AN: hello everyone. hope you're all doing well. im currently eating a whole pint of ice cream as i write this. it's ben & jerry's new 'chubby hubby' and lemme just say it is delicious. if you're a chocolate peanut butter connoisseur like me, its a must have!

not gonna lie, some ppl unfollowed the story and it breaks my heart, but i understand if its because of the content of last chapter.

Booker arrived to his dorm out of breath and began to prepare himself.

It was time.

He pulled the invisibility cloak from his trunk, double checked his pocket for his wand, and pulled the cloak over him. Luckily, all his dorm mates were in the common room, and he stuffed his bed to make it look he was asleep, and easily slipped out the common room.

Along the way, he stole a sword from one of the suits of armor. He might need it.

He arrived to the first floor hearing his blood roaring in his ears and butterflies in his stomach.

Booker remembered someone, a young blonde girl telling him she had butterflies in her stomach, and he had told her to digest them. He did his best to do the same.

Myrtle's bathroom was luckily not flooded, and he entered with ease.

He spent a few moments inspecting the bathroom before he noticed a small snake symbol on a sink in front of a broken mirror.

That had to be it.

Doing his best to emulate the hissing of the snake, he whispered, "Open."

Immediately, the sinks began to transform, turning into a tunnel down into the underground.

"Well, that's new," Myrtle said.

Taking off the cloak, to her surprise, Booker stuffed it in his pocket and told her, "If I don't come out in an hour, send for the teachers, yeah?"

She nodded fervently, and he jumped into the abyss.

Booker landed on smooth marble floors, barely scuffed.

The gloom of the area was undeniable, but the architecture was rather nice, he had to admit.

Tall spiraling columns with snakes engraved into them of course, stalagmites and stalactites alike adding a sinister edge to the place.

As he walked along the chamber, he saw a large snake skin. It took him nearly five minutes to walk past it, and it was all coiled up.

Good god, this thing was huge. His stolen sword felt like a toothpick in his hands.

He finally arrived at what seemed to be the 'main chamber'. A tall statue, presumably of Salazar Slytherin himself, stood at the other end of the chamber, and a small, red-headed girl lay on the ground in the middle.

Ginny Weasley.

He rushed over to check her pulse, and breathed a sigh of relief. She was alive, for now.

"She won't wake," someone said. Male. Soft.

Booker looked up. "Who the hell are you?" he growled.

"Tom Riddle."

"Voldemort," Booker said, gritting his teeth. He lifted his sword and charged, ready to slice the bastard's head off, but it went clean through him.

"A wraith..." Booker gripped the sword with both hands and moved to a defensive position. "What did you do to the girl?"

"She's still alive," said Riddle. "But only just. I am no ghost, nor wraith. I am... a memory, preserved in a diary for fifty years."

"Why her?"

"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 secondhand robes and books, how she didn't think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her..."

Booker eyed the dark lord as he paced along, telling his little story.

"It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl," he went on. "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 around in my pocket...

"If I say it myself, Harry, 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?" Booker snarled.

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

"... shit." Had he known the girl, perhaps he would have noticed it, but he never noticed a little red-head girl like that. "Fuck!"

"Language, Harry."

"Fuck off."

"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, 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 Halloween, 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!"

Tom inched forward, looking just slightly less transparent. That was not a good sign.

"It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary," said Riddle. "But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And then some mudblood bint tried to read it, but luckily for me... you were there. Harry Potter. The one I've been dying to meet..."

"Why me?"

"Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Harry," said Riddle. "Your whole fascinating history. I wanted to meet you. To kill you."

Booker smirked. "Tough luck, jackass. You already tried... and failed."

"Because I was unimaginative! The Killing Curse? So boring, no no no. No, I will be using something else..."

Suddenly, there was music. Glorious music, but still. Music?

And a large red bird flew down, dropping the sorting hat, of all things, down on Booker's feet.

"That's it? That's all Dumbledore can give you? A bird and a hat? Ha!" Riddle laughed, high pitched and creepy, before smiling. "Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."

The mouth of the statue opened, and from the void came the one thing Booker did not want to see right this second - the basilisk.

The phoenix, useless thing, flew off, and Booker pulled off his robes - he always wore a t-shirt and pants underneath, of course - and ripped a strip of cloth from the cloak to make a blindfold. He couldn't afford to accidentally see the thing.

It was time to fight.

He lifted the sword, and waited.

"Kill him."

He heard the snake lunge for him... no, that was the tail. The hissing was still faint. He rolled to the side, and just in time as the scaly tail came crashing down next to him. He waited again, and this time, the snake's head came for him. When the hissing was ringing in his ears, he stabbed the sword forward, feeling it stick into flesh. He pulled up the edge of the blindfold to see the inside of the snake's mouth, with the very tip of the sword plunged into the roof of it's mouth.

