Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

(added-post update): I'm taking a two month hiatus from this story as I'm going to have less time in the next two months and don't wan this story to be rushed or forced. Sorry!

IMPORTANT Update 2/11: I don't know if any of you will actually check this but just in case... I've learnt - based on your reviews - that the website isn't working in terms of showing my update, but that that is a general glitch in the site. Apparently the chapter is accessible through the app (than you to who pointed that out) so maybe try that? Until the website changes anything there's little I can do - ironic that this happens as soon as I restart :/ - but thanks for all your support and reviews. Hopefully this will get resolved, either way I'll probably keep updating every Sunday - unless you think I should wait? Up to you, just let me know what you'd prefer! Cheers.

"Oh." He laughed. "You're Harry Reynolds. The little mudblood these idiots think could be an Heir of Slytherin."

"Well... I am here aren't I?" Harry snarked back, faking confidence.

He'd entered the Chamber of Secrets a few minutes ago, a huge cavernous room with a walkway down the middle, surrounded by water on both sides and ominous statues guarding the passage.

The time he'd have normally spent jaw-dropped in awe at how something this huge had been hidden in this castle all these centuries, how it had even been built without one of the other founders realising it was occupied by something else.

Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.

The words were burned in his head, becoming like a mantra with the amount of times he'd thought about it, wondered who the victim was, wondering whether she's already dead, or whether she's still breathing, whether he still has a chance to save her or whether he's too late, and her death, a tragedy, will be pinned on him. Then he feels selfish for making somebody else's death around him, but if she dies, his life ends.

He goes to a prison filled with the people his parents' spent their last years fighting, the cult-like followers of his parents' murderer, people who tortured no-majs and killed children as a message for how far they'd go for their bigoted beliefs.

He rushed forwards, hesitating slightly in his steps and every muscle in his body shaking. From across the chamber he could barely see her features, she was just a silhouette, barely even corporeal. Then he saw her hair. The red hair which had become a trademark of the Weasley family. Ron's little sister.

He couldn't even remember her name, he just knew she had a lot of older brothers, a big family full of people who'd miss her, who'd grieve her whilst he was having his hands cuffed behind his back - or whatever the magical equivalent to that is.

He shakily pressed two fingers against her neck, his hands clammy in his anxiety as he desperately tried to find a pulse, tried to find a lifeline, something which could show him that she was alive despite her deathly cold body.

"It's too late." He'd said. A tall boy with dark hair, and despite the sinister vibes he exuded Harry couldn't help but see how attractive he was. His eyes pierced into Harry's as he cocked his head as if analysing him, before scanning him from head to toe with a sneer. His robes had somehow managed to stay clean despite the grime and dirt in the chamber, the silver and green tie identifying him as a Slytherin, even though Harry was sure he'd never seen this boy - he'd remember if he had.

There was something about him, charismatic despite the glint in his eyes, he held himself like a pureblood - like Malfoy - in the way he walked around, his posture, it was if he commanded the area, and knew it. He'd probably spent most of his life walking into rooms and having people drop anything to help him, a simple smile and a seat would then be his, Harry could just imagine everyone around him trying to suck up to him, to prove themselves to him. He was only a few years older than Harry yet the way he acted, his very being just demanded respect and awe. It was intoxicating.

Harry couldn't stop himself from begging him to help, even though he had a sinking feeling in his chest, as if he'd eaten led for breakfast when in fact he hadn't eaten a thing: this boy - man - was not a friend. He wasn't here to help. He wasn't some ally who could help save them. The boy had just laughed and continued strolling around the room.

When he'd first seen him he'd almost looked like a ghost, like the Bloody Baron or the Grey Lady, he was desperately pale, almost transparent in his form, but with each second he seemed to solidify, become more human and less ghost. As if he was in some morbid transition between life and death. Like Ginny who lay beneath Harry, her head rested in his lap. She was neither alive, nor dead, but in a transitional space, and Harry had no idea how to save her.

Then, somehow, the boy recognised him, identifying him in a sneering tone reminiscent of Isobel when she was trying to undermine Terry and Mike.

"Slytherin's chamber can only be entered by parselmouths, like me." Harry continued. "And we all know that parseltongue is a Slytherin-patented ability." Focussing on the facts before him was the only thing centring Harry right now. The only thing stopping him from just giving up and lying on the floor in surrender. He was no hero. He wasn't Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived, he was Harry Reynolds. The boy who'd been too weak to save himself from anything.

