Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER, OKAY?
Chapter Seven: Insane or brilliant?
Riddle was growing impatient. How long could it take Potter to find them? He had left almost precise directions, after all. Tom had left very clear tracks, and he knew it was only a matter of time until Harry would stumble into the Chamber. Until then, all there was to do was wait.
His eyes fell on the unconscious form of Neville Longbottom. Riddle had always hated that boy, besides the fact he was a pureblood, he was incredibly foolish, always forgetting things, and always blowing up something trying to perform the simplest of spells. Neville was an insult to purebloods.
Tom hoped that this would clean up the mess Longbottom made out of a pureblood name. Neville would get the glory for opening the Chamber of Secrets, Riddle wouldn't be expelled, and Hogwarts wouldn't have to close. Everyone wins.
The only problem with using Neville as the scapegoat was that anyone with a brain in them would realize Neville Longbottom wasn't nearly skilled enough to do something like this. The only thing to do was rely on people's nature to believe what they want to believe, and no one wanted to believe that the Heir of Slytherin was the kind, charming, and brilliant orphan Tom Riddle.
The ground underneath Neville creaked as the boy opened his eyes weakly and stared back at Riddle. "You'll…never…get away…with this." He struggled to speak.
"I already have," said Riddle, surprised that after all the torture spells he'd been practicing on Longbottom, the boy was still able to speak at all.
"Crucio!" Riddle hissed, and grinned as Neville withered on the floor in pain. "Go ahead, scream all you want, no one can hear you down here!"
The echoing of pounding footsteps filled Riddle's ears, and so he broke the curse, watching as Harry ran down the long hall. He collapsed by Neville, who was passed out again.
On his knees, Harry shook the Longbottom boy. "Neville, Neville wake up!"
"He won't wake," said Riddle darkly.
Harry acknowledged Tom for the first time since he stepped foot in the Chamber. He angrily stood up. "You killed him, like you tried to kill Hermione!"
Riddle rolled his eyes. He didn't have time to deal with such childish accusations, but if Harry were to be on his side, he'd have to explain himself.
"Longbottom is not dead," Riddle said, "and Hermione isn't either. You should be on your knees thanking me. I'm allowing them both to live."
"Allowing them to live?" Harry questioned, outraged. "And I suppose we should all bow to you, too, O great master of death." Potter mocked, but Riddle didn't see what was funny about that idea.
"Someday," Tom answered, as serious as could be.
"You're insane," Harry said.
"Insane or brilliant?" Riddle questioned back. He started to move closer to where Harry stood over Neville.
"Stay away from me!" Harry ordered, pulling out his wand, and pointing it straight at Riddle.
"Don't be foolish, Potter," said Riddle, still smiling. He had to admit, Harry had guts. "You wouldn't come out of here alive if we get wands out."
Harry glared at Riddle, but lowered his wand, planning on catching Riddle at a different time. He wasn't stupid. Harry knew that Riddle had to be tons more experienced at dueling than he was, and Neville lying on the floor was enough proof of that. All Harry had to do was keep him talking.
"Good," said Riddle, and he begun to approach Harry once more, this time, with no interruptions.
"Why are you doing all this?" Harry asked, buying time. He knew Aydan had gone for help by now.
"Didn't you get it?" Riddle asked back sharply, "I'm the Heir of Slytherin, why wouldn't I be doing all this?"
"You're not doing a very good job," said Harry. "No one has died. Pretty soon the Mandrakes will be ready, and everyone who has been Petrified will be set right."
"Haven't I told you?" Riddle asked in a surprisingly cheerful voice. "The attack on Hermione was a set up."
Harry stared at Riddle blankly, causing Riddle to laugh.
"I knew that if something happened to your friend you wouldn't be able to resist getting revenge. I knew that you would come after me, even if you didn't know it was me at the time. I knew this, because you are very much like me."
Harry wrinkled his forehead, and muttered, "I am nothing like you, and either way, Hermione still got the best of you. She discovered the Basilisk."
"Wrong again," Riddle smirked, "I wanted you to come here. I wanted you to know about me, so before I woke you yesterday in the hospital wing, I planted the mirror and the article in Hermione's hands."
"That doesn't make sense," said Harry. "If you wanted me to know so badly, why didn't you just tell me yourself?"
"Because I thought you would take it badly," Riddle said, simply, "the last thing we needed was for you to make a scene and tell all of Hogwarts who the Heir of Slytherin is. Down here, no one can hear you."
"You monster," Harry nearly whispered, "The only reason you didn't kill Hermione was because you didn't want to make a scene."
"Finally you are right," Riddle said, "That Mudblood deserves to die. She tried to turn you against me, against family…"
This was perhaps the most interesting thing Riddle had said all night. At least to Harry, he couldn't care less about Riddle's little games.
"What do you mean?"
"Imagine my surprise when I found out that I wasn't the only Heir of Slytherin after all," Riddle explained. "There are actually four, all in Hogwarts at the same time."
"Four?" Harry questioned, starting to worry. One Slytherin's heir was bad enough, but now there were four?
"It seems your mother was never a Mudblood," Riddle continued, "She was adopted as a baby. Her real parents were direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself."
That was impossible. His mother was in Gryffindor. She was the nicest person on the face of the earth.
"You lair!" Harry shouted.
"You're my cousin, Harry," Riddle pretended he hadn't heard Harry's latest outburst, "and together we're going to do great things."
Harry shook his head in anger, if Riddle was saying they would great things, Harry knew that it translated into terrible things. He knew that Riddle meant genocide.
"Even if we are related," Harry said, bravely. "I'm not going to join you're cause. I'm not going to help in a mass murder." Neville began to make noises again, and Riddle looked down at him, showing a twisted grin.
"I'm sorry," said Riddle, sarcastically, "I wasn't under the impression I had given you a choice."
Author's Notes
Feedback makes me happy.
Thank you from those of you who have reviewed.
This has nothing to do with this story besides the fact that I was listening to it over and over while writing this chapter.
"All who are thirsty, all who are weak, come to the fountain. And we sing, come Lord Jesus, come." – A very good song written by Mr. Brenton Brown.
