felt like he was about to undertake an honest-to-god quest. With Britain's most powerful wizard leading the way, he figured their odds were pretty good.

"Do not let this deter you from offering your input, Harry. What may seem obvious to you may not be so to an old man like myself." Dumbledore gave him a kind smile before his expression sobered. "Now, let us not tarry any longer. Any delay might cost Miss Weasley her life." With those words, he stepped forward and vanished down the passageway.

Harry crouched and peered into the darkness, wrinkling his nose at the stench. Realizing he was doing exactly what he'd been warned against, he took a deep breath through his mouth and dived in.

The slide carried him down at breakneck speed before spitting him out in a musty dungeon. He reckoned Slytherin had to have been nuts to come up with this mode of entrance. Getting up, he attempted to brush himself off, but the mud merely stuck to his robes.

Dumbledore stood several steps ahead, the glow of his wand revealing stone walls with rusted sconces holding rotting detritus. "Can you sense anything, Harry?"

He sniffed. "It's dank, and not in the good way."

The older wizard chuckled. "I was referring to your gift of Parseltongue, but thank you for that fascinating insight into the vernacular of today's youth."

They proceeded with Dumbledore leading the way and him trailing several steps behind. The feeble light of headmaster's Lumos only illuminated a few feet around them.

"Why the first-year spell, sir?" Harry asked.

"I find that it creates an atmosphere more appropriate for an adventure," Dumbledore said, making him wonder if all powerful wizards were insane. "The darkness is our ally here, for the basilisk's gaze will only kill if the victim catches a glimpse of its eyes. Look away if you notice any movement, Harry."

He nodded and followed in silence until Dumbledore came to a stop. As the headmaster showed no signs of unease, Harry raised his gaze. In front of them was a circular stone door decorated with six large snakes, jewels the size of his fist glinting in their eye sockets.

"An entrance into the chamber proper, I expect," Dumbledore said quietly. "Your cloak, Harry."

He pulled the bundle out of his pocket and draped the thin fabric over himself.

"A marvelous artifact," Dumbledore said, gazing at the spot where Harry stood. "I trust you have been putting it to good use?"

A memory of a time he tried to sneak into the girls' dorms and got spooked by a blaring alarm made him grin wryly. "I suppose."

"Your father would approve, I am sure." Ignoring Harry's startled look, Dumbledore raised his wand to light up the carved snakes. "In all likelihood, the beast lies in wait behind this door. Stay hidden and keep your eyes on my back, Harry. If I am overpowered, escape immediately and inform Professor McGonagall."

He gulped. "Alright. Shall I open it?"

"Please do." Dumbledore's lined face looked grimmer than Harry had ever seen it.

He focused on the carvings and hissed, "Open."

The snakes came alive, moving in elaborate patterns as the centuries-old locks clanked and came undone. Harry watched on tenterhooks as the door swung inwards to reveal an immense chamber bathed in dim light which seemed to be coming from all directions at once. Remembering Dumbledore's orders, he quickly ducked his head.

The headmaster extinguished his wand and stepped over the threshold. Harry kept his gaze on Dumbledore's purple shoes, eyes itching with the need to look around. The floor here had proper tiles: grimy but exquisitely made, unlike the rough stone in the antechamber they'd passed. The echo of their footsteps gave the impression of a vast, cavernous space.

Dumbledore stiffened before hurrying forward, Harry barely able to keep up. Then the man's feet slowed and his midnight-blue robes billowed as he raised his wand.

"Tom Riddle," Dumbledore said gravely. "I should have known."

It was a younger male voice that responded. "Come any closer, and she dies."

Harry startled, both because he hadn't expected to run into anyone but Ginny, and because the voice sounded vaguely familiar. He sidestepped and began looking up, inch by inch. There was a pale hand caked in grime and dried blood; a small, frail body in black robes; a lifeless face, eyes closed as if in sleep. He hoped Ginny was still alive, for she certainly didn't look the part.

Dumbledore strode forward in defiance of the warning. "What have you done, you foolish boy? How low have you fallen?"

Overtaken by his curiosity, Harry dared look further up. A scant few feet away from Ginny's body was a spectral figure, translucent, but with color and substance ghosts didn't possess. It was a teenage boy he'd never seen before, wearing uniform robes that were subtly different from his own.

"You have no idea what I am capable of," the specter said, eyes flashing red and making Harry's mouth go dry at the sight. "I didn't expect you to come so quickly, but it hardly matters. The girl's life is already entwined with mine. She will die and I shall live—there's nothing you can do, Dumbledore."

