Chapter 21
Soon the noise of Hermione and Ron attempting to shift rocks was gone. The tunnel Christof was following turned and turned again. Every nerve in his body tingled unpleasantly; he wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded that which he might find when it did.
And then, at long last, he saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds. Christof approached, his throat dry. There was no need to pretend, as he'd had to with the snakes on the bathroom sink-pipe, that these snakes were real. Their flickering deep-green eyes looked strangely alive.
He cleared his throat, and the emerald eyes seemed to flicker menacingly.
"Open," said Christof in a low, faint hiss.
The serpents parted as the wall cracked open. The halves slid smoothly out of sight and Christof, shaking now from head to foot, walked inside.
He stood at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.
His heart beating very fast, Christof stood listening to the chilling silence. Could the Basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where was-what was her name again?-Ginny Weasley?
He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpetine columns. Every careful footsetp echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him-more than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir.
Suddenly, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall. Christof had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming red hair.
"Ginny?" Christof whispered. The hair was unmistakable-and who else could it be? He hurried closer.
"Ginny-don't be dead-please don't be dead-," suddenly he flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't Petrified. But then she must be-
"Oh, please wake up," Christof muttered desparately. He shook her roughly, wanting more than ever to get away as quickly as possible.
"She won't wake," said a soft voice.
Christof jumped and spun around on his knees.
A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He looked strangely blurred around the edges, as though Christof were looking at him through a misted window.
"Who're you?" Christof asked, more roughly than he had at first intended.
"Some call me Tom Riddle," replied the black-haired stranger.
"What do you mean, she won't wake?" Christof asked after a moment, choosing to ignore a name he did not recognize. "She's alive, right? She's not.."
"She's still alive," said Riddle, not taking his eyes off Christof's face. "But only just."
"Who are you?" Christof asked suddenly, staring at the weird misty light shining around him. "Are you-a ghost?"
"I am a memory," said Riddle queitly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."
Christof gave him one long, very nonplussed look. "What do you mean?" he asked finally.
Riddle nodded towards a small object on the floor near Ginny. It was a little black diary, lying open on the floor.
"But there's nothing written in it," Christof said stupidly.
"I made sure that my memories were preserved in a more sure way than ink, Christof Malfoy," Riddle said with a small smile.
"Wha-how did you know-," Christof began, but then decided there were more pressing things to deal with.
"You've got to help me. We've got to get her out of here. There's a Basilisk.I don't know where it is, but it could be along any moment.please, help me-,"
Riddle didn't move. Christof, sweating, had managed to hoist Ginny half off the floor, and bent to pick up his wand again.
But his wand had gone.
* * *
Harry stared at the globe in morbid fascination, unable to tear his eyes away. The scene he watched was very convincing.it was not a wonder that Ginny continued to write to "Tom" after she had seen this.
It was not a wonder then, either, that Hagrid had been expelled. With such convincing evidence to his guilty state.but it was Riddle who had done it, as Danady had told him, wasn't it?
It wouldn't be too surprising if it was Hagrid, Harry mused. Hagrid had an unusual and sometimes dangerous love for monsters, the more vicious the better. He could remember all too well Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback dragon that Hagrid had kept in Harry's first year at Hogwarts, and Fluffy, the enormous, three-headed dog he'd loaned Dumbledore to guard a valuable posession.
And this dark, scuttling creature he had just seen could easily be the monster housed in the Chamber of Secrets, couldn't it?
"This monster was a Basilisk-a giant snake so magically powerful that, along with having deadly venomous fangs, if you look in the eye it will kill you."
Harry started. Who had told him that?
Danady. It was Danady.
If Danady had told him that, then, how could Hagrid's monster have been the Monster?
It couldn't have, of course-the many-legged creature of Riddle's presentation was most definitely not a snake-but if so, what was it?
The answer to that, he realized, was easy enough. Hagrid did have a liking for unusual creatures-who was to say he hadn't been like that all his life? Of course he had.
And Tom Riddle still was, and ever had been, the Heir of Slytherin.
* * *
"Did you see-?" Christof asked, supporting Ginny with one hand and groping around the dim floor for his wand with the other.
