EDITED: July 10th, 2020

11 — Stranger Than You Dream It

Stepping out of the hospital wing was a mistake. Yet, with Tom's ever watchful eyes following my every step, I couldn't just run back. It would make me look like a coward – not to mention I'd be breaching our deal.

But the moment I stopped before Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, I voiced my complaints.

"Of all the places you could've led me to... Are you serious? Myrtle's bathroom?"

I was an idiot. Everyone knew not to come to Myrtle's place. Even Filch – who was in charge of the castle's maintenance – hadn't bothered to replace the old, scratched door. A 'Keep Out' sign was stuck to the door – a reminder to first years.

For the first time, Tom Riddle felt like a burden.

I chased that thought away. I glanced behind me at the corridor, waiting – hoping – for someone to appear. At the moment, everyone seemed appealing: Filch, Peeves, Snape – it didn't matter. It would spook me from ever doing this. It would force me to reveal Tom.

But there was no one. Even Tom had gone.

His absence spoke volumes. In the end, this was my choice.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. I cringed at its pitiful groan, expecting Myrtle to come barrelling from some stall. When she didn't, I stepped inside. The door didn't make a sound this time.

No wonder no one dared to come. The place was hideous and smelt like something had rotted in here. Its only saving grace was the mirror, whose cleanness seemed off. It took the entirety of the wall across the stalls, and yet, I could discern a mirror image of the bathroom.

I peered and touched every sink, each time rubbing my hands on my pants. Their grim was sticky like vinegar, not to mention the heightened smell of copper that kept me at hands bay. I was beginning to feel hopeful when my fingers found the shape Tom had described accurately.

A small pair of Ss that formed a snake, crisscrossed in the middle to make up the body. The lines were fine and delicate-looking.

I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood. Its coppery taste was almost comforting. I drew in a sharp breath, then –

"Open."

It had been a long time since I'd spoken Parseltongue. I hadn't known what it was back then. And while my practice was rusty, it was easy to fall back on the language.

It took two more tries for something to happen. The moment the long and fading hiss left my lips, the pipes groaned. Then, in an abrupt move, the sink vanished banished behind the wall, revealing a large hole on the floor. This crevice was big enough for a man to slide in. My heart sank when I tried to peer inside but saw only darkness.

"One last chance," said Tom. I looked at him through the mirror, cringing at my pale face.

"The last time I did this... it didn't end well." I looked at my hands. My poor, burnt hands. I didn't regret having the marks – but I did resent what they represented.

Weakness. Failure.

"With me at your side, you will never feel weak," Tom said fervently. A weight fell on my head. His fingers squeezed gently at my scalp, and I let out a shuddery sigh.

"Together?"

"Together."

I sat down and let my legs dangle in the abyss. I took a deep breath. Then I gripped the edges of the hole. I didn't want to continue. I wanted to be back on my bed, forget this happened at all –

I let go.

I crossed my arms over my chest as I slid down the pipes, closing my eyes when the wind was too strong. Every once I spotted more pipes branching off, but my descent was steep, if not a little bumpy. There was moment when everything turned black, and I instinctively shot out both arms to feel beneath me.

My fingers caught onto the rim of the pipe at the last moment, and I dangled a little above the ground.

It wasn't as dark as I thought it would be. There were more tunnels here, allowing slivers of light to reveal the awful lake of skeletons my feet sank into. Against my better judgment, I lit my wand.

Arm thrust forward, I ignored the empty eye sockets staring at me and the crunching of bones beneath me. But the sound became so overwhelming that I stopped fend off my rising panic.

"Tom?" I whispered. "Tom, are you here? Where are you?"

I am here. I am here, Anya.

Five minutes in this place and I was already going mad. But that impossible voice kept talking; it crooned in my ear, telling me how extraordinary I was. How brave I had been to have come so far. It encouraged me to keep forward, to not stop.

He was sucking up to me, I knew. People like that had always bothered me. But now that I was the recipient, I couldn't help but strain my ears and let his voice lull me. It was addicting.