What had overcome him to make him do something so damn stupid. So damn foolish. So damn Gryffindor-like. Then again what were his other options? Maybe if he'd had more time... More sense. The idea of Azkaban had just been overwhelming, the final nail in the coffin.

Besides, the Chamber of Secrets, the basilisk, everything, it had all just been a theory, Harry hadn't even been sure it was real, and yet somehow he now found himself inside it, inside his theory with Ginny's ghostly-pale body draped on the floor like furniture and this boy casually resting against the wall as he stared at Harry thoughtfully. His eyes piercing into his, a deep brown which should have been warm and comforting but instead just made Harry feel even more unsettled.

He could hear Malfoy's sneering voice in his head reprimanding him, telling him he was an idiot, that he was nothing. He could imagine how Dumbledore would just laugh at him, at how, for a second, he'd though himself, of all people, a second year, could save the day. He could hear Luke's disappointment ringing in his ears, hear him saying that he regretted adopting Harry, that he wished he hadn't everyday, that Harry was a freak and the Dursleys had been right all along.

"Indeed." His voice rang out around the Chamber, clear and calm. Too calm. "Parseltongue is often connected with Slytherin. Though over the years, every now and then you'll find another wizard with no relation to Slytherin who has the ability." There was something creepy about his tone, the way he spoke was as if he was far older than the sixteen or seventeen year old before him, each word seemed to boast an aura of superiority, as though Harry should just be in awe that he was speaking to the boy.

"You know me. I don't know you." Harry told him and the boy grimaced - as though it was a crime that Harry didn't recognise him.

"My name is Tom. Tom Riddle." His lips curled around the name angrily, as though even saying it brought pain to him.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Harry asked weakly, his fingers still firmly pressed to Ginny's neck, her pulse growing weaker every second, as his hands shook making it harder and harder to find it.

He - Tom Riddle - laughed, it was a strange laugh, some bizarre fusion of being both charming and maniacal. "I suppose you wouldn't have recognised me by that moniker."

"That moniker?"

He smirked again. "Names are important Harry." The way Tom said his name sent shivers up his back. "You're too old to be named for him, and a muggleborn of course wouldn't have been anyway."

"Him?" Harry asked, despite the sinking realisation of who he was talking about. His birth name, Harry. A 'coincidence', he'd laughed it off in his first year when people used to ask about it - some wondered if his parents had change his name in celebration of the Harry Potter, before they'd remember he was a muggleborn or Harry would deny it. People had soon gotten bored of that line of conversation, and everyday that passed with Harry Potter missing, now presumed dead, the topic of his name became less frequent.

People too sad to talk about the death of the boy they'd grown up reading stories about, the boy who'd been lauded as a hero who'd saved them all despite being their own age. Harry used to be confused at how much people were enamoured with Harry Potter, even after he'd found out about that night, asking why people idolised a baby who got lucky.

Anthony had told him that Harry Potter was their bedtime stories, he was the person every boy wanted to be, the saviour of the world, (everyone seemed to forget about the orphan part...) and the boy every girl wanted to marry when they were older. He'd become fictionalised into this perfect poster boy, 'if Harry Potter can clean your bedroom why can't you', 'Harry Potter's more likely to fall in love with you if you shower and brush your hair.'

"Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived." Tom confirmed with a snarl. Maybe he hadn't liked his mum telling him to be more like Harry Potter.

"Right." Harry paused, knowing that every step he had to take here must be thought out methodically, carefully. "Why do you care about him?" He ventured, trying to find out more information about the person standing before him.

Tom laughed again, the laugh definitely now lying on the side of maniacal rather than charming. Yep. He definitely didn't like Harry Potter, which as a Slytherin wasn't as surprising. There were quite a few Slytherins with parents or older siblings in Azkaban, or who'd died in the war fighting on Voldemort's side, for some reason it had become easy over the years to hate Harry Potter, instead of their leader who'd let them down, or even the ministry. How had Harry become this poster boy for the light, or the good, when none of these people know him?

Why would parents tell their kids that Harry cleaned their bedroom so they should too? Lies. Harry hadn't even had a bedroom to clean until he was nine.

"Harry Reynolds." He repeated. "How coincidental."