"Nevertheless, I must try," Dumbledore said. There was a bang and a powerful flash of light, which left Harry's eyes watering.

Tom was similarly afflicted, shielding his eyes with a blurred sleeve. "You won't get the chance," he spat. "Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!"

Harry opened his mouth to shout a warning but clamped down. The headmaster had clearly recognized the Parseltongue, retreating from Ginny's unmoving form.

A loud grinding noise drew Harry's gaze to an enormous granite statue standing against the back of the Chamber. He cursed inwardly and ducked his head, and not a moment too late: scales rasped against stone as Slytherin's basilisk descended from the statue's gaping jaws.

"I smell humans, master!"

"Kill the old man," Tom hissed, still appearing dazed from Dumbledore's spell.

The rasping grew louder and Harry crouched down, trying to make himself as small as possible. He heard footsteps and surmised Dumbledore was luring the snake away. A snap of displaced air preceded a collision which reverberated across the Chamber.

"Fawkes!" Dumbledore roared.

An invigorating cry of a phoenix rang out, then an angry hiss came from the snake. Dumbledore yelled an incantation Harry didn't quite catch, and the floor shook with repetitive impacts, each of them feeling closer than the previous one. He whimpered and crawled towards Tom, figuring the Parselmouth wouldn't get crushed by his own basilisk.

"Get away! Get away from the girl!" Tom hissed.

"The flying one got my eyes—it hurts, master!"

"Leave the bird, the man is in front of you!"

Harry took heart and risked a look towards where the sounds of battle were coming from. His jaw dropped as he saw just how colossal the basilisk was. It was easily as thick as Harry was tall, and when it reared up to strike, it reached halfway to the distant ceiling.

Dumbledore, now wearing a grubby wizard's hat which seemed to wiggle of its own accord, showed no fear when facing this mighty foe. His famed Transfiguration skills were in full display as countless rodent skeletons scattered around the Chamber became spiky pillars surrounding the great snake's body. When one was broken, two more rose in its place—and what Dumbledore lacked in raw materials, he made up for with Conjuration, creating heavy iron chains out of thin air.

Harry stopped gawking and faced Tom, who already appeared more solid than before. They didn't have much time, and with Dumbledore distracting the minion, he figured he could go for the summoner.

Sticking out his wand, he carefully performed the requisite motion. "Incendio!"

A cone of crimson flames engulfed Tom, who only managed to turn with a shocked expression, yet the fire went straight through him and fizzled out. Face twisting in anger, he took a silent step forward. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

Harry pulled his cloak off. "Hello, Tom," he jeered. "Or should I call you Voldemort?"

Tom's eyes widened momentarily, but then a pleased expression came over his face. "Ah, the heroic Harry Potter. Ginevra has told me so much about you."

He kept his wand trained on the specter. "What are you? Why do you look like that?"

Tom considered his translucent hands. "I am merely a memory... But with the girl's unwitting help, I am going to be more. So much more."

Harry had had enough. "Incendio!" he tried again, "Diffindo, Immobulus, Expelliarmus!"

The spells went right through Tom's shade and he laughed, a high, cold sound which echoed throughout the Chamber. Harry watched forlornly as he seemed to become even more corporeal.

"Schoolboy hexes, Harry? Allow me to show you some real magic." Tom bent down to pick up Ginny's wand which lied next to her body, but his fingers passed through it. He frowned and straightened up. "It appears we're at an impasse—neither of us can harm each other. The time is on my side, however."

Harry clenched his fists. Tom was invulnerable while feeding upon Ginny's life force, and by the time he acquired enough substance to be affected by spells, she would be dead. It seemed unfair that such magic existed.

He looked at Dumbledore with hope, but the headmaster appeared to be struggling to finish his own opponent. Even though the basilisk was trapped in transfigured chains, any direct spells merely glanced off its scales. The king of serpents was another example of incredibly powerful magic... yet for all its strength and lethal gaze, it would fall to a rooster's crow at dawn.

"All magic has a weakness," Harry murmured. He took another look at Ginny, focusing on the small black volume she still clutched with her right hand. There had to be significance to her carrying it all the way here.

"What are you mumbling about, Potter?" Tom appeared as self-assured as ever.

"She hasn't given up her body, not the way Quirrel did," Harry said, almost to himself. "You can't remain invincible while draining her life, it—it doesn't work that way. You must be doing this through some sort of an object." He bent down and pried the leatherbound book out of Ginny's cold fingers.

