12 October 1942 — 16 October 1942

There was something looming on the horizon. Later, Ginny would recognize the moment she saw the writing on the wall as the first sign, like the smell of sulphur — the gas leak preceding the inevitable explosion.

But she didn't know that yet. As she returned to the dungeons, all she could think about was the guilt churning within her. Dumbledore may not have said it, but it was there in the spaces between his meaningless platitudes and empty reassurances.

She could have stopped this months ago. She could have protected Leonard Wright.

The key to opening the Chamber of Secrets was through Parseltongue. If there was any other way, it was lost to time and myth. Ginny had known this from the beginning; Dumbledore had known it since he first looked into her mind.

She wasn't a Parselmouth, but she used to be, once upon a time. They didn't need to know the entire language, when she already knew the words they needed to open the Chamber.

Except these words were stored in memories she buried long ago. They were memories she couldn't unpack without dread engulfing her, without fear clawing up her throat until she felt like she had stopped breathing altogether. Was it so terrible, so awful, that she couldn't bear to revisit the worst moments of her life? Those months she had been used and deceived, then discarded with no more than a second thought?

Dumbledore had humoured her — he had agreed to help her find another way, to leave those memories undisturbed. He understood, he said, what it was like to get lost in a dark memory and to carry the weight of mistakes that can't be undone.

But as she thought of Leonard Wright's Petrified body, of Margot's heaving sobs, of Riddle's unfaltering mask — Ginny wondered if it was worth it. Was it right, that Dumbledore had agreed to delay this long? Should she have let him?

These thoughts were still circling in her head when Ginny arrived in the common room. With the lamplights gone for the night, only the green light of the lake and the flickering fire were left to cast strange shapes on the walls. She headed to the sofa to sit for a minute, to give herself time to find her bearings before she went up to her room; the girls might still be awake, with how inconsolable Margot was.

Ginny was about to sit down when the weak firelight revealed the shape of a figure, sprawled on the couch with his feet sticking out of the covers. She looked at Alphard, fast asleep, then tickled his feet.

He awakened frighteningly fast, sitting bolt upright with a yelp. In spite of herself, she felt a twinge of amusement.

"What the — Ginny?"

Ginny sat next to him and busied herself with gathering the covers to her lap, so she didn't have to look at him. "Why are you here?"

"Er — to sleep?"

"Can't you do it upstairs?"

From the corner of her eye, she saw him grimace. "That's not — it's not a good idea."

"Lestrange again?"

"Something like that."

Ginny didn't say anything right away, staring at the crackling fire. She didn't have to do this tonight; she didn't have to do it at all. She could leave it be and pretend she wasn't burning for answers —

But it was clear to her now, all those little things about Alphard she hadn't understood. The conversation she had overheard between him and Malfoy, the confusing exchange they had at Slughorn's party, the bitterness he felt for Riddle that went beyond Riddle and Malfoy's feud, the prying questions about her and Riddle. . . .

Alphard had always known there was more to Riddle than met the eye. Ginny hadn't realized how, until she saw the look on his face — pale with terror, the same look he wore when he argued with Riddle at Hogsmeade. She hadn't connected the dots, until she was replaying the night's events on her way to Dumbledore's office.

"You've been lying to me."

Alphard frowned. "I've never lied to you."

"You've been lying to me this whole time — God, I don't even know where to start," said Ginny, trying to keep her tone level. "That day in Hogsmeade, when you fought with Riddle — you said it was about Lestrange. It wasn't though, was it? You were mad about somethi —"

"I never said it was about Raoul," he said, dropping his gaze.

"You let me believe it was," she said wearily. "No more games, Alphard. I don't want any more cryptic answers."

Alphard stilled, staring at his hands as he said, so softy she strained to hear him, "I was telling him to close the Chamber."

Her stomach lurched. It was one thing to guess, but it was another to have it confirmed to her face.

"You knew," she said, as he looked up at her with trepidation. "How?"

"Does it matter? There's nothing we can do about it anyway —"

"Tell me."

"I've shared a room with him for five years. I was bound to find out."

"How, over Spin the Bottle?" she said, her voice rising heatedly. "Did he bloody sleep talk? That's not an answer."

"Ginny," he said pleadingly. "Let's not do this tonight —"

"How did you know, Black?"

Alphard drew back as if he had been slapped, looking so wounded she almost wanted to take it back.

"Because I told him," he said in a thick voice. "I told him about the Chamber."

Her body went cold with dread. Everything that happened, from the first basilisk attack to her near-death in the Chamber —

Slowly, Ginny rose to her feet. "This was your fault."