"I'm guessing you're not going to help her." Harry nodded his head in the direction of the youngest Weasley, cursing himself for how he couldn't remember her name, it was ironic, he was probably going to die down here, she was almost definitely going to die down here. They'd be two skeletons in the Chamber of Secrets and he didn't even know her name.

"Why would I do that when I'm so close?"

"So close?"

"Ever since that fateful night I've been an apparition, unable to find a true form until that brief stint with Quirrell."

"Quirrell? What are you talking about?" Harry asked bemused. The inept Defence teacher from last year who'd died trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone. How on earth did Tom have any connection to Quirrell - and what did he mean when he was calling himself an apparition, somebody unable to find a true form. He was wearing the Hogwarts robes, standing in front of Harry talking to him, leaning against a wall in the Chamber of Secrets. He seemed pretty real right now.

"You're not important enough." Tom stated simply, his eyes returning to her corpse, where she lay, her head resting in Harry's laps, her ginger hair splayed all over the place the only colour in her that she had now.

"Her pulse gets weaker by the second," Harry paused, surveying the tall boy in front of him who was looking at him curiously, his eyes full of disdain. "You get more... real by the second." Harry's breath shuddered despite himself. That was what he meant... Harry had no idea how but somehow Tom and the girl's lifeforce were intertwined, somehow Tom had used to be a ghost maybe? An apparition he'd called himself, but now he was becoming human again, and as he became human he stole her lifeforce, her magic, her life.

"I've always been real Harry. I'm just returning to my true form, to my proper potential, my full power."

"By stealing her life?" Harry spat. "That's wrong." He almost laughed to himself at the irony of it. Of course it was wrong, but what villain every stopped because somebody told them what they were doing wasn't moral or ethical - and Tom was definitely a villain.

"You're right after all. It is a shame that a pureblood's life must be spared, but Ginny here will be remembered forever for her contribution, her sacrifice, tonight."

Ginny. Ginny Weasley. Harry let out a deep breath as he learnt her name, for some reason it comforted him, made him feel less alone, just knowing her name.

Tom crouched down besides the two, Harry couldn't even force himself to move away from him, he couldn't move Ginny and there was no way he was going to leave her when she was still alive - just.

"I'd prefer you of course." Tom continued. "A mudblood. Then I wouldn't be wasting a perfectly good pureblood - if she'd stayed alive I could have conditioned her, removed her from her traitorous family and placed her in a better one." He spat. "But alas, it is too late."

"You're an heir." Harry replied. He'd already deduced the fact minutes earlier, but the blood-purist cuss confirmed his suspicions. This man, boy, person - if he was even a person - had been the thing of his nightmares for weeks, the Heir was the person he was most scared of in the world, bar Vernon, yet here he stood in front of him and somehow Harry was standing his ground. Maybe he'd not only channelled the foolhardy nature of the Gryffindors, but their bravery as well - for now at least.

"The one true heir of Slytherin." Tom corrected.

"Riddle..." Harry mused. "Doesn't sound like a pureblood name?" He dared a look up at Tom, tearing his eyes away from Ginny, only to see his features angrily contorting on his face, a vein in his neck throbbed viciously, and for a second the boy, despite looking nothing alike, reminded him of Vernon.

Tom snarled. "My father," he spat the word out, as if it was a disgrace to even acknowledge his existence, "was a muggle. My mother a witch-"

"So you aren't a pureblood. You're a half-blood." Harry interrupted, ignoring the dangerous expression on Tom's face. For once he was more angry than scared, the reminder of Vernon didn't instil terror into him as it so often did, right now it just made him furious. The man had beat him and stolen years of his life from him, and in the end he'd only gotten what? Five years? Half of which Harry had spent in a coma himself.

He was probably getting out soon Harry realised with a shiver before Tom's voice pulled him out of it.

"Yes." Tom admitted, his mouth opened to say something else but Harry didn't let him, he liked having something over him, something which Tom clearly felt insecure about.

"Like me." Harry added with a smirk, he felt almost proud to have found a level playing ground between the two, to see the surprised look on Tom's face as he revealed that information.

"Ginevra told me you were mudblood." He cracked his neck thoughtfully, grinning ferociously at the loud sound that echoed around the Chamber as his bones clicked together. The act was probably supposed to be menacing but to Harry it only proved that he was human, vulnerable, imperfect. "That's why it was so easy to make you a scapegoat after your little stunt in that duelling club. I was the one who got her to send a letter to that reporter with the information, I influenced her to start the rumours about how you were the Heir."

