LAST TIME: Harry taught Orion the patronus, and Harry learnt all about how delightful Orion's father is (plot twist: he's not). Tom badgered Harry into a duel rematch, which Harry won, trashing the Defence classroom in the process. Harry slipped and revealed his parseltongue ability, evoking Tom's curiosity in his heritage. This led to discoveries about the chamber of secrets, and Tom's desire to learn more about his living family. Tom narrowed down the location of the CoS entrance to bathrooms, and began the long search. He also revealed that he 'knows' Harry is a seer, but Harry was unhelpful.

It was late March that Tom finally hissed at a sink and heard a whirring, clicking sound as a gaping hole appearing in the bathroom unit.

"Finally," Tom breathed, watching the entrance appear with greedy eyes. "Finally."

It was like an answer from the universe, murmuring 'you were right, you're meant for more'. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

The hole was deep, cavernous and echoing, and Tom stared into it doubtfully. Now how was he meant to get down there? He doubted that Salazar Slytherin slid. It hardly suited his 'dignified Hogwarts founder vibe'. An image of the Hogwarts hall flashed across his mind's eyes, and Tom smiled. Perhaps he should try something out.

"Stairs," Tom hissed, and the bricks changed. They shifted, disassembling and resembling until they formed a revolving staircase, the stairs moving around and around like a corkscrew, vanishing into the dark depths below.

That was more like it.

Tom smirked, and stepped carefully onto a step, drawing his robes close around him so not to snag them. The movement of the stairs caught him off guard and he stumbled, but he was able to steady himself, finally settling himself securely. He watched the bathroom, so insignificant for what treasure it had been hiding, disappear as he sank further into the school's foundations.

His heart gave a little skip.

The stone walls were slick with water, glistening and dewy. Tom resisted the urge to reach out and stroke the surface, knowing his fingers would only catch and scrape over the rough bricks as he spiralled down. The staircase were moving quicker now, until suddenly it- and Tom- came to a rest with a dull crunch, settling in place deep beneath the school.

Tom stumbled a little at the unexpected landing, tripping into the corridor ahead. He straightened quickly and dusted off his robes, glad that no one had seen that. He'd have never heard the end of it from Harrison.

(Tom wondered what Harrison would say if he could see him now. Would he be impressed; green eyes wide with wonder as Tom took over the legacy of his- maybe even their- ancestor? No, Tom wouldn't fool himself. Harrison's eyes would be wide with disgust, perhaps even hate. Harrison held a disturbing amount of love for muggleborns.)

The corridor wasn't as grand as Tom would have expected; all low ceilings and half-lit corners. He took a few, hesitant steps forwards, his footsteps louder than he wanted, but not loud enough to mark just how auspicious this occasion was- and took a deep, satisfied breath.

The air was musky, unpleasantly so, and carried the tang of centuries undisturbed- but it was just enough to remind Tom of this place's history. He was probably the only person to see these walls for eons.

He began walking, a pace that wasn't quite hurrying, but definitely wasn't slow. Now that he'd taken it all in, he barely spared a glance for his surroundings, and he found his posture growing even taller (some may even call it regal) as he drew closer to what he guessed would be a central chamber. The corridor was long and winding, but it couldn't go on forever.

And it didn't.

A wall appeared before Tom, wide and expansive, crafted of polished black marble. It boasted two, intricately carved serpents, endlessly entwined and twisted around one another. Their heads were elegantly sloped, the light gleaming intelligently in their emerald-set eyes. Tom frowned, the colour reminding him of another pair of eyes, not much different, and he waved his wand, causing a dark film to spread over the precious stones. They glinted like onyxes now, and he relaxed slightly.

Tom took a small step towards the wall, tilting his head. Now how did this work?

"Open," he hissed, and the walls melted away like theatre curtains pulled open, revealing the stage beyond.

And what a stage it was.

The chamber was huge, stretching back for what seemed like miles, and the ceiling reached higher than the eye could see. The floor and walls seemed to be made of the same material as the door, but the pillars that supported the room were a dark, moody grey. Once Tom stepped into the room, hundreds of dancing green flames flickered to life; the candles dotted around the place.