He looked up. Riddle was still watching him-twirling Christof's wand between his long fingers.
Christof stared at him. "Who are you, anyway?" he asked suspiciously, for the third time.
Riddle didn't asnwer, but his small smile broadened.
Christof lowered Ginny to the floor; she was growing too heavy to hold up anymore. Suddenly he lunged at Riddle, trying to grab his wand-
A moment later he was thrown against the enormous, monkeyish statue. Riddle still stood, a few feet away, his smile very wide. He was pointing the wand not at Christof, but at Ginny.
"I suggest you do not try that again," he said smoothly, and inclined his head slightly towards Ginny.
"I've waited a long time for this," Riddle continued after a moment. "For the chance to see you. To speak to you."
"Why?" Christof asked surlily, his eyes fixed on Ginny's limp figure and the wand trained thereon.
"Several reasons," Riddle said, the smile never leaving his face.
"How did Ginny get like this?" Christof cut him off suddenly.
"Well, that's an interesting question," said Riddle pleasantly. "And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisibile stranger."
"What are you talking about?" Christof asked, beginning to feel faintly annoyed with Riddle's persistent smile.
"The diary," said Riddle. "My diary. You see, a lonely soul may find my diary a wonderful source of empathy and comfort. I always know just the right thing to say." Riddle smirked. "Little Ginny's been writitng 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 books.it's very boring, you know, having to listen to the silly 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.."
Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't suit him.
"I've always been able to charm the people I needed," he continued, smirking. "Ginny poured out her sould to me, and her sould happened to be exactly what I looked for. I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of little Miss Weasley's deepest fears, her darkest secrets. Soon, I was able to feed a few of my secrets to Miss Weasley, to start pouring a little of my soul back to her.."
Christof stared at Riddle in horrified fascination. "What do you mean?" he asked finally, his mouth gone very dry.
"Haven't you guessed by now?" Riddle asked softly. "It was Ginny Weasley who opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the roosters. She painted the message on the wall. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on three Mudbloods, the Squib's cat, and you. Unfortunately, each attack went awry.
"But I believe I prefer it this way, Christof Malfoy," Riddle said, very softly. "Just you and me." He smiled once more, the broad, triumphant smile of before.
"I still don't understand," Christof said, stalling for time. "Why is Ginny down here?"
Riddle continued to smile. "Haven't you figured that out yet?" he asked softly. "I don't care about killing Mudbloods anymore. For months now, my new target has been you."
* * *
The dim light emanating from Hermione's wand served only to illuminate an area of about ten feet around them. The wand had been placed on the floor near Hermione's foot-close enough to snatch away should Aracidia wake and attempt to grab it. His own wand had been crushed in the fall; now only a few twiggy slivers remained of the once-fine willow wand.
Hermione and Ron, sweating, were attempting to dislodge a few of the smaller stones from the fall in hopes that Christof would be able to get through when he returned.
"I've got to stop a minute," said Ron, panting. "Listen, Hermione, we're never going to get through this."
"We've got to!" Hermione said desparately. "If he comes back and he needs to get through quickly-,"
There was a long pause.
"I guess you're right," Ron said finally. "But we've got to rest for a minute. If we conserve our strength we'll be able to do more."
Hermione gave a forced laugh. "I guess you're right," she sighed. With evident relief she let go the stone she had been trying to dislodge and sat down, drawing a deep breath.
Her hands smarted. She looked down at them and saw that they were blistered and cracked; in more than one place the skin had torn apart and scarlet blood was dripping onto her robes.
Maybe Ron's right, she thought tiredly. Maybe this is useless.
But as soon as she had the thought it was replaced with the image of Christof, cornered against the rough barricade they were struggling to destroy by a giant Basilisk, waiting with his eyes covered as the Basilisk reared back-
"I reckon you're right, anyway, Hermione," Ron said, interrupting Hermione's horrific daydream. "I guess if Malfoy-,"
"Call him Christof," Hermione broke in.
