Author's Note: I do not own Harry Potter
By the way, this chapter shows why I have the rating at M. There will be blood. There will be horror. The real world doesn't always involve Deus ex Machina.
She had been here so many times that she had lost count. Open she hissed in a tongue that was not her own. The scraping of the stone as the entrance opened before her grated on her ears, and she could feel her feet grow wet in the water below her and sense the enticing knowledge of what was to come.
Her hand was stained still with blood – rooster – from where she had left the message.
Her body will lie in the Chamber forever.
Poetic.
There was still a part of her that was screaming out, crying out, for help. This wasn't what she wanted.
Tom. I'm scared. I don't want to do this. Ginny was openly weeping. Her gaze was blank and her eyes were red; a dark look with a grim sneer. Please don't make me do this! I don't like it. I don't want to!
Silence you foolish girl! Came the response. You've gone too far now to stop. All that talk about 'Harry Potter' this and 'Harry Potter' that. All your insecurities and shame. Do you really think that anyone would support you now? After what you have done? No. You only have me now. There is only you and I, Ginevra Weasley, and soon there will be but one.
"Please," she whispered to an empty room. "Please, somebody, help me."
The descent to the Chamber was short but winding. The system of pipes long since adapted to the flow of the school. With each passing year, the castle had changed; the constant push of magic in its hallowed walls had altered it somewhat. Tom Riddle had noticed this in his time at Hogwarts so long ago, where he came to the conclusion that Hogwarts was 'alive' in a way. Maybe not sentient, but it had taken the constant stream of magic that enveloped the building and become something so new, so different, that there may have been an alternate looking Hogwarts at the beginning when compared to the present.
Tom, for that was now who she was, landed gracefully in the grime and dirt of the entry hall to the Chamber. It was just before them, down the long cavern, where his destiny lay.
He could hear her screaming in her (his) head. It was full of terror and pain. Such torment that the foolish girl brought upon herself. 'Idiot girl. Her own fault for playing with magics that she could never hope to understand.' His grin was sickening to look at.
His rebirth was just through the vault door. He walked around the shed skin of Slytherin's beast, taking a cursory, disdainful look at the sight before him. He stepped forward, but his legs began to give way. The diary fell out of his hands and to the floor as the form he was inhabiting collapsed fully to the dank floor.
Tom Riddle felt weak, but he could see, and taste, and feel. He was but a shade of what he once was, but half a soul is better than none. His hand ran through his dark locks while he breathed in the air. 'I'm alive... well, in a sense I am.' He marvelled at what he had managed to accomplish; a boyish dream to never let anything hurt him again was coming to fruition.
His laugh was genuine, and it was true, as it echoed within the Chamber. Soon, he would live once more.
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Ron Weasley had his wand pointed directly under Harry's chin. The wood was digging painfully into his throat as fear induced sweat dripped onto it. The malice in the boy's eyes unnerved Harry tremendously as dread began to consume him.
Harry glanced to the corner of his vision to Hermione, who was biting her lip as she adamantly refused to meet his gaze.
"You slimy bastard!" the boy hissed. "You think you have everybody fooled, don't you? Not the Heir of Slytherin? Please. You are nothing like what Harry Potter should be. You are no Gryffindor."
His words hurt, but Harry had been tormented with worse. "Ron, I-"
"Shut up! Give her back." Harry was visibly confused. "Give her back! Give me back my sister!"
They were forced back to their common rooms not too long before; no one had been told why, but everyone seemed to know that it was because a student had been forcibly taken to the Chamber. Now he knew who it was. Ginny Weasley.
"It isn't me." The duo refused to acknowledge his words. Ron, he could understand. He was always brash and unthinking, but he could not help but look hurt at Hermione who he believed would have been more insightful than this.
Harry had slunk away when the order to disperse had come down. His Invisibility Cloak hidden in his trunk as he crept in to the hospital wing. It seemed as if he had some followers. Though he did not understand why Lockhart was with them.
