In the end, they found a broken window in the entrance hall, and concluded the spider was long gone. Rubeus Hagrid was sent up to the headmaster's office, along with Tom, to say his piece. Tom was sent back to bed; Hagrid, Tom assumed, would be sent to pack. He didn't get to stay to hear the ending of the discussion, but that wasn't much of a loss, as he didn't think he could take much more of Hagrid's insistent pleas that "Aragog" was innocent.
Charlotte couldn't sleep. She knew she needed the rest, but how was she supposed to sleep when someone had just died—been killed—at her school? They didn't know who had done it; they didn't even have any idea. She didn't see how they could keep Hogwarts open after this, although she wished with all her heart there was some way around it.
She finally felt like she belonged at Hogwarts; she thought less of Beauxbatons and France in the last month than she had previously in a single week. And now it was a real possibility that she would be returning there, if they closed Hogwarts. But how could they? Where were all the students to go? How were they to get their education? The school just couldn't be closed.
And what about Tom? Would he be forced to return to his dreaded orphanage? He clearly despised the place, and she felt so sorry for him. He deserved better.
He'd had a difficult time talking about it,—she wasn't surprised by that—but he had; Tom had confided in her a little about his childhood. She could see how lonely he must have been, even if he denied it—how lonely he might still be. But surely if anyone had the ability to make him happier, it was her.
And what if the school was closed and they couldn't be together? She knew it was a bit egocentric to worry about how she and her boyfriend would be together when someone had just lost their life in all of this. But she couldn't help it. Besides she wasn't only thinking about herself; she was thinking about Tom. Closer to him than anyone else had probably ever gotten, she needed to stay with him.
Although, something troubled her from their conversation that day. She'd noticed Tom had sounded far from enthusiastic about the idea of a family. He had been speaking about a potential family of Muggles, so of course that was different. But she couldn't help wondering if sometimes he felt the same way about her. What she wanted to be to him, it involved all the closeness that he pushed back against.
Maybe he did wish he had a family, only he couldn't say it. Still, that saddened her because it meant she wasn't yet close enough to him that he felt comfortable sharing those feelings.
She was finally getting tired enough that not even the noise of her thoughts could keep her awake. She fell asleep hoping, again, that somehow the attacks would stop and Hogwarts would remain open, thinking that she would give just about anything to make it so.
With the first of his O.W.L.s that day, Tom wanted to be as well rested as possible; that meant making a late entrance to breakfast, and having the stares of curious students fall on him as he made his way to an empty seat at the Slytherin table. They wouldn't know that he was the reason they weren't all to be on the train home that very day, but he made certain they felt something when they looked at him. He didn't slink around the edge of the hall ashamed of his tardiness; he walked confidently by, the others looking up at him in wonder.
Only one person looked at him in a way that did not please him. And that was Charlotte.
It seemed like she might have leaped up from her spot and run to him, although he had no idea why she would be possessed of such fervent emotion. He glanced at his usual group for a place to sit, saw them look at Charlotte and then around at each other, then scoot further apart so there would be no room for him. They thought it was funny. How dare they—
He contained the thought before it showed on his face, and calmly carried on towards Charlotte. As he sat down next to her, she summoned a plate from down the table—where he should have been seated—and started getting food for him. Did she think he was a child?
"What are you doing? Stop! I can get my own food."
"Sorry." She embarrassedly let the piece of toast she was holding fall onto his plate. "I just wanted to make sure you got breakfast; the past couple of days you've not been eating as much…" She quickly recovered her dignity. "Besides, you always have the same thing."
"Please, you two, stop being so cute; I'm trying to study." Valeria's voice came from behind Intermediate Transfiguration.
"It's a bit late for that, don't you think?" Tom said.
She swung her book down. "It's not too late until the test starts. And this is for tomorrow's exam anyway." She raised the book again.
Charlotte laughed a little at her friend, and then turned back to Tom. "I asked your friends where you were; Mulciber told me you were still asleep." She leaned towards him and spoke so only he would hear. "I got the impression some of them were surprised I didn't know you had been out late last night." He wondered why she mentioned this, but was preoccupied. While they were on the subject of 'his friends', Tom took the opportunity to look in the boys' direction and, without Charlotte seeing, give them all harsh stares to tell them how immensely displeased he was; if they knew what was good for them, they would always make sure he didn't 'have to' sit with his girlfriend unless he wanted to.
Charlotte continued, "But then Avery said it was something else, that you'd… helped catch the attacker. I didn't know if I should belief him. Is it true?"
