EDITED: July 10th, 2020

17 — Twisted Every Way

Ron Weasley was having a crappy year. It had taken him a month to feel comfortable at having most of his siblings at Hogwarts, all who bothered him on a daily basis and at every hour, as if he did not have a life of his own. His wand found a nasty end at the branches of the Whomping Willow. And he was pretty sure his friends had gone mad while he wasn't looking.

Seriously. The things one had to deal with when befriending the boy-who-lived, a bookworm, and a girl that might as well be a dragon in disguise. Their personal issues had issues – the kind that either drove them mad or... no. That was it. Ron thanked whatever deity listened to wizards that his worries only involved keeping those three nutters sane.

However, now that Harry and Hermione had basically solved the mystery behind the Heir of Slytherin, he felt safety was overrated. A sudden thought hit him.

"The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets! What if it's a bathroom?" It couldn't be that mad now, could it? If the basilisk travelled through pipes, who's to say one of them didn't lead to the Chamber? "What if it's in —"

Harry's eyes lightened in excitement. "— Moaning Myrtle's bathroom! This means I can't be the only Parselmouth in the school. The Heir of Slytherin's one, too. That's how he's been controlling the basilisk."

"What're we going to do? Should we go straight to McGonagall?" Ron hesitated. "What about Anya?"

Harry balked a little. He clearly hadn't thought of her at all, not that Ron blamed him. Harry was like a Crup: once he got something in his mind, he didn't let go until he found a sensible solution. Sensible to him, anyway.

"We haven't got time," he said finally. "History of Magic ends in ten minutes. McGonagall will probably be in the staffroom in that time."

Ron accepted this reluctantly. He had a really bad feeling about not having Anya with them.

His hunch was proved correct when it was Professor McGonagall's voice that rang outside the empty staffroom and not the bell.

"All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staffroom. Immediately, please."

Harry wheeled around to stare at Ron.

"Not another attack? Not now?"

"What'll we do?" said Ron, aghast. "Go back to the dormitory?"

"No," said Harry, glancing around. He ran at the ugly wardrobe at the corner of the room and opened it. Cloaks that were undoubtedly the teachers' fell out. "In here. Let's hear what it's all about. Then we can tell them what we've found out."

"Merlin, don't they know the washing spell or what?" Ron grumbled, throwing the purple tunic smelling of garlic at the furthest corner.

"Shh! Here they come!" Harry left the door open just a tad. The crack had a direct view of the staffroom's door ad of the teachers' table.

One by one, they arrived. Ron recognized many, though others he knew only from sight. A woman with a crazed look about her sat silently as her peers bickered; she was the first to snap to attention when Professor McGonagall banged her way in.

"It has happened," Professor McGonagall told the silent staffroom. "A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself."

"How can you be sure?" said Snape, gripping tightly the back on a chair.

"The Heir of Slytherin," said Professor McGonagall, who was very white, "left another message. Right underneath the first one. 'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.' "

Professor Flitwick burst into violent tears.

"Who is it?" said Madam Hooch, greatly alarmed at the reaction of the tiny professor. "Which student?"

"Which students," Professor McGonagall corrected gently. "Anya Barton and Ginny Weasley."

Ron didn't hear much after that.

•••◘◘◘•••

"According to Mr. Longbottom, the latter was following Miss Barton." Foolish, foolish. Old as she was, Minerva should've never placed such a burden on a young girl like Miss Weasley, let alone a child. She should have brought it up to the headmaster and suggested Anya Barton went to St. Mungo's.

No. The situation had nothing to do with that. Whether Miss Weasley had or had not followed Barton around, whether Barton had gotten sick or not — this couldn't have been prevented. Not if they had caught the culprit in time. Not it the Ministry or the Board of Governors had listened or cared for the students' well being instead of their own damn reputation.

"How could they?" Professor Flitwick sobbed. "How could such a thing happen?"