As if he realised he was being thought of, said man tried to appear disappointed. "Harry, Harry, Harry. I knew that there was something wrong with you from the very beginning. I always wondered if you-know-who had seen this. Trying to compete with a Dark Lord? I wonder what really happened to your parents." Harry's insides bit as a fire hit his temple. "But now, it's all over. These two have the great foresight to bring me along to this. And now, Harry, you must tell me where you have taken her."
"I haven't done anything."
"Really? Still trying to play the fool? It must be Dark Magic." He was talking to himself now, and Ron and Hermione were giving each other unsure looks.
"Professor, I don't think..."
"Now, now, Granger. I know exactly what I'm talking about. I do have my Order of Merlin. Oh, I bet after this it would be upgraded to Second, or even First Class! Imagine... the saviour of Hogwarts. Slayer of the false Hero! Oh my, such a story it would make. I bet it would sell more copies than ever!"
Ron grabbed Harry's arm tight, ignoring the flinch as he tried to get away. Harry struggled violently, his mouth opening as he tried to scream out for someone, anyone, to come to his aid. His hand reached down into his robe to grasp his wand before being interrupted.
"Now, now, Mr Potter." The voice was slime, and he went cold. "We cannot be having that. Now, take us to the girl, and I'll do the rest."
Harry came unwillingly to Myrtle's bathroom, though he was unsure exactly what it was they expected from him. His emerald eyes were subdued and his mind was calling out for someone to come find him. There was no fear there, only a feeling of desperation as the events occurred that he could not comprehend.
Hermione had, at the least, found her willingness to look ashamed at the actions, while Ron's anger was near tangible as he manhandled Harry roughly. Lockhart's smarmy smirk was rubbing him off the wrong way.
"What do you think I'm going to do?" Harry asked mutedly. "I haven't done anything wrong." Tears began to form as he internally screamed at the unfairness of it all. 'When everything starts going so well, why is there always something that happens to knock it all back down?'
He really, truly, believed that the terrors of his past would have minimised when he joined the venerated halls that he now belonged to. Why did it just seem to get better then worse in quick succession? He could have howled until his voice went hoarse and he knew he would never get any recompense.
"Shut up, traitor," Ron hissed back. They had now entered the bathroom, a surprised ghost floating high above them. "Get in and sort it."
Hermione sighed at her friend's lack of ability to read the situation. "What he's saying is that we know exactly the area, we just may need you to unlock the entrance." She walked in front, leaving an enraged Ron, and a smug Lockhart. She pointed at one of the taps in the sink facing directly into the centre of the room. "There's a snake icon right here. We... we think. We hope, that what we came to think – you being a Parselmouth – would be the way to open it."
"Hermione," his tone was desperate. He wished that he could use his wand, but all he could feel was disgust at the way he could see Lockhart twirling it absently between his fingers. His cheeks were becoming wet and his throat, scratchy. "Please. I-I haven't done anything wrong."
Her guilt was palpable, even he could tell in his current state. "Harry," she refused once more to meet his eyes.
"I guess Malfoy is right," Ron snorted. "You really are a coward."
Harry's eyes dimmed. The light escaping as he took one step, then another toward the sink. "Open." He didn't know why he said it, only that it felt the most natural thing to utter.
There was not even a chance for him to turn when he felt two hands roughly shove him bodily down the hole that had appeared. He screamed in shock, his body hitting the smooth stone slide as he made his way to the bowels of Hogwarts.
He landed uncomfortably on sharp objects, his back twinging in minor pain. He shifted out of the way sharply when he heard the tell-tale signs of someone following him down there. Hermione came first, followed by a disgruntled Lockhart, and then Ron Weasley bringing up the rear.
The quartet moved as one; a confused parade of people who should not have been there.