"Thanks for that." Harry drawled sarcastically and Tom smiled, as though he liked Harry's snark. It was almost patronising, the manner in which he'd looked at Harry, proud almost.

"It makes sense. No mudblood would have ever really been graced with a talent such as parseltongue." Tom said, standing up and turning away, and that was when Harry saw it. He had her wand. That's why he had grinned when he'd cracked his neck, the noise had proved to him that he could physically touch and manipulate things. "I'm getting stronger by the second." He added twirling the wand in his hand as Harry went to grip his own. "There's no need for that." He said and as he flicked Ginny's wand Harry's went flying out of his hand.

"Perhaps we're more similar than I'd originally believed Harry." He looked at him speculatively as a shiver crawled up Harry's back, this man, this villain, comparing them... The thought was vile. Harry was nothing like Tom. "You could join the cause."

"The cause?" Harry asked, Tom was sounding more and more like some bizarrely vague cult leader.

"Become the first member of the new era. A victorious era. It'll be known as a golden age." He sounded happy, which in turn sounded strange, as if it wasn't an emotion Tom often felt. Tom's smile grated at Harry, it was uncomfortable how charming and attractive it still was despite how at the exact same time Tom was killing Ginny, draining her of her very existence.

"First member?" Harry tried again, Tom's elusive nature temporarily reminding him of Terry when he had some new and interesting information which Harry didn't. "Of what? And what's this new era?" He might've sounded dumb, but he did have a plan of sorts, and temporarily stroking Tom's ego was the first step.

"Enact Salazar's plan. Expel all muggleborns from our society, we can rule the world with a golden fist, no silly rules to make muggles feel superior." He explained with a wave of his hand.

"That sounds a lot like what You-Know-Who tried to - and failed to - do." Harry told him, wiping his hand against his robe before returning it to Ginny's neck, breathing a sigh of relief when he found the pulse again, though notably fainter than seconds before.

"I do know who." He replied with a smirk. "And I didn't fail. I just, how should I put this, took a break."

"I?" Harry's heart turned to led in his chest and Tom waved Ginny's wand in the air, the letters Tom Marvolo Riddle appearing in the sky in fire. He flicked the wand again and the letters started moving.

I am Lord Voldemort.

Harry's breath hitched in his chest as his worst fear came to life. It was laughable to imagine that even a few minutes ago he'd been more scared of Vernon than Voldemort. He hadn't even considered the fact that Voldemort could still be a threat, everyone had told him that he was dead, that he himself had been the one to kill him (not that they'd known that).

"Harry Potter-"

"Only set my plans back a few years." He - Tom, Voldemort - interrupted even as the name died on Harry's tongue. "And now due to Dumbledore's buffoonery he is no longer a threat."

"Debatable." Harry whispered under his breath, drawing in a sharp breath before gently resting Ginny's head on the concrete and standing up, brushing his dusty hands on his robes. "If a baby could have defeated you, who's to say you're invincible now." Harry glanced around, trying to figure out where his wand was, but the only thing he could see was a diary of all things.

"The only reason Harry Potter defeated me was because of a prophecy. Now that the prophecy has been taken care of, and I didn't even need to lift a finger. The Chosen One," he raised his eyebrow at the supposed irony, "is dead. I am invincible."

"Why are you telling me this anyway?"

"This ends two ways Harry. With your death, or with you," He smirked, "joining the winning side."

"Become a death-eater." Harry spat back, unable to keep the disdain from his voice.

"Yes." Tom returned. "Either way, the prophecy is irrelevant now, unnecessary information. Besides, as my follower I'd trust you, and you'd trust me. We'd be allies. Friends even."

"Friends." Harry scoffed.

Tom chuckled. "Dumbledore and his sheep would have you believe that we're evil, when in fact we're revolutionaries, just like all the greats. You can't have change without revolution."

"Dumbledore's a prat." Harry responded honestly, narrowing his eyes at Tom - Voldemort who laughed once more.

"I agree. He spouts nonsense about 'the greater good'. The greater good for who I ask? For us, for the people? or for him?"