Minerva had enough. "For Gryffindor's sake, Anya Barton is not the second coming of Merlin, Fillius! She's a child," she stressed.

"She's a tool," said Severus suddenly. Minerva glared at him. "The Queen in the board, if I may say so. Do none of you find it strange that it was Barton who was taken, out of the hundreds of students in this castle?"

Flitwick finally stopped crying. "You are not saying –" he squeaked.

"I am merely theorizing, professor. But the circumstances do not tell us otherwise. No one knew about the girl until last summer."

"Do you think someone would dare enrage Thea Rosenberg?" Professor Sprout hissed. "The MACUSA?"

"Whoever did it, they must be profoundly stupid... or perhaps very sure of their plans."

"I thought the MACUSA were unaware of her survival," said Madam Hooch. Of the staff, she was the calmest.

"Not if they saw the articles following Rosenberg's reveal," said Minerva worriedly, "which they must have. Severus is right — the culprit must have known the catastrophe Anya's disappearance would bring to our doorstep."

"Have their families been notified?" asked Professor Sinistra.

"Yes, the Weasleys have been contacted. They are on their way. And I thought — I thought it would be best if you informed Ms. Rosenberg, Severus," said McGonagall with a small sniff. "We shall have to send all students home tomorrow. This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said..."

The staffroom door banged open and a beaming Gilderoy Lockhart came in.

"So sorry – dozed off – what have I missed?"

He didn't seem to notice that the other teachers were looking at him with something remarkably like hatred. Snape stepped forward.

"Just the man," he said through gritted teeth. "The very man. Two girls have been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last."

"That's right, Gilderoy," Professor Sprout chipped in. "Weren't you saying just last night that you've known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?"

"I – well, I –" Lockhart sputtered.

"Yes, didn't you tell me you were sure you knew what was inside it?" Professor Flitwick piped up.

"D-Did I? I don't recall –"

"I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn't had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested," Snape said. "Didn't you say that the whole affair had been bungled and that you should have been given a free rein from the first?"

Lockhart stared around at his stony-faced colleagues.

"I-I really never – you may have misunderstood –"

"We'll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy," said Minerva, biting back a smile. "Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We'll make sure everyone's out of your way. You'll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself. A free rein at last."

Lockhart gazed desperately around him, but nobody came to the rescue. He didn't look remotely handsome anymore. His lip was trembling, and in the absence of his usually toothy grin, he looked weak-chinned and feeble.

"V-Very well," he said. "I'll – I'll be in my office, getting – getting ready."

"Gilderoy," Snape said at last. He was smiling nastily. "Remember who Miss Barton's guardian is. Thea Rosenberg does not forgive mistakes."

•••◘◘◘•••

Harry couldn't imagine the day getting any worse. Ever since they left the staffroom, he and Ron hadn't shared a word, each drowning in their own guilt. For his part, he couldn't picture what the Weasleys were suffering, losing their sister without warning.

Personally, he couldn't quite get out of his mind the fact Anya might as well be dead.

Harry tried really hard to remember their last conversation. Was there anything he could've done to prevent this day? Anything that hinted at her kidnapping and Ginny's?

"She knew something, Harry," said Ron suddenly. "That's why she was taken. It wasn't some stupid thing about Percy at all. She'd found out something about the Chamber of Secrets. That must be why she was —" Ron rubbed his eyes frantically. "I mean, she was a pureblood. There can't be any other reason."

"Anya is a pureblood too," Harry said.

"Yeah, but you heard Snape. She was taken to be bargaining chip. Ginny's got nothing to do with the MACUSA; I doubt they even know my family exists."

"What's that? Everyone keeps bringing it up."

"The MACUSA? That's the American government. Anya's dad was from there, remember? So was Thea Rosenberg. Both of them got sent here as a symbol of" – he snorted – "goodwill. Then they died, and the MACUSA cut us off. No trade, no help whatsoever after the War."