A very solid wall with two large pillars shaped like serpents made me stop. Each reptile had a pair of emerald stones as eyes and they seemed to be staring me down. Waiting.

I hesitated. I took a step back –

A voice that was not mine spoke. I looked behind me, and for a second, for what seemed like a lifetime – a pair of striking blue-gray eyes watched me.

•••◘◘◘•••

I blinked.

My head hurt and my chest felt like I had spat out a lung. Moving hurt, too, so I stopped and stared at the bed canopy.

I began to count the cobwebs. For each one, I listed everything I was aware of.

One. The curtains were closed. That itself was rare. Having lived my entire life in a place full of girls, I was used to taking off my shirt in front of anyone without modesty. Hermione had felt the necessity to remind me that no one was as open-minded as I.

Nine. Something smelled bad. I rolled over my bed, following the scent, only to gag when I saw my shoes. Muddy and covered with dust. I shot a cleaning spell at them, and the dirt disappeared.

Seventeen. None of the other girls were awake. Lavender was a mess of tangles on her bed, Parvati slept on peacefully, and Fay and Hermione had their curtains closed.

Twenty. I was in my dormitory and not the hospital wing.

I jumped from the bed and snatched whatever was at hand. An old t-shirt and the uniform jumper, a pair of loose trousers, and clean underwear. I had to run back when I saw I hadn't brought socks.

The shower almost peeled my skin, but it was worth it. When I finished, I put on my clothes, brushed my teeth, and brushed my hair; I took two strands of hair from each side of my head and twisted them, tying them where they met.

I looked into the mirror. My face was pale – terribly pale. Like a living corpse.

When I stepped out, Hermione was just rising.

"You're back!" she said cheerfully. Then her eyes rounded when I got nearer. "Wasn't it too early? You look worse than yesterday!"

My hand went to my chest. I tried to smile. "Nah. I feel fine – I just had a bad dream."

This kept her from harping further. None of us liked to speak of bad dreams... not when we already knew what they were about. But she still said: "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head. "It shook me, that's all. And don't worry about me looking like I walked out of a grave –Madam Pomfrey said I'd be feeling a bit weak for the next days."

"You didn't tell me how things went with Professor McGonagall," she said suddenly.

"Got detention for a month in the Hospital Wing, and guess what? Flint just got a week! And Malfoy – oh, don't let me start on him – ACHOO!"

I moved my hand from my nose. The small spurt of blood made me grimace.

With a sense of foreboding, I glanced at Hermione.

•••◘◘◘•••

She freaked out, naturally, like a normal person would. The moment she saw my blood, Hermione herself escorted me all the way back to the hospital wing, going into one of her tirades and not minding in the least the hundred pairs of eyes following us.

They were as humiliating as they were relieving. I didn't have to speak, and I found myself trying really hard to remember how I got back to the common room. The last thing I could recall was Snape leaving the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey handing me a potion – and then I was on my bed at the dormitory.

It must have been the potion. I must have had an allergic reaction to it... or maybe it had been too strong.

This time, I allowed Madam Pomfrey prod me to her heart's content. The missing memories had worried her too, and if it worried Poppy, then it should be something to be freaking about. So I endured another day of swallowing ugly-tasting potions and less-than-good food, to finally hear the dreaded verdict: I was definitely not well.

All the way to October, my friends had to watch me go to the hospital wing every three days for my check-up. While Hermione looked like I was preparing for an early grave, Ron swore up and down the Slytherins had to be doing something for me to be this sick.

"Come on, Anya," he'd argued. "Last time you got a cold, you still outran Neville when the two of you were late for Potions!"

Harry, the mother-hen he secretly was, always had my Pepper-Up potion at hand. He, like Ron, believed the Slytherins had something to do with my health, but was less vocal about it.