'Why does this seem to happen to me?' Harry thought glumly. He was happy. Truly starting to be happy for the first time. The worries had been melting away from him. Then Alicia was attacked, and instead of weakening him, his determination grew leaps and bounds. Someone he knew, someone he cared for, had been hurt, and it only brought everyone closer together. Strength developed through adversity, it seemed.
Then Katie. His Katie. The lighthouse directing his sinking ship to safe harbour. Dumbledore had told him that he had people who loved him, and he never truly understood how to understand what the emotion meant. What was love? His parents apparently loved him, but if they did, then why did he nearly die as a baby? Why did they leave him to the Dursley's? Why did he have to kill a man? Why was he here, right now, in this place?
His Circle? He knew they cared for him, but love? Was how they treated him love? Was it an overwhelming affection that he knew he felt for them? Or was it something... deeper? He had asked Professor Flitwick what love was once, not too long before Katie's attack. It was during one of his low moments, and all felt helpless to him when he asked the question that no one would have expected him to.
Would he die for them? Suffer for them? Put everything he had on the line, just to see them smile, safe, and well? He would. All of them. But the power was immense when he was with Katie. Was that a love he felt that expanded beyond the others? Maybe. All he knew was that when he saw Katie in that fear-stricken pose that day, his heart stopped beating, his blood ran cold, and he... gave up.
"I... I don't actually think your all bad, you know?" Ron was scratching behind his ear, cheeks as red as his hair - noticeable even in this dark tunnel. "I'm just... afraid. I'm scared about Ginny, and you can speak to snakes, and no teacher would listen except Lockhart. I'm just, really sorry, mate."
Harry was silent, refusing to recognise the apology. The boy nodded though, having said his piece. Harry's eyes were fixed forward. He just wanted this to be over. The faces of those he (loved?) cared about swam in his head, becoming a beacon of light that shone into even this darkness. He wanted to be laughing by the fire as the twins told another joke, Fay and Neville by his side. He wanted Alicia and Angelina to be hanging on their armchair together as they annoyed Oliver from across the room. He wanted the peaceful times with Flitwick, McGonagall, and Hagrid. He wanted that stare and smile from Katie as she hugged him gently and made him feel so warm inside and out.
He didn't want this cold. This fear. This grime, and this sorrow. He wanted to get out. He needed to get out. The snakeskin blurred in his vision as the others gasped in fright. He couldn't see. It was getting hard to breathe. It was as if he was forgetting how to exist.
Harry collapsed to his knees, breath ragged and rattling violently while his fingers clutched arms that froze solid. He could barely hear Ron's shout, nor feel the rough shoving of Hermione as she yelled worriedly into his ear.
Panic. It was panic. He still couldn't breathe.
"In. Out. In. Out." He focused on the words, frantically spoken. "In, and out. Come on, Harry. I'm here." It was gentle, soft, like Katie's. But... a poor imitation. He held onto it like a lifeline as he started to shake vigorously.
Hermione screamed as she was blasted forward. The rock that had hit her head landing in a stagnant pool. He could see the blood slipping across her brow as her gaze became unfocussed and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. He was relieved when he saw her breathing evenly.
He turned, noticing more of his surroundings. Ron had two wands in his grip; one was his own he could tell, the other was seemingly Lockhart's. 'How?' He could barely make out the argument between them.
"I'm rather quite good with Memory Charms you see... how else would... I found the girl's body, and the three of you were driven mad by the..."
He could see his wand. His. Wand.
It was in that man's hand. His dirty fingers clasping it. His heart was snapping and the ice began to melt. Flames burned hot in his throat and stung his head. He stood up on shaking legs, stumbling over to the man.
He did not hear the shout but saw the confusion in Lockhart's face. Why did it not work?
The fool turned the wand the opposite way, looking intently at the tip with squinted eyes and a gaping jaw.
"Wha-?"
A bright flash of green, followed by a large rumbling explosion knocked them all away. His wand fell to the floor as their Defence Professor was hurled through the air, dropping to the ground way ahead of them. Harry managed to locate his wand, feeling the smooth wood slip easily into his palm as he ran away from the falling stone above him.
