Thanks again to ChuckTheElf for beta-reading.
Chapter 8: The Chamber of Secrets
"How much further?" asked Alex as they crossed Hazel Grove.
"Only one more street." She pulled the sleeves of her new jumper over her hands. "It's on Privet Drive."
Like Magnolia Crescent, all the houses in their suburbia were fairly similar. But while you could generally tell who-lived-where on Crescent, Wisteria Walk and Hazel Grove, Privet Drive was eerily identical. If not for the house numbers and the different flowers—or lack thereof—you wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
Holly guided her friend past row after row of plain, boring houses until—
"Well, here we are," she said when they reached number four.
Alex glanced at the perfectly manicured lawn she had cut. "Looks kind of boring to me."
"It is," she agreed, then gave a conspiratorial smirk. "Still wanna see inside?"
"Lead the way."
The door opened on her third try of casting Alohomora. She knew Number Four was plain compared to Alex's home, but there was a thrill to exploring the place while the Dursleys were away for Easter.
"Your house is really..." Alex looked around as if he would find something nice to say out of thin air, "clean?"
"Very articulate. My aunt loves to clean." Well, she loves to make me clean.
Alex rubbed his chin with one hand while running the other along the spotless counter. "I see."
Upstairs yielded similar results. Dudley's room was surprisingly tidy while her room was sparse in comparison. If Alex noticed, he didn't say. And the backyard, while containing a greenhouse just like the Kanns, was much smaller and had only flowers.
"Well, that was dull."
Holly shrugged as they walked out. "You wanted to see. Colloportus."
Nothing happened.
She pointed at the lock again, moving her finger in the proper motion. "Colloportus!"
The door slowly sealed itself with an odd squelching noise.
Alex gave a silent round of applause. "It only took you two tries!"
Holly let out a breath. "Yeah. Not bad for four months of practice."
Learning magic was easier now that she had spell diagrams and an actual book to work from. It helped her focus better on what she wanted to happen. Charms were her favourite. Other than making things float and locking and unlocking doors, she'd been able to create fire and mend the secondhand clothes Petunia gave her. It was really useful.
Transfiguration was the opposite. The spells didn't make sense. When would she ever need to turn a matchstick into a needle? And nothing she did stayed for more than a few minutes—if she was lucky. She couldn't understand why it wasn't working. She was following all the rules and tried not to get too upset when the spells didn't work. Maybe she just needed to be older—or have a wand.
"Christmas was—" began Alex.
"Less than four months ago, I know. I was trying to be succinct," said Holly with a look.
He held his hands palm up. "Alright then. What do you want to do?"
"What do you want to do?"
"Well, there's the park, but mum or dad might want to take us."
"Pass."
"We could play Galactic Civilization? Or Civilization IV?"
"Didn't you already beat both of them?"
"Yeah, but it's still fun."
"But if you've already won once, doesn't it make it a little dull?'
Alex let out a long-suffering sigh that made her regret her gift-giving decision last year. "The games don't work like that. In most games, you can only win one way. In Galactic Civ, the final goal is to rule the galaxy, but you can win in different ways. War is what everyone likes to choose, but you can also win by overpowering other cultures, international relations, or with advanced technology."
"Let me guess...you chose the international stuff?" she asked, knowing his love for history played a role in his decision.
Alex nodded. "The second time. I used technology the first time."
"So what's the difference?"
"Galactic Civ goes straight into space while Civ goes through history. You have to lead an empire and be the first one to send a colony ship into space. That's how I won."
With that, he launched into a detailed explanation about the difference between the games and strategies.
~•~
Holly's return to Hogwarts was rather dull. McGonagall was filling in the best she could, but even she had limits. Evidently, Dumbledore's shoes were hard to fill. Rumour had it that her niece, Freya McGonagall, was helping the NEWT students grade assignments, and the marks were much better for it, but that was all. She simply didn't have Dumbledore's reputation.
The Slytherins were taking the time to gloat and peacock around, especially Malfoy and Parkinson, who acted like they were made Head Boy and Girl. A few of the older students gave her calculating looks, but Holly tried to ignore them. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had their hands on their wands more often than not around her but otherwise kept their distance so long as she kept hers.
Some members of her house were starting to believe that she hadn't done anything. Most remained wary. Leanne Clearwater wasn't glaring at her anymore, instead choosing to avoid her whenever possible.
Ron, on the other hand, seemed to get paler and paler as the days went by. At times he would clutch his forehead, closing his eyes in pain. At other times he would talk oddly formally like he did before, and on the rare occasion, he'd be his regular self.