"Dumbledore put us all in danger last year, and then he was no help this year despite supposedly being the most powerful wizard in generations. It's his fault Harry Potter died." Harry couldn't help it as the anger built inside of him, every word he'd said was true. Harry Potter was dead. The innocent boy who'd just been orphaned should have been placed in a loving home. Instead he was placed with abusers who called him 'freak' so many times he thought it was his name, and hit him until he fell into a coma and almost died.

Tom smiled. "I'm glad you're not one of his sheep. You remind me so much of my younger self Harry." Harry wasn't sure what was scarier, the words that Tom was saying, or how Harry knew he was being honest. "Angry at the world. Abandoned by the authority figures who should protect us."

"You don't know the half of it." Harry returned, forcing himself to smile at the man who killed his parents, the man who'd ruined his life.

Tom nodded, clearly happy with Harry's words. "Together we can rule the world. Make sure children can go to school without threats on their lives, make sure their innocence isn't taken too soon." Harry surveyed the room once more, acting as if he was in consideration before he finally located it.

"Work with you?" Harry replied and Tom Riddle nodded, a charming smile placed on his face. "Never." Harry spat.

A flicker of surprise crossed Tom's face, clearly he'd believed he'd successfully enticed Harry to join his cause, he just didn't have enough information to truly influence Harry. "You seem so sure. So confident for somebody so young. May I ask why?" Tom asked, clearly struggling to keep the anger out of his tone, giving it one more shot.

"You killed my parents." Harry glared at him, wishing now that he had the same power of the basilisk, to be able to kill with a simple glance.

Tom nodded understandingly, a part of him clearly still playing the salesman, though his jaw clenched firmly in irritation, betraying his kind exterior. "I doubt it. Even if one your parents was a pureblood, I doubt they were important enough to attract my personal attention. It is possible one of my lackeys killed them in some sort of confusion." He admitted, careful to word it in a way to take responsibility off of him.

"No." Harry replied firmly. "You, yourself, killed them. Then you tried to kill me." Voldemort looked at him, confusion in his eyes at Harry's assuredness. "Haven't you figured it out yet Tommy?" Harry taunted - knowing already that Tom's name was a trigger - whilst trying to fuel his anger into confidence so he wouldn't dissolve into a mess at the confrontation of his parents' murderer, and a mass-murderer.

"Harry." He clenched his jaw. "Harry Potter is dead."

"No. Harry Potter is standing right in front of you." Harry smirked, trying to channel his inner-Malfoy.

Voldemort's eyes widened as, unbeknownst to Harry, his hair changed from the dirty blonde he'd become so accustomed to, to a thick mess of raven-black hair. Voldemort clenched his jaw angrily, his eyes fixed on Harry's hair, a look of reluctant acceptance flickering from behind his cool mask before he opened his mouth.

"Open and serve me noble companion of Salazar, I am the rightful heir demanding your service." Voldemort, Tom, Voldemort - the entire reveal was still confusing to Harry: in front of him stood a sixteen, seventeen year old school-boy, he could have been any student at Hogwarts yet he wore the name of his parents' murderer, the Dark Lord, the man who's name even the bravest wizards were still scared to say, even Harry still felt scared to say it, to admit it - that the man in front of him was indeed Voldemort, that Voldemort was alive, that Voldemort was standing in front of him summoning a Basilisk to kill him when Harry couldn't even find his own wand.

"Can't fight me without your little pet Tommy?" Harry feigned confidence, though his trembling voice and his frantic searching of the opening to the chamber probably didn't help. He ran to where he'd found his wand, dodging a spell from Tom as he slid on the floor, sliding through the grime and muck before reaching his wand and scrambling to pick it up. "I suppose if you couldn't defeat me when I was a toddler you have no clue how to defeat me now that I've actually studied magic." Harry winced in pain as a spell hit him, slicing his arm open through his robes.

"You've been hiding, allowing the wizarding world to believe you're dead for all this time. Why?" Tom asked as the stonework behind him creaked open, revealing a large tunnel. Harry turned away from the tunnel, aware at the risks that put him at but knowing that petrification now equated to his death - Tom would surely kill him given the chance, the blood from his earlier attempt was still running down his arm.

Scanning for a place to hide from the basilisk that was surely coming to get him in seconds Harry spoke. "It's funny seeing Dumbledore go mad trying to find me when I'm right under his nose. Besides. I've had enough crazy for one lifetime. Is it so wrong to want to be normal?"

"Yes." Tom replied. Voldemort Harry internally corrected before groaning: this was not the time to be so preoccupied with labels. A sharp hiss reaffirmed this belief and Harry slammed his eyes shut, just seconds after he finally located a small nook he could hide in. "We are wizards Harry, normal by its very definition is against our nature. We were born to rule this world, our magic makes us superior to muggles yet the ministry squanders our superiority, forcing us to hide. You yourself anger me. Why do you hide your identity, you suppress your magic, your power. You're wasting your gift Harry."

"You're trying to kill me - for the second time no less - why would you care that I'm 'wasting my gift'." Harry asked, trying to steady his breathing, but finding it hard to as the severity of the situation crashed into him, overwhelmingly like a tsunami against a fragile hut, crashing into it and smashing it into pieces.

"I gave you the opportunity to join me Harry, but alas, you are too much like your mother. Foolish, weak, she chose death even when I offered her an opportunity to live. The impertinence, when I go as far as to offer a reprieve, to a filthy mudblood, she rejected my mercy."

"She chose love." Harry corrected angrily, how dare he speak ill of his mother, call her a mudblood, make it seem as if her sacrifice was in vain... was it? "She died for me." Harry continued, though his voice wavered, his arm throbbing in pain and his head starting to ache, a piercing pain shooting through his scar.

"Was it worth it?" Tom asked with a malicious smile, jumping on his insecurities, and Harry had no response. 'No' was his first, immediate thought. His mum could have survived and lived a happy life, grow old as she deserved to. "How did you defeat me all those years ago?" Tom asked, his voice echoing around the empty chamber but Harry didn't reply. He had no clue, but beyond that, there was no way he was going to give up his position to the basilisk - if he hadn't already.

He couldn't help but curse himself for his foolishness, Tom had only wanted him to keep speaking so the basilisk could hear him, find him, kill him, and in his rashness, his anger at his words against his mother he had lashed back, replying in anger. How Gryffindor of him.

Tom laughed. "An accident. A fluke." He continued. "You were but a baby, innocent, weak, yet the wizarding world hails your name as a saviour, a hero," Tom scoffed, "It's laughable really, though expected. The ministry is feeble and frail, malleable to whoever whispers in their ear, in this case, Dumbledore. Creating lies about how you defeated me." Harry could hear Tom pacing around the Chamber, each step echoing loudly as his shoe crunched against the small bones which littered the floor. The basilisk's last meal, Harry could only hope he didn't become its next.

"Kill the boy." Tom hissed after it became clear that Harry was no longer playing along with his games.

Harry could hear it. Slithering along through the grime and muck in the chamber, a lone splash as it knocked something - a pebble maybe - into the water. Then he realised something. It was coming towards him. It could smell him. It could smell his blood.

His hiding place wasn't good enough, it was small enough that perhaps the basilisk couldn't get in, but it wasn't a long term solution. Harry couldn't just wait it out in here, otherwise Tom would get bored and finish the job himself, Ginny would be dead and Harry would be next, followed by the rest of the wizarding world if Tom, Voldemort, escaped and continued his war.

He half-considered jumping out of his nook, running out of the Chamber, but he knew he wouldn't make it in time. A more realistic alternative would be to go out, face the basilisk head on, fight it with magic, but he was only a second year, his repertoire wasn't good enough to face Tom on his own, let alone the basilisk, with its thick, nearly impenetrable hide, he'd almost certainly die - besides, he'd represented the Gryffindor house enough today, perhaps it was time to act like a real Ravenclaw.

"Wait." Harry hissed throwing all of his efforts into making sure that he was speaking parseltongue, trying to infuse power and confidence in his voice so that he would convince the basilisk. The snake stopped.

"This one can speak." A voice hissed back. It was scratchy and guttural, as if the snake had scarcely spoken a word in the last century.

"An imposter. Not a true heir." Tom oozed all his confidence and power into his words, trying to charm the snake.

"I am the Heir of Slytherin. I was allowed access to the vaults, to the journals, the money, the heir-"

"Lies!" Tom protested angrily, but it was too late, Harry had found his footing now and he was running with it, perhaps he'd been wrong this year, perhaps the title he'd earnt should have been something he'd embraced, instead of hidden from.

"When I defeated you I ripped your title from you. You were the last blood descendant, but you aren't the heir no more, you let down Salazar, failed him. Now I am the Heir of Slytherin and this is my Chamber. Begone!"