"Where to now?" asked Lyla, with an anxious look at Astoria. Arabella pointed. Fawkes was leading the way, glowing gold along the corridor. They strode after him, and soon found their way going into the dungeons. Before they knew it, they stood right outside Snape's office. Without hesitation, Lyla knocked and pushed the door open. For a moment there was silence as Arabella, Lyla, Ron, Daphne, Astoria, and Lockhart stood in the doorway, covered in muck, slime, and (in Arabella's case) blood. Then there was a scream.

"ASTORIA?!"

It was Mrs. Greengrass, who appeared to have been sitting and crying in front of the fire. She leaped to her feet unsteadily and was closely followed by her husband. Both parents flung themselves onto their daughters.

Lyla and her sister, however, were looking past them. Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Snape, who was watching the scene unfold like he was watching a very sad play you could not interrupt. Fawkes went whooshing past and settled on Dumbledore's shoulder, just as Lyla found herself and Arabella being swept into Mrs. Greengrass's tight embrace.

"You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?!" she wept.

"I think we'd all like to know that," said Snape. He looked the most concerned Lyla had ever seen him.

Mrs. Greengrass let go of Arabella, who hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the ruby-encrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle's diary. Then she started telling them everything. For nearly a quarter of an hour, she spoke into the rapt silence: She told them about how she and Lyla had been hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realized that he was hearing a basilisk in the pipes; how Lyla and Draco had followed the spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told them where the last victim of the basilisk had died; how they had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been said victim and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom…

"Very well," Snape prompted him as Arabella paused, "so you found out where the entrance was— breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way— but how on earth did you all get out of there alive?"

And so, Arabella, her voice now growing hoarse from all this talking, told them about Fawkes's timely arrival and the Sorting Hat giving her the sword. But then she faltered.

Instinctively, Lyla looked at Dumbledore, who smiled faintly, the firelight glancing off his half-moon spectacles.

"What interests me most," said Dumbledore gently, "is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Miss Greengrass when my sources tell me he is currently hiding in the forests of Albania."

"W-what's that?" asked Mr. Greengrass in a stunned voice. "Y-you-Know-Who? En-enchant Astoria? But– but that's not... Astoria hasn't been... has she?"

"It was this diary," Arabella quickly explained, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. "Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen..."

Dumbledore took the diary from Arabella and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages.

"Hmm… quite brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He turned around to the Greengrass family, who were looking utterly horrified.

"Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school... traveled far and wide... sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

"But–but Astoria," said Mrs. Greengrass weekly. "What's our Astoria got to do with — with— him?"

"His d-diary" Astoria sobbed. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been w-writing back all year — I was– was going to send it to papa– but he was s-so nice I– "

"Astoria!" said Mr. Greengrass firmly. "Haven't I taught you anything? Never trust anything that can think for itself, much less something you know has Dark Magic behind it!"

"I–I know," sobbed the girl. "I found m-my friend Ginny with it and t-told her the same th-thing. I wa-was going to w-write to y-you about it, but I-I was—

"Miss Greengrass should go up to the hospital wing right away," Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort." He strode over to the door and opened it. "Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up," he added, twinkling kindly down at her. "You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice — I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"So Hermione's okay?!" asked Ron brightly.

"There has been no lasting harm done, my dear," said Dumbledore kindly to Astoria.

Mrs. Greengrass led her youngest out, closely followed by her eldest and husband, who still looked deeply shaken.

"You know, Severus," Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?"

"Right," said Snape crisply, also moving to the door. "I'll leave you to deal with the Potters and Weasley shall I?"

"Indeed,' said Dumbledore.

He left, and Arabella, Lyla, and Ron gazed uncertainly at the old man. What exactly had the professor meant, deal with them? Surely — surely — they weren't about to be punished?

"I seem to remember telling you that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules," said Dumbledore.

Ron opened his mouth in horror.

"Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words," Dumbledore went on, smiling. "You three, along with Miss Daphne Greengrass, will receive Special Awards for Services to the School and— let me see— yes, I think two hundred points a piece for each individual who was a part of this extravagant plan."

Ron went as brightly pink as Lockhart's valentine flowers and closed his mouth again.

"But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure," Dumbledore added. "Why so modest, Gilderoy?"

Lyla gave a start. She had completely forgotten about Lockhart. She turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a corner of the room, still wearing his vague smile. When Dumbledore addressed him, Lockhart looked over his shoulder to see who he was talking to.

"Um, Professor Dumbledore," Ron said quickly, "there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets, and Professor Lockhart —"

"Am I a professor?" said Lockhart in mild surprise. "Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?"

"He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired," Lyla explained quietly to Dumbledore.

"Dear me," said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver mustache quivering. "Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!"

"Sword?" said Lockhart dimly. "Haven't got a sword. That girl has, though." He pointed at Arabella. "She'll lend you one, I'm sure."

"Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?" Dumbledore said to Ron. "I'd like a few more words with these two before the night is over…"

Lockhart ambled out, Ron casting a curious look back at Dumbledore and his friends as he closed the door.

Dumbledore crossed to one of the chairs by the fire.

"Sit down, you two," he said, and they did as they were told, feeling unaccountably nervous.

"First of all, Arabella, I want to thank you," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling again. "You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you."

He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his knee. Arabella grinned awkwardly as Dumbledore watched her.

"And so you met Tom Riddle," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "I imagine he was most interested in you… you and your sister… "

"Professor Dumbledore…," said Arabella suddenly, "Riddle said something about me, and Lyla… said that we were like him. Strange likenesses, he said..."

"Did he, now?" said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at Lyla and Arabella from under his thick silver eyebrows. "And what do you think, Arabella?"

"I don't think I'm like him at all!" said Lyla loudly. "I met him last year! And he was horrible!"

"Professor," Arabella started again after a moment. "Why are we able to speak Parseltongue… we aren't— we can't be—"

"You can speak Parseltongue," said Dumbledore calmly, "because Lord Voldemort— who is the last remaining ancestor of Salazar Slytherin— can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred a bit of his own powers to you the night he gave you those scars. Not something he intended to do, I'm sure..."

"Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?" Lyla said, thunderstruck and disgusted.

"It certainly seems so."

"So I should be in Slytherin too, then," Arabella said, looking desperately into Dumbledore's face. "The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in me, and it—"

"Put you in Gryffindor," said Dumbledore calmly. "Listen to me, Arabella. Both you and your sister display many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue— resourcefulness— determination— a certain disregard for rules," he added, his mustache quivering again. "It is no wonder Lyla fits so well, as she embodies these very qualities as her academic prowess would suggest. Yet, the Sorting Hat placed Arabella in Gryffindor. You know why that was."

"It— it only put me in Gryffindor," said Arabella in a defeated voice, "because I asked not to go in Slytherin..."

Lyla's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Exactly, "said Dumbledore, beaming once more. "Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle, not that you, dear Lyla, share his dark ambitions. It was his choices that showed who he truly was, and it is yours that shows what you truly are, far more than what we present on the surface."

Arabella sat motionless in her chair, stunned.

"If you want proof that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at this."

Dumbledore reached across to Snape's desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword, and handed it to Arabella. She turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And then Lyla saw the name engraved just below the hilt.

Godric Gryffindor

Lyla exhaled sharply.

"Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Arabella," said Dumbledore simply.

For a minute, none of them spoke. Then Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in Snape's desk and took out a quill and a bottle of ink.

"What you need is some food and sleep. I suggest you go down to the feast, while I write to Azkaban—we need our gamekeeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too," he added Thoughtfully. "We'll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher... Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don't we?"

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