When the noise abated was when he could take true stock of his situation. A wall of stone blocked the path from whence they came, trapping Ron and Hermione there, while he and Lockhart were on the other side.
The side heading in the direction of whatever took Ginny Weasley.
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Tom Riddle stood there triumphant. A content, cocky smirk adorning his face as he took in the boy and man before him.
This was Harry Potter? His defeater? Preposterous. He could see the power, feel it crashing down invisible to all. But not him. His sight was now, as he was, far greater than all others. But it mattered not.
The boy was weak. Tom had learned from a young age how to read people, and he could read the boy like an open book. He was barely functional. A near shell of a person.
And the gormless looking man beside him, a childish smile as he gazed everywhere in an innocent wonder. Memory Charm the Potter had said. A failed one when the man tried to use his wand. Ha! A foolish attempt to use a tool full to the brim with power.
The moment Harry Potter had knelt to see the cold, lifeless body of Ginevra Weasley, Tom had used the chance to take the wand for himself. Being how he was, he could just feel the authority as he mentally fought to be able to use it.
'No matter. Even if I cannot use this, I still have the girl's one available. As well as that.' He was relishing this form, so set aside from his original self. "I wonder if the world would be ready for two Lord Voldemort's."
He had to hide his glee when he revealed who he was to the shocked boy, and when he explained that Ginny Weasley was the one who set the Basilisk upon the students. Oh, he knew of the connection between the last victim and Potter, but felt no pleasure of his own in the violence. "She was simply a tool," he explained. "A use to draw me back to greater strength. I could not remain there, a fragment of myself, any longer. So yes, I used the infatuations the girl felt and drove her forward. Ever forward. Do you think me so cruel as to kill for the sake of killing? No, I needed an escape, and your girl was simply a stepping stone to the exit, and every death serves its purpose to the greater good."
He bore no ill will to any of them. Truthfully, he expressed a morbid curiosity at the existence of the boy more than anything else. To exist with such potential, but have such a fractured will was worthy of experiment.
"Now, Potter, shall we see if the legend of your story is true? Why, Ginny was most adamant of your heroism. Even as her mind became slowly replaced by mine own, she would only hold out with the knowledge of you coming to her rescue." The air grew heavy as a low hissing began to echo around the Chamber. The water muddying the once gleaming marble floor rippled sporadically. He could see the Potter boy become even paler as bloodshot eyes widened impossibly in such terror.
"How will the destroyer of the greatest Dark Lord fare against the true King of Serpents? Shall we find out?"
The snake was enormous – impossibly so. Harry's body seized up in an inability to move or breathe. This was different from Quirrell. That man (thing) was just that: a man. Or at least a form similar to one. This... this was something that replicated an eldritch horror.
Lockhart, standing off to the side, giggled in childish wonder. His mind, destroyed by the backfiring of his own Memory Charm, saw the oncoming beast as one would a bounding puppy. His hands outstretched as if to play with it. For Harry, this was no longer the mess of a man who had tried to fool them all with his claims of success.
Lockhart had his eyes scrunched up tight, hearing Harry shout a warning – though the man-child could have interpreted it as but a game. The grin was so unlike what they had all seen throughout the year. It was so innocent.
It was not over quickly. It was not over painlessly.
Harry vomited acid onto the floor, mixing with the watery pools dotting the ground. He hyperventilated once more, pain corrupting his essence and pouring into his lungs. His knees and palms and elbows met solid resistance as his glasses slid down his sweat covered face. He grew cold, colder than he ever had before as the Great Snake slithered forward, jaw opening wide as it directed it's head up and prepared to strike.
It moved quickly, lightning-fast, downwards. Its teeth snapped and the screams began. It was not pretty. It was not over immediately. It was as if a child was crying out.