"Have you gone to the nurse?" she'd asked him once.
Ron nodded, and that was that.
She knew he was lying. But Holly knew she couldn't force him to go, and she refused to snitch on him to a teacher or his brothers. Like her, he hated when his boundaries were overstepped. Luckily, Percy came to the same conclusion she did and forced Invigoration Draughts on him.
Unfortunately, it did little to help.
As for the Dark notebook she had found? Flitwick hadn't told her what he'd done with it, so she assumed either McGonagall or Dumbledore had it somewhere safe.
On the day of the morning of the eighth of May, Holly walked into the Great Hall alone. She hadn't seen Ron in the Common Room, and she was beginning to wonder where he was. He loved Quidditch after all.
"Hey Neville," she asked the shy blond boy, "have you seen Ron today?"
He shook his head. "N-no. I haven't seen him since last night."
Now she was worried. Ron hadn't been this late to breakfast since first year!
"Perfect Quidditch conditions!" said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team's plates with scrambled eggs. "Holly, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast."
She had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, hoping that she and Neville missed Ron coming in. But he was still missing.
Her unease grew as she left the Hall alone to collect her Quidditch things. She had just set foot on the marble staircase when she heard it yet again —
"Kill this time…let me rip…tear…"
She swallowed, looking around. She was the only one to hear the beast. But why?
Realization dawned on her. "I'm an idiot," she muttered under her breath. Of course it was a snake. But what kind of snake? Which one could Petrify humans?
Her mind was a daze as she went to the Tower and collected her Quidditch things and joined the large crowd swarming across the grounds, but she still heard the bodiless voice; as she pulled on her scarlet robes in the locker room, her only comfort was that everyone was now outside to watch the game.
The teams walked onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood took off for a warm-up flight around the goal posts; Madam Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs, who played in canary yellow, were standing in a huddle, having a last-minute discussion of tactics.
She was just mounting her broom when Professor McGonagall came half-marching, half-running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone.
Holly's heart dropped like a stone. Another attack.
"This match has been cancelled," Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. There were boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking devastated, flew toward Professor McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.
"But, Professor!" he shouted. "We've got to play — the Cup — Gryffindor —"
Professor McGonagall ignored him and continued to shout through her megaphone: "All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms. All teachers return to the staffroom. As quickly as you can, please!"
Then she lowered the megaphone and half-marched, half-ran inside.
Some of the students swarming around her were grumbling about the match being cancelled; others looked worried. Holly followed the crowd inside and headed straight for the Tower, changing out of her Quidditch robes and into ordinary Muggle clothes. She folded her Invisibility Cloak in-between her shirt and jacket and left the Room.
Once she was out, she put on her father's Cloak and headed for the staffroom.
Holly was crouched in the dark and stuffy teachers' wardrobe, surrounded by cloaks, struggling not to cry. The Heir's got Ron. They've got Ron and the Professors sent Lockhart to save him.
Even though the staffroom had long since emptied, she covered her mouth to muffle her sobs. They're not even going to try to save him. They just want to send us home and let him die there.
Wiping her eyes, she tried to keep a cool head. Where could the Chamber be? She blinked rapidly. The voice—the snake, rather—was always the loudest around the lower levels of the castle, like in the Great Hall. So it couldn't be above the second floor. That left the dungeons, basement, ground floor, first floor and second floor. She had to assume that the classrooms and broom closets had been well-searched over the years. That left bathrooms. Five bathrooms to guess at. And that was assuming the entrance was in the girls' bathroom to begin with!
She slightly groaned. A ten percent chance of finding the right bathroom was better than nothing, but luck wasn't often on her side. She needed more information. Rumour had it that someone died the last time the Chamber was opened fifty years ago. Other than Dumbledore, she wasn't sure who else was teaching at the time. Maybe McGonagall and Flitwick?
The ghosts had been here for centuries, perhaps they had the answers. The Fat Friar was a good option, being the friendliest of the lot. If she could find him, she'd have the mystery solved in no time.
She stood up, checked to make sure the room was still empty, and fastened her Cloak around her.
Fat Friar, Fat Friar, she thought as she walked the corridors. He was nowhere to be found.
She reached the second floor with a huff. Okay, so that plan wasn't fully thought out, not taking into account how the ghosts' locations were never fixed. Her stomach growled. Ugh. The only bathroom on the corridor was Moaning Mrytle's.
With little other choice, she entered, found a stall and did her business. Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the tank of the end toilet when she exited, heading to a sink.
