EDITED: July 10th, 2020

18 — Vale Tom

She used to wish for things to never change. When her mother died, she begged God to bring her back, and when that didn't work, she begged to die and join her parents. She knew what happened to lonely children, knew her fate was written on stone the moment the Aurors interrogated her and exchanged looks when her answers didn't satisfy them.

Her life changed that fateful day for the better. But it wouldn't be the first time she'd beg for different chances, for different lives.

It was odd, waking up and figuring out she was on the exact same place she'd escaped, ready to prove the world she and Dumbledore had been right all along, to bring Rubeus the justice he deserved and so much more.

Valentina Orlova had been ready to take Tom Riddle down, and instead found herself frozen in time, forever stuck as a thirteen-year-old. Not only that, she was stuck with him. Him, of all people! How? Why?

If she thought it unfair, Tina came to realize it was anything but that. It was cruel and agonizing. Not only was Tom Riddle her companion, but both were forced to relive the same routine, speak and act out the same moments that had led Valentina to her unlikely victory.

It was punishment enough to remember her mistakes, but to live them over and over and over, with no chance of seeing beyond the end? Would it ever stop?

It did... and yet, it did not.

Watching a person that was not her commit the mistakes Valentina regretted the most twisted her heart every time, if only because Anya Barton's life was almost mirror-like to hers and Riddle's. Three souls, all sharing one twisted fate. God really couldn't be crueller.

Valentina had hoped it would be different this time. There was something about Anya... something that distinguished her irrevocably from Riddle's sociopathic personality and Tina's relentless stubbornness.

And the girl had friends. Friends whom were willing to go to the ends of the earth for each other, something she had witnessed through Anya's eyes. And though the girl's vision of them tended to be pink-tinted, Tina had no doubt they'd end this, one way or another.

Unfortunately, Tom was aware of this, too. Dismayed, Tina could do nothing but watch as he eliminated the threats one by one, until all he had was a puppet and the Boy Who Lived: Anya Barton and Harry Potter.

Tina admired Harry greatly. He'd impressed her with his humility and humbled her several times, mostly when he caught onto the bread crumbs from Riddle's destruction far too quickly than she had. And after the long spiel he gave about Riddle's ugliness and the coincidental arrival of Dumbledore's phoenix, she could admit she fancied him a little. She'd be swooning right now, if she wasn't a non-corporeal being only one person could see.

Although, if she wasn't, she'd probably be screaming her guts out or fainted the moment Riddle forced Anya to summon the Basilisk.

Snakes, for fuck's sake. If she disliked them before, she hated them with her guts now. She hoped her real-self did too and had cooked one or two throughout the years. Fifty was a long number to not snap at some point.

Harry Potter fought valiantly. Gryffindor's sword (which had come out of the Sorting Hat, courtesy of the phoenix) glinted in the dark as he swung the blade around, warding off the Basilisk.

Tina would forever remember the moment he decided he'd rather die, if only to stop the madness. He gazed at Ginny Weasley first, his eyes full of hopelessness; next, his eyes slid to Anya, and the green irises darkened as resolve took over. And resignation.

Then the blade in his hand was going right through the roof of the serpent's mouth, one of its fangs digging into Harry's arm.

Tina ignored Riddle's shriek of agony. The Basilisk would die shortly. But so would Harry. She could see the poison spreading from the wound, the skin around it turning green in seconds.

The fang clattered to the ground as Harry stumbled forward. While the sword weighed him down, he did not seem to care; he walked all the way to Anya and fell to his knees in front of her. With his good hand, he held onto Anya's robes, his breathing growing hard.

"Anya," he said hoarsely, "wake up. Please..."

Tina looked at him, long and hard. Then she took one long look at her fading self and decided it was time to put an end to this.

She wrapped her arms around Anya from behind and rested her chin on the girl's shoulder.

Tina closed her eyes –

I woke up with a gasp. Arms held me upright as I swayed.

Dark. Everything was dark and damp and my legs were wet with who-knew-what –

"Impossible," I heard Tom say.

I was pulled forward. The move forced me to look down, straight into Harry's eyes. "Anya, run," he croaked. He fell sideways, his fingers sliding down my robes.

"Harry," I mumbled, reaching for him –

"No!" roared Riddle. "Stay put, Anya Barton!"

My teeth clicked together, just as the rest of my body froze.

I felt arms sneaking around my waist, one of them sliding all the way up until a tanned hand touched my cheek.

"If you are free, could you stop him?" The girl whispered in my ear.

Fear wanted me to say no. To deny I had the slightest of chances at defeating Riddle. To refuse hurting him, even when that was all he'd done to me.