Nothing. It did nothing at all, and with a triumphant hiss, and the snake swallowed him whole.

The saliva was acidic or something, it had to be, from the way it burned at his skin and clothes. It stung like hell, but rubbing at it just made his skin hurt even more.

Shit. He had to get out. Maybe with... some kind of explosion or, or something.

He had to think...

Firefighters! They always exploded in a grand finale when they died! Booker focused as much power as he could to his chest, and turned it into the vigor.

It was horrible. He could smell burnt skin and he swore his heart stopped beating.

Then it all exploded.

There was a ringing in Booker's ears, and he was sobbing in pain.

He tore off the blindfold and looked at the damage.

His chest was bleeding, and there was a humongous indent in the middle of it, bits of bone sticking out and blood dripping beneath him in a large puddle.

How he wasn't dead, he didn't know.

Then he watched with horror as the skin sealed over, leaved a crater shaped scar on his chest, raw and red. He watched his ribs and organs restore themselves underneath the slowly layering muscle.

"How..."

Tom Riddle was off to the side, looking on in wonder. "How are you doing that, Potter?" the not-quite-a-wraith demanded. He was looking less and less opaque by the second. He ignored the man.

Wait.

Shit, Riddle was still alive, and taking Ginny's life with him! Maybe it was the book. Maybe that was the anchor. With anger, Booker grabbed the diary with his hands and ripped it apart.

It mended itself right before his eyes and he snarled.

"Fuck!" He rushed over to the snake's mouth, intending to take the sword to it, but was unable to open its mouth. Furious, he pulled out one of the teeth and stabbed it into the pages, and suddenly backed away at the spout of black ink that fell out of it.

"NO!" Riddle screamed in agony, his wraith-like form suddenly beginning to dissolve in a golden light. Booker turned the pages a bit and stabbed again.

He stabbed it over and over until finally Riddle was nothing more than a destroyed book lying on the ground before him.

Ginny Weasley coughed heavily from where she was on the floor, and began to sit up.

Quickly, Booker pulled on his discarded robe to cover himself. He didn't want the girl to see all that blood.

She gasped when she spotted him and began to sob. "Harry - oh, Harry - I tried to tell my brother at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn't say it in front of Percy - it was me, Harry - but I -I s-swear I d-didn't mean to - R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over - and - how did you kill that - that thing? W-where's Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary-"

"Shhh..." Booker took her hand and shushed her. "Let's just get you out of here and back to your family, okay?"

"I'm going to be expelled! I've looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and n-now I'll have to leave and - w-what'll Mum and Dad say?"

"I think things are gonna be just fine," Booker said. "Not perfect, but I think they will understand. Riddle was controlling you this whole time, it isn't your fault."

Ginny sighed, still shuddering with tears, but didn't stand.

"I-I'm so... so tired, Harry," she said.

"It's okay," he replied. "I'll carry you."

And he did. He carried her up four flights of stairs to Dumbledore's office, and emerged to a crying redheaded family.

"Hey there," Booker said weakly, handing off Ginny to who he presumed was her father but he couldn't quite tell and his vision was swimming and... oh my.

He promptly fainted.

Booker awoke to find himself floating.

No. Wait.

He was on a bed. Never mind.

"Harry!"

Hermione. She was at his bedside... she was unpetrified!

"Hermione!" He flung his arms around her, giving her a warm hug, and felt a second set of arms surround him.

He turned to his side and exclaimed, "Neville!" and returned the boy's hug.

"Harry, you've been out for three weeks!"

"I... woah, what?"

Hermione sat down. "Neville and I were unpetrified two weeks ago. Apparently you exhausted your magical stores so much that you had to rest for three weeks to regain it all back!"

"Oh. Wow."

"'Wow' he says. 'Wow'. Harry! What on earth did you do down there?"

"I uh..." He didn't want to tell her. At all. It would devastate her to hear that he had suicide bombed and survived through the power of weird fucking magic or something. "It's a secret."

"I would much like to know myself, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, stepping out of the corner of the room. He had that look on that face, that preaching look that Comstock always got when he was spouting his lies.

Booker glared. "And I said, it's a secret."

The man gave him a stiff look, but did not press the matter.

Then the doors to the infirmary opened, and the large group of redheads from before burst in.

"Harry Potter!" The woman, presumably Mrs. Weasley, rushed forward and gave him a deep hug. "How on earth could I, could we repay you?"

"Repayment?"

"Yes! We owe you a lifedebt now, you saved our little Ginny from You-Know-Who himself, goodness..."

The rest of the redheaded family nodded in agreement.

Mr. Weasley stepped forward. "Really, son. We owe you one."

Booker smiled weakly. "Let's leave it as an I.O.U. for now, how about that?"

The man nodded. "You ever need anything, just ask, alright?"