"I didn't mean for this to happen," said Alphard, springing to his feet. "I didn't think anyone was going to get hurt —"

"You were one of them, weren't you? You were one of his followers."

He shook his head. "It wasn't like that. I told you: we share a dormitory. It was — he's the most powerful, out of all of us. It was the wisest course of action to take."

"What, being his lackey?" she spat and moved to leave. Alphard, taller and bigger than she was, blocked her way.

"No," he said, more desperately. "Just . . . just going along with it, not getting in his way. . . . Abraxas doesn't get it. He doesn't see how much power Riddle has. I've told him, but he doesn't listen. . . ."

Her mind was teeming with questions, but Ginny set her jaw and said nothing. He shifted uncomfortably under her stare, cast some silencing charms around them, then began to pace as the words poured out of him.

"This stupid competition he has with Riddle, trying to see who's best — I don't care about any of it. I never wanted to get involved in their pissing contest. I told Raoul he didn't have to either, but he — he actually believes Riddle — thinks he's a bloody blessing for wizardkind, never mind his origins. Raoul made his choice — he cared more about riding on Riddle's coattails than he cared about us.

"This was before you came along. Riddle was going on about being Slytherin's heir and I thought it was rubbish. But Raoul didn't and I — I was just so mad at him. I thought if he could see that Riddle wasn't as great as he said he was, maybe. . . ."

"You wanted Riddle to prove his claim," said Ginny harshly.

Alphard stopped pacing. He sat back down with slumped shoulders, looking weary and deflated. "I told him about the Chamber. I dared him to find it but — I didn't know he was a Parselmouth, I didn't think he actually could. . . ."

All of this, everything she had endured — because of a dare.

"Were you going to tell anyone?" she said fiercely. "The professors? Malfoy obviously doesn't know —"

"It doesn't matter anymore, all right?" he said lowly, as if trying to get her to lower her own voice by example. "You know, so Dumbledore knows —"

"But if I wasn't here, if you never met me — would you have done anything?"

Alphard didn't answer, and that was answer enough.

"A student could have died tonight," she seethed.

He looked like the oldest fifteen-year-old Ginny had ever seen, with half his face cast in the glow of the fire and the other bleeding into the darkness. "Wright was Petrified when we were at Hogsmeade. That was Riddle's plan. I was trying to tell him — I told Riddle not to go through with it, and then Abraxas showed up and . . ."

"And? You didn't want Malfoy to find out?"

"Why would I want him to? Riddle's dangerous —"

"So why didn't you tell someone? You've known all along what he was capable of. You know he's the Heir of Slytherin —"

He gave a faint, mirthless laugh. "What good would it do? No one would believe me —"

"You should have tried!" she said at the top of her voice.

"And then what?" he said, his own low and guarded. "What do I do if Riddle finds out? You think he'll leave me be if he does?"

For a moment, Ginny considered it. Would she have done any differently in his shoes? Would Harry?

Yes.

"You should have tried," she repeated. "You could have asked for help. You could have gone to Dumbledore —"

Suddenly, Ginny remembered their dance at Slughorn's dinner, the first time she had ever taken notice of Alphard. She thought of the things he had said to her, the words that had sparked her caution and curiosity. . . . He had mentioned Dumbledore then . . . he pointed out how people didn't see her, simply because of Dumbledore. . . .

"Why did you dance with me at Slughorn's party?" she said slowly, thoughts clicking together. "Why did you get Malfoy to put me on the team? Why are we friends?"

Alphard reeled back, his expression pained. "It's not what you think —"

"Then stop me if I'm wrong," she said angrily. "You knew Riddle was interested in me — you told me he was. What, you thought you could use me to one-up him? Get back at him for Lestrange? Or were you using me like a human shield?"

"It wasn't — I mean, at first, it was —"

Ginny's laugh came out like a harsh bark. "You fucking Slytherin."

"We're all Slytherins, Ginny. We just show our scales differently."

"Oh, brilliant, that makes me feel so much better —"

"You're not any better!" he bellowed so suddenly that she stepped back as he jumped to his feet. "You don't have a single friend you stand on equal footing with!"

Her eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You only gave me the time of day because you felt sorry for me," he said sharply. "You thought I was lonely, so you took me in like a stray — me and Droope. You're only close with the ones who need looking out for —"

"I don't have any real friends, is that what you're saying?" she said snidely. "Not like you and Lestrange?"

Alphard winced again, his face falling as if the fight had been drained out of him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean — that wasn't the point —"

"There's a point to this?" she snapped.

"You are my friend. I didn't lie to you —"

"You didn't tell me the truth."

"That's not fair," he said, sounding miserable. "You can't be mad at me for keeping secrets when you've got your own."

