EDITED: July 10th, 2020

16 — The Point of No Return

Despite everything I was capable, I'd never been afraid of myself. The differences were normal for me, even if I was taught to fear judgment.

Before Hogwarts, talking to snakes had been one of the few things that brought me joy. I was different but it was the sort of different that was innocent and pure. Movies and books often highlighted that speaking with animals was magical and something special girls could do. For an orphan like me, it had meant the world.

Then people began to find out. First Claire. Then Mrs. Darcy and Carol. And accidentally two girls who had come and gone and thought it to be their imaginations.

Mrs. Darcy and Carol showed me how the real world worked. But it was Claire who showed me that being different wasn't bad.

Claire Adornetto was the first and only adult I could ever find it in me to trust entirely, even if the woman was long dead. The first thing she did when she found out I could talk to snakes – and I could never recall exactly how – was to present me all sorts of reptiles: From garden snakes to every type of lizards, including frogs, I can probably identify which ones are venomous or not. At that age, I learnt the deadly ones tended to be poised while the common reptiles tended to have an odd accent that was reminiscent of a countryside bumpkin.

I missed her. I missed her dearly. Claire had been accepting and encouraging and kind. She had been terribly kind and I eventually came to understand the world couldn't deal with those people.

She never left me. Not really. Whenever I thought of the future, I thought of her. I thought of myself, of whenever I laughed at other girls' dreams. At seven, the girls around me wished to be ballerinas, doctors, nurses.

Me? I wanted to have a family. I wanted to have a husband, a child, a pet, and a house. Eventually, I dropped the pet and just wished for the rest. When I was nine, I also renounced to having a house with a white picket fence and decided that a loft would work just as well.

At ten, I doubted myself. Boys were stupid. Unreasonably stupid. Did I really want to spend the rest of my life with one?

At eleven, I got my Hogwarts letter, and I thought: I want to have a family. Claire came to mind once again. Claire, who'd been so proud of her ridiculously superstitious family.

I suppose that's where everything started, even if my heart hadn't been in it. And yet, it was Natasha's truth that pushed me into such desperate measures.

Was it mad to blame someone for all this misfortune? I didn't care. It was easier blaming her while I drowned myself in the darkness, waiting for his voice to drag me out.

Waiting. Always waiting. I wonder if someone will wait for me one day.

Stupid, stupid, stupid

Little Anya wore her heart on her sleeve and cursed the people around her with misery. She craved for love and she –

Shut up, shut up, shut up

Little Anya craved for love and she lost it before she could receive it. She was kind, but people fooled her because she was a fool and did not understand love was an illusion.

Shut up, shut up

Love is for children, Anya. You will not be saved, for you have never been loved.

Nothing to say?

... You hypocrite.

You have never been loved either.

How can you say all that when no one ever cared for Tom Riddle.

What a common name.

What a stupid name.

Anya means "god's gift". Thomas means "twin". But you aren't anyone's twin.

You're an imitation. A copy.

Perfect Tom with his perfect scores, thought to be loved by his peers. Little Tom, thinking he was special because he could do things others couldn't. Eventually, he figured out he wasn't special and he sought to remedy that.

However, he got himself stuck inside a diary. Powerless. Useless.

Little Tom dreamt of being SOMEONE, and instead, the world forgot him.

...Clever.

But the world did not forget me. It is true I am a copy, but Tom Riddle was never forgotten. He lived and became the most feared wizard of all time. He carved himself in history, and the world FEARS him even in death.

Have you not figured it out by now, Anya Barton? You died the moment you decided to WANT.

I awoke with a scream, pale and brown arms circling me, caging me.

"– you'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream..."

The song startled me into submission. Parvati kept singing, rocking me back and forth while Lavender hummed along, all the while both being terrible.

Well, not Parvati. She had a very pretty voice.

"I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream I know you, that gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam."

Our dormitory's door snapped open and in rushed Fay Dunbar with Professor McGonagall at her toes.

Parvati, Lavender, and I froze. Her pyjamas were tartan and yellow-green. Such colours made my eyes hurt.

"Thank you, ladies," she said. "I will take over from here."

She waved her wand. My arms and legs snapped to my sides.

Had I been petrified?

Karma. This was karma for everything.

Another wave from her wand had me floating all the way down the stairs. We were greeted by Percy Weasley, who'd put on his school robes over his pyjamas. The fact he'd remembered putting on his Prefect badge made laughter burst out of me –

The sound didn't come out. I was as stiff as a board.