Instead, I breathed out a quiet yes.

"Good. Because this is the end for me. I can't do more." To my surprise, she kissed my cheek. "Be brave."

"So ends the famous Harry Potter," Riddle's distant voice said. "Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You'll be back with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Harry... she bought you twelve years of borrowed time... but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must..."

If this is dying, it's not so bad.

Even the pain was leaving...

But Harry didn't think he was dying. In fact, the more he blinked, the more the Chamber came back into focus.

He saw Fawkes lift his head from his arm, eyes glassy. A pearly patch of tear was shining all over the wound – except that there was smoke coming from it, but no pain –

And under the blood, he saw that the wound was gone.

"Get away, bird," Riddle's voice said suddenly. "Get away from him – I said, get away –"

Riddle pointed his wand at Fawkes; there was a bang, and Fawkes took flight in a whirl of gold and scarlet.

"Phoenix tears..." Riddle said quietly, staring at Harry's arm, "of course... healing powers... I forgot..."

He looked into his face. "But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter... you and me..." he raised the wand –

"Expelliarmus!"

It flew from his hand and flew to the other side of the Chamber. It arched into the air, and fell into the waiting hand of Anya Barton. She was breathing hard and her nose was bleeding, to Harry's alarm.

Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and something fell in front of Harry's face – the diary.

For a split second, they all stared at it. Then, without thinking of the consequences, without realizing the basilisk's fang was on his hand, Harry plunged it straight into the heart of the book.

There were twin screams – one long and dreadful, the other nothing but raw pain. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry's hand, flooding the floor. Riddle twisted and screamed as his shape began to blur by the white light that started from his chest. He flailed, turned around to look at Anya –

He was gone with a whisper.

Almost immediately, Anya fell.

Ginny was roused by a worried voice. It came from far away, and the more she woke up, it was startlingly obvious this wasn't a dream. The voice, ever so dutiful in its help, never changed. Her limbs took a while to wake up, but her eyes thankfully adjusted to the dark far quicker.

The first thing she saw was the basilisk's jaw in all its gory glory and the phoenix perched on its head, cooing softly. The second thing was the Sorting Hat and a sword, of all things.

Her third sight was just as relieving as it was dreadful.

He'd come. He'd actuallycome. He was bloody and pale, and he'd come to save her. And to her delight, her whisper of his name caught his attention.

She regretted it. The look in his eyes was too much for her. As if seeming to sense it, he turned back to Anya (Ginny's heart ached) and shook her, his voice nothing but a croak.

It dawned on Ginny this must have been going on for a while. And unlike Harry, she knew what had to be checked.

She dropped across from him and shoved his hands away. First, she listened to Anya's chest, and to verify, put two fingers at her throat.

"She's alive."

"Then why isn't she waking up?" Harry snapped. Noticing her flinch, he apologized.

"I don't know. I... I wasn't..." She sighed. "I didn't know Tom Riddle as long as she did." Ginny covered her face as a sob burst out. "It's my fault! She asked me about the diary, and I told her it was normal – and I was there when she wrote on the wall, when Sir Nicholas was petrified – oh, Harry, I wanted to tell everyone but I couldn't, he didn't let me –"

"Riddle's gone," Harry said, his eyes closed. He held up the diary between them, like one might a shield. The giant hole gave her a close view of his scar and the dried blood at his temple. "I finished him. But Anya hasn't woken up since then."

"How long it's been?"

He shook his head.

Freedom had never tasted so bitter.

Harry let Ron make the decisions once they met him and Lockhart at the tunnels. The redhead had been excited to see his sister, but happiness turned into confusion when Fawkes flew after her, then to horror once he saw Anya's limp head hanging through the gap he'd made in the rock fall.

"Is she –?"

"She's unconscious," Harry grunted. "Pull her from the shoulders."

It was hard, if only because none of them wanted Anya to bump into any rock and wake up bruised. Ron carefully let her rest at one rock while Harry crawled through the gap, the sword of Gryffindor dangling behind him.

"How come you've got a sword?"

"Later." Harry didn't want to speak. He had the funny feeling that if Ron knew about Anya's role in his sister's kidnapping, the redhead wouldn't take it well. "Where's Lockhart?"

Dumb luck, Harry thought in disbelief after Ron explained the teacher's faraway personality. They'd all survived through dumb luck that night. If Ron's wand hadn't been broken, it would be him who was dealing with memory loss and not Lockhart. If Fawkes hadn't arrived with the Sorting Hat, Harry might have died. If Anya hadn't broken from Riddle's spell, even if the moment had been brief, Ginny – and the whole school – would've been doomed.