"My secret doesn't have a body count."

"Riddle's your secret too," he said, and quickly ploughed on before Ginny could protest. "You know what he is — you've always known. I don't know how, but you know about the Chamber too — you were panicking, earlier, before you even saw Wright's body."

"That's different," she said stiffly. "I didn't start all this. I didn't let it happen —"

"You didn't do anything either —"

"I am doing something about it!" she cried. "You started this bloody mess —"

"I didn't want this, I never wanted —"

"You let it happen!" she snarled, and he fell silent.

But only for a moment. "So did you."

Her heart leapt into her throat.

"Sweet dreams, Black," said Ginny coldly, hoping it would cut him as deeply as his words had cut her, and fled to her dormitory.

Four days before the explosion.


Riddle was waiting for Ginny the next day. Margot, her eyes puffy and red, brightened at the sight of him; she all but pushed Ginny to his side before she and the others tittered away. As much as Ginny wanted to call after them, it was the first time Margot had smiled since the night before, and so Ginny resigned herself to Riddle's company.

They made the journey to the Great Hall in silence. Riddle kept glancing at her as they walked, and Ginny, stone-faced, refused to return his gaze. It made sense now, why Riddle was acting the way he was — all the staring, his questions about her, the bloody love triangle story. . . . He wanted to find out how much she knew, if Alphard had told her about the Chamber. What she said in the headmaster's office would have only confirmed Riddle's suspicions, even if he didn't know the whole story.

"You seem angry," said Riddle lightly, when they were near enough to hear the voices from the Great Hall. "Understandable, of course, after last night."

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep," said Ginny, matching his tone. Keeping up appearances didn't seem so important now, when they could see through each other's facades so clearly. "Bit hard to, when I'm sharing a common room with the attacker."

"That's quite a theory — a Slytherin attacking Muggle-borns."

"Spot-on, don't you think?"

"It's interesting, but not very sound."

"Got any other guesses?"

"There isn't enough evidence to come up with one."

She peered at him from the corner of her eye and caught him smirking. So that's what this is.

"Maybe," she conceded, "but that's why it's called a guess, isn't it?"

The conversation was much the same the next morning, and the one after that — a thinly veiled warning, that she didn't have the proof to back her equally thinly veiled accusations. Riddle seemed more wary of her than ever and must have told his followers to be just as cautious. Unlike Draco Malfoy, who had been openly thrilled when the basilisk attacks began, Riddle's minions barely reacted, though they had a smug, imperious air about them when they were with Riddle. Lestrange was especially smug, the few times he deigned to look at Alphard.

The rest of the school was gripped with panic, with everyone speculating left and right about what happened to Leonard. The Slytherins were treated with obvious suspicion. While Riddle was right — there was no proof that a Slytherin had Petrified Leonard — enough people had read Hogwarts, A History to know the basics of the legend of the Chamber of Secrets, and it was enough for the theory to spread. Some of the younger Slytherins had gotten into fights about it with the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. Even Nancy was unusually quiet during Care of Magical Creatures, and Edward didn't look at Ginny at all during Muggle Studies. Only the Hufflepuffs stayed out of trouble, and theirs were the saddest and palest faces in the castle.

Margot had taken the theory to heart and spent less time in the common room and more time with her friends from other Houses. Ginny would have felt better about it, if Margot didn't spend all their classes seated next to the guy trying to kill her.

Ginny's own seatmate was just as morose. Each time Ginny sat next to Alphard, she felt a stab of guilt at how his eyes flared with hope, and she had to check the impulse to forgive him, to assure him she wasn't mad —

But then she remembered Leonard Wright's body and Margot's reaction. She remembered rooster feathers on her robes, blood on her hands, and hissed sibilants on her tongue.

It wasn't fair of her, she knew, to lay all the blame on Alphard for something he couldn't have known. Maybe Riddle would have found out about the Chamber on his own eventually. Maybe he would have heard about it from someone else. . . . But she would never know if it would have come to that. She didn't know how to talk to Alphard, when her mind was heavy with what-ifs.

"Why are we looking at Alphard?" said Briseis during lunch period that Thursday. "He looks sad — what happened?"

Ginny, who was thinking the same, quickly looked away. "Maybe you were looking at Alphard. I was looking at Malfoy — wondering how long practice is going to last this time."

For a moment, it looked like Briseis believed her, but she cast another glance at Alphard, frowning. "You're fighting, aren't you?"

"It's nothing."

"Is he . . ." Briseis hesitated, looking apprehensive, "he's being stupid again, isn't he? About his feelings —"

"What?" sputtered Ginny, choking on the water in her drinking goblet.