"Mummy! Mummy! Help! Mr Harry! Mr Harry! Mr Harry!" The screams became otherworldly, as arms reached out. And the eyes. His eyes were begging, desperate, and hopeful. "Please...PLEASE!" The shouts became overtaken by the scraping and crunching, and then the words were transferred to grunts and feeble moans.
Harry closed his eyes, pretending it was to avoid the Basilisk's gaze. He covered his ears, but the sounds did not cease. The noise grew and grew. Terror and pain. Terror and pain.
"It'll be over. It'll be over. It'll be over." He repeated it over and again. He had no wand, no weapon, no possible way to stop what was occurring just a few metres away from him. Then it became silent. Harry cracked open an eyelid, peering out through glistening lashes.
He would have thrown up once more but he had nothing left to give. Lockhart's head was separated from his body, lower jaw missing and one eye closed. But the other... Harry could see the fear, the pain, the enormity of the situation that the man who was Gilderoy Lockhart must have endured. 'I am. I really am. I'm a coward.'
Tom Riddle was pale. Harry could only look at him in contempt, a wave of rising anger developing once more. Lord Voldemort experienced guilt? It was an impossibility that no one would ever try to believe. But he grew angry. With the snake. With those two idiots bringing them down here. With Lockhart. With Riddle. And with himself. A man had died. And he had not died well.
The silence there was heavy, yet a sound of beauty echoes in the darkness when a cry echoed in the Chamber – not one of human or serpent origin. There was a flash of red and gold and Harry felt a light weight drop upon his head, blinding him from the world.
Hello again, Mr Potter.
Harry heard the shrieks and cries as he knelt there. He could hear the muffled shouts of Tom Riddle close by, and he felt the tingle as wide-spanning magic was poured out of a wand in the direction of Fawkes the Phoenix.
Help me! Please.
The Sorting hat was silent for but a moment. What would you sacrifice?
Harry did not hesitate. Anything.
Anything, Mr Potter? And for whom would you sacrifice it for? Yourself? The girl? What would you do to get out of this place?
Anything, Harry thought/shouted once more.
All actions have consequences, Mr Potter. I know this, and magic knows this. Will you be brave, loyal, wise, or cunning? What will you show, I wonder? When the curtain closes for the last time, and the fires burn away the sin? What will be your sacrifice then?
Harry neither knew nor cared, at what the Hat was implying in his riddles.
"No, no, you stupid bird! Don't do that! Potter! That's Dumbledore's bird, I would remember that flaming chicken anywhere. So, a ragged hat is your companion, is it? Well, the Phoenix may have destroyed the deathly stare of my Basilisk, but that does not mean you are safe!"
Well, Mr Potter? What would you sacrifice to save yourself? What would you sacrifice to save another?
He wanted to hate Ginny for what she had done. He really, truly, wanted to feel what hatred was. But as soon as it began to bubble up, the froth dissipated, and the fire died down. She was a victim too. Like he, a victim of Lord Voldemort.
What would he sacrifice to save another?
Anything.
I was right, Mr Potter, the Hat intoned with no small measure of smugness. You are indeed a Gryffindor. Brave, and True.
A pressure formed on his head, and Harry wasted no time. He tore the Hat off, throwing it aside as his hand reflexively grabbed the shining handle protruding from the gap. He pulled hard, and out it came. Silver, shining, sharp. It was beautiful and unstained, with rubies inlaid into the hilt. The pommel was lined with gold and there were exquisitely carved runes encompassing every inch of it. The sword was made for someone a lot larger than Harry Potter, but as his second hand fit neatly below the first, he marvelled at how light it was.
The Snake came, moving with speed that belied its immense size. Harry stepped out of his own mind as he dodged to the side, swinging blindly at the snake's maw. His arm shuddered violently as his steel met a reinforced hide of age and magic. He could feel the bruise that he knew would be there come the morning sun.
The snake twisted wildly, spinning in place as it snapped at where he once was, but had luckily escaped by a hair's breadth.
