·
Descent
·

Harry stood outside the Gryffindor portrait for an hour but Ginny never showed. He was disappointed when the Fat Lady informed him that the common room was empty, knowing that there was no way Ginny had forgotten so that meant that she had ditched him. With a sigh and a glance at his watch – it was a quarter past – he resigned himself to testing out his theory by himself. Pulling his Invisibility Cloak over his head, Harry headed outside to the Gamekeeper's property where the roosters coo was located.

The walk was cold and lonely, a walk that would've been greatly improved with a companion to share body heat huddled together. His body shivered in the cold night air at the thought, his breath conveniently hidden by his cloak.

Despite the loss of companion, there was a pep in his step, a hope he couldn't push down. It led to him feeling especially giddy as his feet crunched the frozen grass. His earlier rest and his revelation from the night before had put him in an unparalleled mood. Even the tongue thrashing Derrick had given him earlier had done nothing to diminish this happiness, this anticipation that he could finally solve all their problems tonight. End this endless paranoia and fear that plagued the school. That by dawn, this could all be nothing but a distant memory.

His worn sneakers continued to crunch on the frozen grounds, spring still a few weeks from setting in. The night was cloudy and it was only thanks to his many nightly travels out this way that he didn't lose his way. Being found out of bed this last at night, lurking around the grounds, would cause more than mere suspicion; he would be lucky not to be hauled away for questioning.

"'Hey Harry! I'll let my brothers prank you but I won't go out with you after curfew.'" Harry found himself muttering under his breath as he trekked across the grounds. "'S'not like you're about to solve a millennia old mystery!'"

Urgh, he was talking to himself again! If Hermione were here, she'd give him a lecture no doubt, on the benefits of talking to one's self and also the psychological implications.

But she wasn't here which was why he was doing this. Someone had to do something and if the professors weren't, than he would. Too many people had been allowed to suffer; how many more students had to be petrified before someone did something? What if next time the student wasn't so lucky; what if they looked directly into the basilisk's eyes?

He never wanted to find out the answer to the thought that entered his mind when he saw Myrtle's lifeless body being carried away.

The rooster coo came into view and his footsteps quickened, his eagerness getting the better of his caution. He did remember to stay as silent as possible though. The last thing he needed was for the bloody birds to give him away. There was no way he would be able to get out of detention, or worse, if he was caught. Especially McGonagall, she would have his head.

Casting a weak lumos, Harry peaked inside the small coo and felt his stomach drop: it was empty!

How, how was that even possible?

Stepping away, Harry was sure his heart was about to beat right out of his chest, like he was moments away from hyperventilating as his lungs struggled to keep up with his frantic breaths. This had been his only option to prove his innocence, to stop the attacks. His bran whirled as he tried to think, tried not to crumble under yet another defeat.

…This wasn't the end. He could go to the Headmaster, tell him his discoveries, force him to act!

He knew about the voice and the question he had asked – the man had to have some suspicion. Dumbledore was one of the most powerful wizards alive, if Harry could deduce this mystery then surely the Headmaster could see the facts?

The silence of the night took over as the chill seeped into his bones, his teeth beginning to chatter.

Honestly, Harry. Are you trying to catch a cold?

Hermione's voice sounded in his head, pulling a smile across his frozen face. It was just like her to nag. She might complain about his nightly wanderings but he knew if he asked, she would be out here with him, lecturing him about the rules all the while.

There wasn't much left for him out here, he confessed, turning around to trek back to the castle.

Howling broke the silence of the night, startling a jump out of Harry who turned around looking for the source. His eyes widened in fear when he located the source and saw the hut light up, a hulking figure moving to the door.

Crap crap crap!

He threw his cloak back on, hoping the man hadn't seen him.

"Who's there?" the gruff voice of the gameskeeper demanded, appearing with a crossbow at his door, his trusted hound at his heels.

Harry froze, holding his breath, trying very hard not to make any noise. This was a man known to venture out into the Forbidden Forest alone. If anyone could find him under an Invisibility Cloak, it would be this giant of a man.

The man was skittish – paranoid – Harry realized, as Hagrid shifted around on his doorstep, looking across the grounds in distrust.