"Oh, it's you," she said flatly when she saw Holly—or rather, her disembodied head. "What do you want this time?"
Nothing, she wanted to say. Then she remembered that a student had died fifty years ago when the chamber was first opened. She didn't know how long Myrtle had been dead, but it was worth asking.
"Myrtle, how did you die?"
Myrtle's whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question.
"Ooooh, it was dreadful," she said with relish. "It happened right in here, fifty years ago. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then —" Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. "I died."
"How?"
"No idea," said Myrtle in hushed tones. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away…" She looked dreamily at Holly.
"And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."
"Where exactly did you see the eyes?" said Holly, anxious now.
"Somewhere there," said Myrtle, pointing vaguely toward the sink in front of her toilet. Holly hurried over to it. It looked like an ordinary sink. She examined every inch of it, inside and out, including the pipes below. And then Holly saw it: Scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake.
"That tap's never worked," said Myrtle brightly as she tried to turn it.
Holly looked back at the snake, willing herself to believe it was alive.
"Open up."
The tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. The sink began to move out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed. It was filled with slime and smelled something awful.
Holly wrinkled her nose. Gross. She didn't fancy sliding down that.
But how else would she get down? Not going wasn't an option, not if Ron was there, alone.
Then it clicked. The stubborn house-elf. "Dobby?" she called hesitantly.
He popped into existence. "The great Holly Potter calls for Dobby?" he said eagerly, unperturbed by her appearance.
"Can you get us down to the bottom?" She pointed at the dark hole.
Dobby nodded and held her sleeve, and the world spun.
Once the ground became steady at her feet once more, Holly looked around the dark tunnels and eyed the moss-covered walls. She grimaced at the musty odour. "We must be miles under the school," she muttered. "Lumos!"
With the light, she could only see a few more feet ahead, if that, as she headed down the long, dark tunnel.
Dobby followed her silently.
Every instinct in her screamed to go back, to find a teacher. But then, they wanted to send Lockhart of all people. Lockhart, who struggled to perform any of the spells in his books. The fraud would only make things worse.
Ron would be horrified, she thought with a snort. Then she bit her lip. She hoped he was okay.
"Dobby does not like this. Dobby does not like this one bit," the House-elf muttered to itself as the crunch of small animal bones—surely what the monster had been eating for centuries—sounded underneath them.
"It'll be okay, Dobby. We'll find Ron."
The unlikely pair turned at the bend and then —
"Ahh!"
The elf jumped behind her, grabbing her Cloak.
It took all of Holly's willpower not to scream as well at the sight of a very large, shed green snakeskin. The only magical snake it could be was a basilisk, a seemingly mythical serpent that could kill with one look. The monster. That's what I'm up against. It had to be at least thirty feet long and just as wide.
"Right," said Holly weakly. For Ron.
And so they continued on. Determined not to get frightened again she stared straight ahead with Dobby at her heels. Each turn and bend filled her nerves with more and more dread.
At last, as they crept around yet another bend, she saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.
Holly cleared her parched throat. "Open."
The serpents bisected noisily, and with a brief look at a terrified Dobby, they entered.
They 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.
Her heart thudded in her chest. Dobby looked terrified. Where was the basilisk?
The clack-clack-clack and pat-pat-pat of their footsteps echoed. Are the eyes of the stone snakes following us? Holly gripped her wand so tightly she was afraid she'd snap it.
Then, as she drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.
She turned to Dobby, who looked very pale indeed. "Dobby?"
"The Great Holly Potter asks—"
A raised palm cut him off. She didn't feel very great. "Can you make yourself invisible and quiet? And don't come unless I call you." For all the house-elf's scheming, he didn't deserve to die. At the last moment, Holly took off her Invisibility Cloak and gave it to him. The last thing she wanted was for her father's cloak to get damaged. "Put this in my trunk, please."
Dobby nodded solemnly and faded from view.
She was alone now.
Holly had to crane her 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 grey feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. She continued forward until she saw a familiar stock of Weasley red hair from the back.
"Ron?"
He turned around to face her, looking oddly content, but didn't say a word.
"Ron."
Relief flooded through her. She put away her wand. Skeleton lying in the chamber forever indeed. Holly broke out into a smile, running to the pillar where he stood. "Ron, I've been worried sick! What are you doing down here? We've got to get back!"
But Ron continued to watch her silently.
Now that she was up close, Holly noticed something was off. Ron exhibited an aura of power, unlike anything she'd felt before.
Then, he spoke. "Ah, Holly. Welcome to the Chamber of Secrets." His voice gave false warmth and his eyes were cold.