"But what does Anya have to do with them? I mean — she was born here. She grew up in Little Whinging like me!"

"Harry," Ron started, "you really should get into those books Hermione keeps giving us. Alec Barton was worth galleons — the Ministry adored him right until he died and tried to clean their hands off him. He passed his Auror Training with flying colours, and it took him one year to convince the Ministry to open a department — just a year. Thea Rosenberg was the same: she became a Healer, and set off to create what is one of the most important potions in history —something many wizards tried but failed for centuries!

"It's weird and everyone's still wondering how they did it. I bet my Chudley Cannons poster they think Anya will be the same. She may be Britain's refugee right now, but the MACUSA will probably try to claim her when she's out of Hogwarts for good."

"They can't do that... can they? Hermione said the legal age is seventeen — Anya can do anything by then."

But Ron was shaking his head. "In America, twenty-one is their legal coming of age. She'd be right under their thumb for five years."

He understood now. "A bargaining chip," Harry muttered disdainfully.

"If the MACUSA were to find out she died under Britain's jurisdiction, it'd spark an international conflict." Ron sighed. "See what I mean? Ginny's not like that."

"The Heir of Slytherin couldn't have known all that though," Harry argued. "I mean, I'm still trying to process what you just told me."

"It took dad a few tries to explain it," Ron agreed. "But it's common knowledge. No one's really acknowledged it because there's this taboo about speaking of the Bartons."

Harry was starting to get a headache. "There's more?"

"Lots," said Ron darkly. "Anya's definitely alive." He didn't say more. After all that gibberish, Harry couldn't see how the heir would let Ginny live when he had someone like Anya.

"D'you know what?" said Ron. "I think we should go and see Lockhart. Tell him what we know. He's going to try and get into the Chamber. We can tell him where we think it is, and tell him it's a basilisk in there."

Because Harry couldn't think of anything else to do, and because he wanted to be doing something, he agreed. The Gryffindors around them were so miserable, and felt so sorry for the Weasleys, that nobody tried to stop them as they got up, crossed the room, and left through the portrait hole.

•••◘◘◘•••

"The bridge is crossed, so stand, and watch it burn," said the girl. "You keep thinking this. Where did it come from?

I didn't speak. I couldn't.

"I told you he would do this. Tom is... predictable, to say the least. No one believed me when I tried to reveal the truth – I became a pariah. The new girl, jealous of her handsome classmate... the boy she had a crush on. I was ridiculed the rest of my years at Hogwarts." She paused. "I was so angry... those feelings must have latched onto the diary. It feeds on negative feelings, you see, but only those which are particularly powerful. You must've been truly desperate for him to accept you."

Silence.

"He can't see me," she said. "But you can. Why? Is it because he does not want to see me? Or because you do not have any hope other than me? Maybe is just the madness speaking? Yes, that must be."

There was a groan that echoed in the chamber. A groan that heralded its door opening.

I twitched.

"Ah, I see. That's why. This was all rushed that I forgot – you do have friends. And he still hasn't gotten what he desired the most." She leaned over my shoulder, her mouth close to my ear. "Be brave, Anya Barton. If you want your friends to survive this, you must be very brave."

•••◘◘◘•••

"Open."

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open. The halves slid smoothly out of sight, and shaking from head to toes, Harry Potter stepped inside.

He was standing at the end of the Chamber of Secrets. Tall snake statues were placed on either side of Harry, and he pulled out his wand as he walked down the long hall, the hollow eyes of the snakes following him.

When he drew level to the last couple of pillars, Harry found himself facing a giant face on the back of the wall. It was monkeyish and long hair floated around him. At the statue's feet, a small figure was lying face down; the striking red hair was unmistakeable.

"Ginny!" muttered Harry and sprinted toward her, dropping to his knees. "Ginny, don't' be dead – please, don't –" She was extremely pale and her skin felt alarmingly cold. To Harry's surprise, there was a thin trail of blood coming from her nose. He shivered; Harry vaguely recalled seeing something similar to this...