And so, the dance went on. Harry was thanking whatever deity was out there that his Seeker training had evolved so much that his stamina had been boosted and reflexes improved. Otherwise, there was no possible way he could have survived thus far. Yet the longer the song played, the quicker he was tiring.
They would play back and forth, and Harry was sure that at least something had broken or snapped to fit in with the aches and bruising he was gaining. His mind, once acting on instinct, was becoming more rational as time went on; the duet of boy and snake becoming far more real with each passing second. Self-doubt became more prevalent as his situation developed into something far less of a fantasy. Most children imagine rescuing the princess from the dragon, dreaming of being the hero written down in stories.
'What would you sacrifice?'
What would he sacrifice?
"When the curtain closes... and the fire burns."
What would he sacrifice then?
…
Everything.
He lunged. Ginny was going to die. He was going to die. Voldemort would return. The world would burn.
What would he do when the fire burns?
He would prove why he was a Gryffindor.
The sword arced down, slicing into the open wounds left by the now-vanished phoenix. The snake had tried to get around him through the deep, water-filled crevice at the side, and this allowed him to move to the level where he could attack. The sword kept moving down, slicing scale-like hot butter.
Harry was not aware that snakes could vocalise pain, but this one's reverberated in his skull, scraping in his ears as they bled in such close proximity.
The jaw widened.
'What would you sacrifice?'
His arm kept dragging down. He felt heavy. There was a yelling so muted yet so close. His own jaw was wide, teeth bared in a snarl.
'When the curtain closes?'
The pommel hit tooth and Harry jumped forward more - a part of him hidden away drove righteous fury in his veins. The sword met soft flesh as it crept forward.
'What would you sacrifice?'
It was agony. Its largest fang met the top of his right shoulder, tearing through fabric and skin and bone. Harry kept hold, refusing to let go as his grip weakened. He pushed forward, a war cry on his lips as his inner Gryffindor came forward. He may not want this life; he actively sought a way out as he ran from the danger, not to it. The antithesis of what a Lion should be. But not in this moment. No... At this time, in this place. No one to witness his bravery. No one to shed a tear for his nobility.
Harry Potter sacrificed... Everything.
The Basilisk recoiled in its throes of pain. Reflexively it attempted to clamp down on the offending interloper, yet found that the sharpness would dig into the roof of its mouth harder with the more pressure it exerted.
Harry bit his lip with such force that he could taste the copper as it caressed his tongue. The scream was so tempting to do, yet he needed to survive. A small part of him, hidden, locked, knew that he had to save his energy for the continuation of this fight. He knew that it was only pure luck that he had survived until now; Fawkes' blinding of the beast had removed an enemy weapon, as well as warp it's mind as it comprehended the pain it was experiencing.
The fang that had caught in his arm began to tear a bloody path downwards, creating a trench of ripped flesh and shrapnel of bone. Never had he had such agony. Not even when Vernon brought the belt, or Dudley's fists met his weak body to the sound of jeers. Nothing he had endured in his life, inside and outside of Hogwarts, could compare to the untold torment of a mixture of Basilisk Venom and having his arm torn apart.
It was a whining snake that slunk off into the dank dark. It looked so miserable as it slithered away; Harry had no time to fathom what exactly had just happened as he collapsed to the floor.
"Well, I suppose that there may be some merit to your power after all, Potter."
Harry groaned weakly. He had forgotten about the other problem.
Riddle now seemed more... human, than before. His outline appeared frayed, and his complexion had a transparent sheen to it, but he only noticed that there was an improvement to how he looked prior because of the slight oddity of his appearance.
The sword was held limply in his sole remaining hand. His right arm was in tatters – it opened to the world, draining thick, viscous ooze out of the long cut and into the air.
Then, he relaxed as the song filled his soul with such soothing. The warmth caressed his very essence as the phoenix landed gracefully onto his back.
"Thank you. Thank you so much, Fawkes," he whispered. "I would never have made it without you." The tears came unbidden. He felt himself slip away as his spirit was hooked by the icy touch of the Reaper which had him grasped tightly. His head was becoming numb, and his thoughts, groggy.