"Yes, sir," the veteran replied.

Then the kids stepped forward. The first one was the prefect, the eldest.

"Thank you so much, Harry Potter," the young man said, wiping away a tear. "I was so worried, but I couldn't do anything and... even if you broke the rules, thank you so much."

"Not a problem," Booker replied, a little bit awkwardly. Did this kid just imply that the rules were more important than... never mind.

Next, the twins.

"Thank you-"

"- yes, thank you-"

"- we could have lost our little sister-"

"- unlike Percy over here we fully approve of breaking the rules-"

"- especially to save lives-"

"- and as such we grant you immunity from our pranks for the rest of our time at Hogwarts."

Booker chuckled. "Sounds great. Thanks, uh... Frank and Greg, right?"

The twins exchanged glances and laughed. "Close enough, Harry."

Finally, it was Ron.

Ron, who had bullied Hermione the year before.

"I know we haven't really gotten along," Ron muttered. "We hardly know each other. I doubt you remember my name."

"I do," Booker said.

"R-really?"

"Only because you bullied Hermione, yeah."

"Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley whapped the back of the boy's head.

"Hey, he's learned his lesson," Booker objected. "He leaves her alone these days. They even work on homework together sometimes."

Mrs. Weasley gave him a surprised look, but lowered her hand.

"Anyways, thank you, a lot, for saving my sister. I've felt this whole year like she's my responsibility and then I went and lost her, a-and didn't even notice she was being possessed, and... and..."

"Hey, no problem, kid," Booker replied. And he meant it.

Finally, the end of the year came. Exams, for some god awful reason, were cancelled, again.

Booker was forced to stay in the infirmary for a week longer to regain his strength and got many visitors. Ginny Weasley, the other Weasleys, Colin Creevey, and, finally, Malfoy Senior.

The man strode in with his snake-headed cane and a grim disposition.

"I must say, you don't do anything by halves, do you, Mr. Potter?"

"I beg your pardon?" Booker asked.

"First you save my son from that pedophile, then you murder a basilisk. The ministry is overlooking the Chamber, Lockhart has been arrested, and I must ask, how did you do it?"

Noting the way the man so easily brushed off the most likely traumatizing experience his son had experience, Booker used the same reply as always. "Secret."

Malfoy, seemingly expecting that answer, shrugged. "Regardless, I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving my son. How shall I repay you?"

He took a moment to think and then replied, "Two things. First, send your son to a therapist. Second, give me Dobby."

"Dobby? You want my house-elf?"

"Yes."

"How... how do you even know his name? Nevermind, I'm not sure I want to know. Very well. Dobby!"

With a crack, Dobby appeared, and his face lit up at the sight of Booker.

"Mr. Harry Potter, sir! You..." The house-elf trailed off under Malfoy's gaze.

"Mr. Potter here has saved Draco, Dobby," the blond man announced.

"He has? Oh thank Dobby's dustpan!" Dobby held a hand to his chest, and it was obvious that he truly did care for his young charge.

"In return, he would like to have you," Malfoy said bitterly.

"Mr. Harry Potter would like... me?"

Booker nodded in reply.

"As such," Malfoy muttered, and pulled off his cloak, and handed it to Dobby. "You're free of my service."

Dobby held the cloak tenderly, and proceeded to weep.

"Oh! Master Harry Potter sir is too kind!" Dobby handed the cloak back to Malfoy, not quite wanting it, and blew his nose on his pillowcase of a smock. "Master Harry Potter is so amazing!"

"I will take my leave," Malfoy muttered, and he turned on his heel and left with a brisk walk.

"Master Harry Potter survived the Chamber of Secrets. Dobby ought not speak ill of his old masters but it was Lucius Malfoy that gave the diary to Ginny Weezy!"

Dobby immediately clamped his hands over his mouth.

"Dobby, no punishments unless I give them," Booker warned.

The house-elf nodded obediently. "Dobby understands, Master Harry Potter, sir."

"Now, is there anything I have to do to officially own you or..." Booker winced. God, he sounded like someone from Columbia.

"No, Master Harry Potter owns Dobby the second the ownership is transferred!"

"Would you be adverse to me freeing you?" he asked. "I feel uncomfortable... owning you, like a slave."

Dobby looked down. "Dobby has always wanted to be free, but to be a free elf would be unhealthy. Old Magick binds us to wizards. Without a family to serve, we do not have magic, and often cannot survive long."

Booker frowned. "Then... you are no servant of mine."

Dobby looked up in horror.

"You're a friend I happen to own. How's that?"

The house-elf's face lit up. "That is acceptable, Master Harry Potter, sir!"

AN: phew! chapter eleven done, year two DONE!

hope y'all are ready to see how 'sirius' things get ;D jk. sirius doesn't show up for a little bit.