"Ron?"
"In body, at least, but not for long." He reached into his robes and pulled out a book. "Does this look familiar to you?"
Holly's eyes widened. "I gave that to Flitwick! I thought Dumbledore had it!"
"So it would seem." He gave her a small smile. It was not a nice smile. "However, I have my ways of retrieving such objects."
With a wave of his wand, Ron silently Conjured—Conjured!—two plain wooden chairs. He sat comfortably in one and gestured to the other. "Have a seat."
That's at least fifth-year material! Ron was barely through second year Transfiguration and struggled to say his spells silently at that.
"I don't think I will," she said, giving 'Ron' a hard stare. Something was not right.
The air chilled and his smile hardened. "Sit. Down."
Holly looked between 'Ron', who was fingering his wand, and the chair before her. Who knew what Dark spells he had at his disposal? She reluctantly obeyed.
"Now then," said 'Ron' brightly, "I suppose you're wondering what's going on."
"Yes," she gritted out, eying her second-oldest friend. "Who are you?"
"I've waited a long time for this, Holly Potter," said 'Ron'. "For the chance to see you. To speak to you."
"Can't we do this in the castle?" she asked weakly.
"We're going to talk here," said 'Ron' firmly. He didn't seem to be in the mood for humour.
"How did you get like this?"
"Well, that's an interesting question," said 'Ron', his voice back to smooth pleasantness. "And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ronald Weasley's like this is because he opened his heart and spilled all his secrets to an invisible stranger."
Holly narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?" Ron wouldn't do that!
"The diary," said 'Ron', holding up the book. He ran a single finger through the paper pages. "My diary. Little Ronald's been writing in it for months and months, telling me all his pitiful worries and woes — how his brothers bully him, how his mother overlooks him, how he had to come to school with secondhand robes and books, how that pathetic mudblood" — anger flared through Holly — "thought he was stupid, how his wand was broken and how he was just ever so poor that he couldn't afford a new one."
'Ron''s eyes glinted as he set the dairy on his lap. "How he didn't think famous, good, great, pretty Holly Potter would ever fancy him when she had a Muggle friend she favoured, when she already fancied a Muggle-born, how he dreamed of one day working up the courage to ask her on date, like a real wizard would…"
Ron likes me? She felt her face grow hot. He never said…
"It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of a twelve-year-old boy," he went on. "But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. I even helped him with his little non-verbal magic practice. 'You're brilliant, Tom. I reckon no one's ever really listened to me like this. Well, Bill and Charlie do, but they aren't around much. And Holly disappears all the time now…'"
That sounded exactly like Ron. Her stomach sank. "And who are you, exactly?"
The boy who wore Ron's face smirked at her. "Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Holly was confused. "The old Head Boy from fifty-something years ago?"
Ron—Riddle—laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't suit Ron's voice. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
"Yes," he finally said, "preserved in a diary for fifty-something years." The mocking tone sounded very odd coming from Ro—Riddle.
"If I say it myself, Holly, I've always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ronald poured out his soul to me, and his soul happened to be exactly what I wanted…I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of his deepest fears, his darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Ronald Weasley could ever hope to be. Powerful enough to start feeding Mr Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into him…"
Her eyes dawned in realization. "You made him attack all those people. He attacked Hermione!"
Riddle waved her off. "The mudblood giving him so much trouble? No great loss."
He then tauntingly recounted Ron's diary entries after he realized something was wrong—"'Tom, I'm losing my bloody memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don't know how they got there. I can't remember what I did after I left the Halloween Feast. I was pissed at Hermione but after that I don't know what happened. I heard Filch's cat was attacked and when I went to find a robe to wear today, it had red paint all over it. Are Fred and George pranking me again?... Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale all the bloody time. Pepper-Up potion isn't doing a thing for it…There was another attack today. I think I've gone mad. Bloody hell, what if I'm the one attacking everyone?'"
Holly scowled. "And what about Hagrid?"
"Rubeus, that bumbling oaf? Getting him expelled was merely a footnote in my Hogwarts career," said Riddle flippantly.
No wonder Hagrid hates Slytherins, she thought as Riddle continued, detailing how he'd framed the gamekeeper.
Riddle went on: "Of course, after the last two mudbloods were attacked Ronald tried to get rid of me. But I was already in too deep. I was in his body, his mind, his very soul, and he's been fighting me ever since." He examined Ron's long fingers dispassionately. "It surprised me that he was able to fight for so long. But he lost today. I summoned my book from the Headmaster's office and wrote the message on the wall. The last of Ronald Weasley will disappear forever, and I will take his place."
