Lucy woke up abruptly, her heart hammering in her chest as though she had just been running. Quickly, she sat up in bed and looked toward the clock on the wall. Nearly midnight. She'd missed the feast.

Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the satchel on her bedside table. It was the only thing she had with her when she passed out, and she felt a great deal of relief seeing it there. She shuddered to think what would happen if she'd lost the diary...

She felt wide awake. The exhausted, dazed state she'd been in seemed to have washed away with her fall, and she stared out the window, watching the clouds pass over the moon. She coughed quietly into her arm.

"You're finally awake?"

She nearly let out a yelp, clamping her hand over her mouth. She whipped her head over to glare at Riddle, who was sitting in the visitor's chair beside the hospital bed. He smirked, seeing he'd startled her. "Happy Halloween," he said; it was a few minutes until midnight, so technically, she hadn't missed the holiday— only everything remotely fun about it.

"Happy Halloween," Lucy returned. Madame Pomfrey wouldn't hear any of this, so there was no need to be quiet. She slept in a room close by the hospital wing. "Pity there wasn't a troll to fight this time around."

She'd already told him about that excursion, so he chuckled at the reference. "It can't all be that exciting," he said. "Are you feeling better? You had quite the fall— it was a good thing that Rickett boy caught you."

"Anthony's legendary," she agreed. She imagined he had been panicking afterward, and she felt sort of bad. "I'm alright— it was probably Sir Patrick Podmore possessing me to spite Nick. You can't trust men, you know that, Riddle? You just can't. Especially dead men."

Riddle eyed her strangely. If he thought she was mad, he was too polite to say it while she was sick. "I'll... I'll keep that in mind, Lucy."

He looked especially ghost-like in the pale moonlight, but there was a sort of buzzing energy about him that made Lucy feel excited, too. His fingers drummed on the arms of the chair as he stared thoughtfully into the distance. She wondered what he was thinking about.

Since she wasn't feeling tired either and it was a long while until morning, she slid from the hospital bed and walked over to the cabinet. Riddle's eyes followed her, confused, but realization dawned over him when he saw the box she held in her hands.

"Chess? At midnight?" He said incredulously.

"I've got to celebrate Halloween somehow," she shrugged. She didn't like chess after last year, but she knew Riddle wouldn't want to play something as simple as checkers. And who knows— maybe there would be another life sized chess board in the near future. It was always good to brush up on your skills.

Ten minutes later, Lucy sat in the hospital bed. She already lost one match to him, much to his amusement. He sat criss-crossed on the foot of her bed, and although he couldn't move the pieces with his own voice, he certainly gloated about his winning.

"Rook to A4," Riddle said lazily, as though he could have decided so with his eyes closed.

Lucy groaned, realizing it would take out her knight. Still, she was nothing if not a gracious loser. "Rook to A4," she said in a low, posh voice that sounded remarkably close to his.

"You don't have to imitate me every time," he scowled.

"Yes, I do. Bishop to D5."

Riddle smirked. She had a feeling she made a mistake. "You're not very good at this, are you?" he said innocently.

"If you have a problem with my chess skills, take it up with Lord Voldemort. He's the one who taught me," Lucy scowled.

Like he did every time she brought up her bizarre interactions with the Dark Lord, Riddle looked disturbed and confused.

"Right— you've mentioned that two times without explanation. This is the time you explain," he said firmly.

Ever since she mentioned it over summer break, he had been desperate to know exactly how and why Voldemort would bother teaching her such a trivial thing like chess. He was genuinely distraught about it. She kindly refused to acknowledge it; it was too fun seeing him grow distressed over it.

"It's your move, then I'll tell you." She decided to take pity on him tonight and tell him all about her chess lessons. Maybe she'd lie and tell him Quirrell and Voldemort co-coordinated a chess club that they invited all the blonde students into. Would Riddle believe it? No. Would he be annoyed by it? Yes.

"Fine— pawn to D3."

Imitating him again, Lucy said, "Pawn to D3. Oh, that's a checkmate! Son of a bi—"

"Miss Rochester, what are you doing up?"