"Whatever, Christof," Ron amended. "I guess if Christof had to get away in a hurry-I mean, who knows what'll happen-,"
"Yeah," Hermione replied. A dark thought had come into her mind; if Christof was forced to flee, what would become of Ginny?
Ron seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he had become suddenly quiet. "Hermione.." He began, and stopped.
"Yeah?" Hermione asked, giving him a searching look.
"Nothing," Ron muttered quickly, and looked away.
Suddenly both were distracted as Aracidia stirred and moaned softly. Hermione cast Ron a frightened look-Aracidia had proved himself all too capable of overpowering the both of them and gaining a wand. There was no telling what would happen if another spell was let off in the half-ruined tunnel; several large cracks had appeared in the roof, making it seem as if enormous chunks of stone were balanced precariously in their sockets, waiting for a misguided attempt at magic to set them free.
Aracidia moaned again, and his eyes opened slowly. "W-wa-wat-," he croaked. "Water."
Ron stared scornfully at him. "We don't have any water," he said furiously. "And if we did, I wouldn't give any to you."
"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "He's still a teacher, you know."
Ron turned to stare at Hermione, open-mouthed. "He's still a teacher," he mimicked. "C'mon, Hermione! Have you forgotten already what he tried to do to us back there?"
"No," Hermione defended, "But-but I don't think that-that Dumbledore would refuse him water. Not that we have any, anyway," she sighed.
"Yeah, I could use some too," Ron said.
Aracidia attempted to sit up, but fell back on the cold stone floor immediately. Good, Hermione thought with relief, He got hit hard enough to keep him down for a while. Oh, Christof, hurry up!
"I'm going to try to move more of these," said Hermione determinedly, inclining her head towards the blockage of stones.
"Yeah, I guess we should start again," Ron replied dispiritedly, but made no move to rise from the stone floor.
"Oh, come on," Hermione snapped. "I can't do this all alone."
Ron sighed and rose slowly to his feet, wiping fruitlessly at his slime- covered robes.
A half of an hour later, they had managed to create an opening in the wall large enough to reach a hand through.
"It's something," Hermione said wearily, pushing half-heartedly at a large, jagged stone in the attempt to widen the opening.
"Yeah," Ron said, wiping sweat from his forehead with a grimy sleeve.
"Oh, Ron," Hermione said suddenly, slumping against the stone barrier. "We're never going to make it through here."
"Sure we are," Ron said savagely, kicking furiously at the stones.
As he kicked it, the stone dislodged and flew outwards out of the barricade of stones.
"That's it!" Hermione shouted, and threw her arms around Ron. "Ron, you did it! We were trying to get them out the wrong way-look it's much easier to push them out than to pull them in!"
Ron turned crimson. "Uh, sure," he muttered.
Hermione let go, her eyes glistening. "Finally," she said. "I was about to give up, too."
"Er, yeah," Ron said, and kicked another small stone out of its place in the wall.
* * *
"I had a feeling that you would attempt the heroic," Riddle continued, twirling Christof's wand between his long fingers. His eyes glinted triumphantly, never straying from Christof's frightened face. "Especially if you accidentally met the Mudblood, Granger and the Muggle-lover, Weasley."
"But-what do you mean, accidentally?" Christof asked suspiciously.
Riddle laughed softly. "You are more trusting than I would have thought, for one of your precarious position, Christof Malfoy," he said quietly. "You really didn't think that your meeting with the Mudblood girl was chance? You didn't assume that the Weasley boy often decided to sneak out of his dormitory and hide in the infirmary to witness the revival of many Petrified students?" Riddle laughed again. "I must say, I did overestimate your abilities."
"What did you do to Ginny?" Christof asked, ignoring Riddle's quiet jibes.
"I didn't do anything," Riddle said with a smirk. "She wrote her own farewell on the wall and came down here to wait. I must admit, she struggled and cried and became very boring. But there isn't much life left in her.she put too much into the diary, and into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last. I have been waiting for you to come since we arrived here. I knew that you would. I have many questions for you, Christof Malfoy."
"Like what?" Christof spat, anger coursing through him.