"No," whispered Holly. "That's not going to happen."
Riddle ignored her. "Of course, I'll have to make some changes, you see. A ritual or two to look more like my old self. Red hair is quite ghastly, you know."
Her fists clenched. "You wouldn't." Ron looked fine the way he was!
"I knew you'd come to rescue this pathetic excuse for a wizard. I have many questions for you, Holly Potter."
"You keep saying that, yet you've been gloating this whole time," she snapped, unable to hold her tongue any longer. He sounded like a bad cartoon villain.
But Riddle gave her a condescending smile, as if he was about to lecture a petulant five-year-old. "Well, how is it that you — a skinny girl with no extraordinary magical talent — managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"
There was an odd red gleam in Ron's once-blue eyes now.
"Why do you care how I escaped?" said Holly slowly. "Voldemort was after your time…"
"Voldemort," said Riddle softly, "is my past, present, and future, Holly Potter…"
He raised Ron's wand and spelled his full name—Tom Marvolo Riddle—and flicked the gleaming red letters.
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.
She gasped. "No," she said, looking between Riddle and the letters.
Riddle smiled at her. "You see? I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"
Holly's brain worked in overtime. "You're not the greatest sorcerer in the world. Dumbledore is. You wouldn't open the Chamber again because of him. He saw right through you, whatever you looked like then. He frightened you then, and he frightens you now."
The smile disappeared from Riddle's face, to be replaced by a very ugly look.
"Dumbledore's been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!" he hissed, Vanishing the chairs. Holly stumbled to the ground.
With a defiant glare, Holly looked up at Riddle. No, she thought. VoldeRon. "He's not as gone as you might think!"
VoldeRon opened his mouth, but froze.
Music was coming from somewhere. VoldeRon whirled around to stare down the empty Chamber. The music was growing louder. It was eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly; it lifted the hair on her scalp and made her heart feel as though it was swelling to twice its normal size. Then, as the music reached such a pitch that Holly felt it vibrating inside her ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.
A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its weird music to the vaulted ceiling.
"Fawkes!" she said, scrambling to her feet.
The phoenix dived towards her, its golden claws landing on her shoulder. In its beak was —
"The Sorting Hat?" said VoldeRon in disbelief. He laughed, high and cruel. "So this is what Dumbledore sends his defender? A songbird and an old hat?"
Holly stood, tense. VoldeRon was right. It wasn't much.
VoldeRon cast an amused eye over Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, then walked away. Holly, fear spreading up her numb legs, watched him stop between the high pillars and look up into the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. VoldeRon opened his mouth wide and hissed — but she understood what he was saying.
"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."
Holly wheeled around to look up at the statue, Fawkes swaying on her shoulder. Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Horrorstruck, Holly saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole.
And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths.
Swallowing, Holly backed away until she hit the dark Chamber wall, and as she shut her eyes tight she felt Fawkes' wing sweep her cheek as he took flight. Holly wanted to shout, "Don't leave me!" but what chance did a phoenix have against the king of serpents?
Something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. Holly felt it shudder — she knew what was happening, she could sense it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin's mouth.
Then she heard the voice of her friend hiss:
"Kill her."
I'm going to die. But she wasn't going to give up without fighting for her life — and Ron's.
"Ron!" she screamed as the basilisk moved towards her. "Ron, you have to fight it!"
VoldeRon laughed cruelly. "Open your eyes, Holly Potter, so your death may be painless!"
She had her wand, but it wasn't much use. All her spells either bounced off the basilisk's magic-resistant hide or missed completely. The only vulnerable place—its eyes—were far too dangerous to risk looking into. And without her Cloak, she was in full view of the giant serpent.
She was trapped.
"I know you're in there, Ron! You can't give up!" She ran blindly sideways, her eyes still shut. "I know Voldemort's been possessing you all year, twisting your thoughts and actions, but you have to drive him away! You have to drive him out of your mind!"
A callous laugh answered her.
"I know what it's like to be treated like you're worthless, for those who are supposed to love you to treat you like you're second best!" she cried.
"You waste your breath!" snarled VoldeRon.
The serpent was barely feet from her, but she continued. "I told you about the Dursleys, how they favoured Dudley, like how Ginny is favoured over you. How your older brothers get the attention and praise. I've been there. We've both been the Unfavorite, the one who's always looked at last! You're not alone!"