As he glanced around, he didn't see any doors or divergences from the chamber. It was momentarily disappointing- he'd hoped that there would perhaps be an office or a store of some kind- to think of the knowledge that could be stored down here, but he kept hope. Perhaps everything was elaborately hidden away. It seemed to have been Salazar's style.

At one end of the chamber, there stood a huge statue of a stately, elderly wizard himself, dressed in robes that seemed to ripple to the floor in great swathes of fabric, despite being carved from rock. He glared down at the room, and even Tom felt a little intimidated under his gaze. He squared his shoulders and tried to force away the feeling.

Now, what would he want to hear if he were a Hogwarts founder?

"Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four," he said, feeling rather ridiculous. "I am your Heir."

It seemed to work though, for the statue's eyes shuttered over like a long blink, and his jaw began to slide open. From the blackness within, Tom heard a mindless, indistinguishable hiss, and then saw the glint that spoke of a pair of yellow, gleaming eyes. A basilisk.

Immediately, Tom clenched his eyes shut, leaving him to hear nothing more than a thump and the scratching of scales of tiles as the beast appeared to uncoil.

"Why is the boy closing his eyes?" the basilisk murmured in a soft, distant voice. "If he is the Heir like he says he is, we meet eyes as equals. If not…" The snap of the basilisk's jaw followed, and Tom suppressed a shiver.

"I apologise," Tom replied, keeping his eyes shut. "For my closed eyes. I simply find myself unprepared for your radiance."

"Well, open up, open up!" the snake chanted. "It's been so long since we had a meal."

He had to do something. Unsteadily, Tom prised open his eyelids, and suddenly he was staring into the bright, eager eyes of the basilisk. Tom prepared himself for the arresting sensation of death- the seizure, the breathlessness- but nothing. The basilisk let out a sigh of disappointment and slithered backwards, bowing its head. "So hungry…" it whined.

The basilisk was strong and massive; covered in dark green scales that shone dully, and furnished with (Tom swallowed a gulp) rather enormous teeth.

"Beautiful," Tom breathed.

"Do you have food? Master said the Heir would have food."

"The Master?" Tom asked eagerly. "Do you mean Salazar Slytherin?"

"The Master said you would have food!" the basilisk protested, slapping its tail on the ground.

Tom frowned, watching the basilisk sway side to side. "You must be hungry."

"We are…"

"How long have you been down here?" Tom asked curiously.

"So long. We slept, and when we woke up, the water was still dripping. We want food!"

The basilisk was going to be no use, Tom realised with dismay, not in this state. Half-mad and starving, it was no more intelligent than a common grass snake. Still, perhaps it knew something.

Tom glanced around the chamber. "Did your master keep any books? Any papers?"

"The paper drowned," the snake complained. "And it tasted disgusted."

A flood then, Tom translated, and felt something did a little inside. Think of all that priceless knowledge wasted, just because the founders didn't know how to properly seal a room.

"Are there any remnants?" Tom tried.

The basilisk turned away, pushing its way around the edge of the room. "Are you sure you don't have food? Just a rat, or a dog…"

Tom wasn't going to get anything out of the basilisk whilst it was this hungry. "You can leave. Feed, if you will, but return once you're done."

"Can I eat the little children?" the basilisk asked eagerly. "Can I bite their little heads off? The white is so crunchy-"

"No," Tom said quickly, not quite prepared for that. "No you can't. There's to be no killing, do you understand me? You go to the forest, you eat a few deer, and you come back."

"So dull," the basilisk complained, but bowed its head in submission.

"Can you get to the forest unseen?" Tom asked in concern. If a huge snake was seen moving through the castle, he doubted this chamber would remain a secret for long.

"I suppose we'll find out," the snake hissed, its voice carrying an undertone of amusement. And then it turned and slinked away, leaving through a previously unseen pipe opening. Tom just hoped that the plumbing led to outside the school.

Tom took a moment to look around the chamber, took in the pillars and high arches, drank in the wet floor and gleaming marble, and laughed.