He nodded. "I'll tell you more about it later. I can't say much here because I'm not really supposed to be talking about it."
"And you need to finish eating," she teased.
...
Everyone was so quick to believe him about Rubeus Hagrid. He was almost offended; for them to think that that beast-crazed half-giant, who wasn't even in Slytherin, could be the Heir—it was absurd. Why they failed to see this, he could only guess. They were so desperate to put the attacks behind them, they practically queued up with accusations of their own against Hagrid. He had expected at least a little bit of incredulity at his accusation.
It was a relief, however, that there was no need for memory modification of any kind. Trying this kind of magic on the head teachers would be too risky; they were too adept at defending themselves against such an attempt. But he wished very much, if he could change the thoughts of just one member of staff, that Dumbledore would forget his suspicions about Tom. This was the least likely of all to happen.
The fact that Dumbledore seemed to have doubts about Hagrid's guilt and Tom's honesty made him uneasy, but he was more disturbed that the Professor took very little action against him. What was he waiting for? It didn't make sense; Tom couldn't understand.
Walking down the first floor corridor, happening to pass the girls' lavatory, Tom heard a noise. It sounded very much like crying, very much like a girl who used to cry there sometimes, very much like a girl who was supposed to be dead.
He could hear it plainly; there was no mistaking the sound. But how?
Had he lost his mind? A brief moment of real fear crept over him before his mind offered a rational explanation: Myrtle Warren had become a ghost.
His first thought was extreme concern that she might remember what killed her, be able to dispute it having been Rubeus Hagrid's spider, or that she might recognize his voice. Then, added to that, was the annoyance that she would make it exceedingly difficult to visit the Chamber because the usual spell he used to make sure the room was empty only worked on living humans. He may have had to give up attacking Mudbloods, but Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets was still a place he wanted access to. He intended to use it to make his first Horcrux.
He wanted to go in and resolve at least some of these problems, but of course he couldn't. At least he hadn't gone mad. As he set off again down the passage, he tried to think of ways he could get Charlotte to talk to the ghost and get the information he wanted, as well as how to make sure Myrtle wasn't around at some point so he could go to the Chamber and create a Horcrux. That wouldn't be for a while, however; he hadn't finished all his preparations for making the Horcrux yet.
It would be incorrect to say he wasn't ready. He wanted to do it as soon as possible, now that he had completed the first step: splitting his soul. But he was still undecided about what object to use… He wanted it to be something special, something valuable—a historic magical artifact would be ideal, although he didn't think he could get his hands on any of those at the present time. He didn't have many possessions of his own, and all of them were common items, meaningless to him. …The book Charlotte had given him for his birthday had beauty, but he would not preserve a piece of his soul in something that would seem like a relic of their love.
A high pitched voice echoed down the hall from behind him. "Tom Riddle." He turned slowly to see Myrtle's ghostly form bobbing up and down in the center of the hallway.
"Hello." He spoke with strained politeness. "We've never spoken before. Do you need something?"
"Oh, no. I just wanted to say hello. I didn't think you'd actually answer me…"
"Oh." Well, it seemed she had no inkling that he was her murderer. That was a plus to this conversation. Then he thought of another way to make it advantageous to him.
"Say, Myrtle, would you mind doing me a favor?"
Her eyes widened behind her large glasses. "Me? What can I do for you?"
"Since you're a ghost, you'll be able to deliver a message much more quickly. Would you tell Charlotte Soleil that I'd like to study Herbology with her tomorrow after our exam? I'll see her in a little while, so you don't need to tell me what she says, just pass the message on."
"Charlotte Soleil…" He thought she looked a little disappointed at this—all the better. He knew including Charlotte in this was a good idea. Naturally she, like all the other pathetically longing girls, was envious of his girlfriend.
"You know who she is, don't you? You'll probably find her in the Slytherin common room."
"But—but I'm a Ravenclaw! I can't go in there!"
"Technically you aren't a Hogwarts student anymore." She stared back at him miserably; he tried to frame it more positively. "As a ghost, you can go anywhere you like. Will you do this for me, Myrtle, please?" He smiled, fully in his element now, charming as ever.
"Yes, alright. For you," she answered with a bashful smile.
He smirked to himself as she sped away. He never should have doubted that he would be able to overcome the challenge of getting back into the Chamber of Secrets. In fact, it had hardly been a challenge at all. Myrtle had been more than happy to carry out his invented task.
He now rushed back to confront the Basilisk about its whispering the other day when he had been with Charlotte, this being his first opportunity to do so.