"Harry?"

Harry jumped and spun on his knees. A surge of relief hit him violently at the sight of Anya.

"Anya," he breathed. Then, with more force, he repeated her name and bolted towards her. His arms closed around her thin frame; Harry clung to her, thinking of the few hours he and Ron had thought she and Ginny were dead. "You're okay." He leaned back. "We have to get out of here."

He pulled her with him, but her hand slipped through his fingers. Harry turned.

She stared at him with glassy eyes. Her skin, so pale hours before, was rosy.

She was also clutching his wand.

"Very good, Anya," said a voice smoothly. A tall, black-haired boy appeared from behind one of the pillars. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window. "Now hand it over, will you, dear?"

Anya obliged. Harry, stunned, watched as Tom Riddle, of all people cleaned his wand with one of his sleeves.

"Tom – Tom Riddle?"

"You are terrible at taking care of the things close to you, Harry Potter," said Riddle. "But I am grateful for that carelessness. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have met at all."

"What are you? You look like a ghost." Harry asked uncertainly.

Riddle sighed. "Children – you ask the same questions. Yes, I am a ghost of sorts. A memory preserved in a diary for fifty years." He pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes. There, the little black diary Harry had found in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom all those months ago was lain open. "My diary, of course."

"What did you do to Anya?" Harry snapped. Tom smirked.

"That is not the correct question, Harry. What you meant to say is: What has Anya got to do with any of this? Well, the answer is... plenty."

"Give me my wand."

"You'll not need it."

Harry's temper flared. "What d'you mean I won't be –?"

"I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter," said Riddle. "For the chance to see you. To speak to you. Isn't that right, my dear?" He turned expectantly to Anya.

Other than the swift shift of her breathing, Anya remained stonily silent.

Riddle sighed. "Stubborn to the very end. Is she like this with you? I can't help but wonder... she wasn't very forthcoming about her friends. Clever, considering, but still."

"What's wrong with her?" Harry demanded.

"That's an interesting question," Riddle said pleasantly. "And quite a long story. Would you like to tell him, Anya?"

"Look," said Harry irritated, "I don't know what game you're playing at, but we're in the Chamber of Secrets! We can talk later –"

"We're going to talk now," said Riddle, still smiling broadly, and he pocketed Harry's wand. "You asked what is wrong with Anya. The things I could tell you... but let's start from the beginning. Last year, Anya Barton found out her mother was murdered by Lord Voldemort, which has remained unknown for twelve years. The following summer, the woman known as Thea Rosenberg – a key figure in Anya's life – revealed she was the girl's aunt. Not only that, she was also supposed to be her guardian.

"Rightfully mad, Anya searched for answers. Answers Thea Rosenberg was unwilling to share. As fellow orphans, you and I know how difficult it is to ignore the what ifs, Harry. So Anya continued – and in the meantime, she found me. Can you imagine, Harry, what it is to feel truly alone in an impossible quest? I don't think so – but I did. I related to Miss Anya fairly quick."

"Get to the point!"

"Very well. The real reason Anya Barton – and therefore, Ginny Weasley – are like this is because your friend opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger." He smirked at Harry's growing horror. "Make no mistake, the fault does not lie entirely on Anya. It was a matter of circumstance."

"How?"

"The diary. My diary. Don't you recognize it, Harry? Anya has had it with her since the beginning of the term – no, even before that. Like I said, Harry, circumstance. So Anya wrote to me, trusted me entirely to guide her. To be her conscience. Together, we researched the history behind the Bartons, and to this point, still trusts me to have the answers." His smirk dropped. "Funnily enough, she did not trust me with her friends.

"It was Ginny Weasley who revealed to me your importance."

Tom's hungry eyes never left Harry's face.

