Synopsis: AU. In a world where Sybil Trelawney is never born, the prophecy remains, but goes unheard. How different will Harry Potter's life be growing up in a world where Voldemort won? How long until a brilliant young man is noticed by the ever more brilliant Dark Lord?
Pairing: Harry Potter and Voldemort, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Grainger, Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott and Luna Lovegood.

AN: Hope you like this chapter. I'm aiming to get another new chapter up in the next week, as a special Christmas bonus. This chapter is a bit more fast paced than usual - hope that's alright!


Chapter 17

Hogwarts – 2nd November

The hours before the others returned were long. He hadn't seen Blaise as Snape had dragged him through the common room, and had to assume he was still preoccupied elsewhere, likely with Daphne. The others had probably been warned off returning to their dormitory early by Snape, and he resigned himself to the hours alone with his thoughts.

Well, not quite alone.

'You haven't been here to pet me in an age,' complained Ember, who had grown significantly bigger over the last months, and was wrapped around his neck. She was irritated with him, but still nuzzled against his palm. His dark mood must have been evident for her to forget her own ire.

"I've been busy," he replied, tiredly.

'Too busy for Ember?' asked the snake, indignant and haughty.

"Of course not. I'm sorry. I've just had a lot on my mind," he responded, stroking her scales absent-mindedly.

'You humans always do,' said Ember in exasperation, before resting her head on Harry's chest. "What troubles you?"

He sighed. "Everything seems to have gone wrong so quickly. I was happy about getting through to the British Championships, but then..." he couldn't be bothered to explain all the events of the last day, his sense of exhaustion was too great, so he just sighed. "And I've lost my wand. I need to be training now and I don't even have a wand."

Ember was not a creature who listened to whining easily; she didn't understand it. It was unusual for her to invite Harry to complain, but as he slumped back on the bed, she seemed to perk up.

"Ember knows where a wand is. Ember has been very busy. I have made friends."

"Friends?" he demanded, suddenly alert. "Ember you aren't supposed to alert others to your existence. How did you even make a friend? Is it another speaker?"

Ember gave him an imperious look, which was a funny thing to see on a snake, that seemed to say 'are you quite finished?' So Harry stopped.

"My friend is another snake, foolish human. There are few of your kind I can tolerate, unless I'm hungry enough."

Harry looked perplexed. "And your new snake friend has a wand?"

"Don't be foolish," snapped Ember. "We have no need for such things. He guards a wand, and many other things. Precious things."

"Guards?" Harry questioned, only more confused now. "Here in the castle?"

Ember bobbed her head, nodding. An expression she had learned from him, and he vaguely wondered if she noticed when she did it. "He was sleeping for a long time, but he wakes now. He talked to Ember for a long time; he was interested to meet another speaker. His master is the only one he's met in a millennia."

Comprehension dawned on Harry, suddenly. When one read as much as Harry did, and had a Slytherin friend who read even more than that, it was impossible not to connect the dots. "Ember, have you – have you found the Chamber of Secrets? And it's guarded by- by a snake?"

"I believe you humans would call him a basilisk."


Malfoy Manor – 3rd November

After almost twenty-four hours of attempting to talk to Nymphadora. Of trying to convince her she had been brainwashed, and to declare her loyalty to Lord Voldemort, Draco Malfoy gave up. He liked to think he understood a lost cause when he saw one. The same could not be said of Hermione.

Draco admired Hermione; her fire, her power, her intelligence and wit. He imagined there would come a day that he would love everything about his future wife. Today, however, was not that day.

"It's hopeless, Hermione!" he exclaimed, his tone sharper than expected. He had his Father's temper. "You heard her. She's made her choice; she isn't going to suddenly come over to our side."

Hermione, already irritated, became incensed. "So we let them put her down? Imagine if it was us, Draco! Imagine if Andromeda took one of us!"

"But she didn't, did she?" he hissed. "We're safe and alive, and the blood traitor is here, and we should be thinking about using her to get to the rebels, not playing happy families!"

Hermione's eyes danced with fury. Draco could understand what of herself that Bellatrix saw in Hermione. Looking at her, all the stories of crazy Bella Black were suddenly in the forefront of his mind.

Close by, an amused expression on her wary face, Nymphadora sat at a coffee table. Wandless and magically bound to the table, she wasn't a threat, but Draco thought she looked to be enjoying their argument a little too much. His temper rising, he lifted his wand and cast a nasty stinging hex at the smug expression.