Lucy froze mid-swear, sharing a horrified look with Riddle. Right there in the entrance to the hospital wing was Headmaster Dumbledore himself, followed closely by Madame Pomfrey, Snape, McGonagall, and Sprout. Professor Sprout carried something wrapped in a sheet in her arms.

She looked between the three of them, and then back to the chessboard she was seemingly playing by herself. Solemnly, she told the headmaster, "With all due respect, professor, I think it's very clear what I'm doing."

"Who's winning?" Professor Sprout couldn't help but ask.

"You know, Professor, you'd think I would be winning since it's just me, but I can't help but feel like I've lost." She chanced a glare Riddle's way, and although he was looking at the professors, she could see a smirk pulling at his lips.

She turned her attention to the bundle Sprout was carrying. "If you don't mind me asking, what's that?" she said, pointing.

"I do mind—" Snape began, like a git.

Dumbledore cut him off. "There has been an attack," he said. He eyed Lucy's reaction carefully.

"On what? A pillow?" She asked. She was terribly confused. "I'm not saying pillows are lesser beings, of course."

"I'm afraid that's not the case, Lucy."

Carefully, Dumbledore peeled the sheet off, and Lucy was stunned to see Mrs. Norris in Sprout's arms. The cat was frozen, its yellow eyes wide with terror.

"Someone killed Mrs. Norris?" she gaped. Not Mrs. Norris! The cat was innocent! It was an annoying little thing, but it was still only an animal. Why couldn't it have been Filch?

"She's not dead, Ms. Rochester— only petrified. It can, of course, be reversed, but it will take a few months. There's another curious detail about this attack; right by the scene, there was a message written on the wall."

Vaguely, Lucy wondered why Dumbledore was telling her all this. Surely it was confidential? But he also was watching her intently. "What did it say?" she wondered.

"Albus, should we really be troubling Miss Rochester with this—" Professor McGonagall whispered.

"She will see it for herself, eventually. The message, Lucy, said: The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware. Now, I must ask, have you seen anything strange lately?"

Lucy frowned. His tone had a slight accusatory note to it. She tried not to be annoyed as she replied, "Nothing apart from Hogwarts' usual strangeness, professor." Then something occurred to her. "Although— If you remember earlier this year, the barrier to the platform was closed. Maybe that's related?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore's face relaxed, though there was still that knowing gleam in his eye. "Poppy, I think we have disturbed Lucy here enough— we leave Mrs. Norris in capable hands."

As the professors left and Madame Pomfrey started fussing over her, she couldn't help but share a bewildered look with Riddle.

What just happened?

The next day, Lucy was released from the hospital wing, not without a struggle on Madame Pomfrey's part. She wanted to keep her another day since she still had a cough, but Lucy argued that since her fever was gone, she might as well not miss any class. By the time she managed to convince the matron, she was already late for History of Magic, and— well, if she was already late, she might as well not go.

"You're a truly awful student," Riddle told her after she had gotten ready for the day. "The year's hardly started, and you've skipped History of Magic—"

"Only two times!" she defended. It was a miracle she didn't skip it more often, with how boring it was. "I don't know why you're complaining. You have to go with me to all my classes."

"It doesn't mean I pay attention," he shrugged. He followed her as she went over to the mirror to brush her hair, leaning against the wall. "I do have a world of my own, you know."

"Really?" Lucy glanced at him, interested. He'd been in a good mood last night and all of today; it was sort of nice having him talk her ear off for once.

"Really. All my memories of Hogwarts in one place— when I was in stasis, it was an empty Hogwarts at all times."

That sounded... really lonely, actually. She was surprised to see he was content with it.

Riddle looked at her thoughtfully. "If you're not going to class... I can show you," he offered, gesturing over to the diary.

Okay, like she was going to say no to that. She set her hairbrush down and grinned excitedly— how cool would it be to go into the diary? How was it even possible?

"Can you?" she said eagerly.

"Of course. Pick up the diary."