What a small mercy this happened in the middle of the night. No one was there to witness this embarrassment. And being petrified this way brought me a small sense of comfort, which lasted the short time it took us to arrive to the hospital wing.

Poor Percy. He froze when he saw Penelope Clearwater lying stiffly next to Hermione. Madam Pomfrey swiftly closed the curtains with a flick of her wand, and with a twin movement, she freed me. I fell limply onto one of the beds across from... them.

"I must retire," said Percy in a quivering voice. "My brothers – Ron –" His eyes flickered to Hermione's bed.

"We understand, Mr. Weasley," said Professor McGonagall, uncharacteristically gently. She turned to us. "I'm afraid the situation has come as a shock to Miss Barton, Poppy. Could you please have her drink a Sleepless Potion and allow her to stay?"

To stay? Was she mad? "No!" I yelled. "I-I can't, not with them here."

Tom would find me. And when he did, he would kill them. He would do it in the order they'd been petrified, if only to taste my fear as Hermione's turn grew closer and closer –

"Please," I begged.

A numbing sensation spread from my shoulder and down my other limbs. My chest lightened and my head swung around madly. He couldn't be here, not now –

Madam Pomfrey's hand rose from my shoulder, her concern palpable.

"A panic attack," she murmured to the others. No, it wasn't a murmur – she'd spoken as clear as day.

It was just me who was spiralling into darkness.

•••◘◘◘•••

The following morning, I woke up with Ginny's hair spread over my lap. Fred and George were standing guard at the doors, talking lowly between themselves.

George saw me first. He nudged his brother, and both hurried to my side.

"Hey," he said. "You okay? Ginny heard what happened and wanted to see you – she was close to throwing a tantrum before Percy asked McGonagall."

"This is them, aren't they?" Fred said suddenly. He was gazing at the closed curtains at the other side of the wall. The petrified victims. He tried to get a closer look, but George stopped him with a look. Properly shamed, he returned to his spot at the door.

"Sorry about that," George murmured. "I'm sorry about Hermione."

A tear leaked out, scalding my cheek. I made no move to clean it.

Ginny jerked awake. Her bloodshot eyes took a while to focus, but George still left us.

"Anya," she mumbled. "What are we going to do?"

I looked over her shoulder. She followed my gaze –

Tom's hand clamped over her mouth, effectively silencing her.

She squeaked. The twins looked over momentarily.

"If I were you, I would keep quiet, Miss Weasley," said Tom. "Your brothers are here... we wouldn't want anything bad happening to them, would you? Now, when I remove my hand, you will stay this way. Do you understand?"

She nodded. True to his word, he let her go. Tom moved to the end of the bed, his eyes watching us.

"Yes, Miss Weasley. I am real. Read your mind? In a way. Your face is as expressive as Anya's was."

You sick bastard. You'll rot in hell.

"I am already in hell, Anya," said Tom. "And you promised me to get me out of here." Ginny startled. "Oh yes, she hasn't told you, has she? I had to be given permission to even whisper in her mind. But Anya broke her end of the bargain when she allowed you in our secret, Miss Weasley.

"Scream all you like – you can't. You are weak; you have been from the very beginning. And please, do not curse Anya – not when you had the chance to stop her."

It was my turn to startle. Ginny paled further. Her mouth opened and closed.

Tom sighed. "Children – you always make a great deal out of nothing." His next words were obviously for me. "Miss Weasley told you she was following you per your Head of House's orders, but she did not tell you the whole truth. We had a witness, Anya, the very first time we roamed this castle alongside our creature. From the very moment you hung the cat on a torch to the last letter you wrote on the wall with the roosters' blood. Yes, Miss Weasley was shocked – but a small part of her was exhilarated. The great Anya Barton, not as perfect as she appeared." He smirked. "What would Harry Potter say if he knew?"

My heart sunk. Of course he'd use that card. The one thing Ginny and I feared – Harry's judgment.

But Ginny didn't know Tom was playing with her. Didn't know how manipulative his words could be, how he found amusement in the cruelty that was a sentence entwined with a lie and a truth. Didn't know he was truly the devil, how there was no escape from him.

Oh, Ginny. I'm sorry. So, so sorry.

"You are smart, Ginevra. I know you are. I have seen your mind, and while it is not as fascinating as Anya's, you have potential of being great. Of outshining all those who surround you... enough to capture Harry's interest."

"No," I said.

The word echoed in the hospital wing. Fred and George were now looking at us. Ginny had stopped shaking.

"No?" said Tom slowly.