Then, there was warmth untold consuming him. The pain hit him like a hammer but existed only fleetingly. He watched as his arm knitted together sinew and skin.
"Fawkes..."
He had read on the healing properties of phoenix tears, and now he was faced with the reality before his very eyes. The darkness of the wound was counteracted by the purity of the cure, yet it was not enough. The corruption of the venom was becoming diluted quickly, being replaced by the transcendent action of a crying Fawkes, however, even as his arm became whole once more, instead of a gaping hole that extended from wrist to collar, there was now an extremely blatant scar inhabiting the inside of his arm. A price for life, but one that he would pay for gladly.
He could feel the energy renew inside him, a burst of sunlight in the shadows of the Chamber coming forth as he pushed himself onto his feet.
Riddle was scared. His face had contorted into what resembled barely restrained fear. The shade of a boy began screaming at the Basilisk to return to him. To finish was it had started. But to no avail.
Harry held onto the hilt of the silver sword, the tip smacking harshly on the ground as he used it as a dangerous cane. His reserves were empty, but it was coming to an end. This was all coming to an end. His wand rolled before him, ending up by his feet.
He knelt down slowly to retrieve it as a feeling of warmth permeated his skin and told him he was going to be okay. His sight locked to the boy who began all of this – the one who would become Lord Voldemort. Riddle was clasping his smoking wrist tightly, his visage a mixture of pain and surprise.
Harry cared not. His wand slid back into his robe for he had no need to use it for what he was about to do.
He edged ever closer to his target, with thoughts of Alicia and Katie filling his brain, and memories of the good time bringing light to his soul. He knew what he had to do.
'What would you sacrifice?'
It did not matter what he would sacrifice.
"It matters who I would sacrifice it for!"
The shade released an unholy howl. Dark light consumed it as cracks formed across the form of what was Tom Riddle. The sword dug deep into the diary, bleeding it dry of the deep black ink which reflected on the shade which had now tumbled to the ground. It thrashed and wailed as its opacity shrunk ever further into the void it once resided in. And then it simply disappeared, only a whimper as it vanished from this world.
The gasping breath forced his attention to the now sitting Ginny Weasley.
"Harry?" she rasped, "What's going on?"
He collapsed, eliciting a yelp from the girl. Now that he had the time, he took her all in. Her once flaming hair was caked in dirt and grime. A freckled complexion clashing against her natural paleness standing out even in this dark place. He struggled to keep his eyes open and his mind awake while he hoped to discover a way out.
His eyes softened when Ginny began bawling; she grabbed his robes tightly and held herself to his limp form. The wailing of a girl who was uttering apologies and pleadings of survival. 'She is a victim too. Just like I am. Just like Katie, and Alicia.'
He felt so tired. He barely took notice at the sight of the Basilisk becoming still, or of the crowing sound of a rooster filling the air.
"Harry Potter, you may very well be the death of me."
That sounded like Professor Dumbledore to his addled ears. 'But this isn't his office,' his tired mind garbled.
"Come, my boy. I think you have sacrificed enough for one lifetime."
The blackness consumed him and he knew no more.
Author's Notes
I tried to explain how Salazar Slytherin's Chamber entrance was in a bathroom when such places did not exist 1,000 years before the story. Don't look too much into the 'Hogwarts is alive' though. This isn't one of those stories. It's just something that I can see happening with the madness of magic; look at the moving armour's, Peeves the Poltergeist, and the random staircases. Magic isn't fully understood even in canon, so it's not so far removed that frequent absorption of magic could influence a magical building in such a way.
And yeah, I killed Lockhart. And I pulled no punches. His character was deplorable, but his punishment in canon never really fit his crime because he never knew he had suffered for them. This is how I choose my story to progress. Harry and company won't always make it out in one piece.
Next Chapter: My Warning meant Nothing