She had to restrain herself from running over. Sitting on her bed, she picked up the diary, smiling at the familiar feel of it on her fingertips. Riddle disappeared, and she watched as the diary pages began flipping as if a wind had blown through it. The dates in the margin melted together, and a moving picture appeared in the corner. She brought the diary closer to her face, and then suddenly she was falling.

She felt remarkably like Alice in Wonderland as she fell into the whirlpool of color. It wasn't like the Floo— instead of spinning through a drain, it seemed like she was the one steady, and everything was moving around her. She recognized the spot below her as the Great Hall, and for a moment she thought she would crash right into the cold marble floor — when Riddle caught her just in time.

"You could've told me I'd fall in," she said indignantly, but she couldn't stay angry for long.

"You get used to it," he laughed, setting her on the ground. He looked around the Great Hall, his blue eyes shining bright. Like he said, it was completely empty, except for the pair of them. "Welcome to my home," he said proudly.

"Very spacious," she joked. She could already see a few differences from the Great Hall she knew— this one had been lived in, certainly, and at Dumbledore's podium she saw a throne of black onyx. "I'm going to usurp you in your own home, do you know that?" she said, walking over to the throne.

"Yes, I'm sure that will work. I can kick you out at any time," he snorted. "And I can make the landing back not so gentle."

"The landing back? You mean, I'm not in my dorm right now?" She raised her eyebrows. Riddle nodded, watching her as she climbed onto the black throne. "How's that work?"

"The same way as it works for me. I'm not in the diary while I'm outside it— why would you be in two places at once?"

It was a confusing explanation, but oddly, it also made sense. "So hypothetically, I could stay here forever?" She wasn't planning to, but what if Riddle ever got mad at her and decided to keep her in the diary forever? It wasn't a nice thought.

"No. Otherwise I could stay out of the diary forever. It wears off eventually, when you're too exhausted to remain," he explained. He narrowed his eyes when she sat up straight in the throne, mirroring his posture. He knew full well she was about to start on her nonsense. "Don't start—"

"My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle," Lucy said in a low voice. "And I have one friend."

Riddle crossed his arms over his chest. "It sounds to me that someone doesn't want to see some of my memories."

Her eyes widening, Lucy quickly climbed down from the throne. "No, I'm sorry, show me!"

Riddle smirked and led her to the doors leading to the Entrance Hall. They were closed at the moment, and before he opened them, he turned to look down at her. "There is one condition," he warned.

"What?" She groaned. She wanted to see how Tom Riddle interacted with other people, preferably before anyone noticed she was missing.

"We trade," he said simply. "I show you my memories, and you'll show me yours. There's a few I'm interested in."

Lucy thought that was a fair trade. She was too excited about the amount of advanced magic it must have taken to construct such a diary that she could scarcely think of anything else. Besides, Riddle hadn't done anything except look out for her— she couldn't help but trust him.

"Alright, sure, let's gooooo!" she groaned. The doors swung open, and reflexively she grabbed his sleeve to start dragging him along much like she did with Harry.

It was then that she realized that her hand connected with solid flesh. It was still cold, but it was solid all the same. "Hey, what!" she laughed, poking his arm again. "How come I can do that?"

"We're on even ground for once," Riddle replied, and he grabbed her wrist to prevent her from poking him. "I'm a phantom in every aspect, and you're a phantom in the diary. Now don't poke me."

Keeping his grip on her wrist, he then started leading her, and Lucy realized that she was now at a disadvantage. There would be no more trying to enrage Riddle, at least not while she was in the diary; now he could do something about it.

She would still test her luck, of course.

He led her through the empty hallways. They passed classrooms along the way, and each of them were filled with memories. They moved too quickly for her to get a solid glance at them, and she didn't bother asking; it was clear he was taking her to one in particular. He stopped in front of a tapestry and tapped his wand on it. Then he pulled the tapestry to the side.

Lucy peered inside, and she immediately pulled a face. "Oh, gross— Wool's Orphanage?"

"The one and only," he said dryly as he pulled her inside.