"I wondered often... what was so special about Harry Potter? Anya spoke very highly of you, but young girls cannot be trusted. I had her soul, but I did not have her mind or her heart... fortunately, I grew stronger. But it wasn't enough.

"I needed her," Riddle said, running his fingers through Anya's hair. "I needed all of her. So I poured a little of my soul back into her."

"Don't touch her!" Harry snarled, jumping to his feet. He jerked in their way, but a red spark halted him.

Riddle was already pocketing his wand when he said, "I'll do what I like. Do I really need to spell it to you, Potter? Anya became mine the very moment she opened the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry's breath caught, the sting of betrayal hitting too close to home. All this time, it had been her? And Hermione! Had she hurt Hermione on purpose?

"No," he whispered frantically. "No – she couldn't have!"

Riddle huffed. "Do you want me to be more specific? She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls with their blood. She also set the Serpent of Slytherin on those four Mudbloods, and the Squib's cat."

Harry stared at Anya, hoping this was a very bad dream and she could tell him so. To his dismay, she swayed; Riddle's hand on her shoulder kept her from falling.

"You," said Harry suddenly, fury bubbling deep in him. "You've been hurting her. The nosebleeds – that was you, wasn't it? You have been killing her, all this time!"

"Naturally," Riddle rolled his eyes. "How else do you think I gathered strength?" He grimaced. "But never mind that. It was time we met, don't you think?"

"And why's that?" Harry barely held onto his wits. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he was certain of one thing: Tom Riddle was mad.

"Famous Harry Potter, the infant who defeated the Dark Lord." Riddle's eyes roved over Harry's lightning scar, and Harry fought against touching it. "I must admit, this quest began mostly out of boredom. Fifty years stuck in a diary does that to you. Later, it was the challenge of subjugating a Barton. The last of them, as far as I am aware. Their skill set is unfathomable, Harry – how else could Anya escape my mind trap?

"And you found me. How fortuitous. I knew you only as her friend, so I thought it'd be droll if you believed that great oaf, Hagrid, had a hand in this mess. I eventually found my way back to Anya through Miss Weasley, and it was not until after I discovered your true value. Impressive, isn't it? The pieces came together without my trying."

"I never believed you!" Harry snapped. "Hagrid's my friend. And you framed him back then, didn't you?"

"My word against Hagrid's," Riddle laughed. A high, cold laugh that didn't suit him. "Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student... on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls... but I admit, even I was surprised how well the plan worked. I thought someone must realize that Hagrid couldn't possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance... as though Hagrid had the brains or the power!

"Only two believed otherwise. With Transfiguration teacher Dumbledore and a student vouching for him, Dippet was persuaded into keeping Hagrid as the gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed... Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did..."

"I bet he saw right through you," said Harry, his teeth gritted.

"Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled," Riddle said carelessly. "I knew it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school. But I wasn't going to waste those long years I'd spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work."

"Well, you haven't finished it," said Harry triumphantly. "No one's died this time, not even the cat. In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who was Petrified will be all right again —"

"Haven't I already told you," said Riddle quietly, "that killing Mudbloods doesn't matter to me anymore? Not when there's you."

Harry stared at him.

"I tried very hard to reach you, Harry. Circumstance had so far triumphed, but my time was running out. I had to force my hand. From what Miss Weasley and Anya told me, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery if one of your friends was attacked.

"So I made Ginny Weasley write a farewell on the wall – her own, of course – and called her and Anya down here. Weasley struggled, but Anya had put too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last... and so, I met you. You don't know how long I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. Thanks to them," he gestured at Anya and Ginny, "I knew you'd come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter."

"Like what?" Harry spat, fists still clenched.

"Well," said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, "how is it that you – a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent – managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

"Why do you care how I escaped?" Harry said slowly. "Voldemort was after your time."

"Voldemort is my past, present... and future, Harry Potter..."

Riddle pulled out Harry's wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shining words:

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT