1. Prologue I: The Chamber
May 29th, 1992
Harry stood dumbly in McGonagall's office with his thoughts scattered. In front of him was a sobbing Mrs. Weasley, a solemn Professor McGonagall, and a grim-faced Mr. Weasley who held Ron tightly in his arms. Harry was standing by the fire of the office, and despite the warmth of the hearth, was still chilled by an experience that most grown wizards and witches would have been frightened by. It did not help that he was also somewhat wet, both with sewage water and blood. The primary reason for his unsettled mind, however, was neither the current damp quality of his robes nor the fact that he had just faced down and killed Salazar Slytherin's one-thousand-year-old basilisk.
No, it was the fact that Harry had failed, and now Ginny Weasley was dead.
Earlier
Harry entered the long, dimly lit chamber. The entire space had a green glow to it, and the snake motif continued throughout the hall. Harry slowly moved forward, wand out, checking each of the pillars on either side of him that straddled the main path for any signs of impending doom, mostly of the basilisk-related variety. There were a considerable number of tall pillars, and each one seemed to possess carved stone snakes that threatened to leap out at him whenever he looked away. As he neared the last row of pillars, a great statue of a wizard came into view, as tall as the ceiling and made of stone. And by its feet lay Ginny's prone and pale form.
"Ginny!" Harry sprinted over to the body of his best friend's sister, placing his wand down while falling to his knees and using both hands to grab her shoulders, hoping beyond hope that she wasn't dead. She didn't respond. Her face was pale, her body cold, her eyes closed… and not petrified. "Please don't be dead! Ginny, wake up!" Harry desperately said, almost whispered, gently trying to shake her back into consciousness.
"She won't wake," came a soft voice from behind Harry. Harry spun around quickly at the sound, still on his knees. A black-haired boy was leaning against one of the nearest pillars while looking back at Harry. The edges of his cloak and hair were blurry, as if not he were not wholly there.
"Wh-who are you?" Harry stuttered, shocked by the presence of another person in the Chamber of Secrets. He relaxed a bit after examining his uniform for a second, realizing that he was also a Hogwarts student, albeit an older Slytherin. The older boy smirked.
"I'm Tom," he lazily replied, looking off past Harry's head into Salazar Slytherin's statue.
"Tom – Tom Riddle?" He nodded. "But, you're… young…" Harry trailed off, unable to quite reconcile the idea of the Tom Riddle he had seen in that memory with the one standing in front of him – after all, some fifty years separated the two, yet Riddle appeared as young now as he did then.
Finally, Harry shook his head, and returned to the considerably more worrying issue. "What do you mean she won't wake?" Harry asked. "She's not, well…"
"She's not dead," Riddle confirmed, and Harry let out a breath of air he didn't know he had been holding. "But only just."
Harry glanced up at that, still unnerved by the almost ethereal appearance of the older boy.
"Are you a ghost?" Harry questioned, uncertain of how Tom Riddle appeared here in this form.
"A memory," responded Riddle, his voice quiet. "Preserved for fifty years in a diary. And if things go right, I'll be more than a memory momentarily." Harry glanced at the feet of the statue, where a diary – Riddle's little black diary, the one he had found in Myrtle's bathroom – sat.
"You've got to help me, Tom." Harry, doing the best he could, tried to lift Ginny off the ground and slung her across his shoulders. Bending, he went to pick up his wand where he left it, only to discover that it had vanished.
"Did you see my –?"
Harry looked up at Riddle and found his wand in Riddle's hand. He was examining it while twirling the wand around between his long slender fingers.
"Thanks," Harry said, strained with Ginny's weight, as he reached out to receive the wand from Riddle. It didn't come. Riddle's mouth curled up in a smile, though it looked to contain little happiness and considerably more darkness.