Having spaced a little, he didn't notice Ron pushing Anya towards Lockhart until the man said, "Well, this is fun!"

"What are you doing?" said Harry shrilly, and blinked in embarrassment.

"It's how we're getting out," Ron said bluntly. "Fawkes might be able to take all of us up, but you and I can't hold onto Anya." He scowled then, reaching for Anya and moving her around the teacher. "Not like that! On your back, and make sure her arms are around your neck."

Sulking, Lockhart did as told. "But what if she chokes me?"

"We aren't that lucky," Ron said under his breath. "Other than that, we'll hold onto each other. Fawkes can grasp Lockhart – yes, you! – with his talons; then you'll hold onto his ankle, Ginny. Harry, you do the same with hers'. I'll be last."

An extraordinary lightness spread through Harry's body as Fawkes lifted them up. In a rush of wings, they flew upward and through the pipe, leaving behind the first of many nightmares.

•••◘◘◘•••

The journey to Professor Dumbledore's office was tense. Anya had not woken up upon their return to the castle, and Ron had forced Lockhart to keep carrying her, much to the teacher's chagrin. He grumbled all the way up, but no one stopped him.

Harry thought of what he would say. He knew Anya was guilty, but not to what extent. All his thoughts became jumbled the more he recalled what Tom Riddle had said back in the chamber, of the supposed deal she'd breached. Part of him even feared what Ginny would say, and he was thoroughly tempted at threatening her to not say a word. Only Ron's presence kept him from doing anything rash.

Too soon for his tastes, they stood in front of Dumbledore's office. Harry took a deep breath before knocking and opening the door.

Familiar faces greeted him, all frozen in different states of shock. Then, to his greatest surprise, the least unlikely to be there jumped from one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore and ran at him at full speed and crying Anya's name.

Marie's burst broke the uncomfortable silence. Mrs. Weasley reacted just as quickly as the orphan girl, jumping from her seat at the fireplace to engulf her children in a tight hug. Her husband followed shortly.

"What is wrong with her?" Marie demanded once she saw Anya passed out in Lockhart's arms. "Wait – aren't you the famous author?"

Harry was left to stare at the remaining adults. He skimmed over Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, but stared long and hard at the red-haired woman that met his eyes evenly.

Fury bubbled within him. What was what Riddle said? If Natasha Rosenberg had been honest from the start, Anya wouldn't have been easy to prey. She wouldn't have opened the Chamber or ordered the basilisk to petrify all the Muggleborns.

"You saved her! You saved them! How did you do it?" Mrs. Weasley sobbed.

"I think we'd all like to know that," Professor McGonagall said weakly.

Harry hesitated before dragging the sword with him and placing it on Dumbledore's desk. Then he laid the diary and the Sorting Hat next to the blade, and began to speak.

He explained how everything began for him. The voices he had started hearing, how Hermione had realized moments before she was attacked that the creature had been a basilisk travelling by the pipes, how he and Ron had followed some spiders at the Forbidden Forest, how he had guessed that the murdered girl was Moaning Myrtle, and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was in her bathroom...

"Very well," Professor McGonagall prompted him as he paused, "so you found out where the entrance was — breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add — but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Potter?"

With his hoarse voice, Harry told them about Fawkes's arrival and about the Sorting Hat giving him the sword.

But then he faltered.

Dumbledore took in his expression and said, gently, "What interestsmemost, is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Anya and Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked stunned, just as did Marie. Natasha Rosenberg didn't blink.

"W-what's that?" Mr. Weasley said in a stunned voice. "You-Know-Who? En-enchant Ginny and Anya? But Ginny's not... they hadn't been... hadn't they?"

"It was this diary," Harry said quickly, picking up the ink splattered book and showing it. "Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen..."

"He was brilliant, of course," said Dumbledore as he took the diary from Harry and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages. "Of all the brilliant students Hogwarts had seen, he was the most remarkable.

"Not many knew that Lord Voldemort's was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school... travelled far and wide... sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

"But, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley said. "What's our Ginny got to do with – with – him?"

"It wasn't her fault," Harry said quickly. "Or Anya's. Riddle used them so he could get a body... so that he wouldn't be a spirit anymore."

"A body," Marie repeated hollowly. Her eyes locked onto the diary, and Harry knew she understood the situation from the way she swayed.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, "I can see Tom doing this. He was not above using others to achieve his ends." He turned to Ginny with a kind smile. "This must have been a terrible ordeal for you, Miss Weasley. Both Anya and you. As such, I suggest you go up to the hospital wing straight away. Once Anya wakes, both of you will recount your version of the events. Whatever might be revealed, there will be no punishment." Ginny gasped. "Older and wiser wizards than you have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort, Ginny." He strode over to the door and opened it. "Bed rest and perhaps a large streaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up. You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice – I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"So Hermione's okay!" Ron said brightly.

