Summary: Dumbledore takes a young Tom Riddle down to the Chamber of Secrets. The experience changes his life forever. Dumbledore x Tom Riddle. Dark themes. One-shot.
A/N: I don't usually write fan fiction for Harry Potter or other books, and can't account for why I'm doing it now. I also haven't read the books in ages, so any factual errors that you may encounter here are the result of an imperfect memory.
The Secrets of the Chamber
"Where do you think you're going, Tom?"
Tom Riddle stopped dead in his tracks and turned slowly to look into the austere face of Albus Dumbledore. He swallowed.
"Professor."
Dumbledore stared severely down at Tom over his crooked nose for a minute; then the ice in his mien broke, and the characteristic twinkle in his blue eyes returned.
"I take it you were on your way to Potions and just got lost?"
In fact, Tom had been going just the other way.
"No, Professor," he confessed. "I was actually—"
"It's quite all right, Tom." Dumbledore laughed. He bent low so that his next words were uttered in a whisper next to Tom's ear. "Students aren't the only ones whom Professor Slughorn fails to engage. You should try sitting through a staff meeting with him."
Tom heaved a sigh of relief. He was not in trouble then.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said earnestly. "I'll go straight to class now."
Dumbledore held him back by the arm.
"Sir," said Tom, trying to extricate himself from Dumbledore's grip. "I'll go straight to class, I swear."
Dumbledore's bony hand tightened around his arm, causing him to wince.
"Can you speak to snakes, Tom?" asked Dumbledore, seemingly apropos of nothing.
"Snakes, sir?" Tom stammered as he tried to think of ways in which his answer might damn him. "On the contrary, I'm scared to death of snakes. Awful creatures, snakes."
The twinkle reappeared in Dumbledore's eye.
"Careful now, Tom, you don't want your fellow Slytherins to hear you say that," he said. "Why don't you come with me, Tom? I have something to show you that I rather think you'll enjoy seeing."
Artless Tom Riddle followed Dumbledore down several flights of stairs and through dozens of passages. Once Tom thought he had felt a pair of eyes on the back of his head; another time he had caught the portraits gravely watching his progress down the corridor, as if disapproving of the spectacle. It was only when Dumbledore came to a halt outside the girls' bathroom on the second floor that Tom got an inkling of where he was being led.
"This is the girls' bathroom," he said.
"An observation that I myself have had occasion to make during the half-century that I've been at Hogwarts."
"Sorry, sir," said Tom hastily. "What exactly are we doing here, sir? Is there a snake inside? Do you want me to talk to it?"
Tom peered cautiously into the bathroom. He wasn't completely certain that Dumbledore wasn't just testing him to see if he would enter the girls' bathroom so that he could write him up for indecent behavior in addition to cutting class.
"Yes," said Dumbledore; "and no."
He adjusted his half-moon spectacles and strode blithely into the bathroom. Tom's jaw dropped.
"Come in, Tom. We are quiet alone, I assure you."
Tom stepped cautiously over the threshold into forbidden territory.
"What is it you wanted to show me, sir?"
"Take a look at this tap, Tom." Dumbledore pointed excitedly to a faucet in the sink.
"It has a snake engraved on it," said Tom drily. Was this some kind of a joke?
"Wonderful, isn't it? Try talking to it, Tom."
Tom scoffed. This had to be a joke.
"I'm sorry, sir?"
"Come on, Tom," Dumbledore urged. "Speak to it as you would speak to a real snake."
Tom raised an eyebrow and bent over the faucet. He glanced up at Dumbledore one last time in case the latter had been waiting for the right moment to burst out laughing and tell him what an idiot he was. Instead he saw that Dumbledore was beaming in anticipation.
He sighed and closed his eyes. He had been able to talk to snakes for as long as he could remember, but it was not a gift that he could summon at will. Indeed, he had suffered many a broken bone and black eye at the hands of the other—often much larger—boys at the orphanage, who had wanted to witness a demonstration of his much-vaunted skill, only to return to his room at night and relate his tale of woe to snakes that slithered mysteriously out of drainpipes outside his window. He had realized early on that the only time he could talk to snakes was when he was distressed.
It was clear to Tom, as he stared at his warped reflection on the surface of the faucet, that the circumstances just weren't right for him to be hissing and spitting with any intelligibility. For one thing, there had to be a snake.
"Tom." Dumbledore's voice had taken on a sharp edge, and Tom felt a chill run down his spine. "Are you going to start talking to the snake, or do you want to do lines for me for the rest of the year? Or perhaps you want to explain to Headmaster Dippet why you were not in Potions this afternoon?"
"No, no, sir," said Tom hastily. "I'll do it. What exactly do you want me to say?"
"I want you to say, 'Open.'"
Open?
Tom clenched his fists in frustration. He felt like a man who was being forced into an impossible situation, in which there could be no right course of action. He was damned no matter what he did. Why couldn't he have planned his departure from Potions just a minute earlier, so that Dumbledore wouldn't have stepped out of his office at the precise instant that he had been passing by?
"Tom."
Tom shook his head and began hissing. To his surprise, it wasn't just air and spit that came out of his mouth.
"Open," he hissed in snake tongue.
There was a low rumble; then the sink disappeared into the floor, leaving a large pipe exposed.
"I didn't do anything, sir, I swear."