"We've got to go," said Harry urgently, glancing around. "If the basilisk comes back…"
"It won't come until it's called," Riddle replied, still playing with Harry's wand. Harry knelt to gently put Ginny back on the ground at this, unable to continue carrying her weight. Slowly, he stood back up, all the while looking straight at Riddle. This all seemed very odd – there was something else at play.
"How did she get like this?" Harry asked, still eyeing Riddle and his own wand in Riddle's hand. Riddle pocketed the wand before replying.
"Ah, well that's an interesting question," Riddle said, a pleasant tone in his voice that contrasted with the dark smile – no, smirk – on his face. "I suppose it's because Ginny Weasley poured her heart and soul into something she did not understand."
"What are you talking about?" queried Harry, confused.
"The diary," replied Riddle. "My diary. Little Ginny has been writing all of her fears and worries into it for months, telling me everything that she was thinking about: her family, her school experiences, and most importantly, you, about how she felt like she was never good enough for the great Harry Potter…" Riddle's eyes bored into Harry, a hungry gleam staring right into his soul.
"It was dreadfully boring, the silly troubles of an eleven-year-old girl. But I was patient, I wrote back, I was kind, I understood her. Ginny simply loved me. I was like the friend she could carry everywhere and talk to at any time." Riddle laughed, a laugh with coldness that did not match his rich and soft voice. The laughter sent a chill through Harry and put him on edge. It seemed so familiar to him…
"The more Ginny wrote to me, the more I grew stronger. Eventually, I gathered enough strength, far more than little Miss Weasley herself had, and I could begin pouring some of my soul back into her." Riddle huffed a bit. "She did begin to suspect that something was wrong, however, and after some time, she tried to dispose of the diary. Of course, imagine my delight when the person who picked it up after that was none other than you, Harry Potter, the one I had wanted to meet and talk to for so long."
"And why did you want to meet me?" said Harry. His emotions were a mix of anger at Riddle for whatever she had done and concern for Ginny, whose condition he knew could only be getting worse in this miserable chamber.
"Well, Ginny told me all about you, and your fascinating history. I had to find out more about you, so to gain your trust, I told you all about my own fifth year, about my great capture of that oaf Hagrid."
"Hagrid's my friend," Harry responded, the wrath in his blood turning into shakiness in his voice. His fists were clenched. "I thought you had made a mistake, but you just framed him, didn't you?" Riddle laughed that cold laugh again.
"It was my word against his, and no one disputed mine against someone who everyone in the school knew liked all of those exotic creatures. The stupidity of Dippet and the others, believing that someone as foolish and weak as Hagrid could be the Heir of Slytherin. Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, didn't fully believe me. He never had…" Riddle trailed off at the end.
"I bet Dumbledore saw right through you," Harry grinded out, his teeth gritted.
"Well, in any case, I was unable to complete my goal then, but I knew that by preserving my sixteen-year-old self in a diary, I could one day return to finish what I had not completed."
At this, Harry had a triumphant look. "You've failed again then. No one has died, not even a muggle-born. Madam Pomfrey will wake everyone soon and it'll all be over."
"Haven't I told you already," whispered Riddle, "that killing Mudbloods doesn't matter anymore? My new target is you, and it has been for many months now." Harry stared at Riddle, confused and more than a little curious.
"Why?"
"Isn't it odd how a baby defeated the most powerful wizard of all time? How you escaped with little more than a scar when Lord Voldemort's powers were shattered?" His eyes had an almost red gleam now, though it could have been a trick of light.
"Why do you care," Harry replied, slowly. "Voldemort was after your time."
"Voldemort," said Riddle, his voice now soft and quiet. "is my past, present, and future."
Pulling Harry's wand from robes, Riddle waved around the wand, writing out his full name.
TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
With a simple swish of the wand, the letters swirled around, re-arranging themselves.
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT
"You see? It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts – only to those closest to me, of course. I was never going to continue using the stupid name of my worthless muggle father. No, I fashioned a name that everyone would remember, that everyone would fear when I became the greatest sorcerer in the world!"