Holly tripped. She fell hard onto the stone, her glasses digging painfully into her nose bridge and tasting blood. Gasping in pain, she spat the red fluid on the floor. "I know how easy it is to give up, to not even bother trying. Remember when your wand broke? You thought you weren't going to pass exams! But you still made the effort to overcome it by learning nonverbal magic!"
There was a loud, explosive spitting sound right above her, and then something heavy hit Holly so hard in her stomach that she was smashed into the wall back-first, sliding down in a heap of limbs. Crawling on all fours she grabbed at the wall, desperately trying to get upright. Once she did, she opened her eyes wide enough to squint at what was going on.
The enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk, had raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars. As Holly trembled, ready to close her eyes if it turned, she saw what had distracted the snake.
Fawkes was soaring around its head, and the basilisk was snapping furiously at him with fangs long and thin as sabres —
Fawkes dived. His long golden beak sank out of sight and a sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake's tail thrashed, narrowly missing her, and before Holly could shut her eyes, it turned — Holly looked straight into its face and saw that its great, bulbous yellow eyes had been punctured by the phoenix; blood was streaming to the floor, and the snake was hissing in agony.
"NO!" Holly heard VoldeRon scream. "LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE GIRL IS BEHIND YOU! YOU CAN STILL SMELL HER! KILL HER!"
"Fight him, Ron! Please! I know you're in there somewhere! You can do it!"
The blinded serpent swayed, confused, still deadly. Fawkes was circling its head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here and there at its scaly nose as the blood poured from its ruined eyes.
Holly wiped her bleeding lip. "Fight him Ron, fight him!" she yelled. "Because you're the only one who can drive him out! I can't fight this battle for you!"
It seemed to be working. VoldeRon had stilled.
The snake's tail whipped across the floor again. Holly ducked, belly to the ground. Something soft hit her face.
The Sorting Hat!
Holly seized it. It was all she had left, her only chance if Ron couldn't overcome Voldemort's spirit. She rammed it onto her head.
Help me — help me — Holly thought, her eyes screwed tight under the hat. Please help me — My spells aren't working —
There was no answering voice. Instead, the hat contracted, as though an invisible hand was squeezing it very tightly.
Something very hard and heavy thudded onto the top of her head. Ignoring the headache she felt forming, she grabbed the top of the hat to pull it off and felt something long and hard beneath it. She pulled it out of the hat.
It can't be…Gryffindor's sword?
A thing of legend, Hermione had once said. But here it was, very real. A gleaming silver sword, its handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs. She got to her feet.
"AHHH!" screamed VoldeRon, his now-blue eyes wide open, clutching his head in pain. His wand fell to the floor with a clatter. "Stop!"
Whether it was to her or the basilisk, she wasn't quite sure. Either way, it was too late—the King of Serpents was falling towards her.
But she was ready. The sight of its bloody eye sockets made her want to spew, its venomous fangs approached, longer than her entire body. It lunged blindly. Holly dodged and it hit the Chamber wall. It turned and lunged again, and its forked tongue lashed at her side. She raised the sword in both her hands as it lunged once more, its aim now true. Holly threw as much weight and force into her jab as she could, driving the sword to the hilt, through the roof of the serpent's mouth.
As warm blood drenched her, she felt a pinprick of pain near her collarbone. A single poisonous fang was sinking into her shoulder and it splintered as the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.
Holly slid down the wall, struggling to pull the splinted fang out. Even while she tried to remove the fragmented remains, she knew it was too late. White-hot pain was spreading slowly and steadily from the wound, the black spider-web veins creeping across her entire shoulder. As she dropped the fang and watched her blood soak her robes, her vision went foggy. The Chamber was dissolving in a whirl of dull colour.
She sighed and closed her eyes. At least VoldeRon can't use the basilisk anymore.
Her death would not be in vain.
Fawkes' call came, and she felt the bird pick at her injured shoulder. Holly felt the last of the fang pieces come out of her wound.
"Thanks, Fawkes," she muttered. "But it's too late…"
Something wet hit her shoulder and she opened her eyes slightly. What's happening? Thick tears were coming out of the phoenix's eyes, falling on her wound. Holly pet the phoenix as it cried. If I'm going to die, at least it wasn't too painful. And Fawkes is here, too. I wonder if Al...
But she wasn't dying. Slowly but surely, her mind cleared and her body felt better than ever. Of course, she thought, recalling Moste Potent Potions. Phoenix tears were used in very rare and powerful healing potions. Her wound was gone, smooth, unblemished skin in its place.
She smiled at the phoenix. "Thank you."
Across the Chamber, VoldeRon's face twisted through a range of emotions—anger, fear, concern, shock, relief—before screaming once more.
Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, he collapsed on the floor.
In a rush of wings, Fawkes soared back overhead and something fell into Holly's lap.
The diary.
She grabbed the broken fang in the centre and looked between Ron's lifeless body and the diary. What if this killed Voldemort and Ron? She'd never forgive herself.
Fawkes landed on her shoulder, thrilling as if to say, 'He'll be fine'.
Right. Closing her eyes, she plunged into the book.
There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Holly's hands, flooding the floor. Ron's body was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then —
A black mist floated out of his body and disappeared.
There was silence. Silence except for the steady drip-drip-drip of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.
Shaking all over, Holly pulled herself up to her feet.
"Dobby?" she called.
The elf reappeared, looking more reverent towards her than he ever did. Clearly, he had seen everything. "The great Holly Potter faced the King of Serpents and lived to tell the tale!"
Holly looked between a lifeless Ron and an overeager Dobby. "Is he…?"
Luckily, Dobby seemed to understand. He went over to Ron and waved his hands, casting some sort of house-elf spell. A moment later he declared, "Holly Potter's friend is alive!"
It took all of her willpower not to rush over to Ron in overpowering relief.
A faint moan arose from him as she approached. He looked a fright, his hair matted, his face covered in dust, secondhand robes filthy. As he sat up, his bemused eyes travelled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Holly, in her blood-soaked clothes and ink-covered fingers, then to the diary in her hand. He drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down his face.
"Holly, I'm so sorry."
The sight of his tears prompted her eyes to well, too. "It's okay. We're okay."
"I swear I didn't mean to. I thought I could outsmart him, and then when I realized I couldn't I stopped writing, but it was too late, and I kept trying to fight him, but—"
Kneeling next to him, she said, "I know, Ron, I know. Riddle told me everything."
Underneath the dirt and grime, Ron turned red. "Er, everything?"
Riddle's words came rushing back and she blushed as well. Holly looked off to the side. "Uh, yeah."
"Oh…" She heard him shift. When she turned to face him again, his face was buried in his hands. "I'm a bloody fool. Riddle was right. I am a pathetic excuse for a wizard."
"No, you're not," she said firmly. "Riddle has been charming people for decades. And besides, anyone could have gotten ahold of the diary. It's not your fault."
"But I should have known better," he said, his voice muffled by his hands. "Dad always tells us not to write into anything like that. 'Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain'. I'm an idiot."
Holly sat next to him, slinging an arm over his shoulder. "Maybe," she conceded, "but you're not an idiot for wanting someone to talk to about your insecurities and fears with."
Ron didn't respond.
"You were very brave, fighting him off for so long," she offered. "I mean it."
Ron finally looked up. Tear streaks had cut a visible path on his face. "But it won't matter if I'm expelled, will it? And what if Riddle comes back?"
"They won't expel you. And Riddle's not coming back." She held up the dairy. "He's history. Look!"
His eyes widened at the hole. "Bloody hell, Holly! What'd you do to it?"
He's back. Holly smiled at the familiar phase. "Well, that's a bit of a story. You see—"
A loud rumble came from Ron's stomach. The ginger blushed again. "Sorry."
Holly covered her mouth with her left hand and giggled. Fawkes flew, filling the empty Chamber with music.
"Dobby can bring food," the house-elf spoke up suddenly. Holly had forgotten he was there.
She nodded. "Please," she added.
Dobby winked out of the Chamber.
"What's a house-elf doing here?" asked Ron, confused. "And the phoenix…isn't that Dumbledore's?"
"That's part of the story," she said.
Dobby returned moments later with a basket of food. With a snap of his fingers, a patch of the stone floor was cleared of centuries-old grime, and a soft blanket covered the ground.
Taking inspiration from the house-elf, Holly cast a Scouring charm on herself and Ron. Most of the grime was suctioned off, leaving them cleaner than they had been in hours.
They sat on the blanket. Ron opened the basket—which was much bigger on the inside—and took out fried chicken, roast beef sandwiches, roasted potatoes and salad, along with a No-Tip No-Drip pitcher of pumpkin juice. As he arranged the food and utensils, Holly looked over to Dobby, who looked rather awkward standing some feet away from them.
"Join us."
The house-elf jumped, this time from surprise.
She handed him a plate. "You're part of this story too," she added before he could respond.
With great hesitance, Dobby took the dinner plate, sat at the very edge of the blanket and loaded his dish with a small portion of food. Then, when their plates were full, Holly began:
"Earlier this summer Dobby came to visit me, telling me that there was danger at Hogwarts and that I shouldn't come.…"
~•~
"No," said Alex, crossing his arms as leaned back in the beanbag. "Absolutely not."