"I heard the words 'stupid' and 'feelings,'" said Odette, appearing suddenly next to Briseis. "You're not talking about Alphard again, are you? Because I thought you were over that —"

"I was talking to Ginny," said Briseis quickly, with a faint blush on her cheeks.

Odette turned to Ginny, her forehead creased. "I thought you were with Tom."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'm not with anyone."

Odette lifted an eyebrow — because apparently everyone in Slytherin could do it but Ginny. "Are you sure? He's been following you around like a baby crup or something."

"He doesn't follow — don't say that," stammered Ginny. "You make him sound adorable — and we're not even talking about him —"

"Isn't he though?" said Odette. She pretended to play with one side of her dark, curly hair and stole a glance at Riddle, who was having a seemingly fascinating conversation with Lestrange right in Alphard's line of vision. "Even if you don't fancy him, you have to admit he's handsome."

"Too pretty," scoffed Ginny.

Briseis tsked and shook her head. "We're getting side-tracked —"

"Come off it!" gasped Odette. She signalled urgently to someone behind Ginny's head. "Oi, Wendy, back me up here. Tom Riddle isn't too pretty, is he?"

"Of course not," said Wendy as she plopped her lunch down next to them. "There's no such thing. Why are we talking about Tom?"

"We're not," said Ginny irritably, at the same time as Briseis said, "This is about Alphard."

"Oh yeah," said Wendy, nodding sagely. "He's pretty too."

"Enough about their prettiness," said Briseis testily. "Alphard and Ginny are fighting."

"Really?" said Wendy, wide-eyed.

Ginny sighed. "Can we not talk about this?"

"You're not denying it," Odette pointed out.

"What are we talking about?"

Margot had appeared and sat down beside Ginny. She looked at each of them in turn, her frown deepening when no one spoke right away.

"You don't have to stop just because I'm here," she said, a bit crossly.

"Of course not," said Briseis hastily. "We were just talking about Alphard."

"He's rowing with Ginny," added Wendy.

"You're fighting?" said Margot with a worried look. "It's not because of Tom, is it?"

Ginny tried not to recoil.

"It's complicated," she said, sighing again.

It was Odette's turn to scoff. "Isn't it always?"

Ginny hated the turn the conversation took, but she would choose it a thousand times over the snatches she had heard over the week from the more vocal, bigoted parts of Slytherin. These were comments she did her best to tune out, but the anger she had been trying to keep in check finally bubbled over the surface during Quidditch practice later that day.

The words were barely out of Zabini's mouth when Briseis heaved a resigned sigh and half-heartedly tried to hold Ginny back.

"What is wrong with you?" shouted Ginny as she threw the Quaffle at Zabini so hard he stumbled back.

He straightened up after a moment and seemed taken aback. Still, it wasn't enough to stop him from running his mouth off.

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true," glowered Zabini.

"No one important was hurt," Ginny said his words in a drawling imitation that made Carolyn Fawley and Neil Lament erupt into a simultaneous fit of coughing. "Leonard Wright was attacked," she continued, undeterred, "and you don't even have the decency to keep your mouth shut?"

"Better him than me," sneered Zabini.

"Stop it, both of you," said Malfoy angrily, standing between them. "The match is three weeks away and we aren't going to win anything if you're at each other's throats. Keep your issues off the pitch, or I will boot the two of you off the team. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," said Ginny curtly. "You can keep him. I'm off."

Without another word, she mounted her broom and flew to the castle. If she had stormed off on foot, she wouldn't have made it back without getting stopped. But Briseis had gotten the same idea and chased after Ginny on her own broom. When they reached the entrance hall, Briseis rounded on Ginny before their feet had even touched the ground.

"What the hell was that?"

"I'm not going back there," said Ginny, meeting Briseis' glare with her own. "I'm done, Briseis."

"You're quitting?" said Briseis incredulously. "You can't quit now!"

"You expect me to work with Zabini? After what he said?"

"We talked about this — we agreed —"

"Leonard Wright was attacked!"

Briseis froze, blanching.

"A student, our classmate, was attacked because his blood wasn't pure enough," said Ginny in a voice of forced calm. "There is a war outside over people who aren't pure enough. And Zabini, instead of acting like a decent human being for once in his life, doesn't care. That's the person you want me to compromise with?"

Briseis was standing there with her mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say.

"I'm done," Ginny repeated. "I've tried, but it has to go both ways. Compromise is only as good as the people who do it — and Zabini isn't trying. I'm not going to keep adjusting for him if he's not going to do the same."

She turned to march back to the dungeons, when Wendy appeared from down the corridor and hurried towards them in tears.