"Well," said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, "First of all I'd like to know why a fairly intelligent boy would choose to defy Lord Voldemort, acting, ridiculously, as a spy for deluded Muggle-lovers such as Albus Dumbledore?"
"What does it matter to you?" Christof snarled. "Voldemort was after your time."
"That is where you are wrong, Christof Malfoy," said Riddle softly. "Voldemort is my past, present, and future."
He pulled Christof's wand from where he had pocketed it and began to trace it through the air, writing three, shimmering words.
Tom Marvolo Riddle
Then he waved the wand once, and the letters rearranged themselves to form new words.
I Am Lord Voldemort
"You see?" he whispered. "it was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four?" He gave a small, deprecating laugh. "No, I think not. And so I fashioned myself a new name-a name I knew would one day be feared and held in high regard, one day when I was the most powerful sorcerer in the world!"
"You're not," said Christof, breathing hard.
"Not what?" said Riddle coldly.
"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world," Christof replied, his voice choked with anger.
Riddle smiled, but before he could answer Christof continued. "I'm sorry to disappoint you and all that," he said, struggling to keep his voice mild, "But you're not. The greatest sorcerer in the world is Albus Dumbledore."
Riddle began to laugh coldly once more, his face wearing a very ugly look. "Albus Dumbledore has been driven out of this school by the mere memory of me," he hissed.
"That's not true!" Christof shouted, no longer attempting to rein in his words. "He-he's not as gone as you might think!"
The moment he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing. He'd hoped to scare Riddle, to stall for time-anything that might prove to be to his advantage.
Instead, Riddle seemed to ignore him, and smiled pleasantly once more. "I still have questions for you, Christof Malfoy."
"Like what?" Christof retorted. Uneasily, he noted that with every passing moment Riddle's hazy outline seemed to be growing clearer. With a sudden clarity, he knew that the longer he talked, the more life was sucked from Ginny, and the stronger Riddle grew.
Riddle smiled benignly, caressing Christof's wand with his long fingers. "For one, I would like to know what a boy like you is doing wasting his life in the service of the losing side-following in the footsteps of his deluded parents.."
It was nearly the same question he had asked earlier, and Christof ignored the question itself.
"My parents aren't deluded," he said, his voice shaking with rage. "They've just got more sense than my dad's family!"
Riddle seemed unperturbed. "There you are wrong," he said mildly. "Your parents didn't have the sense to keep away from the Potter boy."
Christof's face registered blank surprise. "What does he have to do with it?" he asked, so surprised that the waves of anger boiling inside him abruptly cooled.
Now it was Riddle's turn to show surprise, although he regained his composure almost immediately and gave a soft laugh. "Ah, I see that the gruesome details were too harsh for the ears of one so young. Did you know nothing, then of your parents this last year?"
Christof paled. "What happened?" he whispered, forgetting to be angry.
Riddle smiled broadly. "Under the direction of that Muggle-loving fool, Dumbledore, they were both placed in the home of one of my faithful followers. You should know them well.you do, after all, bear their name."
"And?" Christof said desperately.
Riddle's smile grew, if possible, even broader. "Evidence was found that they'd broken their trust," he replied. "They'd spoken to Harry Potter, the precious prisoner also kept in that place. They'd even tried to help him escape. And then, in a foolish moment, your fool of a filthy father performed a truly heroic act.pity," he sighed in mock sorrow. "The curse was meant, in a burst of thoughtless anger, for Potter.."
Anger of his own coursed through Christof at Riddle's demeaning words about his parents. "Shut up," he said finally.
Riddle laughed again. "I must give my thanks to you, Christof Malfoy, for the entertaining moments you have given me. And now-," abruptly, he did a half-turn until he was facing the statue.
And then Riddle opened his mouth and hissed-but Christof understood what he said..
"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."
Christof wheeled around to look up at the statue.
Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Horrorstruck, Christof saw his mouth opening wider and wider to make a huge, gaping black hole.
And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths.
Christof backed against a pillar, his eyes shut tightly. A huge shape hit the stone floor of the Chamber, and a small tremor shook the room. He knew what was happening, he could sense it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin's mouth. Then he heard Riddle's hissing voice:
"Kill him."