Tom's eyes flashed. "What would you know of magic, boy? Are you willing to stake her life on your theory?"

Harry opened the book, frowning in confusion when all he saw were empty, yellowing pages. He struggled to rip it apart for a moment before chucking it away and taking aim with his wand.

"Incendio!"

Harry channeled his most powerful spell for several seconds, then blinked away the dazzling afterimage to see the book lie undamaged on the sooty floor. He moaned in despair.

Tom laughed again, and this time, he didn't stop for what felt like minutes.

"You were right, you know," he finally said. "That's my diary, which the silly girl spilled her heart into. I protected it using enchantments even wizards many times your age wouldn't be able to break."

Harry felt a surge of hope as he recalled the power granted to him by his mother's sacrifice. "Watch me, you fiend!"

He aimed his wand at his left hand and spoke the incantation for the Severing Charm, creating a shallow slash. Cupping his palm, he allowed the blood to pool before walking up to the diary and letting it drip with a victorious grin on his face.

Tom tilted his head. Harry glanced down to find the diary no worse for the wear, save for the reddish specks on its cover.

"In that case..." He dashed forward and thrust his palm out, launching droplets of sanguine fluid towards Tom. "Take that!"

The blood passed through the figure unimpeded, splashing on the Chamber floor.

"There are faster ways to kill yourself," Tom scoffed, looking as bewildered as Harry felt.

Harry's arms fell to his sides, blood trickling down his fingers. Why didn't it work? He couldn't possibly win without his special power. He needed help.

He turned his back to Ginny and Tom, and stepped towards Dumbledore. The headmaster had snared the basilisk in a prison of bones, all except its gargantuan head—yet his movements were less robust, and his new transfigurations were being crushed by the serpent before they fully formed.

Harry took a deep breath. "Oi, you overgrown grass snake! Your father was a warm-blooded toadfucker!"

The basilisk turned its blind, bleeding eyes towards him and unleashed a string of profanities so vile they would have made Harry blush up to his ears had the situation not been so dire. Dumbledore used the opportunity to conjure an iron chain ending in nails as thick as a man's arm around its head and drive it into the floor with a thunderous crash.

Fully immobilized at last, the basilisk opened its maw and hissed furiously. In an instant, Dumbledore launched a crackling azure spell into its vulnerable mouth. The great serpent thrashed in pain; some of the bone pillars broke at its violent struggle, and it appeared to be in danger of escaping.

Harry took another step closer, not even sure how he could help, but then Dumbledore stuck his wand up his sleeve and instead pulled a gleaming sword out of his worn hat. Harry watched, dumbfounded, as he raised his left arm and grabbed Fawkes' tail, the bird carrying its master upwards with effortless grace.

When Dumbledore was directly above the basilisk's head, he let go and plummeted, burying the sword to the hilt in its flesh. The beast gave one last mighty lurch, then stilled. Its vanquisher also remained motionless for a few seconds before slowly raising his hand to hitch another ride from the phoenix.

Harry doubled back for the diary, then ran towards the headmaster as fast as his legs would carry him, ignoring Tom's incoherent screams of rage.

"That was the most badass thing I've ever seen," he blurted out, nearly slipping on the damp stone as he came to a halt. "You were better than Gandalf!"

"Thank you, young man." Dumbledore's breathing was ragged as he leaned against the basilisk's carcass, but the expression on his face was triumphant. His hands were clasped over the pommel of the sword, its tip resting on the ground. "For the timely distraction, as well."

Harry nodded. "Could you lend me your sword real quick?"

Dumbledore obliged, pushing the handle towards Harry and watching him carefully. He appeared taken aback when the younger wizard hefted the weapon up.

Harry dropped the cursed diary to the ground and lifted the sword higher, adding a second hand on the hilt. Praying fervently that his hunch was correct, he stabbed down with all his strength. The tip of the blade pierced the thin volume with little resistance and scraped against the stone underneath, the impact jarring his wrists. Viscous ink spurted from the cut like blood from an arterial wound; Harry heard a pained scream and swiveled to see Tom's shade turn into black smoke and evaporate.

Dumbledore looked lost for words. He regarded the spot where Tom had disappeared, then the diary lying in a puddle of ink on the floor. Lastly, he leveled his penetrating gaze at the younger wizard.

"Well done, Harry," he said. "How did you know?"