This was his.

He was the heir of Slytherin- him: Tom Riddle, demon of Wool's Orphanage. He meant something. He'd gone from a pokey little bedroom, his wardrobe stuffed full of other people's belongings- to this. A chamber and a legacy, all belonging to him.

It was glorious.

Tom emerged from the chamber a few hours later to a castle in panic. Students rushed past him, all conversing in loud voices and worried shrieks that Tom could barely catch a word of.. Tom grabbed a lone girl- Warren, perhaps?- and pulled her towards him.

"What's going on?" he asked lowly.

The girl blinked up at him through hideous glasses, all at once the picture of girlishness helpfulness. "Didn't you hear?" she squeaked.

"Clearly not," Tom replied, though the acidity was lost on her.

"They found Septimus Weasley by the lake! He's been turned to stone," she shared.

"Stone?" Images of a page ('indirect contact with the basilisk's gaze will result in petrification') flashed before his eyes.

"Yes," the girl nodded. "Frederik Lovegood's really done it now."

"Lovegood? What's he got to do with it?"

"Well, they think it was a prank gone wrong. Olive said it's a dark wizard, but everyone knows she'd just paranoid 'cause her mother works in the Ministry and she's filled her head with all sorts of stories," the girl said confidingly, leaning in like she was sharing some kind of secret.

"They think it's a prank?" Tom spat, unable to contain his outrage. His legacy, his basilisk- claimed to be some kind of schoolboy mischief? It was insulting.

"But don't worry," the girl assured him. "Septimus should be fine when he gets the cure."

Tom was so tempted to cut the girl open, watch the blood drip from her fingers, and paint 'I AM THE HEIR. SEE ME. HEAR ME' on the walls but- no. That would be the stupidest thing he'd ever done. Perhaps if there wasn't another parseltongue in Hogwarts, he might risk it- but Harrison was probably just as capable of opening the chamber as Tom. If there was ever a way to get caught, it was pointing out exactly what people should be looking for.

If they wanted to think this the result of some sort of prank- fine. It benefited Tom perfectly. He just had to keep his head down and wait. He wondered how many petrifications the school could take, until they realised something bigger was afoot.

He nodded briefly to the girl, and she gave him an excited wave, hurrying off.

"Tom!" came the loud cry, rising above the crowds.

Tom glanced around, searching for the speaker, only to encounter the last person on earth he wanted to see.

"Tom!" Abraxas gasped, his face vaguely red as he stumbled to a stop in front of Tom, doubling over with his hands on his knees as he panted. "You'll never guess what? Weasley-"

"-Petrified, yes, I know," Tom replied curtly.

"Oh. So you have heard."

"It's not like it's being kept secret."

"Well, I have something else to tell you, anyway," Abraxas dismissed. "You remember you asked me to look into those family names? The muggle Riddle and a wizarding Marvolo?"

Tom pursed his lips impatiently. "I do remember what I said."

"Of course, yes, you would."

"So?"

"I found nothing," Abraxas admit quickly. "I looked through the records, called some people… but nothing. I must say, I've at a bit of a loss. From what I can tell, there haven't been any 'Marvolos' born into major wizarding families in the last century or two.."

"So look outside major wizarding families," Tom said, feeling a deep pain within him as he did. "Look at the bloodtraitors, the squibs…" Tom's teeth clenched. "Just find something."

And then Tom turned on his heel, heading back to the chamber. Now that he knew the way, it took him little to no time at all; he quickly took the stairs and strode along the twisting corridor, coming to the snake-decorated wall, and then passing into the main chamber.

It was just as impressive as last time, but now there was something different: a long stripe of glistening water on the chamber floor. It looked much like the snail trails that used to infest the orphanage gardens.

The basilisk must have returned. Tom followed the wet line carefully. It led towards the statue of the wizard, and took a sharp turn behind the legs. It was there that Tom discovered an entrance, a door set into one of the stone ankles. He pushed it gently open, letting it swing creakily on the ancient hinges.