Nymphadora hissed, her amused face becoming as stormy as his future wife's, and he thought he heard something along the lines of 'pureblood prick' before the back of Hermione's hand connected with his face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Is that the type of man you are?" barked Hermione, her wild hair seeming to frizz with her electric anger. "To hex unarmed witches for upsetting you?"

There was something menacing about her demeanour. Draco reached for his wand, only planning to put up a protego – he'd never harm Hermione, even feelings aside, she was Bellatrix Lestrange's daughter – but was disarmed in seconds.

Neither paid much attention to the suddenly pensive expression on the face of the nearby Nymphadora. They were too busy screaming at each other.

Draco, face stinging and humiliated by how utterly outclassed he was by the witch's skill, jumped to his feet. "Do. Not. Do. That," he demanded through gritted teeth.

Hermione barked a short, humourless laugh. "Do what, Draco? Stop you abusing defenceless members of our family? Gods, I pity the woman that marries you!"

It was clear Hermione had completely lost her temper, but the last comment was enough to drive Draco over the edge. "Well that's fucking unfortunate Hermione, because it's you."

Hermione's anger melted to confusion, especially as Draco paled considerably, looking as though he wished he could swallow the words he'd just shouted.

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, perplexed.

"I-Nothing, I didn't mean-"

Behind them, Nymphadora snorted nastily. As Hermione turned, clearly wondering what the witch could possibly know about this, Nymphadora's expression turned positively acidic.

"Oh isn't it obvious? Your marriage is arranged, love. To your cousin. Christ, Mum was right about this side of the family..." Nymphadora muttered, her hair a dark green.

Draco would have cursed her again, had he his wand.

Hermione's expression didn't betray any anger or hurt, and for a moment, Draco let himself believe she didn't mind. That she might even be pleased by it. Until he met her eyes.

Evidently, Hermione had not believed Nymphadora's words until she'd met his eyes, heard the absence of a denial. Then her own eyes went wide, and for the first time he saw her frightened.

She began to back towards the double doors of the room, her mouth open and horrified. "No. No. Absolutely not. I am not being some housewife just because a Malfoy demands it to be so!"

"Hermione, I- Please-" he began.

But she'd already left the room, slamming the door behind her.


Dear Harry,

I'm writing this from one of the black estates. I can't say which – fidelius charm – but I'm safe and well. I've decided to take a short absence from Hogwarts. Probably no longer than a week or two. I just need some space and time at the moment, to think a few things over. I'm so sorry I haven't been to see you yet since the ordeal with the rebellion, but please know I have my reasons.

I love you very much, Harry.

Your sister,
Hermione.


Dear Harry,

I'm afraid there has been some family business come up that urgently needs attending to. I can't say what in a letter, but I will update your properly when next we meet. I don't know how long that will be, given this business relates to the Dark Lord and can hardly be expected to work around a class schedule, but I hope to be back before the start of December. Know that if required, you may contact me by floo, as always.

Your friend,
Draco.

PS – Well done on avoiding an untimely death yet again, you mad bastard.


Hey mate – sorry to leave in a rush like this, but you were fast asleep and I know you haven't been sleeping well this last week. I've had to go see my Mother in Italy. She's unwell, apparently. Don't know how serious it is, she might just want my attention. Hope to be back in a few days. - Blaise.


The absence of his closest friends might have annoyed him, given that in the past week he'd qualified for an international competition, had been slandered in the press, kidnapped and had a confrontation with the Dark Lord. He might have used some support. However, it was undeniably convenient. Using Ember as his guide, he began to hunt for an entrance to the Chamber that didn't involve climbing through filthy pipes; having his friends around might have raised too many unwanted questions. So he penned them short missives saying he was fine, and promising to tell them all about it when they returned, and threw himself wholeheartedly into the search.

It took almost a week. Not bad, considering as far as he knew, students had been searching out the Chamber for centuries. Being a Parselmouth with a sociable pet snake certainly helped. After narrowing down the entrance to a particular area of the second floor, and having a short conversation with a particularly irksome ghost, Harry found himself staring down a gaping black tunnel, lit only by the light of dusk.

"Stairs?" he asked, hopefully, and was pleased when a spiral staircase materialised before him. Ember, who was wrapped around his neck, hissed her approval. Around his neck, the locket tingled pleasantly. He needed no further encouragement.

He descended into the earth. Further and further, a few steps at a time, hardly able to see his hand in front of him. He had no conception of how far he had gone, how much time had passed. It seemed a very long time before his feet finally came into contact with solid earth and by then the mild light of the bathroom above him was like a dim moon in a distant sky.

"Close," he said, and was both relieved and a little frightened as the entrance above him closed, blinking out the only familiar sight.