"Wendy?" said Briseis, when Wendy was shaking in her arms. "What's wrong?"

"It's — it's Margot, she — the hospital wing —"

They were moving before Wendy could even finish, and soon Briseis was pushing open the door to the infirmary.

There, on the bed next to Leonard Wright, Margot lay utterly still, her eyes open and glassy, her brown skin dull in the candlelight. In her hand was a small mirror, raised in front of her face, which was frozen in a look of wide-eyed terror.


Ginny paced the length of Dumbledore's office, unable to contain her restlessness.

"You promised you wouldn't," she said, her voice breaking. "You said you would let me find another way to open the Chamber."

"I did," said Dumbledore gently. "You assured me that Myrtle Warren's passing was the only death that resulted from the basilisk attacks. You were confident you can do it before that day could come."

"And I can!" she insisted. "I will! Myrtle doesn't die until next year — we still have time."

"I don't think we do." He spoke so softly, as if dealing with a frightened mouse that could scamper away at any moment. "Can you truly say you don't believe the same? Two Petrified bodies in less than a week — if the attacks keep happening at this rate, we can't rely on coincidence to save them from dying."

Ginny went still, her hands tightly gripping the back of her chair. Fawkes, perched on Dumbledore's desk, turned his head to meet her gaze with his black eyes, his beak flashing gold in the firelight. She focused on him instead — not Dumbledore's apologetic face or the Pensive waiting ominously behind him. "You said you weren't going to force me — you said —"

"I know," said Dumbledore sadly. "I understand your reluctance, but we've delayed long enough. There is no other way to open the Chamber, and the only way we can is through your memory."

Ginny knew this. She knew how important this was but —

Even now, there were times she would wash her hands and see blood instead of water. There were times she would hear hissing pipes and low whispers in the bathroom and start crying uncontrollably. There were times she would do her papers late in the night and see words that weren't her own.

Her insides were roiling with all the anger she had been fighting to stifle — her anger at Riddle, her disappointment at Alphard's inaction, her rage at this whole bloody mess — and she could feel it climbing up her throat.

"I can't," she said, finally looking up at Dumbledore. "Don't — don't make me face that again."

"Ginny, there are lives at stake, and this is the only way —"

"People are dying now!" she bellowed, no longer able to tamp down her frustration. "It's not your place to talk about saving lives when people are dying and you're — you're just sitting there like it's nothing!"

Dumbledore didn't react, and Ginny felt her anger flare.

"There's a war going on because you're too scared to do anything about it! You could have stopped him years ago — you could have stopped him before he even got started. So don't you dare lecture me about having to face my fears when you can't even face yours! When you can't even move against Grindelwald —"

"Enough."

There was something in how he said it, a power resonating in that one word, that stunned Ginny into silence. But she refused to back down, even as the warmth in his voice faded and cooled.

"You are here to stop Voldemort," said Dumbledore, his tone light and calm, "not to berate me on how I fight my battles."

"How you don't fight it, you mean," she retorted.

"My mistakes are my own, Ginny. How I handle the fallout is no one's business but my own."

"So are my mistakes! You told me to stop hiding away, but you're the one who's been hiding from —"

"I said enough," he said, still levelly, though his voice resounded through the room. "We are discussing Tom Riddle, not Grindelwald."

Ginny scowled. "You're being a hypocrite."

Dumbledore inclined his head, taking in her words with an easy acceptance that stoked her anger. "Then that's what I am, but my faults don't change what needs to be done and what you already know. I am sorry if you feel I sprung this on you, but we truly have no other choice. I would spare you this pain if I could, but the only way to open the Chamber lies in your memories. Think of what we could do, Ginny — think of what we could stop from happening. Think of —"

"The greater good?"

Dumbledore's kindly expression twisted to an eerie blankness. He stared at her for what felt like an age, the silence pressing in on her from all sides.

"You may have been allowed certain liberties, Miss Weasley," he said coldly, "but I am not your father, and you are not my daughter. It is not my task to teach you better sense or indulge your tantrums. If you insist on acting like a child, then I suggest you leave and stop wasting both of our times."

Ginny felt something inside her crumble, some deep inner wound that twisted and hurt so unbearably that she felt she could no longer stand. This was what she had wanted — for him to push her, to do something besides accept her weakness. But now she felt only shame welling up in her chest, and unable to look at him a second longer, she turned and left his office.

One day before the explosion.


When Ginny returned to the common room, she found Alphard asleep by the fireplace again. Before she could change her mind, she cast all the charms she could think of to keep the space private and shook him awake. Like before, he woke up immediately, but this time he was on his feet and swearing before she could get a word in.