Beyond the door lay the hollowed out insides of the statue, jutting rocks and stones on the walls providing shelves on which Tom presumed the basilisk would oft rest. It was mostly empty, and seemed cold and empty. Tom couldn't imagine the boredom that would come from staying here for centuries. No wonder the basilisk was slightly insane.

"Are you in here?" he hissed impatiently, scanning the space. The only light came from the opening of the statue's mouth, and even that was murky and green-toned.

Movement: the sound of scales clicking, came from above him, and Tom glanced up.

"What does the Heir want?" came the distant whisper. "We've eaten already."

"I want to know what you did earlier. When you went out."

"We went to the cold place with the many-tailed snake. There were eyes in the water. And then there weren't." The basilisk paused before adding gleefully: "And then we ate."

A skull fell from a tall ledge above Tom and shattered on the ground next to him. It looked to be from some kind of horse.

If Tom had understood what the basilisk said correctly, Weasley had been swimming when the snake emerged from a pipe directly into the lake. He'd likely only met the basilisk's gaze through the haze of the water. Lucky. And even luckier still, he'd presumably been washed up onto the shore, rather than sinking to the bed of the lake. That would be a miserable way to go.

"Are you angry?" the basilisk wheedled, and Tom saw the glow of its wide, curious eyes through the dim darkness.

"No," Tom said slowly. If he told the basilisk to stop now, Weasley's state would seem like a meaningless prank by an immature schoolboy. That was all his title would be worth. "No, I'm not angry. If we are to renew Slytherin's legacy, unpleasant choices will have to be made. You did well."

Tom managed not to flinch at the glimpse of teeth the basilisk gave him.

"Does this mean I get to bite the little children-"

"No!" Tom said firmly. "No killing. Not… not yet. You will find a way to petrify them, do you understand? And only a few students. Just enough that they'll never ignore us again," he finished quietly.

"Have you heard?" Orion asked Harry eagerly, jumping into the armchair next to Harry, bouncing slightly on the cushions.

"Hm?" Harry asked, glancing up from his book. Somewhere nearby, behind the shelves, the librarian hissed at them to be quiet.

"Someone's been petrified. One of the Weasleys."

"Weasley?" Harry asked, his head shooting up. And then when his brain rewound- "Hang on, petrified?"

"Yes," Orion said excitedly. "Septimus was found by Artemis; half submerged in the lake, stone-cold. Some sort of prank, they think."

"Bloody hell," Harry breathed. "Oh bloody hell."

His mind was racing, and he felt like slapping himself. This was what he'd forgotten. How could he have been so stupid? The fucking Chamber of Secrets, open for business once more. And right at the centre of it all…

"Where's Tom?"

"Tom?" Orion blinked. "I haven't seen him much recently. He's been acting odd, hasn't he?"

"Yeah… he's probably been busy." Harry replied. Because he's been having pool parties with a fucking huge snake.

"Do you think we should tell him what's happened?" Orion asked, furrowing his brow in concern.

"I'm pretty sure he already knows," Harry said flatly, his mind racing to keep up.

The realisation this time was more horrifying than his second year, because this time he knew Tom. They'd laughed, and talked, and danced- but the fact still remained: Tom Riddle had petrified someone. He was dangerous. For some reason, Harry had forgotten that Tom would ever be a threat, that he'd ever kill someone.

Kill someone… his parents. Myrtle.

The familiar sense of betrayal was heavy in his stomach. Fucking Tom Riddle.

Perhaps Harry had wanted to forget that this era was still dangerous, that it had its own dark lord and its own mini psychopath to deal with. He'd wanted to pretend that he could be normal. But Harry wasn't normal, he never would be, and he had an obligation to save people if he could. He had to save Myrtle.

Even at the cost of Tom.

"Anyway," Orion said. "An assembly's been called. In the Great Hall."

"When?"

Orion glanced at his pocket watch. "Oh!" His eyebrows shot up. "It's now."

Harry stood up, swinging his bag over his shoulder, the steady thrum of purpose humming through him. His 'saving people thing' was back in action- he'd almost forgotten what it felt like. "Well, we'd better get moving then, hadn't we?"