Yeah, are you deaf? I said no. No no no no no no no –

He raised his fist and squeezed. My throat closed up.

Oh Lord, oh lord, help me, please –

"Stop," Ginny whispered.

He loosened his fist. I inhaled the air greedily.

"This is just a taste of what I can do, Ginevra Weasley. If you don't wish harm to come to your family, you will do exactly as I say."

Madam Pomfrey's office's door sprung open. Tom vanished with the sound.

•••◘◘◘•••

Harry and Ron appeared later in the day. All of us startled at the other's appearance. It was one thing I looked like this, but it was another for them to seem like they'd come out from a Slytherin ambush.

I told them so, and Ron's response was to glance warily at the window behind me before approaching the bed at all. Harry simply rolled his eyes and dragged a chair next to my bed.

"We decided to confront Hagrid about the spider," he whispered.

"The spider?" I repeated blankly.

"The one from the vision," Harry clarified. "But Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic came before we could ask him about it."

Bewildered, I could only watch as Ron kicked at the curtains viciously.

"And Lucius Malfoy," he said harshly. "And because of him, Dumbledore's been sacked. And Hagrid! Hagrid was chucked into Azkaban!"

"What?" I hissed, rising violently. "Are they stupid? If Dumbledore's gone, the attacks are going to worsen!"

And Hagrid. Poor Hagrid. I knew the stories about Azkaban and its guards. People went mad in that place and rarely came out alive. If he returned, there wouldn't be a guarantee I'd be our Hagrid anymore.

"Stupid Malfoy," I muttered, falling back.

"It's not only that," Harry said.

"There's more? What can possibly be worse than this?"

In a very hollow voice, Ron said, "We've got to follow the spiders."

I glanced at Harry uncertainly.

Why have you not talked with Harry Potter?

You know what I will do if you don't obey me.

I'm not afraid.

Bluff all you like. I can see you as you are.

And yet, you can't get me to talk to one of my closest friends.

...I have been thinking. You claim these friends of yours are close to you – have even boasted their uncanny ability to solve puzzles –but I am still waiting for them to even suspect YOU.

Ginny Weasley did.

Justin Finch-Fletchey figure it out seconds before his petrification, as did Hermione Granger.

But how can your so called FRIENDS not even glance in your way? How is it that they cannot remember the diary being in your possession during last summer?

...

You supply of excuses has emptied then.

You insolent girl! Why did you not tell me?

Tell you what? You can simply see in my head, can't you?

Can't you?

You can't.

You can't see in my head. Not anymore. Or maybe not at all.

Your precious BOY WHO LIVED has to pay for what he has done to me!

You failed twice. You'll fail again.

Third time is the charm, Anya. And I didn't have you back then.

Sometimes, when I just happened to walk down a certain path, I would remember green scales. Giant green scales. Whenever I passed the wall on which the first warning appeared, I would remember the blood.

The rest came to me in dreams. I resorted to using a Silencing Spell around my bed and tying one wrist to one of the posts.

All in vain, of course. I always woke up untied and with red hands. From scrubbing or leftover blood... I didn't want to know.

He was always there, wherever I was looking. Never did Tom stand behind me. It was a logic I could understand. Considering my recent discovery, I may as well don't show him my back, or else he would stab me when I less expected it. Which could be at any moment.

How unfair. The world moved on without me, but Tom refused to let me go, never mind he had Ginny too. It was worse that she could talk to her friends and family while I had to hide at every corner to avoid jumping at Harry.

The urge was definitely not mine. It was one thing to see him and feel my heart at my throat, it was another to be whisking my wand and pointing it at him, ready to curse him.

It wasn't until Tom pointed it out to me that I realized I'd never really spoken of Harry and his circumstances. If I mentioned Voldemort, it was only because of what happened with the Philosopher's stone. My first thought was always of Ron, who'd almost died. Even then, it was my mother who had taken priority.

Voldemort had killed Cassie Barton. Tom had murdered my mother.

If I missed a step, he would kill Harry too.

The clearing of a throat caught my attention. Professor McGonagall stood at the Headmaster's podium, looking incredibly solemn.

"I have good news," she announced.

Instead of falling silent, the Great Hall erupted explosively.

"Dumbledore's coming back!"

"You've caught the Heir of Slytherin!"

"QUIDDITCH MATCHES ARE ON!"

Everyone turned to look at Wood, as he had jumped on the table with his arms raised. They all looked like they didn't quite believe his trail of thoughts. When Oliver received no answer, he sat down slowly.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

"Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified." There was a round of cheers. "Silence! I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit."