Harry stood numbly staring at Riddle. "You're not," Harry finally responded, his brain coming to grips with the whole situation. His voice was harsh, especially as he connected this school-aged student to his parents' murderer.
"Not what?" Riddle snapped back.
"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world. Sorry to disappoint, but Albus Dumbledore is, and everyone in the world knows it. Even you didn't dare to attack Hogwarts at the peak of your power. Dumbledore has seen through you since you were at school, and you're still frightened by him now." Harry breathed at the end of his long tirade, having vented some of his anger. Riddle's smile had been replaced by an ugly look.
"Dumbledore has been driven out of this castle by my mere memory!"
"He's not as gone as you might think!"
Riddle opened his mouth to retort, but a sudden cry stopped him. Music filled the chamber as a crimson bird flew in, its feathers glittering. It dropped a raggedy thing – Harry quickly realized that it was the school sorting hat – at his feet, before landing on his shoulder.
"That's a phoenix…" Riddle whispered, staring at it.
"Fawkes?" Harry questioned, curious about why the old bird had come.
Then Riddle began to laugh. His laughter rang out, echoing throughout the chamber as it increased in intensity.
"That's it? Is this the great Albus Dumbledore, giving his very best?" After a few moments of laughter, Riddle shook his head and returned his gaze to Harry. "Now, back to business. How exactly did you, a young child, defeat the killing curse?"
Harry thought for a moment, analyzing his situation. Armed with only the sorting hat and having no reinforcements other than a phoenix, he was heavily disadvantaged against Riddle, who still wielded Harry's wand. He also noticed that Riddle was becoming clearer and more defined with every passing minute, which could not bode well for him.
"My mother died to protect me. My muggle-born mother," he emphasized, "stopped you with her love. And now you're a wreck. You're less than human. I saw you, the real you, last year, and you are pathetic. That's where all your power got you. You're hiding. You're ugly, you're foul, you're barely even alive!"
Riddle's face contorted, before he forced it into a sinister-looking, awful smile.
"Very well, then," Riddle said, fingering Harry's wand. "Let's test this. Let's test Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived armed with the best Albus Dumbledore has to offer him against the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Slytherin."
And things went rather downhill for Harry after that, considering he was facing trouble of the basilisk-related variety.
Present
Wrapping his arms around his slightly moist robes, Harry leaned against part of the wall by the office fire. He was overwhelmed by guilt – guilt from his failure, and that his relationship with Ron, and no doubt the Weasley family, was now irrevocably damaged. If only he had been faster. Maybe he could have saved Ginny. Then again, Riddle being there didn't make it any easier.
The basilisk had easily been the most terrifying thing Harry had ever faced, and that was taking into account the shade of one of the greatest dark lords of all time inhabiting a homicidal Defense professor that he faced last year. It took everything Harry had and literally more (in the form of Fawkes and phoenix tears) to defeat the basilisk, and it took the second year far closer to the death's veil than he wanted to be at this age.
Harry's mouth did curl up a bit when he remembered how angry Riddle was after seeing the basilisk defeated and dead.
Earlier, but not as early
With a great crash, the massive millennium-old basilisk slumped onto the ground as Gryffindor's sword pierced the roof of its mouth. Harry could vaguely hear a scream of fury from across the chamber, followed by curses of the non-magical kind. He could also feel a sharp solid object piercing his arm, and a glance confirmed that he had been bitten by one of the most venomous magical creatures in existence. Harry slid down the wall, feeling his energy draining from his body as he pulled the broken fang out of his arm. The sword fell out of his hands, clattering to the stone ground.
"You're dead, Harry Potter," Riddle growled, stalking over to him. "Even Dumbledore's phoenix knows it." And Fawkes was crying, the phoenix's tears falling onto Harry and sliding down his bloodied arm. Harry could feel something pulling on him, something that was most likely death – except that death's pull now felt like the feeling of waking from a good night's sleep. Inexplicably, Harry could feel energy surging back into him, and when he glanced back down at his wounded arm, there was no longer a wound at all.
"Stupid bird, get away!" Riddle yelled, furious. He cast a spell of some kind that sounded like a gunshot, and Fawkes quickly flew away.
"Phoenix tears," Riddle muttered, staring at Harry's wet but no longer wounded arm. "Of course. Healing powers. But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. It's just you and me now…" He raised the wand to point at Harry.
Suddenly, a flutter of wind gusted upon Harry as Fawkes flew back, and a small object dropped on his lap. The diary – Riddle's diary. Without thinking too much, Harry grabbed fallen sword of Gryffindor as Riddle's eyes widened, and he proceeded to thrust it into the diary, only to realize that it had been whisked away out of his lap before he could plunge the sword into the book.
"Yes!" cried Riddle, with a smile on his face, Harry's wand in one hand and the diary in the other. "It's time!"
Harry had no time to do anything other than to look with horror as Ginny Weasley took one last deep breath, her chest rising one last time, before it all deflated as if her very soul came out with that last exhalation. Then she moved no more, her skin paler than it had ever been in life.
Riddle took a deep breath, eyes closed, as if savoring the musty smell of Slytherin's Chamber. The boy was now completely solid, a corporeal form in contrast to the transparent blurry figure that Harry had first seen minutes ago.
Harry's eyes narrowed as he glared at Riddle, and he lunged out at the future Voldemort. Reacting quickly, Riddle's eyes snapped open and he shot a nasty looking dark red spell towards Harry, but Harry, a naturally talented and, more importantly, Oliver Woods-trained seeker, reacted even faster, dodging the spell. One hand still grasping the sword of Gryffindor, he jumped right at Riddle.
"Avada Kedavra!" Riddle screamed as Harry quickly approached, and the all-too-familiar green jet of light bursted out of Harry's wand. It sailed just over Harry's head, almost skimming the messiest out-of-place hairs as he barely ducked his head to avoid the point-blank range spell. Almost instinctually, Harry raised the sword of Gryffindor, charging at the sixteen-year-old Slytherin that would one day become his parents' murderer.
It was disturbing to Harry how easily the sword slid through Riddle's cloak and Riddle's flesh.
Riddle barely made a sound as he fell backwards, the sword of Gryffindor still stuck in his chest and Harry still holding onto the sword. Harry's wand fell out of Riddle's hand. The two were on the ground together, Riddle lying on the Chamber's stone floor and Harry on top of him, still holding the sword that would end Riddle's life. A flurry of emotions passed through Riddle's eyes, before a sort of acceptance settled into place. With his last bit of strength, Riddle grabbed Harry by the head, one hand on each side, forcing Harry to look at him. Harry's green eyes stared directly into Riddle's dark ones, both boys unblinking.
"Th-this is… not the end," Riddle coughed out, spitting out blood with each word. Some of the bloody spittle landed on Harry's face. "We… will meet… again…"
Riddle's hands fell from Harry's head and the Slytherin lay still, not breathing and eyes unseeing.
Harry fell off of the dead body and tumbled onto the ground, his eyes just staring at the Chamber's rocky ceiling. He couldn't even think of anything at that moment. His body refused to move. He had no idea how much time passed like that. For all he knew, he would just lay there until he died.
"Harry," a familiar voice called out. Harry's head barely turned to see the towering form of the headmaster, an unreadable expression on the old man's face. There was an aura exuding from the headmaster, and for the first time in his life, Harry could finally begin to understand why some considered Albus Dumbledore the greatest wizard in the world.
The time after that passed in a blur. Harry vaguely heard Dumbledore asking if he was injured, if he needed to go to the Hospital Wing; Harry shook his head at that, though Dumbledore still quickly examined him with a battery of spells. He must have passed with flying colors since Dumbledore did not push the point further after that. After ascending out of the Chamber of Secrets, Harry, at Dumbledore's behest, stumbled to McGonagall's office with a distraught Ron who had not taken the sight of his sister's body well, while Dumbledore, accompanied by a dazed Lockhart, floated both Ginny and Riddle's bodies toward the Hospital Wing.