The atmosphere in the Great Hall was loud and reasonably cheery, students leaning close to each other and speculating in loud voices. The bright light outside meant that only a few candles were lit, and everything seemed happier and more innocent as a result. Clearly no one thought this would be very serious. It was rather odd for Harry, who knew how this situation would escalate unchecked.

He couldn't let it get that far.

As Orion and Harry drew closer, Walburga and Druella were already arriving and sitting down at the Slytherin table. Their conversation became clear as Harry and Orion joined them.

"This is just what the school doesn't need after Daisy's death," Walburga tutted, shaking her head.

"It's not like anyone's been murdered," Druella said, flicking through the book she held.

"I suppose you're- Druella, what are you wearing?!" Walburga squawked suddenly, and Harry jumped at the loud noise.

"Oh, do you like them?" Druella asked happily. "I got them shipped from Milan. They're surprisingly comfortable."

"Druella, dear, you're wearing trousers."

Harry glanced down towards Druella's legs. She was, indeed, wearing trousers; a loose and well-tailored pair in a flattering shade of light brown.

Druella shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear. "If men can wear them, so can I. Clothing shouldn't have a gender."

"What: do you think men are going to start wearing skirts, now?" Walburga snorted. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I dunno," Harry said, grinning viciously. "I think Tom would look pretty great in a skirt."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harrison," Walburga said severely. "That's preposterous. It's a good job that Tom isn't here to hear you say such nonsense."

"Where is Riddle, anyway?" Druella asked, peering around the hall. "This assembly's for everyone."

"He's probably looking after his new pet," Harry commented darkly.

"Tom doesn't like animals," Orion said innocently. "They make him sneeze."

Harry snorted, finding the image of Tom Riddle being allergic to anything hilarious. But then he remembered that he didn't think you could be allergic to snakes, and it was no longer funny.

"Move over," came a voice from behind them, and Harry glanced over to see Dolohov and Avery. Harry shuffled to the left obligingly.

"I noticed Lovegood's missing," Avery commented, clambering into a seat. "I heard that he's been taken in for questioning."

"Did he really do it, do you think?" Walburga asked curiously, leaning forwards.

"He's always been batshit crazy," Dolohov said, a touch admiringly. "Do you remember last year?"

Druella frowned. "It wasn't just him, though. Wasn't Rachel Beastone involved in that too?"

"That was just a rumour, I think," Atticus dismissed. "The Hart girl only identified Lovegood… when she woke up three months later, of course."

"Poor Melissa." Walburga shook her head.

"What did he do?" Harry asked.

Orion turned to him, eyes filled with sympathy for this 'Melissa' girl. "Frederik Lovegood… he's known for experimenting with dark magic. It never seemed to be that serious: a blood ritual here or there. We mostly found it funny, really. But last year… a girl walking in on him practicing the disembowelment charm. Apparently he tripped, and his aim went wide, but… well, he's always been a bit off."

"He's done some wicked pranks though," Dolohov said, smiling in remembrance.

"And he might have petrified someone," Walburga reminded him sharply.

"He didn't," Harry said firmly, ignoring the curious eyes that turned to him.

"What are we talking about?" Tom had finally arrived at the table, slipping a leg gracefully over the bench and taking a seat. He was probably the only one who could make the usual struggle of climbing onto the bench look elegant.

"Peters here thinks that Lovegood didn't petrify Weasley," Druella said. "More importantly: do you like my trousers?"

"Very flattering," Tom said without looking at them, and Druella sent a triumphant smirk towards Walburga. Harry felt Tom's gaze fall upon him. "You don't believe it was just a prank, then?"

"No. Because it wasn't," Harry replied, raising his chin to look Tom in the eye defiantly.

"Have you seen something?" Tom asked pointedly, and Harry decided to backtrack. It would be stupid to let on that he knew.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Tom just hummed, a calculating light in his eye.

"So where have you been, Tom?" Orion leaned over the table eagerly.

"Prefect meeting. They wanted to debrief us."