The only pro from all this was that Snape was forced to accept Marcus Flint had inflicted a damage of sorts. Thus, the boy was not only put in detention, he was also banned from his Quidditch Captain duties. The Gryffindor team showed their appreciation with large supplements of chocolate. Despite their training being stalled by the constant rain, they were way ahead on schedule than the Slytherin team. The Weasley twins even gave me my own kit of Filibuster Fireworks and invited me to watch their practices, something that was unheard of since Wood had become captain.

He didn't have to worry though. There was no way I would be walking in the rain in the state I was. Also, I hated mud.

This was why I jumped from the couch when Harry dropped next to me, drenched and muddy and smelling distinctly of petrichor and broomstick polish.

"Ew, get off!" I shoved him. "You've got showers in the locker rooms, don't you?"

Harry stared. Then he thrust his head forward and shook it. Speckles of water hit me.

I jumped away. "Ugh! You're such an immature git!"

"I live to make your life difficult," said Harry flatly.

"What held you up?" Ron asked.

"Filch. He caught me leaving a trail of mud and was planning to recommend torture as my punishment. Then Sir Nicholas saved me. And I got invited to his Deathday party."

I frowned. "Don't you mean birthday party?"

Harry shook his head. "He said Deathday party. It really means what I'm thinking, right?"

I snorted a laugh. "Please tell me you were smart to say no."

"What was I supposed to do?" Harry said defensively.

"I think it is going to be fascinating," Hermione gushed, hugging her copy of Year with the Yeti to her chest. "Few living people get to go."

"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?" said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. "Sounds dead depressing to me..."

"Sir Nick, obviously," said Harry. "But that means we'll miss the feast, though."

"Yeah, and we—wait, what?!" said Ron, whipping to face Harry with a look of dread on his face. "We're missing the feast?!"

I gleefully drank in his horrified expression. "You" – I pointed at the three of them – "will be missing the feast and go to the Deathday party. Meanwhile, I'll be all in the hospital wing, soaking up the smell of the sick and the lullaby of the whiny, followed by a wonderful detention with Snape."

"Wow," said Ron, "the Pepper-Up really got you whammied, didn't it? You sure they don't want to off you?"

I looked at him darkly. "I'll make sure to eat double servings in your honour on my way back."

"But don't you have an hour before you have to go to the dungeons?" Hermione asked.

"And risk getting Snape's wrath? No thanks."

"Better you than me," said Harry, squeezing the water excess from his sleeves.

•••◘◘◘•••

"You're free to go, Miss Barton."

I released all the bedspreads with a groan.

"Ron was right," I said, "you're trying to kill me!"

"Holding bedspreads is hardly torture, Miss Barton," Madam Pomfrey said.

"Not when it's twelve of them. You're not in cahoots with Snape, are you?"

She sighed. "Anya, we need to make sure you can continue with your daily activities despite your inconsistent health. From eating to running –"

"– and holding bedspreads," I muttered.

She raised her eyebrows. "Do you want to clean the bedpans, then?"

I shook my head quickly. "No ma'am."

Madam Pomfrey sighed. Then she handed me a small box with three potions inside. I knew their taste by heart after almost a month of drinking them. I must have made a face because the matron's face softened.

"It's only temporal, dear, until we know what we're dealing with."

I knew what I was dealing with. Nosebleeds, headaches, chest pains, and possibly sleepwalking (if I counted all the suspicious mornings I woke up to find my shoes muddy). But I couldn't tell her this – Madam Pomfrey already suspected the concussion from last term had something to do with the headaches. Telling her I was roaming the castle at night would only get me a spot at St. Mungo's, or worse... an asylum.

"I know, Poppy. It's that all?"

After her nod, I left, shouldering my rucksack on the way. I had eighty minutes left before meeting Snape for detention, time I had plans for, mainly visiting the kitchens for an earlier snack. Snape, it seemed, had no qualms about losing a meal, but I did.

At this hour, corridors were pretty much empty. Most of the students were either in their common rooms; the seniors were camping at the library; or couples were snogging in hidden cupboards, all while they waited for dinner time.