Soon the noise of Hermione and Ron attempting to shift rocks was gone. The tunnel Christof was following turned and turned again. Every nerve in his body tingled unpleasantly; he wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded that which he might find when it did.
And then, at long last, he saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds. Christof approached, his throat dry. There was no need to pretend, as he'd had to with the snakes on the bathroom sink-pipe, that these snakes were real. Their flickering deep-green eyes looked strangely alive.
He cleared his throat, and the emerald eyes seemed to flicker menacingly.
"Open," said Christof in a low, faint hiss.
The serpents parted as the wall cracked open. The halves slid smoothly out of sight and Christof, shaking now from head to foot, walked inside.
He stood at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.
His heart beating very fast, Christof stood listening to the chilling silence. Could the Basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where was-what was her name again?-Ginny Weasley?
He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpetine columns. Every careful footsetp echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him-more than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir.
Suddenly, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall. Christof had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming red hair.
"Ginny?" Christof whispered. The hair was unmistakable-and who else could it be? He hurried closer.
"Ginny-don't be dead-please don't be dead-," suddenly he flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't Petrified. But then she must be-
"Oh, please wake up," Christof muttered desparately. He shook her roughly, wanting more than ever to get away as quickly as possible.
"She won't wake," said a soft voice.
Christof jumped and spun around on his knees.
A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He looked strangely blurred around the edges, as though Christof were looking at him through a misted window.
"Who're you?" Christof asked, more roughly than he had at first intended.
"Some call me Tom Riddle," replied the black-haired stranger.
"What do you mean, she won't wake?" Christof asked after a moment, choosing to ignore a name he did not recognize. "She's alive, right? She's not.."
"She's still alive," said Riddle, not taking his eyes off Christof's face. "But only just."
"Who are you?" Christof asked suddenly, staring at the weird misty light shining around him. "Are you-a ghost?"
"I am a memory," said Riddle queitly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."
Christof gave him one long, very nonplussed look. "What do you mean?" he asked finally.
Riddle nodded towards a small object on the floor near Ginny. It was a little black diary, lying open on the floor.
"But there's nothing written in it," Christof said stupidly.
"I made sure that my memories were preserved in a more sure way than ink, Christof Malfoy," Riddle said with a small smile.
"Wha-how did you know-," Christof began, but then decided there were more pressing things to deal with.
"You've got to help me. We've got to get her out of here. There's a Basilisk.I don't know where it is, but it could be along any moment.please, help me-,"
Riddle didn't move. Christof, sweating, had managed to hoist Ginny half off the floor, and bent to pick up his wand again.
But his wand had gone.
* * *
Harry stared at the globe in morbid fascination, unable to tear his eyes away. The scene he watched was very convincing.it was not a wonder that Ginny continued to write to "Tom" after she had seen this.
It was not a wonder then, either, that Hagrid had been expelled. With such convincing evidence to his guilty state.but it was Riddle who had done it, as Danady had told him, wasn't it?
It wouldn't be too surprising if it was Hagrid, Harry mused. Hagrid had an unusual and sometimes dangerous love for monsters, the more vicious the better. He could remember all too well Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback dragon that Hagrid had kept in Harry's first year at Hogwarts, and Fluffy, the enormous, three-headed dog he'd loaned Dumbledore to guard a valuable posession.
And this dark, scuttling creature he had just seen could easily be the monster housed in the Chamber of Secrets, couldn't it?
"This monster was a Basilisk-a giant snake so magically powerful that, along with having deadly venomous fangs, if you look in the eye it will kill you."
Harry started. Who had told him that?
Danady. It was Danady.
If Danady had told him that, then, how could Hagrid's monster have been the Monster?
It couldn't have, of course-the many-legged creature of Riddle's presentation was most definitely not a snake-but if so, what was it?
The answer to that, he realized, was easy enough. Hagrid did have a liking for unusual creatures-who was to say he hadn't been like that all his life? Of course he had.
And Tom Riddle still was, and ever had been, the Heir of Slytherin.
* * *
"Did you see-?" Christof asked, supporting Ginny with one hand and groping around the dim floor for his wand with the other.