It took the pair about ten minutes to reach the Gryffindor Head's office, and in it, they found the Weasley parents sitting with Professor McGonagall. The Weasley patriarch looked solemn and downcast with teeth gritted, while Mrs. Weasley was unable to control the tears that fell out of her eyes. She glanced upwards at the pair as they entered, and upon seeing the desolate look on Ron's face, sobbed as she realized what must have happened – the reason she and her husband had feared most when they had come to Hogwarts at McGonagall's request. Mr. Weasley stood to hug his son, while Harry awkwardly shuffled behind, feeling out of place in that moment. He was shocked when he felt a pair of warm arms slide around him, and he realized that Mrs. Weasley was now hugging him.
"Thank you for trying so hard," she sobbed, as she held on tighter to Harry. For his part, he returned the gesture and clasped tightly onto the older woman.
The sound of the door opening once more pulled everyone's attention, and they all turned to see Dumbledore walk into the office. The headmaster's expression was equally solemn as Mr. Weasley's.
"I'm afraid…" the wizened wizard began, before trailing off for a moment, "that the worst we feared has come to pass. Miss Weasley is no longer with us." He walked close to the Weasley parents and McGonagall, talking quietly with them by the fireplace, while Harry and Ron stayed near McGonagall's cluttered desk. The two boys stood there silently, unable to even look at each other.
"R-Ron," Harry stammered, grabbing the red-headed boy's attention. "I'm really, really sorry." His voice wavered slightly. "I swear I tried my best, I really do."
Ron looked at Harry with an undefinable expression. Finally, Ron put a shaking hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's… not your fault, Harry. It really isn't." And then Ron pulled Harry into a hug, one that Harry appreciated given the circumstances. When they separated, Harry saw the Weasleys looking at him and Ron. Mrs. Weasley had patted away most of her tears and Mr. Weasley was still grim-faced, but both of them appeared to be holding any negative emotions in for the sake of their youngest son.
"Come, Ron," Mrs. Weasley said, and Ron quickly moved to his mother's side. He silently waved Harry a good-bye before exiting the office with his parents and McGonagall, leaving Harry alone with Dumbledore. Harry moved to leave as well but was stayed by a hand on his shoulder from the headmaster.
"Is there something you need to speak to me about, professor?" Harry questioned. Turning, he saw that Dumbledore was the least energetic he had ever seen the old man been. In the headmaster's other hand was a bundle.
"This is something that we must discuss in my office alone," Dumbledore replied. The pair turned to the door, only to see it flung open with a bang and an irate Lucius Malfoy enter. The house-elf Dobby, wrapped in bandages, walked in a few seconds after his master.
"Good evening, Lucius," Dumbledore responded, a certain energy missing from his tone despite the pleasant smile that was on his face.
"So, you've come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts."
"Well, the other eleven governors contacted me today. They'd heard that Arthur Weasley's daughter had been killed and wanted me back; they seemed to think I was the best man for the job. Strangely, many of them seemed to think that you had threatened them with violence if they didn't agree to suspend me. Curious, wouldn't you say?"
Lucius Malfoy paled, but he still glared with fury at the pair.
"Given the circumstances surrounding Miss Weasley's passing, I'm sure there will be a full investigation and questioning of the events that led up to her death, as well as…"
"As well as what?" the elder Malfoy spat.
"Well, as well as the body that now lies beside Miss Weasley in the Hospital Wing. I daresay that if my memory isn't failing me, that body looks quite a bit like a young Tom Riddle."
Lucius Malfoy instantly paled.
"Of course, it has been nearly fifty years since Mister Riddle was a student here at Hogwarts, but I'm sure all will be revealed in good time."