Perspiration trickled down my back when I veered off abruptly; instead of going to the corridor that led to the kitchens, I was walking toward the one that led to the courtyard.

I had the strange urge to visit Hagrid's hut. But I had seen Hagrid two days ago; we'd talked over tea while he teased Harry about Ginny again, telling Ron and Hermione the girl had asked if we could carve Harry's face on a pumpkin. We'd laughed over it while Harry valiantly fought off a blush. Before we left, we promised we would return on Monday.

Today was Saturday, and the inkling of going to Hagrid's grew stronger with each step I took.

I was sweating. I was running. I was thrilled.

But when my feet came to a stop not at Hagrid's door, but at the rooster pen, there was a sharp sound and –

I blinked.

A pair of brown eyes stared up at me nervously.

"Ginny?"

She was holding my hands. I couldn't help but notice hers were as red as mine. As if we'd spent hours scrubbing them.

"What are you doing? In fact – where are we?" I looked around. The old stalls and putrid smell made it easier to identify. "Hold on, what are we doing in Myrtle's bathroom?"

Her voice trembled. "You don't remember?"

Narrowing my eyes, I shook my head slowly. She considered me for a moment before she released my hands and knelt. When she stood up, she was offering me my rucksack.

"Your nose was bleeding. Awfully. I helped you get here to clean yourself and you told me to never speak of this to anyone."

"I did?" It was something I would do. It was something I had done. But the way Ginny said it was worrying. As if she –

"Don't you have detention with Snape? You're going to be late!"

She had a point, though. I was late, and Snape was going to skin me alive.

"Yeah, thanks, Ginny!"

I threw her a grin, which faltered when I really saw her.

Red hair tangled, clothes askew, her skin pasty – she looked like she was the one who had the health problems instead of me.

But I didn't have time to dwell on that. A part of me didn't want to acknowledge that something was wrong with this image.

So I ran. I ran until it stopped being a necessity and walking became a chore.

•••◘◘◘•••

My hands were hurting, but with Snape standing above me and looking over my work, I couldn't stop. Not when he'd threatened to give me another hour of detention. Apparently, half an hour was too merciful for a brat like me.

I was ready to chuck the cauldron somewhere when a blue light filled the room. It transformed into a wispy creature made of light. The bird that landed on the rickety chandelier above us opened its mouth.

"Severus, I need your assistance," said the bird in Dumbledore's voice. "A great disturbance has occurred. Join us on the second floor, the corridor to the right of the grand staircase."

And then the bird vanished with a tendril of smoke.

I would have liked to think of this piece of magic longer, but I couldn't ignore the gravity in Dumbledore's voice. Evidently, Snape thought the same, as he summoned his wand and with a flick, the other ten cauldrons awaiting me became clean.

"Come," he said and swept out of the dungeon. I had to jog to catch up with him.

Snape had all the markings of a creature of the night. Not only did he dress up as one, but he also moved within the shadows like he was born from them. He ran all the way up to the second floor without breaking a sweat while I was wheezing and had to take a break at the foot of the stairs. By the time I reached him, I was trying to weakly push my way through the crowd.

I didn't have to. Soon, people moved apart, and I saw Dumbledore holding, of all things, Mrs. Norris by her tail.

But there was something wrong with her. For one, she wasn't moving. Such position should've provoked her into a hissy fit, but her eyes were glassy and unseeing.

(Red. So much red. There's water on the floor. A flash of green.)

He passed right by me, ignoring me. I looked at him briefly, and saw, to my dismay, Harry, Ron, and Hermione behind him.

"Guys, what's going?"

Harry opened his mouth but Snape broke in.

"Move along, Barton." His eyes were glittering maliciously. "This does not concern you. We will continue with your detention tomorrow." He jerked his chin at my friends. "Come."

I was left in the middle of a frenzied crowd.

We were ushered by the Prefects to our common rooms. The whispers had yet to stop, and it was with this odd feeling in my stomach that I waited for my friends to return. I tried to make sense of what was being said, but no one really knew what was going on. All they saw was Mrs. Norris hanging from a torch, next to a part of the wall that had been vandalized with blood; all they heard was Draco Malfoy taking advantage of the confusion to settle fear into Muggle-borns.