He looked up. Riddle was still watching him-twirling Christof's wand between his long fingers.
Christof stared at him. "Who are you, anyway?" he asked suspiciously, for the third time.
Riddle didn't asnwer, but his small smile broadened.
Christof lowered Ginny to the floor; she was growing too heavy to hold up anymore. Suddenly he lunged at Riddle, trying to grab his wand-
A moment later he was thrown against the enormous, monkeyish statue. Riddle still stood, a few feet away, his smile very wide. He was pointing the wand not at Christof, but at Ginny.
"I suggest you do not try that again," he said smoothly, and inclined his head slightly towards Ginny.
"I've waited a long time for this," Riddle continued after a moment. "For the chance to see you. To speak to you."
"Why?" Christof asked surlily, his eyes fixed on Ginny's limp figure and the wand trained thereon.
"Several reasons," Riddle said, the smile never leaving his face.
"How did Ginny get like this?" Christof cut him off suddenly.
"Well, that's an interesting question," said Riddle pleasantly. "And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisibile stranger."
"What are you talking about?" Christof asked, beginning to feel faintly annoyed with Riddle's persistent smile.
"The diary," said Riddle. "My diary. You see, a lonely soul may find my diary a wonderful source of empathy and comfort. I always know just the right thing to say." Riddle smirked. "Little Ginny's been writitng 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 books.it's very boring, you know, having to listen to the silly 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.."
Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't suit him.
"I've always been able to charm the people I needed," he continued, smirking. "Ginny poured out her sould to me, and her sould happened to be exactly what I looked for. I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of little Miss Weasley's deepest fears, her darkest secrets. Soon, I was able to feed a few of my secrets to Miss Weasley, to start pouring a little of my soul back to her.."
Christof stared at Riddle in horrified fascination. "What do you mean?" he asked finally, his mouth gone very dry.
"Haven't you guessed by now?" Riddle asked softly. "It was Ginny Weasley who opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the roosters. She painted the message on the wall. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on three Mudbloods, the Squib's cat, and you. Unfortunately, each attack went awry.
"But I believe I prefer it this way, Christof Malfoy," Riddle said, very softly. "Just you and me." He smiled once more, the broad, triumphant smile of before.
"I still don't understand," Christof said, stalling for time. "Why is Ginny down here?"
Riddle continued to smile. "Haven't you figured that out yet?" he asked softly. "I don't care about killing Mudbloods anymore. For months now, my new target has been you."
* * *
The dim light emanating from Hermione's wand served only to illuminate an area of about ten feet around them. The wand had been placed on the floor near Hermione's foot-close enough to snatch away should Aracidia wake and attempt to grab it. His own wand had been crushed in the fall; now only a few twiggy slivers remained of the once-fine willow wand.
Hermione and Ron, sweating, were attempting to dislodge a few of the smaller stones from the fall in hopes that Christof would be able to get through when he returned.
"I've got to stop a minute," said Ron, panting. "Listen, Hermione, we're never going to get through this."
"We've got to!" Hermione said desparately. "If he comes back and he needs to get through quickly-,"
There was a long pause.
"I guess you're right," Ron said finally. "But we've got to rest for a minute. If we conserve our strength we'll be able to do more."
Hermione gave a forced laugh. "I guess you're right," she sighed. With evident relief she let go the stone she had been trying to dislodge and sat down, drawing a deep breath.
Her hands smarted. She looked down at them and saw that they were blistered and cracked; in more than one place the skin had torn apart and scarlet blood was dripping onto her robes.
Maybe Ron's right, she thought tiredly. Maybe this is useless.
But as soon as she had the thought it was replaced with the image of Christof, cornered against the rough barricade they were struggling to destroy by a giant Basilisk, waiting with his eyes covered as the Basilisk reared back-
"I reckon you're right, anyway, Hermione," Ron said, interrupting Hermione's horrific daydream. "I guess if Malfoy-,"
"Call him Christof," Hermione broke in.