Ember was strangely quiet and subdued as he continued through the antechamber, only hissing in approval as he found the entrance proper, encouraging him on. With a hiss, a door before him opened, and the bright lights of a hundred torches lighting at once left him blinking rapidly. Knowing the danger he was in, he kept his wand in his hand, and his eyes trained on the floor as he stepped inside.

Ember warned him to stay put, and she slithered down his body and away into the chamber. He watched her go, and did as she had asked, but it took every ounce of will power he had not to move as the sudden shifting of something much larger than ember or himself made itself heard. Eyes trained on the stone below him, he kept himself very still.

"So, little speaker, you have finally found your way to my home," boomed the low, rich and unmistakeably serpent voice.

He struggled to find his voice for a moment, mentally flipping through everything he had ever read or heard about basilisks. "Yes, your majesty. I am honoured to make your acquaintance. I am Harry Potter."

Harry would never get used to the sound of a snake laughing, but it was particularly strange coming from an unseen basilisk. It seemed to fill the cavernous space entirely.

"Look at me, little speaker," ordered the creature, it's words still tinged with amusement.

"But-"

"If I wanted to harm you, little one, I could do it in one strike,"

he reasoned.

Cursing his own foolhardiness, he looked up and straight into the eyes of the basilisk. Harry was surprised to find himself not dead, shortly thereafter.

"I thought..."

"Speakers are immune to the powers of a basilisk. It is how we came to be their greatest allies."

"Oh,"

breathed Harry, relieved.

"Of course, our venom is still the most toxic substance on earth, even to speakers."

"Oh."

"Now what brings you here, child. It's been some time since I had a visitor."

"Well. Ember mentioned that

you had a wand, and I thought-"

"That I'd just

give you the wand of Salazar Slytherin?" asked the basilisk, tone amused.

"Salazar..." Harry whispered, awed. It hadn't occurred to him that the wand would have belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself; rather some other visitor to the chamber.

The basilisk laughed again. "Ember, my friend, I thought you said the boy was bright."

"No common sense, your majesty,"

agreed Ember.

"And what makes you think you're worthy of it, child? I see by your appearance, you do not even belong to the house of my master. Something that would sorely disappoint him, in one of his heirs."

Harry didn't pause. He knew he was worthy. "I am powerful. I will be more powerful as I grow. I ought to have a wand that will aid me," he said. His real wand had been powerful, but he doubted he'd ever see it again now.

The basilisk stilled. It wouldn't have been noticeable, if Harry weren't watching it so closely. The pupils in it's yellow, glowing eyes seemed to dilate slightly. After a long moment, it spoke.

"You sound like him. Are you sure he did not sire you?"

"Like who?"

he asked, now more confused.

"The last heir to find me. Tom Riddle."

The name wasn't familiar, which was somewhat disappointing to him. He had assumed the last heir would be the only other parselmouth he knew – Voldemort.

"And did Tom Riddle not want the wand?"

"He both wanted the wand, and used it. However, he returned it to me some years ago. He found a wand even more powerful than this one; and he stored many items here; to be protected by me, should he ever require them again."

"What happened to him? Is he still alive?"

The snake appeared to consider for a moment. "I think it best if you figure that one out for yourself, young speaker."

A door to the far right of the cavern opened, despite the basilisk having not moved, nor even gestured. It seemed the giant snake had it's own sort of magic; Harry vowed to research that at a later date, and filed the knowledge away.

"You are welcome to any of the treasures of this chamber. It is your birthright. I ask that you return what you no longer need. Don't worry too much, however, as whatever you lose or have on your possession in death will return to the chamber upon your passing."

With that slightly morbid fact noted, Harry left Ember to chat with her 'friend' and headed for the door, excitement bubbling in his chest.


Meanwhile in Italy

"Mother, this is madness! You're gravely ill. This is the sickness talking," said Blaise, frantically.

The once beautiful form of Andorra Zabini lay deathly pale in her four-poster bed. The dark silk around her only served to extenuate her pallor; her dark skin a sickly grey. Her once long, thick head of hair lay limp about her, caked in sweat. Her piercing brown eyes bloodshot. His Mother didn't just look unwell, she looked like she'd died sometime last week. He was unspeakably angry that no one had contacted him sooner, but he couldn't bring himself to reprimand the woman.

"It is not madness, my sweet child," she said firmly. Her voice, and the strength of personality behind it, was the one part of his Mother that seemed unchanged. Hel herself would have to drag her to the underworld before her will broke. "I have kept this from you for your entire life, and would have kept it a while longer, but I fear my time in this world is brief."