As he climbed down into the Chamber, he had the unpleasant realization that he had had no specific reason for leaving the hallway so quickly when he had heard the voice; he'd simply felt a strong inclination to get away. Had he been worried about Charlotte's safety, fearing that the Basilisk might go through with its threat? But with him right there, how could it? It would risk killing him as well. More importantly, however, if that had been his motivation, it made it less doubtful that he loved Charlotte.
Then a little voice in his head reminded him his view on love had changed; he'd thought to himself, holding Charlotte's hand, maybe he did love her, and maybe that wasn't a problem.
His judgment had to have been clouded by Charlotte's presence, by Charlotte's touch. Now he was appalled at himself for having considered such a thing. He had given in to the weakness. But given time, he knew he could rectify it—hopefully in a short time span.
He had made it to the Chamber, and the Basilisk was before him. He put the matter out of his mind until he could address it later.
"'She doesn't matter to me'—what was that about?" he demanded.
"You said it." He felt like the serpent was dismissively shrugging, although it had no shoulders to make the motion.
"Yes, and you came out of nowhere repeating it—why?"
"I thought you could do with a reminder, if that'ss the truth."
"I knew what I was doing. You're intrusion was uncalled for."
"You truly think yourself so superior that you don't need anybody else. You are the Heir of Slytherin, but that doess not mean you mussst isolate yoursself." Tom, glaring at the snake, wondered what made it say this, why it cared. It spoke again. "In fact… if there is to be another Heir you'll have to take a mate."
He only just held himself back from undignified spluttering; there were many things he was vehemently inclined to say—shout, rather, at the Basilisk. Reactions whirled around in his mind chaotically.
To call it a mate, like he was some sort of animal. That the Basilisk would suggest he and Charlotte— It was unnecessary anyway. Yes he did think himself so superior. It was almost made a fact; he would be immortal and there would no need of another Heir. He felt himself burning with rage. And he was nauseated by the thought of— everything the Basilisk had said. If he threw up, at least it might insult the snake, especially if he vomited intentionally a bit too close to it. But that was too disgusting… Although not as disgusting as—
"You're wrong!" he bellowed, finally managing to say something. It was a weak defense, but he would improve it. At least he hadn't started out by roaring profanities, as had been one of his first thoughts. He had intended to continue, but the Basilisk interrupted.
"Unlesss you want to add 'ended the line of Slytherin' to your great accomplishmentss—"
He pointed his wand at the Basilisk. Channeling all his wrath, he yelled, "Crucio!" The serpent writhed in pain, making sounds he didn't know a snake could make. In almost incoherent speech, it begged him to stop. He found it incredibly satisfying. The first time he had used the Cruciatus Curse. It filled him with power and he could think of nothing else. When he released the Basilisk from its torture, it slithered far away from him and his mouth twisted into a smile.
"I warned you of what I would do if you ever angered me! You've had your punishment. Now you will listen." The Basilisk said nothing. Fine. "No one has ever truly conquered death. Some have tried,—I will become one of them—but I will be the most successful, outlasting their attempts; I will be immortal. In which case, your allegiance is mine forever. I will be the most powerful wizard the world has ever known. And I will have no need of companionship, friends or lovers."
"You are ambitioussss," was all the snake could say.
Tom smiled darkly. "Yes. And what I say I will do, I do. So, if you ever cause any interference for me again, you can expect to suffer for it."
Author's Note: I've barely written anything from Charlotte's perspective in the last five chapters... Next chapter should be a lot from her though. Also it will be coming it a few days time, again because it was supposed to be part of this chapter, but got too long.
I think I figured out why I like writing the scenes with the Basilisk. There, Tom doesn't have to act; he's himself, his cruel and frightening self. And it's the only time he feels provoked to lash out and can do so. No one else would talk to him the way the Basilisk does. It's a way to explore some of his fears and insecurities, too. (Kinda weird to say that even he has insecurities, but I think it's true.)
Also I realized I should have mentioned the diary way earlier, and multiple times. Because now it's just going to be this random thing that shows up when he makes it into a Horcrux—like, "yes, this was important all along but never brought up!". Oh well. I could go back and add it, I guess. I'm still not entirely sure why he chooses the diary either. Dumbledore says something like "It was proof he was the Heir of Slytherin. I think it would have been very important to him." But it's also a Muggle thing, and the only way I can see it relating to being the Heir of Slytherin is if he used it to keep track of when the attacks would be. Sooo? I don't know. Maybe I'll just invent some reason.