"Whatever, Christof," Ron amended. "I guess if Christof had to get away in a hurry-I mean, who knows what'll happen-,"
"Yeah," Hermione replied. A dark thought had come into her mind; if Christof was forced to flee, what would become of Ginny?
Ron seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he had become suddenly quiet. "Hermione.." He began, and stopped.
"Yeah?" Hermione asked, giving him a searching look.
"Nothing," Ron muttered quickly, and looked away.
Suddenly both were distracted as Aracidia stirred and moaned softly. Hermione cast Ron a frightened look-Aracidia had proved himself all too capable of overpowering the both of them and gaining a wand. There was no telling what would happen if another spell was let off in the half-ruined tunnel; several large cracks had appeared in the roof, making it seem as if enormous chunks of stone were balanced precariously in their sockets, waiting for a misguided attempt at magic to set them free.
Aracidia moaned again, and his eyes opened slowly. "W-wa-wat-," he croaked. "Water."
Ron stared scornfully at him. "We don't have any water," he said furiously. "And if we did, I wouldn't give any to you."
"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "He's still a teacher, you know."
Ron turned to stare at Hermione, open-mouthed. "He's still a teacher," he mimicked. "C'mon, Hermione! Have you forgotten already what he tried to do to us back there?"
"No," Hermione defended, "But-but I don't think that-that Dumbledore would refuse him water. Not that we have any, anyway," she sighed.
"Yeah, I could use some too," Ron said.
Aracidia attempted to sit up, but fell back on the cold stone floor immediately. Good, Hermione thought with relief, He got hit hard enough to keep him down for a while. Oh, Christof, hurry up!
"I'm going to try to move more of these," said Hermione determinedly, inclining her head towards the blockage of stones.
"Yeah, I guess we should start again," Ron replied dispiritedly, but made no move to rise from the stone floor.
"Oh, come on," Hermione snapped. "I can't do this all alone."
Ron sighed and rose slowly to his feet, wiping fruitlessly at his slime- covered robes.
A half of an hour later, they had managed to create an opening in the wall large enough to reach a hand through.
"It's something," Hermione said wearily, pushing half-heartedly at a large, jagged stone in the attempt to widen the opening.
"Yeah," Ron said, wiping sweat from his forehead with a grimy sleeve.
"Oh, Ron," Hermione said suddenly, slumping against the stone barrier. "We're never going to make it through here."
"Sure we are," Ron said savagely, kicking furiously at the stones.
As he kicked it, the stone dislodged and flew outwards out of the barricade of stones.
"That's it!" Hermione shouted, and threw her arms around Ron. "Ron, you did it! We were trying to get them out the wrong way-look it's much easier to push them out than to pull them in!"
Ron turned crimson. "Uh, sure," he muttered.
Hermione let go, her eyes glistening. "Finally," she said. "I was about to give up, too."
"Er, yeah," Ron said, and kicked another small stone out of its place in the wall.
* * *
"I had a feeling that you would attempt the heroic," Riddle continued, twirling Christof's wand between his long fingers. His eyes glinted triumphantly, never straying from Christof's frightened face. "Especially if you accidentally met the Mudblood, Granger and the Muggle-lover, Weasley."
"But-what do you mean, accidentally?" Christof asked suspiciously.
Riddle laughed softly. "You are more trusting than I would have thought, for one of your precarious position, Christof Malfoy," he said quietly. "You really didn't think that your meeting with the Mudblood girl was chance? You didn't assume that the Weasley boy often decided to sneak out of his dormitory and hide in the infirmary to witness the revival of many Petrified students?" Riddle laughed again. "I must say, I did overestimate your abilities."
"What did you do to Ginny?" Christof asked, ignoring Riddle's quiet jibes.
"I didn't do anything," Riddle said with a smirk. "She wrote her own farewell on the wall and came down here to wait. I must admit, she struggled and cried and became very boring. But there isn't much life left in her.she put too much into the diary, and into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last. I have been waiting for you to come since we arrived here. I knew that you would. I have many questions for you, Christof Malfoy."
"Like what?" Christof spat, anger coursing through him.