"What are you playing at, Dumbledore?" Malfoy snarled, though he looked quite a bit less composed than when he had entered.
"I'm not sure what you mean, Lucius. Oh, and before I forget, I believe this may be yours." Dumbledore handed the man the bundle he had been holding, and Lucius Malfoy dumbly accepted it.
"What is this?" Malfoy rhetorically asked as he unwrapped the bundle, discarding the cloth that covered it. Malfoy paled even more when he realized he held none other than Riddle's diary in his hands. In an instant, Malfoy flung the book onto the ground.
"Yo-you!" Malfoy sputtered, unable to form any words as he glared at Dumbledore. "Dobby! We're leaving!" Malfoy turned to exit the office, walking a few steps before he realized that no one was following him. "Dobby!"
Dobby was still standing inside McGonagall's office, hands holding the cloth as he marveled it. Harry could now see that it had been a school cloak, folded and bundled over the diary.
"Dob-" Malfoy began to yell but then cut off as he strode back into the office. He, too, saw Dobby marveling over the cloak.
"Master has given Dobby clothes," Dobby whispered with wonder.
"You've lost me my servant!" Lucius Malfoy roared as he grabbed the handle of his walking stick, but he stopped when he realized he was roaring at none other than Albus Dumbledore himself, whose eyes regained some of their customary twinkling at the sight of a dumbfounded Lucius Malfoy. Without another word to avoid embarrassing himself further, Lucius Malfoy slipped out of the office.
"Where will you go now, Dobby?" Harry asked, looking at the newly freed elf.
"Dobby will find a place to stay. Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, Harry Potter! Farewell!" Dobby cheerfully replied. He then disappeared with a loud crack. Harry slowly shook his head and looked at Dumbledore, who stood with just the faintest of smiles on his face as he kneeled to pick up the diary that Malfoy had thrown onto the floor.
"That was really well thought out, professor," Harry complimented.
Dumbledore nodded as he led Harry out of McGonagall's office. "Thank you, Harry. It was a rather impromptu plan, I must say, but I thought that Lucius would stumble into it given today's events."
"Did you know about Dobby the whole time?" Harry asked as they walked down the corridor.
"I suspected as much after the flying automobile debacle," Dumbledore admitted, turning a corner with Harry right behind him. "Of course, my suspicions were confirmed later during the term." He turned his head to look at Harry. "You would do well to remember that as the headmaster of Hogwarts, very little happens in the school without my knowing about it."
At that, Harry looked away sheepishly, remembering his own series of late-night escapades in just the last two years alone – including the one when Dumbledore had caught him.
"Sherbet lemon," Dumbledore said clearly when he came to a stop, and a gargoyle on the wall shifted out of the way to reveal a spiral staircase. "After you," Dumbledore said to Harry, gesturing up the stairs. Harry stepped forward, making his way up the staircase. At the top, he saw a heavy oak door, which Dumbledore, from over Harry's head, opened, revealing a large circular room.
It was a wondrous room full of noises, mostly from several curious silver instruments that emitted puffs of smoke every now and then on Dumbledore's desk. Portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, many of them snoozing, lined the wall behind the large desk. It was just like when he had visited earlier in the school year.
"Sherbet lemon?" Dumbledore offered after they both took a seat on opposite sides of the office's grand desk. Harry shook his head. Dumbledore shrugged, peeled the wrapper off one, and popped it into his mouth.
"I must begin, Harry, with the most important words I have to say today," Dumbledore solemnly said, his tone contrasting with the warmth of the room. "You must remember that it is not your fault that Ginny Weasley passed today."
Harry swallowed, eyes averting away from Dumbledore as that all too familiar guilt began rising in him again.
"Harry, Harry," Dumbledore's voice floated toward him again, "Harry, look at me." Harry turned his head just slightly to see the older man out of the corner of his eye. "I am saying none other than the truth. You did not kill Ginny Weasley – you went to great lengths to save her. The fact that she has passed is not your fault, but rather the fault of Tom Riddle."