So it was true; the man had been expelled for opening the Chamber. And he was expecting someone – or something. Why else would he come to the door armed?

Harry made his way back to the castle when Hagrid and his hound retreated back inside. What if he talked with Hagrid, asked about what creature he had that escaped all those years ago? Maybe that could clear his name so the search for the real assailant could finally move forward.

The corridors were silent, as they should be this late at night, and Harry didn't know if it was a good or bad sign.

/

He sat up in the common room for the rest of the morning, too wound up to get any sort of rest. He stared listlessly at the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, wondering why he was put into this house. Out of everything that had happened to him, it was clear that he wasn't a Ravenclaw. What had the Sorting hat seen that had pushed him to Ravenclaw?

"You must confront your past if you are to ever rise above it."

A vase shattered above the fireplace, breaking the dead silence. Screw that! He didn't need to confront his past. He had lived it, felt every second of it and replayed that night over and over until he could see it with his eyes open! He felt every bloody emotion and he hated that, hated that he had allowed those people to continue to hurt him.

He wasn't brave and he knew he wasn't loyal. Did the Sorting Hat make a mistake; was he supposed to be in Slytherin?

Derrick's smile flashed across his dark eyelids followed by Nate, Ryan, Emily, Terry, Padma, and his best friends, Ginny and Hermione.

And it was with those two that he realized what he had missed before.

He was brave and loyal and ambitious but most of all, he knew how to use those qualities. He sought knowledge not for knowledge sake but to use it, to create something more for himself because someone had to do something.

Someone had to make sure a little eight year old child was never left outside in the middle of the night while his uncle drove away. That people were held accountable for their actions, that the complaints of a kids were listened to and not disregarded. That students couldn't bully others just because they were different, because they had an ability that set them apart.

His eyes caught the diadem at the top of the Founder's head, a tugging erupted from inside him, like he recognized the object. But he had never seen it before nor did he know what it was. It was a curious thing though, as he never pictured Ravenclaw as someone to flourish and revel in wealth and trinkets.

/

"Tom?"

Dumbledore was gone, urgent business at the Ministry taking him away from the school and Harry wanted to curse something. Instead, he turned to the only one who had given him more than an ounce of help.

"Yes?"

His elegant penmanship looped onto the page, neither rushed nor prying.

"The rooster were gone. I was too late"

"You tried your best. That is all anyone can ask of you, Harry."

No, it isn't. He needed more than his best…he needed to be the greatest. Maybe then people would take him seriously, maybe then he could actually make a difference.

His focus zoned out as his thoughts took him to a place long kept isolated in his depths of his mind. The place that had once whispered to the Sorting Hat to place him in Slytherin House so he could prove he was the best, to put him on the path to greatness so that no one could ever hurt him again. His darkest, coldest secrets kept locked away from the world. The revenge an eight year old Harry had sworn to enact one day if he were to ever see the Dursley's again. The thirst for knowledge outside the acceptability of the school curriculum. His endless nights prowling the Restricted Section, looking for what, he did not know.

The desire. The endless, hungry desire for more…to be more…

"Harry Potter?" A smooth, questioning voice broke him from his abyss, drawing startled emerald eyes.

Standing only meters away was the form of Tom Riddle, identical to the one he had seen that night in the diary. His wavy hair perfectly combed and parted to the side. His uniform, all three pieces of it, put together smartly with obvious care. Even the boy's shoes were polished to the point Harry was sure he could see his reflection in them.

Tom continued in his study of Harry who had yet to respond. His eyebrows lifted as his face took on a look of concern. His un-creased slacks moving in perfect stride with the rest of his perfect body, Harry couldn't help but notice. His gaze continued to travel upwards until his eyes rested on his companion's.

They were darker than dark, almost absent of color themselves if not for a flickering light highlighting the almost auburn spots dotting his iris.

"Are you well?" A richness enunciating each word that grabbed Harry's attention, bringing his gaze to the lips that brought that noise, to the mouth that spoke of secrets and horrors long since forgotten, to the boy who promised him greatness.

He couldn't do this on his own –

"Help me." Those words fell out of his mouth, a plea of desperation for something, for anything.

A smirk curled at Tom's lips, his cheeks upturning in pleasure, in understanding, in triumph.

"Gladly."

/