"Well," said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, "First of all I'd like to know why a fairly intelligent boy would choose to defy Lord Voldemort, acting, ridiculously, as a spy for deluded Muggle-lovers such as Albus Dumbledore?"
"What does it matter to you?" Christof snarled. "Voldemort was after your time."
"That is where you are wrong, Christof Malfoy," said Riddle softly. "Voldemort is my past, present, and future."
He pulled Christof's wand from where he had pocketed it and began to trace it through the air, writing three, shimmering words.
Tom Marvolo Riddle
Then he waved the wand once, and the letters rearranged themselves to form new words.
I Am Lord Voldemort
"You see?" he whispered. "it was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four?" He gave a small, deprecating laugh. "No, I think not. And so I fashioned myself a new name-a name I knew would one day be feared and held in high regard, one day when I was the most powerful sorcerer in the world!"
"You're not," said Christof, breathing hard.
"Not what?" said Riddle coldly.
"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world," Christof replied, his voice choked with anger.
Riddle smiled, but before he could answer Christof continued. "I'm sorry to disappoint you and all that," he said, struggling to keep his voice mild, "But you're not. The greatest sorcerer in the world is Albus Dumbledore."
Riddle began to laugh coldly once more, his face wearing a very ugly look. "Albus Dumbledore has been driven out of this school by the mere memory of me," he hissed.
"That's not true!" Christof shouted, no longer attempting to rein in his words. "He-he's not as gone as you might think!"
The moment he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing. He'd hoped to scare Riddle, to stall for time-anything that might prove to be to his advantage.
Instead, Riddle seemed to ignore him, and smiled pleasantly once more. "I still have questions for you, Christof Malfoy."
"Like what?" Christof retorted. Uneasily, he noted that with every passing moment Riddle's hazy outline seemed to be growing clearer. With a sudden clarity, he knew that the longer he talked, the more life was sucked from Ginny, and the stronger Riddle grew.
Riddle smiled benignly, caressing Christof's wand with his long fingers. "For one, I would like to know what a boy like you is doing wasting his life in the service of the losing side-following in the footsteps of his deluded parents.."
It was nearly the same question he had asked earlier, and Christof ignored the question itself.
"My parents aren't deluded," he said, his voice shaking with rage. "They've just got more sense than my dad's family!"
Riddle seemed unperturbed. "There you are wrong," he said mildly. "Your parents didn't have the sense to keep away from the Potter boy."
Christof's face registered blank surprise. "What does he have to do with it?" he asked, so surprised that the waves of anger boiling inside him abruptly cooled.
Now it was Riddle's turn to show surprise, although he regained his composure almost immediately and gave a soft laugh. "Ah, I see that the gruesome details were too harsh for the ears of one so young. Did you know nothing, then of your parents this last year?"
Christof paled. "What happened?" he whispered, forgetting to be angry.
Riddle smiled broadly. "Under the direction of that Muggle-loving fool, Dumbledore, they were both placed in the home of one of my faithful followers. You should know them well.you do, after all, bear their name."
"And?" Christof said desperately.
Riddle's smile grew, if possible, even broader. "Evidence was found that they'd broken their trust," he replied. "They'd spoken to Harry Potter, the precious prisoner also kept in that place. They'd even tried to help him escape. And then, in a foolish moment, your fool of a filthy father performed a truly heroic act.pity," he sighed in mock sorrow. "The curse was meant, in a burst of thoughtless anger, for Potter.."
Anger of his own coursed through Christof at Riddle's demeaning words about his parents. "Shut up," he said finally.
Riddle laughed again. "I must give my thanks to you, Christof Malfoy, for the entertaining moments you have given me. And now-," abruptly, he did a half-turn until he was facing the statue.
And then Riddle opened his mouth and hissed-but Christof understood what he said..
"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."
Christof wheeled around to look up at the statue.
Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Horrorstruck, Christof saw his mouth opening wider and wider to make a huge, gaping black hole.
And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths.
Christof backed against a pillar, his eyes shut tightly. A huge shape hit the stone floor of the Chamber, and a small tremor shook the room. He knew what was happening, he could sense it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin's mouth. Then he heard Riddle's hissing voice:
"Kill him."