She recognized the room all too well. The rafters, the scorch marks in the corner. She turned to look at Riddle, incredulous. "You have my room, too?!" she demanded.

"Imagine my surprise when I saw it," He smirked at her reaction. "It's one of the reasons I'm showing you this memory. I want to compare our experiences— I'm very curious as to why someone gave you specifically my diary, and the fact that we're both from Wool's Orphanage can't be a coincidence."

"Maybe someone has a sense of humor," Lucy shrugged. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't curious as well. Especially considering the fact that the diary was at the bottom of her backpack. Someone would've had to sneak into her dorm and purposefully plant it there.

She looked back at the room, and her gaze fell to the young boy sitting on top of familiar gray blankets, a book in his hands. Lucy gasped, clapping her hands over her cheeks. "Awww, Riddle, you didn't tell me you were cute!"

Riddle looked like he was seriously regretting taking her here.

All at once, Lucy was hit with the wish that she and Tom could've gone to the orphanage at the same time. How much fun they would have had! She walked up to young Tom Riddle and peered over his shoulder at the book he was reading.

"Tom Sawyer," she read aloud. "Yeah, you only picked that because Tom was in the title, I know it."

Riddle shot her a flat look, but the fact that he didn't deny it spoke volumes. Before she could further torment him, there were two knocks at the door and a very familiar woman entered.

Mrs. Cole looked older than she really was at the time— Tom Riddle must have aged her. She seemed to be slightly drunk, too.

She swayed as she spoke, and the boy's face wrinkled with disgust. "Tom? You've got a visitor," she said, slurring her words. "This is Mr. Dumberton— sorry, Dunderbore."

Lucy and Riddle both snorted; she would use that one on Dumbledore if she wasn't sure he'd be horrified by it.

"He's come to tell you— well, I'll let him do it." Mrs. Cole stumbled out of the room.

"Good on her for going dry," Lucy nodded. She wondered if the woman was still alive. She hadn't sent her a letter. The only people she sent letters to were Mallory consistently and sometimes Nathan. Mallory responded if she felt like it.

"How do you do, Tom?" Dumbledore held out his hand, and Lucy took the opportunity to look at the differences. His beard was shorter, and instead of the white bear she knew, it was a coppery auburn. He wore a plum colored suit.

"Sick threads, Dumbledore," Lucy nodded at him, even though he couldn't hear her.

Riddle sighed.

The young Tom hesitated before shaking Dumbledore's hand.

"I am Professor Dumbledore—"

"Professor?" the boy repeated cautiously. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?" He pointed at the door that Mrs. Cole had just left through

"Blimey, you really didn't like Mrs. Cole," Lucy mused. The woman was certainly strict, but she wasn't cruel. Although, she did have a tendency to exclude children she didn't like as much. She didn't think Riddle would take kindly to being excluded.

"Who would?" Riddle scoffed.

He moved so that he was standing next to Lucy, watching the scene with obvious disinterest. Lucy however was greatly interested in how he would react to the news of attending Hogwarts. Merlin knows she had been ecstatic.

"No, no," Dumbledore kept smiling.

"I don't believe you. She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

Lucy recognized that tone all too well— it was the same one Riddle used on her when she tried to fly a car to Hogwarts. She stared, stunned that he would dare use such a thing on Professor Dumbledore. Even before she knew he was a wizard, she sensed how powerful his presence had been.

The boy let up his glare after a few moments of silence. "Who are you?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore, and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school— your new school, if you would like to come."

Lucy was beginning to feel a sense of deja-vu. Riddle fast forwarded through the rest of the memory— it was odd, seeing the figures move so quickly, and he stopped right as the boy started staring at Dumbledore no longer with caution, but with a sense of hope.

"It's... it's magic, what I can do?"

"What is it that you can do?"

"All sorts of stuff," the boy breathed. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt, if I want to."

Riddle watched his younger self with a sense of pride, and Lucy couldn't help but smirk slightly as well.