"For God's sake!" growled Alphard, if a bit blearily. "I'm trying to sleep! Why can't you just leave me the f — oh."

Even in the dim light, Ginny could see his eyes light up with hope, only for it to flicker away as she kept her face blank. She wasn't really sure what she was doing, approaching him like this, but she knew that since they had stopped speaking, she had thought over and over of a cutting comment that would make him laugh when the teacher's back was turned, or a dumb joke that would make him groan and roll his eyes, or —

Or, maybe, even the truth.

"Again?" said Ginny, gesturing to the couch and covers.

Alphard shrugged. "It's a very comfortable sofa," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Not for the first time, Ginny wondered how she didn't see it sooner. As relaxed and laidback as Alphard normally was, he was absolutely rubbish at masking his discomfort.

"Are you really this afraid of Riddle?" she asked.

He sat back down with a scoff that sounded like a blunt bark. "I'm not afraid of anything."

It was supposed to be a joke, such a stupid piece of bravado that part of Ginny just wanted to hug him, maybe because he was right — as much as she liked to think she would have done differently in his place, she was just as terrified as he was. Maybe because she knew a thing or two about being lonely, even when she was in a gaggle of girls. Strange how she felt more connected here, in Alphard's company, more than she ever did upstairs in her dorm, without Margot —

Gingerly, Ginny sat down next to him, keeping a good few inches away. "What did he do to you?"

"It's not what he did to me," said Alphard slowly. "It's what he can do . . . Abraxas thinks I'm being paranoid but . . . I used to feel sorry for Riddle, you know. They hated him and they didn't hide it. Call it a reach, but I don't think Riddle is the sort to forgive and forget."

"You're not wrong," said Ginny, managing a smile. "And you weren't wrong about me, either. I'm sorry I shouted."

Alphard glanced at her before darting his gaze back to the fireplace. Ginny could tell he wanted to ask what she meant, and she almost wanted him to. Maybe she would have even told him the truth, or at least some of it, if only to have someone else share the burden of her secrets.

"I'm sorry about Margot," he said. "I'm sorry I'm not . . ."

His voice trailed away, and yet another part of Ginny wanted to viciously tell him his sorry would do nothing — that it wouldn't bring Margot back or save the Muggle-borns or close the Chamber —

But anger wouldn't do any of those things either, and Ginny was so tired of being angry. Alphard didn't deserve to receive the brunt of it, any more than Dumbledore deserved to be on the receiving end of her earlier outburst.

"Remember when I said I was going to do something about Riddle?" she said instead.

Alphard sat up like a bolt, his eyes widening. "You're not actually going to — Ginny, he's dangerous —"

"Someone has to stop him —"

"It doesn't have to be you," he said, his voice rising with panic. "He's not your responsibility —"

Ginny laughed. It was a bitter, half-hearted laugh which caught in her throat, but it was the principle of the thing. "Yeah, he is. We're the only ones who know what he's done."

"What happened to telling the teachers?" protested Alphard, speaking so fast his words blurred together. "Doesn't Dumbledore know?"

She looked away. "You were right: no one's going to believe Riddle did it."

"That doesn't mean you have to put yourself at risk —"

"It's either me or the rest of the school," she said firmly. "Doesn't seem like I have much of a choice."

Alphard stayed quiet for a long time, staring at her as though struggling to frame her meaning in words he could understand. There is a choice, he seemed to want to say.

"Maybe not for you," he said at last, with simple directness, as if it had been obvious all along.

Inexplicably, Ginny felt a burning, prickling feeling in the inner corners of her eyes. It was silly, but the way Alphard had spoken . . . it was as if he simply knew she was capable of it, of doing this thing she had tried so long to avoid, and she had to desperately cast aside these thoughts before she started crying over something so stupid.

"Is this why you're talking to me again?" said Alphard resignedly. "Is this supposed to be a goodbye?"

"You make it sound like I'm not coming back," she tried to joke.

"Are you?" he said very, very softly.

"Of course," said Ginny, with the same unconvincing bluster he had used before.


Ginny knew Riddle would be waiting for her with the same charming smile and offer to walk her to breakfast, as he had been doing for the past few days. She was counting on it.

When she came down to the common room that morning, she timed it exactly so she had enough time to punch him in the face.

"Bloody, buggering —" he began, slipping in a Cockney accent as he staggered back. Riddle righted himself immediately and looked around, alarmed, his hand on his cheek.

"That was for Margot," she snarled, quickly shoving her throbbing hand in her robes.

Riddle's eyes glinted menacingly. He dropped his hand from his face and reached for his wand, ready to retaliate —

Except he couldn't, because her roommates had arrived, just as she had planned; they were now staring at the pair of them expectantly. Ginny plastered a wide smile on her face.