Blaise sat upon the bed, putting his head in his hands and trying to keep the tears that threatened from falling. His throat burned and his chest ached. He had always resented his Mother; resented the constant parade of victims she called husbands. Wished for a closeness they seldom had. Still, he loved her, and she was his Mother.

The healers came in at regular intervals, feeding her potions and trying to tell him in that roundabout way Healers do, that she was almost certainly going to die. The disease she'd picked up whilst travelling through Romania was rare, but insidious. It had been building in her system for months, and only now did she call him to her side.

"Mother, this is delirium. I know who my Father is, and it most certainly isn't… Serious Black?"

"Sirius," she corrected gently. "And he is, Blaise."

"I've seen my birth record!" he exclaimed in anger, that quickly cooled as his Mother fell into another coughing fit.

"Faked. It was a difficult time, amore. The war raged on, and your Father was near the top of the Dark Lord's list, as one of Dumbeldore's most loyal. I wanted you to be safe, and so I came back to Italy, my childhood home."

"But… why?" Blaise demanded. What little hair he had was clenched tightly in his hands. This was too much. He had lost a Mother, and found a Father. That is, if he was still alive, as his Mother claimed him to be despite all evidence. "Why him?"

His Mother smiled, her eyes far away for a moment in a way that was frightening in someone so close to the end. "I loved him, my darling. The only man I ever loved, until you, my darling son."

"But why? He was a traitor!" he stormed, struggling even now to check his temper.

For a moment, a look of concern washed over his Mother's face. "My sweet. The world isn't so black and white as you might believe. In the moments we were together, there was no darkness or light. There was just him, and I, and passion. I admit, when the war took him away from me – I grew to hate every other man that would dare to take his place. They didn't have his fire, and so they would burn."

Andorra Zabini was a dark witch. Dark to her core. She'd killed without mercy, performed rites that'd whiten the hair of a lesser being, and been utterly unapologetic about it for most of her life. Given different circumstances, she could have been another Bellatrix Lestrange. Yet, in that moment, there was something profoundly vulnerable about her. Something that spoke of deep regret; something that could never be taken back.

"I doubt your Father would care for the things I have done, my sweet. Although he'd understand more than he could ever admit. I tell you this now because you deserve to know, before I leave this world. I shall not leave you alone," she whispered this last part. Her voice catching, as if she too were holding back tears. In sixteen years, Blaise had never seen his indomitable Mother cry. It drew the last shred of self control from him, and his own tears fell.

"Mother," he whispered. "Please. Please don't go. I...I need you, Mum. Please."

She put a cold hand to his face, stroking his cheek for a moment, her eyes watering but her posture proud. Familiar. "My son, I will always be with you. I will always be watching over you. When your enemies fall before you, you will know. You will know that your Mother is there. In a life of riches, power and passion – you, my love. You were my greatest achievement."

He cried ugly tears then. He cried into the silk of his Mother's bedsheets, and stayed there long into the night.

"Does anyone else know? About my Father?" he asked quietly, when he was sure his Mother was awake.

Her voice was weaker now. Strained. She'd had twice as many potions in the last hour as the hour before that, and the Healers' expression was gravely serious.

"Only two others ever knew. His best friend, James Potter, and his brother, Regulus," she whispered.

It had not occurred to him until then that Sirius Black, though obviously a member of the House of Black, was the brother of his professor. However, the shock of this was completely overshadowed by the shock of the former.

"Harry's Father? Harry's Father was my Father's best friend?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she smiled, a shadow of what might have been amusement passing over her face. "When you first told me about your friendship with little Harry, I couldn't help but smile. You know I don't usually abide half-bloods, but my he looks like James, and James was a good man. Too good, perhaps. It's what killed him."

"You knew James Potter?" he balked.

"Not well. I met him only twice. Your Father trusted him, though. Loved him as a brother, even. That was enough. Sirius was a good judge of character."

He nodded. He kept wondering exactly what he was going to do with the information, now he had it. Could his Mother be right? Could Sirius Black – his Father – truly be alive?

"Do you… Do you want me to try to find him?"

Silence. His Mother had fallen back into fitful sleep.

He remained beside her as he considered all the implications of what his Mother had said. He remained beside her for long into the night, his mind full of buzzing, often painful thoughts. He remained beside her until the soft rise and fall of her chest ceased, and then all thoughts left him, replaced only by a hollow, bitter grief. It wasn't fair.


Dear Hermione,

I'm sorry.

I've written this letter out again and again these last days, and not once have the words seemed right. This is the best I can do.

Please understand this wasn't my choice. It was arranged for me, as it was arranged for you.