"I knew I was different," the boy's cheeks were flushed, and he looked at his shaking fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

Something about this scene seemed incredibly personal to Riddle, as aloof as he presented himself to be at the moment. Lucy's heart melted at the thought of a little orphan boy ostracized for so many years finally, finally finding out he belonged somewhere. She sympathized with him, because she had been the same way. She was happy at Hogwarts, but the years leading up had not been fun, not at all. She didn't always have power over Jennifer and her crew.

"Well, you were quite right," Dumbledore chuckled. "You are a wizard."

The boy looked at him with even more excitement. "Are you a wizard too?"

"Yes, I am."

"Prove it," he said in the same forceful voice as before. "Tell the truth."

"Tom, you should have used your manners," Lucy scolded him as Dumbledore arched an eyebrow at his younger self.

Riddle gave her an annoyed look. "Yes, I know that now. Maybe if I had, Dumbledore would've left me alone more."

"...you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir'." Dumbledore finished.

The boy's features turned cold, and then he suddenly sounded like the most polite boy in the entire world. "I'm sorry, sir. I meant— please, professor, could you show me?"

Lucy snorted. "Bit late for that, Little Riddle."

"I know," the older Riddle repeated, annoyed.

Dumbledore flicked his wand, and suddenly, Riddle's wardrobe burst into flames. Lucy gaped as the boy jumped to his feet in rage, and she could understand why. What the hell Dumbledore? He turned her bed into a cat, yet Riddle got his wardrobe on fire? Had Dumbledore learned how to appeal to children in the decades between Riddle's time and hers? Good God.

Luckily, the flames disappeared, and there wasn't so much as a scorch mark on the wardrobe. The boy pointed at the wand. "Where can I get one of them?"

"Poor grammar," Lucy pointed out.

"Shut up," Riddle said.

She pulled a face at him, and he sighed in an 'I'm too old and mature to deal with you right now' kind of way. Percy did that a lot to the Weasley twins.

Riddle fast-forwarded again, and she arched an eyebrow at him. She wondered what he deemed unimportant.

"He's just making me return things I've stolen, it's nothing special," he said with a roll of his eyes. "I never did return them, and he didn't know. The first sign that Albus Dumbledore is not infallible."

"Maybe he did know, but you didn't know that he did know," she reasoned. "And he didn't know that you didn't know that he knew."

"Lucy?"

"Yes, Tom?" She replied innocently.

"You're horrible."

"Thanks— now watch here."

The boy was eager now, looking at Dumbledore. "I don't need you," he said. "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley?"

To her surprise, Dumbledore told him exactly how to get there. He never would've let her do that. "You will be able to see it," he said, "Although muggles around you— non-magical people, that is— will not. Ask for Tom the barman— easy enough to remember, as he shares your name."

The boy twitched. It didn't go unnoticed by Dumbledore. "You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"Okay, what," Lucy whispered, and Riddle paused the memory in its entirety. She wondered about the parts he fast-forwarded through, but so far the parts she saw all seemed incredibly familiar.

"What is it?" Riddle arched an eyebrow at her.

She pulled him out of the memory, furrowing her eyebrows. "How do I show you mine?"

As soon as she said the words, a door across from them swung wide open, revealing another memory. This time it was Lucy's.

Riddle stepped inside, and he seemed genuinely curious. Now that she thought about it, this was the first personal thing she had ever revealed to him. She told him stories about last year, sure, but everything before Hogwarts she had kept tight under lock and key. Not even Harry had gotten a glimpse into her life at Wool's.

The memory started just before Dumbledore walked in. Her younger self leaned back on the two legs of her desk chair, three pencils balanced on her nose as well as a spoon on her forehead.

Riddle immediately shot her a smug look. He wasn't the only weird child. She sighed, "Look, I was really bored, okay?"

"I'm sure," he snorted.

Dumbledore stepped into the room, and the girl tipped backward onto a mattress. Riddle snickered as she made a fool of herself in front of Dumbledore while Lucy scowled at him. It wasn't as fun when it was her being ridiculed.