"You go on ahead," she said brightly. "I'll catch up."

Briseis frowned but said nothing as she followed Wendy and Odette out of the common room. When they were gone, Riddle's expression hardened. It reminded Ginny of a bird of prey — severe, his eyes gleaming. She wouldn't have been surprised if he suddenly sprouted talons.

"So you do know," he said in a calm voice, like he hadn't been ready to curse her mere seconds ago. "I was beginning to think otherwise — you barely reacted the past week."

"Is that why you targeted her?" said Ginny heatedly. "For a reaction? She could have died —"

"She wouldn't have. If I wanted her dead, she would be."

"Spare me your excuses, Riddle. You're just embarrassed your pet isn't doing its job."

"It is," he said defensively. She was reminded so starkly of Ron and Pigwidgeon that she had to press her lips tight to prevent inappropriate laughter. "Do you even know why I opened the Chamber to begin with?"

"I can guess," drawled Ginny. "But this is the part where you monologue your evil plans, isn't it?"

Riddle shot her a withering look, but he went on as if she hadn't spoken.

"You lived in the Muggle world. You've seen the war, the bombs — you escaped it. I don't have that option. Every year, I have to go back. I have to leave the safety of Hogwarts for an orphanage that might not even be standing. Every summer, I would return there, fearing for my life, even though I've asked — begged Dippet, again and again, to let me stay here. And do you know what he did, each time I asked?"

His eyes were dark and far away, clouded with bitter anger.

"He patted my hand, told me he couldn't make any special arrangements — because it wouldn't be fair to the other students — and then sent me back. People like Dippet don't care about people like me, about supposed Muggle-borns. He would rather see us dead than make exceptions — because we don't fit his narrow view of fairness, because we don't matter to him.

"He doesn't understand — they don't understand what it is to live in fear. Can you blame me, for attempting to make them feel what we've felt? To make them see sense?"

Ginny took in his words. She had never thought this conversation would happen, for him to tell her about his life outside of Hogwarts' walls, of his own accord. Even Tom had needed a good deal of pestering before he ever properly opened up to her about his life.

She allowed herself to imagine a younger boy, sleeping in an old orphanage with too many children to feed, wishing for a home that was another world away as death fell from the sky. She could see it — the fear and anger that must have festered inside him, for yet another injustice dealt to him because of his blood and name.

"Rubbish," said Ginny.

Riddle looked at her for a moment, then he smiled thinly and shrugged. "Only just."

"Don't make this about Dippet," she said in a low fierce voice. "You're doing this because people like him — those people who think you don't matter? You're trying to prove them wrong."

He inclined his head, clearly humouring her. "And what am I proving?"

"That you're not what they think you are. You want them to know you're better than that — better than a Muggle-born."

"Believe what you want, Smith," he said, in tones of insufferable smugness. "It's my word against yours."

A fresh swell of anger rose in her. He was enjoying this. To him, this whole affair, even this conversation, was nothing more than a game.

"Why do you hate them?" asked Ginny, remembering Margot's words. "Isn't she magic enough? Aren't they magic enough?"

"I don't hate Muggle-borns," he said dismissively. "It was never about them or their magic."

"It's about yours," she said hotly. "Your magic, your power. You just parrot whatever talking points will get you the most support."

Riddle took a step closer to her, then another, his eyes on hers, sharp and curious. "Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to?"

Ginny stood her ground. He was so tall she would have to crane her neck if he moved any closer. "I don't know. I guess I wasn't expecting you to be so predictable. Turns out you're no different from everyone else."

He clenched his jaw.

"You like your books, don't you? You're just another would-be tyrant — I'm sure you know how their stories end."

"That won't happen to me," he said, sounding so sure that she couldn't help but laugh. His mouth twisted in a scowl. "Don't play at being the hero, Smith. You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"Do you? What's the worst you can do to me, Riddle?" The corner of her lips quirked upwards. "Leave my skeleton to lie in the Chamber forever?"

"Perhaps I'll leave Alphard Black's instead."

Ginny felt the muscles in her shoulder and back tighten. "I thought you were only after Muggle-borns."

But her response was a second too late, and Riddle noticed. He smirked, looking pleased with himself as if he had scored a point. "Enemies of the heir, remember?"

"If you don't close the Chamber, people will die," she said fiercely. "You might not care about that, but what do you think will happen to the school? They'll close down Hogwarts."

"They won't," he scoffed. "No one cares about Muggle blood."

"They will close the school," she insisted. "And you'll be back to where you started — penniless, powerless, no better than a Muggle in your orphanage."

Riddle's face shuttered and blanked of all emotion.