"There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," said Dumbledore.

Mrs. Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley followed, still looking deeply shaken.

"What about Anya?" Marie demanded. She pointed at Lockhart with an accusing finger. "He's not going to keep her, is he?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Of course not. But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure. Why so modest, Gilderoy?"

"Albus," said Professor McGonagall. "The girl has a point. Miss Barton should be taken to the infirmary quickly!"

But Dumbledore waited for the answer. Lockhart shifted uneasily, adjusting his grip on Anya. "Professor Dumbledore," Ron said quickly, "there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart —"

"Am I a professor?" said Lockhart in mild surprise. "Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?"

Ron covered his mouth as he told Dumbledore, "He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired."

The headmaster chuckled. "Dear me – impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!"

Professor McGonagall hissed. "Albus."

"Yes, yes, I apologize. Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too? I'd like a few words with Harry."

"I'm coming with you," said Marie imperiously, her dark hair swinging as she looked up at Ron and Lockhart, both taller than her.

They left.

"You know, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully to Professor McGonagall, "I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?"

"Right," said Professor McGonagall crisply, also moving to the door.

She left. Harry gazed sombrely at Dumbledore.

"I seem to remember telling you and Mr. Weasley that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules," said Dumbledore. "Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words. You will both receive Special Awards for Services to the School and — let me see — yes, I think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor.

"With that cleared, it is time we speak of what remained unsaid." Professor Dumbledore's eyes dulled as he regarded Harry. "Would you like me to tell you my theory, Harry?"

Harry looked down, all too aware of the other pair of eyes that narrowed on him.

"I taught Tom Riddle myself, and while he and I were not close, I was aware of the lengths he'd dare take to succeed. Back then, his ambition led to the loss of two students." He opened the diary and showed Harry its pages. Two different handwritings could be seen in the spots that were not drenched in ink. "By the state of this diary, I presume this is where his spirit resided, therefore making it the medium through which he and Anya communicated. It is not difficult to see how he overcame her, but it begs the question... what prompted Anya into confiding in him?"

"Her family," Harry said. "He said he was helping her search her family."

"He lied," said Natasha Rosenberg.

"Well, she couldn't have known, could she?" Harry snapped. "If it's anyone's fault, it's yours! If you had been honest with her from the start, none of this would have happened."

"You're wrong. This was inevitable."

"Inevitable?" he repeated incredulously. "You're saying that, if Anya had known who her parents were, she still would've confided in a total stranger? That she still would have killed the roosters with her own hands? Still hurt the Muggleborns?"

The look she threw him brought him back sharply. Full of cynicism, it reminded him too much of Anya when she was being sarcastic.

"Yes," said Rosenberg. "That's exactly what I am saying."

"That's enough, Natasha," said Professor Dumbledore firmly. "You're only confusing Harry. What Ms. Rosenberg is trying to say is, this event would've still occurred, regardless of Tom's choice of victim. Similarly, you and Anya would've encountered him eventually, considering his interest in both of you..."

Harry started. "Professor Dumbledore... Riddle said I'm like him. Strange likenesses, he said..."

"Did he, now?" said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at Harry from under his thick silver eyebrows. "And what do you think, Harry?"

"I don't think I'm like him!" said Harry loudly. He blushed. "I mean, I'm – I'm in Gryffindor, I'm..."

But doubt lurked in his mind.

"Professor," he started again after a moment. "The Sorting Hat told me I'd – I'd have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin's heir for a while... because I can speak Parseltongue..."

"You can speak Parseltongue, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly, "because Lord Voldemort – who is one the last remaining descendants of Salazar Slytherin – can speak Parseltongue."

"One of the last." Harry gazed at Natasha suspiciously. "What does this make Anya? Can she speak to snakes, too?"

"She must, if he planned to use her body to become mortal once more," said Dumbledore calmly. "For that, it was necessary he transferred some of his powers to her, and unless I'm much mistaken, the same must have occurred with you the night he gave you that scar."

But Harry remained stubborn. "You didn't answer my question."

Natasha Rosenberg took the diary on Dumbledore's desk. She offered it to Harry who accepted it grudgingly.

"The answer to that is inside here," she said. "Whether you decide you want to know or not, that's up to you."

Harry checked it. His fingers toyed with the loose piece of parchment tucked inside the diary.

"You're wrong," he said coldly. "The choice belongs to Anya and no one else."