On the outside, Tom Riddle was a model student: sixth year prefect,
good grades, and exemplary behaviour. He was like a perfect, shined
plaque, hanging proudly on a wall for all the faculty of Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry to show off. But on the inside, he was rotting to
the core.
For almost two years, since his fourth year at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle had known of his heritage. He knew how his ancestor was the great, one and only, Salazar Slytherin, founder of Slytherin house. He knew that he had the greatest gift of all: the access to the Chamber of Secrets in which Slytherin kept his greatest triumph and secret. The Basilisk that roamed the chamber had befriended Tom early on in his visits because Tom could speak his language, the only person to be blessed with that gift besides Slytherin himself. And the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets? The very washroom in which Myrtle had fled to.
Tom crept along the empty corridor, glancing behind him every few seconds. He knew he could handle being caught out of bed when he shouldn't be, but he wasn't sure he could take being caught sneaking into the girls' lavatory. Silently, he opened the door and sneaked to the sink where he spoke to the snake on the faucet. "Open for me," he whispered and the sound of machinery, although there was none visible, filled the room. When the sinks had transformed, Tom lowered himself down into the place that had become a second home to him.
As he hurried along the dark and musty passageway, he contemplated his plan one last time. It had to be done, he argued with himself. To cleanse the school of all that are unworthy. He planned to set the Basilisk free in the hallways of the school at night, catching any unsuspecting students out of bed. One look from the deadly Basilisk was fatal and Tom knew that Salazar Slytherin would roll over in his grave if he knew the filth that had been admitted to Hogwarts in the past few years. Tom also knew that it was up to him to rid the school of this rubbish.
Tonight was his night. He entered the Chamber itself, calling to life the giant snake. "It's me," he hissed in his slithery tone. "I've come for you to do my bidding." Gently he patted the Basilisk on the nose before directing it where to go. "Soon," he promised to no one in particular, "soon, the school will be pure again. I promise, very soon."
The very next morning, screams filled the Great Hall where the entire student body was eating breakfast. The Headmaster, Professor Dippet, rose from his seat at the Head Table just in time to see Professor Watson, an elderly lady, enter the Hall, out of breath from running and in obvious terror.
"A student!" she gasped, pointing to outside the doors. "On the floor. Injured. Must get help!" She leant over, resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Immediately, Professor Dumbledore leapt up to help the woman while Professor Dippet ordered the students to remain calm while he investigated. He left the hall in a hurry.
Tom grinned to himself. The plan was working. After he had ordered the Basilisk to kill, he had returned to his room to be sure not to be missed for too long. He had told the Basilisk to return to its home after its job had been completed and Tom had spent much of the night awake, waiting for this moment. Nothing could spoil it now; it had begun.
Dippet returned twenty minutes later, his face pale. Instantaneously, he called a meeting with his fellow staff and they put their heads together to speak secretively. Tom couldn't help but grin. It was working! When the staff separated, Tom could see the fear in Dippet's eyes. But he wouldn't let it show. He continued the breakfast hour, telling jokes and playing games as he usually did. Tom could understand him not wanting to spread fear with the news of a fellow student's death. He could only wonder who it had been.
After the meal, when everyone else was packing up to head off to classes, Tom approached the Head Table where Dippet was animatedly discussing new curriculum plans with Professor Dumbledore. "May we help you, Riddle?" Dippet asked as he approached the table.
"I just wanted to make sure everything was alright, sir," Tom said, folding his hands in front of him. "You returned from the hallway looking quite grim." He paused for a moment. "Is everything alright?"
Dippet let out a hearty laugh. "Of course, my dear boy, of course! Look at this, Albus." Dippet turned to Dumbledore. "We have ourselves a fine little gentleman here, concerned about his old Headmaster." He turned back to Tom. "Riddle, thank you for asking, but everything is under control." His eyes reflected to the Prefects' badge on Tom's shoulder and a glimmer crossed his eyes. "There was an incident," he said, lowering his voice and moving his head closer to Tom. "A small incident where a student has been Petrified. But I have already alerted the hospital wing and the student is currently residing there, awaiting treatment." He smiled again and sat up straight again. "So no need to worry, Riddle, no need at all."
Tom left the hall fuming. It wasn't supposed to happen this way! Someone was supposed to die! If no one died in this quest, then the whole effort would have been wasted. He angrily kicked a stone out of his way, only to be greeted with a voice.
"Hello there."
For a moment, as insane as it was, Tom was certain that it was the stone he had kicked talking. When he came to his senses, he turned and saw Myrtle lurking in the shadows. "Hi," he answered automatically, still angry that his plan had backfired.
"That's okay that you ignored me," Myrtle said in a voice of obvious hurt. "I don't mind. In fact, I'm rather used to it."
"I'm sorry, Myrtle," Tom said, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. "I didn't mean to ignore you. I've just been so caught up in my own thoughts."
"I know what you mean." Myrtle heaved a great sigh. "It's awful, what happened to that boy, isn't it?"
"What boy?"
Myrtle looked at him like he was mad. "The boy! That was found in the dungeons. The one that had been," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "Petrified."
Oh! Tom's mind began reeling. "Do you know who it was?" Tom asked in the same hushed tone. He just had to know whom his Basilisk had gone after. Who it was that the Basilisk, which Tom believed channelled some of the spirit of the great Salazar Slytherin, felt needed to be eliminated from the Hogwarts scene.