"Your beard is bloody awesome! How'd you even get it that long? Did you start growing one the moment you came out of the womb or something?" The girl asked him excitedly.

"That's the first thing you ever said to Dumbledore? And he still is suspicious of you?" Riddle said incredulously. "Good Merlin, I must have made him paranoid."

"You're too kind, Lucille," Dumbledore said. "My name is Professor Dumbledore, and I'm here to offer you a place at my school."

"Professor? Cool! You're a shrink!"

Lucy looked over at Riddle. "You and I are very different people," she told him. He'd gotten up in arms about a professor, but Lucy had been forced to see therapists before, and she had loads of fun wearing them all down until they quit. She remembered being excited at the prospect of a new victim.

"Yes, we are," Riddle agreed. He didn't look upset by the fact, but he was surveying the scene intensely. Since it was the first time Lucy invited him to know something about herself, he was watching it all, somewhat greedily. He was the only one who knew these details.

"No, I'm not a 'shrink' as you put it," Dumbledore chuckled at the girl.

"So you're a teacher," The girl sighed. "Are any other kids attending? Please don't tell me Jennifer is invited."

"No, no, I'm quite sure it's just you." He pulled up a chair, much like he had done in Riddle's memory. "Now, Lucille—"

The girl pulled a face, and now that Lucy was watching the memory from the beginning, she could see the wariness that came over Professor Dumbledore's features. He was quiet for a moment, and he said his next few words deliberately.

"You dislike the name 'Lucille'?"

"What," she and Riddle both said at the same time. They glared at the other for daring to be in sync.

"Lucille's a brilliant name. Just too formal. I like Lucy more," the girl said, just as cheerfully as before.

"Alright, Lucy. As I was saying: Hogwarts is not a school for ordinary people. It is, rather, a school for gifted individuals. Hogwarts is a school for magic."

"You're... You're not kidding?" The girl said, staring at him with shock.

"Not in the slightest. Should you accept this invitation, you will need some supplies—"

"Wait, how do I know this isn't a joke?"

This was the moment Lucy had been waiting for. Dumbledore pointed his wand at her bed, and after a popping noise, it turned into a familiar gray kitten. Riddle looked stunned at the connection.

"That's where you got your cat?" he demanded, and he looked downright angry that he didn't know that. "Really? That's it?"

"It's my Grayble!" Lucy beamed.

Riddle had seen enough. Maybe the bed turning into a cat had been the last straw, but he dragged her out of the memory, looking incredibly unnerved. He continued pulling her by her wrist, all the way back to the Great Hall where he then sat down at the Slytherin table.

"He knows something," he concluded, furrowing his eyebrows. "Something about you— I just wonder what it is..."

Lucy would like to know, too. Dumbledore's word phrasing, the mannerisms he showed— he was clearly mirroring his first interaction with Riddle in order to compare the two. She just wanted to know why. Why didn't he trust Riddle in the first place? He had been a bratty child, sure, but that couldn't be the only reason. Was it because he was interested in the Dark Arts? Plenty of Slytherins were.

Riddle shook his head, sighing. He hated not knowing things. He glanced at the clock, surprised to see that so much time had passed.

"We had better get you back," he said at last. "Before any of your friends go looking for you."

Lucy sighed at the thought of going to class after such an adventure, but she knew responsibilities called for it. Maybe it was the diary, but the longer she spent inside, the more tired she became. "Can I come back?" she asked hopefully.

Riddle arched an eyebrow at her. "You'd want to?"

"Of course! It's wonderful in here."

"Well, then of course you can. When the time calls for it, that is." Maybe it was just her, but she could swear he looked excited at the possibility.

Her surroundings whirled around her, and the sensation of falling came over her again. Thankfully, this time it was not so forceful. She floated gently onto her bed, landing criss-crossed with the diary open in her lap. The dorm room was still empty. She had just left Hogwarts, and nobody was any the wiser.

She thought about Riddle's words, and the similarities about their visits from Dumbledore. There was definitely a connection— but the only problem was, neither of them had the faintest clue as to what it was...