I asked Neville what the message on the wall had said exactly. The boy, still pale and looking like he was about to drop, whimpered but said this:

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware."

(Water. There's water on my clothes. The smell of copper is strong.)

Soon, one by one, students disappeared into their respective dorms. Two hours later, I decided to go to bed when I realized I'd have to wait for answers until tomorrow.

I was just about to close the curtains when the door fell open and Hermione barrelled in. She looked like she wanted to cry. The girl all but dropped on my bed, burrowing her face on my pillow, sniffing loudly.

I waited for her to recover.

"We were leaving Sir Nicholas' party when Harry said he heard something," she started. I wasn't half-surprised that it was Harry who led them to this situation, but I still jolted. "He began to run all the way up, saying the voice was moving, but Anya – Ron and I couldn't hear anything. And then" – her lips trembled – "then we found Mrs. Norris. She was hanging from this torch... we thought she was dead."

"And then everyone left the feast and found you at the scene," I said, being careful of not sounding accusing. "That's when Malfoy came in, right?"

She nodded. "And Professor Dumbledore appeared. When we were in Professor Lockhart's office, he analyzed Mrs. Norris and –" she stopped.

"And?"

Hermione took a deep breath.

"She was petrified. She was alive but petrified." Her voice then got smaller. "Anya, you saw the wall – what if I end up like her? What if Malfoy was right and – and something happens to us Mudbloods?"

"Muggle-borns," I corrected absently. But I was trying too hard not to think about it because for Hermione to be this worried it meant that this was something to really be aware of.

An image came to mind. It was Hermione, her eyes just as glassy as Mrs. Norris' had been. If being petrified was literally the meaning of the word, I couldn't imagine the cat was still alive. If Hermione ended like that –

("You and I will burn this world, Anya Barton.")

"Take off your shoes," I told Hermione. She did so without a word, and when she took off her cloak, I closed the curtains around us.

In this space, even if it was with Hermione's nails clawing my skin as she tried to rationalize this new mess we found ourselves in, I felt my chest loosen.

•••◘◘◘•••

My hands shook. There had been no dreams of dead butterflies or beetles like the last few days, only sweet oblivion.

I felt revitalized.

The mirror told me otherwise.

I tried to not gap at my face but it was difficult. My skin had always been a healthy pale tan, but today it was waxy and the pockmarks – pockmarks! I'd forgotten I had them – were more pronounced thanks to the bags under my eyes.

I looked like I was trying to mimic a character from the Evil Dead.

No matter how many times I washed my face, I still looked sick.

My head hurt. And to my bewilderment, my fingers trembled. My heart raced like it wanted to burst out of my chest. I glimpsed my face.

Without warning, without any reason, I cried.

I counted the facts. I counted every single action, every single reaction – and nothing made sense. Nothing, except the sliver of hope Lavender Brown's makeup pouch had given me. Searching other people's belongings was not my thing, but I didn't feel any guilt whatsoever when I used Lavender's foundation and blush; the girl had too many back-ups to worry about not being prepared.

For once, I was thankful of Lavender's sudden transition into adolescence. The makeup made me look normal again, though I had to button up my shirt up to my neck so that the still pale skin wasn't viewable.

One turn to the right, one turn to the left. I smiled at my reflection. If I ignored the unusual red around the whites of my eyes, even I couldn't tell what had gone wrong.

(Water. Yellow eyes. Green scales.)

I closed my eyes.

"Anya, are you there?"

I took a deep breath. When I greeted Hermione at the door, I was composed.

Tom, something happened yesterday. Something horrible. And I can't remember what happened between the hospital wing and Snape's detention.

Anya, you were in the hospital wing. You were writing to me about your friends being invited to a Deathday party.

Did I? I don't remember taking you with me...

I'm always with you, Anya. Always.