This isn't how I want things to be between us. You are not the type of witch to be owned.

I don't think I can change our parents minds about this marriage, but I can at least buy you a few more years of freedom. I've decided to leave Hogwarts after Christmas to pursue a Potions apprenticeship with a Master in America. It will last a period of three years.

Please understand, this is the only way I know how to show you how sorry I am, that this has been forced upon you. You deserve better.

Draco Malfoy.

The letter burned in Hermione's hands. Her heart felt like it was breaking in two. Draco Malfoy, the boy who made her feel like no other, was being forced to marry her. Forced, and was so appalled by the notion of being her husband that he was fleeing to the other side of the world. Just to get away from her.

She had no tears left that night.


The Chamber

The Chamber of Secrets was living up to its reputation. The adjoining room to the main chamber made the basilisk seem anti-climactic by comparison. Thousands of books, stacked high to the ceiling lined the walls on either side. Magical artefacts, weapons and potions still in stasis sat in elaborate glass cases dotted around the room. More than that, the whole Chamber was saturated with ancient magic; dark as night.

Harry felt like a child seeing Honeydukes for the first time. He opened book after book, trusting Slytherin to not want to curse any of his descendent. Many of them were indecipherable; written in Greek and Arabic. Some were Latin, which he could just about understand, though not comfortably. Countless books were written in Parselscript, something he recognised easily from his ill advised venture into blood magic.

The potions were even more curious. They had no description, just instructions as to how to create them. He wondered if there was anymore information on them elsewhere in the room, but unless it was obvious, it could take him years to find such answers. The weapons were vicious. Cursed blades, arrows and other sinister looking devices, each warning of devastating effects. A particularly vivid description of a weapon that, once having drawn blood, would render it unable to heal or the flow to be staunched, had Harry backing away carefully from this section.

At first he tried sorting through the books and objects systematically; considering them all before deciding what to take. Before long, however, the pile grew too large and the time taken was too great. So he began grabbing books at random; whatever he felt drawn to or struck his fancy.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he finally found the wand; sitting regally at a dais at the end of the room, but it had likely been hours. Partly out of impatience, and partly out of an urgent need to know the time, he stopped his perusal of the books and went immediately to it.

An unexpected level of trepidation filled him. What if the wand rejected him? What if it was cursed to only accept purebloods? However, it didn't take him long to realise he had no choice. Of course he could have gone and got a new wand from Ollivanders, but it was unlikely to be as powerful as his original. It was very unlikely to be as powerful as this wand.

After a steadying breath, he reached out and took it.

His whole body began to tingle. Like pins and needles, but slightly more pleasant. His locket grew pleasantly warm again, and he'd grown to see this as a positive sign. The wand felt smooth and comfortable in his hand and he knew instinctively that the wand 'liked' him, if such a thing were possible. He wasn't sure, however, that he was yet its master. He had won it from no one, and as such, mastering it would take time. Hopefully sooner, rather than later.

He cast a tempus, and was relieved when it worked. It was almost five in the morning. He ought to be going. He could always come back, now he knew the way here, and it's resident monster appeared to like him well enough.

On his way out of the room, he picked up the books he had chosen, and shrunk them small enough to fit into his pocket. He had been resting them on one of the glass cases, and when he picked them up, he looked for the first time at the contents of the case. Unlike the other cases, the contents of this one seemed more mundane. A leather bound book; a journal of some sort. Looking closer, his eyes widened in recognition. The front cover read "Tom Marvolo Riddle".

With little hesitation, he opened the case and took it, ignoring the strange tickling sensation emanating from the locket. A new sensation.

On his way out, he picked up Ember, who had been deep in conversation with the basilisk about the differing size of rats between this millennia and the last. He interrupted them cautiously.

"Do you have a name?" he asked the basilisk, cordially.

"I have had many names. My most recent would likely serve you best – Serefen. That was given to me by my last ward."

"Tom Riddle?"

"Yes."

"Serefen – Tom Riddle – is he alive?"

The basilisk eyed him for a moment – an intimidating thing in of itself – before responding. "Yes. I would know, were he not."

"Do you think he'll- well, will he mind that I've been here?"

asked Harry, mentally adding 'and stolen his diary.'

The basilisk chuckled; a long, drawn out laugh filled with an especially serpentine mirth. "Yes, young speaker. He will definitely 'mind'. Still, aren't you Gryffindors supposed to be brave?"

Harry left in a hurry.


"My name is Harry Potter."

"Hello Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle."


Thanks for reading! Please review, and sorry about the level of pure, unadulterated angst in this chapter. They are teenagers, after all.