In lieu of a response, Dumbledore planted a powerful hand on his back and sent him sliding down the pipe. He screamed as he fell, and continued screaming till he emerged at excruciating length on the other side, where he landed painfully on a pile of bones.
Dumbledore appeared through the pipe a few seconds later.
"Where are we, sir?"
"This place is called the Chamber of Secrets."
"The Chamber of Secrets?" Tom gasped. "But I thought that was just a legend."
"The greatest legends are often the most real."
"But what about the Heir of Slytherin? I thought he was the only one who could open it. Hang on—" His eyes widened as realization hit him. "Are you saying I'm the Heir of Slytherin?"
"It's not for me to say who you are and who you are not," said Dumbledore; "but by opening the Chamber, it would appear that you are indeed the Heir of Slytherin. Congratulations, Tom."
Tom had been tense ever since Dumbledore had accosted him outside his office, but now he relaxed. So it had all just been a test after all. Dumbledore had been testing him, and he had passed with flying colors. Not only had he passed Dumbledore's test, but he had revealed himself to be the Heir of Slytherin. Surely that was worth at least twenty points?
"I'm sure they'll treat me much better now at the common room," he joked.
He expected Dumbledore to laugh in his usual good-natured way, but no laughter was forthcoming—only silence.
Tom suddenly became all too aware of how quiet it was in the Chamber. Water dripped from the ceiling into a pool somewhere in the distance, but that was the only sound to be heard, apart from the rise and fall of his own breath and that of Dumbledore. Dumbledore's breath had taken on a strange quality. It was measured and unlabored, but something about it made Tom uncomfortable: It was less like the breath of a man at rest and more like that of a predator watching its prey.
Tom shivered.
"I think I'm going to go back up, sir," he said nervously. "I've got History of Magic next, and I wouldn't miss Professor Binns's class for the world."
"It is said that the Chamber of Secrets is home to a monster," said Dumbledore.
"All the more reason to get out of here, sir."
"A monster that only the Heir of Slytherin can control." Dumbledore's voice had become distant—as if he were reciting a prophecy rather than speaking of his own volition. "Even though I have never seen the monster, I have been able to deduce through my brilliance that the monster must be a basilisk."
"A basilisk, sir?"
"One of the foulest and most ancient beasts ever to inhabit this earth. It is said that a basilisk can kill you by looking into your eyes."
Tom swallowed.
"I always wondered what secrets this chamber held." Dumbledore took a step toward Tom, gazing up toward the ceiling of his cave, smiling broadly. "Always wondered what forbidden magic is contained within its ancient walls. It's all so exciting, don't you think?"
Tom took a step back in response.
"Can you keep a secret, Tom?"
Dumbledore was standing right in front of him now. Tom tried taking another step back, but something prevented him. It was as if he had hit a wall and were being pressed against it. This was powerful magic. The only reason he knew that it was not a physical wall that had stopped him was the cool air blowing against the back of his neck.
"It is the Chamber breathing," said Dumbledore, reading Tom's mind; then he reached out and caressed his face. "So beautiful, so full of life…"
The next thing Tom knew, he was lying flat on the ground, staring up into Dumbledore's lust-filled eyes, unable to speak, unable to breathe—unable to resist the other's superior strength, both physical and magical. He felt as if his ribs would break at any moment and he would die. In fact, he rather wanted to die right now.
A tear rolled down his face and fell noiselessly to the floor. He had never cried at the orphanage—not once—, even after all the bullying and vapulation he had suffered there. It had been a source of pride for him. He had been proud of the fact that his cheek had never once been stained with tears; and now the earth under his head was soaked with them.
Tom's ordeal continued for what felt like an eternity.
Then suddenly there was a low rumble of rocks at the far end of the Chamber, well beyond his limited field of vision in the dim lighting and through his tears.
Then a low hiss reached his ears.
Heir of Slytherin.
Tom's eyes widened.
Dumbledore must have heard it, too, because the spell broke.
Tom sat up.
"It's Slytherin's monster!" Dumbledore exclaimed.
Tom looked up at the face of his Transfiguration teacher and saw that it was contorted with fear, eyelids pressed shut.
Tom, on the other hand, was not afraid, even as he heard the snake approach in the darkness—even as its hisses grew so loud as to become deafening. He felt a strange comfort in knowing that his illustrious ancestor was looking out for him—sending his monster to his rescue.
Dumbledore raised his wand against the monster that he could not see.
"Avada kedavra," he bellowed.
In the flash of green light that emerged from the tip of Dumbledore's wand, Tom saw an enormous snake rear its head, high as the Chamber itself, flicking its great forked tongue in the air and baring its enormous fangs. The sight filled him with awe. The curse had missed the snake and hit the roof of the Chamber, which started collapsing.
Tom jumped to his feet and ran in the direction from which he had come. Dumbledore yelled angrily for him to return, but he dared not look back. When he emerged in the girls' bathroom on the other side, he fell to the floor, panting and heaving. The sink slid into place again, covering the entrance to the Chamber. In the distance he could hear the shuffle of feet and the chatter of conversation as students went downstairs to dinner—sounds that he ordinarily did not care for and that tonight grated on him more than usual.
Tonight Tom Riddle had indeed seen a monster, but it had not been the basilisk.
Tonight Tom Riddle had become Lord Voldemort.
end.