"Riddle…" Harry whispered, suddenly remembering the feeling of steel piercing flesh, the last words whispered to him that promised vengeance.
Dumbledore's expression briefly flickered. "I'm not judging you today either, Harry. I wish you did not have to deal with something like this when you were still so very young, but the truth of the matter is that you did what was absolutely necessary." Dumbledore took off his spectacles and placed them on his desk. "Many grown wizards and witches have not faced what you faced only today, but you carried yourself honorably."
"I… I was still unable to save Ginny." Harry's voice was little more than a whisper.
"And sometimes that is how it is." Dumbledore leaned back into his chair. "Sometimes, it is impossible to save those you wish to save, even though you tried your very best and gave it your all. I understand how you feel, Harry – I have been there myself."
"Really?"
"Oh, it was many, many years ago," Dumbledore said wistfully, looking off into the distance of his own memories. "I was young back then too, and entirely too headstrong for my own good. And in the end, for all of my attempts and determination, I was unable to save one I cared for." He put his spectacles back on. "You see, Harry, for all of the power of magic, there are times when it becomes quite evident that we are still very limited beings. Magic is powerful, yes, but those who would wish to do us harm often also have equal power through magic. Our ability in those situations is limited, and things are not in our control."
Harry did not respond.
"Mourn Ginny Weasley, Harry, because her passing is a great loss, especially to her family. I daresay that your friend Ronald will need your strength in the future. But do not lose yourself in that grief, because that does no one – not you, not her, not Ronald or his family – any good."
Harry looked up at Dumbledore, eyes red but tears dried, and nodded.
"Now, Harry," Dumbledore continued, "even though you seem to be miraculously uninjured in the physical sense, it is for the best if you head to Madam Pomfrey for a quick check-up. Do you need me to accompany you to the Hospital Wing?"
Harry quickly shook his head. "No, professor. I can find my way there." He stood up, quietly exiting the ornate office.
Dumbledore sat in silence in his office for a few moments, listening to his many instruments humming and whirring. Ginny Weasley's death was a great tragedy, one that affected the Weasleys and Harry considerably. It would take everything in Dumbledore's power to make sure that the school didn't close this time, though now that Harry had found the Chamber of Secrets and slain the basilisk that lay inside for so many centuries, the Ministry would likely be more amenable to keeping Hogwarts open and Dumbledore staying on as its headmaster. And he did need to stay here – more was to come, he was sure of it, and staying near Harry Potter would be the best way to confront those events.
He pulled Tom Riddle's diary out of his pocket and laid it on his desk. The black diary was non-descript and unassuming, and Dumbledore had no doubt that there was nothing magical at all anymore. After all, the result of the machinations that Riddle – that is, the one from the diary – had conducted was lying in the Hospital Wing. Tom Riddle, or at least a version of Tom Riddle, had returned to life in full form.
Dumbledore paused, letting the enormity of that conclusion sink into his mind. For better or for worse, the great game that Dumbledore was waging against the dark forces surrounding Britain had irrevocably changed with this new piece of information. Very few magics could have brought into existence a second Tom Riddle in such corporeal clarity. Very few indeed. Lucius Malfoy's arrogant and poorly thought-out attempt to oust him had tipped more of Voldemort's hand than Malfoy had assumed it would.
Soul magic was an expansive and dark field of magic indeed, but with the knowledge that the diary brought, at least now Dumbledore knew where to begin looking. He could feel that the great game that had been on hold for so many years was about to restart with a fury; this time, he had to get ahead of the enemy for the future of magical Britain.
A/N: For those that have read an older version of those before, hello again. This is the third (and final) revision of this chapter and story. The second version changed many things but also left behind a lot from the first version. This third version has cleaned out leftover plot elements, tightened the story's focus, and changed the themes and tone of the story overall. I hope you all enjoy!