"Please? It'll be fun!"
"I'm not going to wear nail polish. Hopscotch and jumping rope is one thing, polish is another."
Holly scowled. He was being such a baby about this! "That's not fair, we always do what you want to do!"
It was the truth. Alex knew it too, and he shifted in guilt. "Anything else. Boys don't wear nail polish."
"But it's summer! No one will even see!" She nudged his chair none-too-gently from her place on the floor.
"Doesn't matter, 'cause I don't want to."
"It's clear! It'll just look shiny!"
"Nope."
She widened her eyes and pouted. "Please?"
"Hey, you aren't supposed to do that!" Alex protested. She widened her eyes more. With that, he pointedly looked at the ceiling.
Now you know how it feels, she thought, continuing to pout. More than once he had gotten his way with this trick. Now she was returning the favour. "Please Al? I saved all my money for weeks to buy it!"
"Don't care."
"I'll be your best friend!"
"You already are."
Her pout faltered momentarily in glee at his admission, but she held strong. "That's why you should join! It's no fun if you're by yourself. Just this once. Please?"
Pleading green eyes met wary brown ones. "If I say yes, will you stop doing that?"
She nodded.
"Fine."
"Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She hugged him tightly. Alex reluctantly patted her back. "Come on, we have to wash our hands."
"Why?" he asked as she pulled him out of the chair.
"So that the polish sticks, silly! Oh! And bring your mum's nail clippers too!"
"I have my own."
Holly gave him a surprised look. Dudley never cut his nails. He bit them off.
"What? Mum showed me how to cut nails on my birthday."
"Even better! We can do our feet too."
"Check this out," Holly said after they had trimmed. She unscrewed the handle of the nail polish and pointed at the bottle. "Wingardium Leviosa."
The brush steadily lifted into the air to paint on Alex's big toe.
"I thought you didn't need to say the words," he said, fascinated.
Holly shrugged; the brush moved to the next digit. "It's easier with the words. Without them, I have to focus a lot more on what I want to happen."
Chapter three of Magical Concepts clearly said that incantations and wand movements were just tools that helped mould the caster's will.
"Mum calls it the 'placebo effect,'" Alex had said when they read the chapter.
Alex hummed in agreement, gasping when the cold varnish touched his skin. "How many charms can you do?"
"Seven," she said proudly. "Transfiguration is really tricky. I have to get everything right the first try or two and I get really tired after. I know it's because things like to keep their shape and all, but it's so..."
"Frustrating? Vexing? Irritating?"
She snorted. "All of them. I can't wait to get my wand."
"Just thirteen months left to go now."
"Thank Merlin." She swiped her finger downward, painting his pinky with a single gesture.
"How're the Dursleys?"
Holly shrugged. "Dudley's birthday is today. They went out."
"Let me guess, they sent you to Ms Figg?"
"Yeah, but I escaped. Unlocked a few of the cat cages and she was so busy getting them back inside I was able to get away."
Alex eyed his foot with a slight grimace as she swiped one final time. "Bully for you."
"Hold still." She twirled her finger in front of her mouth, chilling her breath in the process as she exhaled. The air went a few degrees cooler for a moment before returning to the ambient temperature. She gently tapped his pinky toe, giving him a happy smile when the varnish proved dry. "And done!"
"Finally. I suppose it's my turn then?" he said, taking the bottle. "Which hand?"
Holly held out her left. He painted with meticulous precision, careful not to get any polish on her skin. It was nice to have someone care about her like this. She'd long ago given up on the Dursleys ever doing so.
She examined the finished hand with approval. "And you didn't want to paint."
"I don't," Alex said, his face turning red. "It's girly."
Holly rolled her eyes. Boys! "Well I don't like playing Civ IV. It's such a boy game."
"You don't?"
"Well, it's not all bad," she amended at Alex's hurt expression. "But you always win."
"Not always!"
He winced at her accusing stare. "Okay, maybe I do win a lot."
"And you always try to show me how to play," she huffed. "It's not that hard."
"You weren't playing right!"
"And you did the diplomacy parts for me!"
"I just think you could have gone about it a different way," he said. "Jumping into battles is not the way to win."
Holly rolled her eyes. "It's a game, Alex. God, it's not the end of the world if I don't win. Not everything has to be perfect, you know."
Alex looked at his less-than-perfectly painted nails and fingered them. He smiled at her. "Yeah, you're right."
"Of course I am," she said, giving him a hug that he happily returned.