"Manchester," Myrtle said, a look of sickness drooping over her already sullen face. "Arnie Manchester."
For almost two years, since his fourth year at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle had known of his heritage. He knew how his ancestor was the great, one and only, Salazar Slytherin, founder of Slytherin house. He knew that he had the greatest gift of all: the access to the Chamber of Secrets in which Slytherin kept his greatest triumph and secret. The Basilisk that roamed the chamber had befriended Tom early on in his visits because Tom could speak his language, the only person to be blessed with that gift besides Slytherin himself. And the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets? The very washroom in which Myrtle had fled to.
Tom crept along the empty corridor, glancing behind him every few seconds. He knew he could handle being caught out of bed when he shouldn't be, but he wasn't sure he could take being caught sneaking into the girls' lavatory. Silently, he opened the door and sneaked to the sink where he spoke to the snake on the faucet. "Open for me," he whispered and the sound of machinery, although there was none visible, filled the room. When the sinks had transformed, Tom lowered himself down into the place that had become a second home to him.
As he hurried along the dark and musty passageway, he contemplated his plan one last time. It had to be done, he argued with himself. To cleanse the school of all that are unworthy. He planned to set the Basilisk free in the hallways of the school at night, catching any unsuspecting students out of bed. One look from the deadly Basilisk was fatal and Tom knew that Salazar Slytherin would roll over in his grave if he knew the filth that had been admitted to Hogwarts in the past few years. Tom also knew that it was up to him to rid the school of this rubbish.
Tonight was his night. He entered the Chamber itself, calling to life the giant snake. "It's me," he hissed in his slithery tone. "I've come for you to do my bidding." Gently he patted the Basilisk on the nose before directing it where to go. "Soon," he promised to no one in particular, "soon, the school will be pure again. I promise, very soon."
The very next morning, screams filled the Great Hall where the entire student body was eating breakfast. The Headmaster, Professor Dippet, rose from his seat at the Head Table just in time to see Professor Watson, an elderly lady, enter the Hall, out of breath from running and in obvious terror.
"A student!" she gasped, pointing to outside the doors. "On the floor. Injured. Must get help!" She leant over, resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Immediately, Professor Dumbledore leapt up to help the woman while Professor Dippet ordered the students to remain calm while he investigated. He left the hall in a hurry.
Tom grinned to himself. The plan was working. After he had ordered the Basilisk to kill, he had returned to his room to be sure not to be missed for too long. He had told the Basilisk to return to its home after its job had been completed and Tom had spent much of the night awake, waiting for this moment. Nothing could spoil it now; it had begun.
Dippet returned twenty minutes later, his face pale. Instantaneously, he called a meeting with his fellow staff and they put their heads together to speak secretively. Tom couldn't help but grin. It was working! When the staff separated, Tom could see the fear in Dippet's eyes. But he wouldn't let it show. He continued the breakfast hour, telling jokes and playing games as he usually did. Tom could understand him not wanting to spread fear with the news of a fellow student's death. He could only wonder who it had been.
After the meal, when everyone else was packing up to head off to classes, Tom approached the Head Table where Dippet was animatedly discussing new curriculum plans with Professor Dumbledore. "May we help you, Riddle?" Dippet asked as he approached the table.
"I just wanted to make sure everything was alright, sir," Tom said, folding his hands in front of him. "You returned from the hallway looking quite grim." He paused for a moment. "Is everything alright?"
Dippet let out a hearty laugh. "Of course, my dear boy, of course! Look at this, Albus." Dippet turned to Dumbledore. "We have ourselves a fine little gentleman here, concerned about his old Headmaster." He turned back to Tom. "Riddle, thank you for asking, but everything is under control." His eyes reflected to the Prefects' badge on Tom's shoulder and a glimmer crossed his eyes. "There was an incident," he said, lowering his voice and moving his head closer to Tom. "A small incident where a student has been Petrified. But I have already alerted the hospital wing and the student is currently residing there, awaiting treatment." He smiled again and sat up straight again. "So no need to worry, Riddle, no need at all."
Tom left the hall fuming. It wasn't supposed to happen this way! Someone was supposed to die! If no one died in this quest, then the whole effort would have been wasted. He angrily kicked a stone out of his way, only to be greeted with a voice.
"Hello there."
For a moment, as insane as it was, Tom was certain that it was the stone he had kicked talking. When he came to his senses, he turned and saw Myrtle lurking in the shadows. "Hi," he answered automatically, still angry that his plan had backfired.
"That's okay that you ignored me," Myrtle said in a voice of obvious hurt. "I don't mind. In fact, I'm rather used to it."
"I'm sorry, Myrtle," Tom said, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. "I didn't mean to ignore you. I've just been so caught up in my own thoughts."
"I know what you mean." Myrtle heaved a great sigh. "It's awful, what happened to that boy, isn't it?"
"What boy?"
Myrtle looked at him like he was mad. "The boy! That was found in the dungeons. The one that had been," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "Petrified."
Oh! Tom's mind began reeling. "Do you know who it was?" Tom asked in the same hushed tone. He just had to know whom his Basilisk had gone after. Who it was that the Basilisk, which Tom believed channelled some of the spirit of the great Salazar Slytherin, felt needed to be eliminated from the Hogwarts scene.
"Manchester," Myrtle said, a look of sickness drooping over her already sullen face. "Arnie Manchester."