"I may not have killed Droope," he sneered, "but that doesn't mean I'm not capable of it. Don't test me, Smith —"

"I'm not," said Ginny, her voice hard and steady. "I'm telling you, Riddle. Close the Chamber or I'll do it myself."

"You can try."

"I will."

His eyes traced over her face again. It prickled uncomfortably, like he was trying to dig up private parts of her, thoughts and feelings that weren't his for the taking. But it wasn't Legilimency — it was just that strange, appraising look she couldn't quite figure out.

"You called me a monster," said Riddle at last. "One controlling another."

If she could raise one eyebrow, Ginny would do it now. She settled for lifting both at him. "Is that a question or are you expecting an apology?"

"I wonder what that makes you," he mused in a mild tone, as if he was merely discussing the weather. "I suppose you think you're the hero in all this."

"Well, you said it yourself," she said with a sharp, bold grin. "I am playing at it, aren't I?"

"I didn't think you'd be the type to have delusions of grandeur."

"Oh, that's rich coming from you, Lord Voldemort."

It might have been a bad idea — who knew what it might mean for her, revealing something like that — but Ginny couldn't deny her satisfaction at seeing Riddle's eyes widen and his jaw go slack. He quickly wiped the look of surprise off his face, shutting his jaw tight, but he couldn't hide the curiosity burning in his eyes.

"Word travels fast," she said coolly. "I'll just go ahead then, shall I?"

Ginny turned, her wand in hand, half-expecting Riddle to attack. He didn't, but she felt the pressure of his gaze like a weight against her chest as the door closed behind her.

Sixteen hours before the explosion.


During her first week in Hogwarts, Ginny had a dream where she sat up on her bed in the middle of the night, like there was an alarm clock in her mind. Her head felt light, like it was going to float off her shoulders, as she pulled the red hangings open around her bed, swung her legs over the side, and put her feet down onto the cold floor.

There was a boy waiting for her by the doorway. He looked about Percy's age, except taller and more handsome, with his dark hair perfectly combed and his Slytherin tie perfectly knotted.

"You're older than I am," she whispered. She didn't want to wake her roommates, who thought she was weird enough as it was.

"I am older than you," said the boy, not entirely unkindly.

"Yeah, but you're always my age when I dream."

"Hmm," he said, and he didn't look keen at the idea. "Do you dream of me often?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. He was her best friend, after all, and she liked to imagine him as someone who could have been her classmate, if he wasn't her diary. "But I always thought you'd look more like Harry."

He looked a bit grumpy at that, which made Ginny wonder if she had been talking about Harry a little too much. He never complained before, but she supposed he was too nice to bring it up.

Together, they made their way to the common room, climbed out the portrait hole, and went up through the silent castle. Ginny felt like she was floating more than walking, as if the air around her had been turned to water. It didn't even occur to her to ask why he was dressed in his uniform, while she was garbed in her pyjamas and knitted socks.

They used a hidden passageway to get to the second-floor corridor. He seemed impatient with her when they reached the entrance to the girls' bathroom, and his scowl darkened when she hesitated to step forward. She didn't know why she was suddenly uneasy, why she didn't want to push the door open right away — maybe it was because of her brothers' stories and warnings about Moaning Myrtle.

"When am I going to wake up?" she said. Somehow, she knew the answer was important. More important than going inside the bathroom.

He turned to her, completely masking his grumpiness with a soft expression. This looked more like the boy in her dreams, the one she imagined when she spent her summer writing to him in the privacy of her room.

"When we're finished," he said, and it sounded like he was teasing her. "Are you afraid?"

She clicked her tongue. "I'm not afraid of anything."

Still, Ginny didn't move, and she couldn't say why.

"You're going to do this, aren't you, Ginny?" he said softly, with a sweet smile. "You promised me you would."

She did promise she would help him. She had agreed to do him this favour. He had been such a lovely friend to her, and it was the least she could do . . . and yet. . . .

No, she was being ridiculous. She couldn't break her promise now. She had no reason to be worried — this was just a dream, after all.

So Ginny gave him a bright grin and said, "I can't believe you need an ickle firstie to help you . . . it's so easy. . . ."

He scowled again and she laughed. She knew he didn't like being teased, but she couldn't help herself. Growing up with her brothers, needling and joking were as easy as breathing.

"You have to hurry," he reminded her, sounding irritated but trying to hide it. "Do you remember what I told you? All you have to do is say —"

"Open," said Ginny, smiling still, and was warmly satisfied at the look he gave her. Saying it felt a bit strange though, and she was still getting used to the shape of the word on her tongue. "I did promise, didn't I, Tom?"