Relief washed through me. Hermione would wake up. She was going to be all right.

And once she woke, she would tell. I would be expelled.

Better expelled than ending the year with murder.

•••◘◘◘•••

Ginny Weasley was supposed to be the lucky seven in her family. Born as the seventh child of the newest generation of Weasleys but also the first female born exactly seven generations since the last one, she'd been told all her life she would always be blessed with nothing but happiness.

To be fair, Aunt Muriel couldn't have predicted what her first year at Hogwarts would be like. The old woman's times were completely different to Ginny's: Aunt Muriel was the epitome of the old ways, preaching a woman's duty was to be a wife and mother, the bloody hypocrite. Knitting was probably her idea of fun.

Or maybe possessing knitting needles made the old coot's evil heart happy. Ginny would've been too, but she was all too aware knitting needles wouldn't save her.

Harry Potter could, her traitorous heart whispered.

Unconsciously, she looked over her brother. It was easier to search for a Weasley at the Gryffindor table, but it took her two tries before she found Ron. Predictably, he sat at Harry's right. The boy's left side was empty, usually taken by either Hermione or Anya.

As far as Ginny knew, Anya wasn't in the Great Hall.

Heart at her throat, she dared to keep gazing at Harry.

There was a second where Ginny hesitated. If she told him and Ron the truth, they would know what role she played in this twisted game. Despite Ron's constant dimwittedness, he could usually place clues together faster than any in their family. He'd be able to tell why Ginny had kept her mouth shut about Anya and might not forgive her.

But Ginny was terrified of what could happen if she didn't speak now. Curse Tom Riddle and his threats – without Anya, he was nothing. He couldn't do anything unless the girl was dead.

Anya was not. She was fighting.

Sticking out her chest, Ginny brazed herself for the conversation. Brazed herself for victory... and for failure.

Merlin, please don't let me down. Please.

•••◘◘◘•••

Tom appeared behind Binns' board. The ghost shivered as the mirage walked past him, though his droning never stopped.

It was fascinating as it was terrifying. How come Tom could be felt now, when he'd been wandering around for months? What did that mean?

"It's time."

I blinked, my hand stilling around my quill. He stood in front of me now, cutting off my view of Binns. I hadn't seen him walk all the way from the front to the back.

No one noticed when I stood. The sound of the chair scrapping the floor was drowned out by several quills scratching parchment furiously.

I didn't question Ginny's presence at Myrtle's bathroom. I lingered a little on her red-stained hands, but Tom shoved me forward.

We moved to the last sink, where I caressed the tiny snake carved on the copper taps. Ron had been right: the truth had always been right under our noses.

"Open," I said.

At once, the tap glowed and began to spin. The sink disappeared under the floor, leaving the entrance hole open.

Holding Tom's diary to her chest, Ginny went first. I quickly followed.

The journey down was swift. My feet breaking bones was hardly noticeable. All I could see was Ginny's red hair and Tom's shimmering silhouette ahead, leading me in the darkness.

We came to a stop before a solid wall. The intertwined snakes came alive when I spoke, their emerald eyes glittering as they revealed a long passage.

At last. Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. It was gloomier than I remembered.

Tom took the place in, a smile playing at his lips.

"At last," he murmured reverently. "It took me fifty-four years to get here. Salazar Slytherin's work will not be in vain." He twitched. "I suppose I must thank you, Anya. Without you... well. Perhaps it may have taken the other me some ten years to achieve this little experiment's success."

Experiment. He called all of this an experiment.

With a mighty roar, I ran at him. Catching him unaware, I was able to throw him to the floor and keep him down. Shimmery as he was, every punch landed exactly where I wanted, winding him.

It didn't last. His dark eyes changed from dark to ice blue, and I didn't even realize I was now under him, his hands holding my wrists down.

Kicking him didn't work. Unlike my hands, my legs simply went through him. I tired very quickly after noticing that.

Defeat was cold. It was cold and hard and my entire body was shutting down all at once –

At the same time, he grew solider. Less like a ghost. His blue eyes now held a hint of grey in them.

Heterochromia Iridum. My own eyes stung. If I had a mirror, I'd probably see dark eyes. Dark as tunnels, void of life –

Tom Riddle smirked at me. It was a captivating and horrifying sight.

"Now, rest."

Every sound faded.

(The glint in her eyes vanished. Her hands fell limply on each side of her head.

Tom breathed.

At last – freedom.)