Harry almost snorted. Sure they did. But before any more could be said, Dippet stood and tapped on the side of his goblet with a spoon, bringing the noise in the hall to an abrupt stop, and immediately capturing everyone's attention. It was a morbidly familiar scenario.

"Hello students," Dippet said, looking worn and tired. "It's unfortunate that we must all gather again so soon to share in dark news, but I'm afraid needs must. So let me clear something up."

The hall seemed to hold their breath as one.

Dippet's expression was grave. "The rumours are true: Septimus Weasley has been petrified."

A round of loud, curious whispers followed, almost deafening in their volume. Dippet had to tap on the goblet several times until the noise subsided.

"Earlier this morning, Mr Weasley was discovered at the lake by one of our own students. He was brought to the hospital wing, and subsequently transferred to Saint Mungos. Unfortunately, his condition is such that Mr Weasley will only be revived by a specific draught derived from matured Mandrake roots. And those Mandrake roots, as I am assured by Professor Kettleburn, only mature during a very specific lunar phase. Therefore, we will not be seeing Mr Weasley until close to the end of the school year, and arrangements will be made for him to catch up. However, trust that he is entirely stable and well, and having him returned safe and sound to us will merely take time."

Dippet heaved a deep sigh. "I know that there are rumours of a dark wizard or witch floating around the school, but let me assure you that these are false. Mr Weasley's condition is simply that result of an immature prank, and is easily remedied. You are all perfectly safe, and will join me, I'm sure, in hoping for Mr Weasley's speedy recovery."

Dippet sat back down again, and a round of subdued applause followed.

"What was Weasley doing by the lake, do you think?" Druella asked curiously. "It's a bit cold to be outside."

"The Gryffindor Quidditch team swim as part of their training," Walburga said, ears turning pink. She fanned her face subtly. "I see them, sometimes."

Druella raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you do, do you?"

Harry shuddered at the thought of swimming in the ice cold lake, remembering how crazy Viktor Krum had looked. He was just glad that Oliver had never been insane enough to chuck them all in the lake and tell them to paddle. Harry probably would have drowned.

"It'll be weird not to see Septimus at the Quidditch matches," Orion mused.

Harry perked up in interest. "He played Quidditch?"

"Yeah- he's the Gryffindor chaser. Or was, I suppose. I wonder who will replace him."

Dolohov sniggered. "Do you remember when Weasley fell off his broom in first year? I bet he screamed like a girl when they attacked him too."

Druella sent a fierce glare towards Rupert. "That's a very misogynistic thing to say."

"What is?"

"The derogatory way you said 'like a girl'- like being female is a bad thing."

"It's not derogatory. It's true. Girls scream like that, don't they? All…" Rupert mimicked a weak, high-pitch squeak.

Harry winced. That wouldn't go down well.

He was right.

"They do, do they?" Druella asked archly, and then when Rupert nodded, she opened her mouth and screamed like the dark lord himself had just strode into the hall. It was a god awful sound, one that sent Harry's mind flickering back to Lily Potter's final moments.

It felt like the entire hall turned towards their little gathering, all looking moderately shocked.

"Just proving a point," Druella said sweetly but loudly, and turned her back on them.

"Morgana, Druella," Walburga hissed, "Show some decorum."

"You're crazy," Rupert said, disbelieving. "Completely batshit."

"Well if Weasley screamed like that," Druella said, unconcerned. "I think he should be pretty proud. Especially considering he was petrified straight after."

"How do you petrify someone anyway?" Harry murmured quietly, hoping that perhaps this whole thing really had been a prank and he didn't have to go up against Tom. Maybe Lovegood really did do it.

"There are a few dark spells," Orion volunteered. "They're really difficult, actually. Whoever did it must be really powerful."

"Or it was an impressively strong accident," Druella said drily.

"You don't think the attack was deliberate then, Druella?" Tom asked with a faint smirk. It would have seemed like a politely interested smile to anyone else, but Harry saw it and knew beyond doubt. Tom Riddle was responsible for this. The Heir of Slytherin was active once more. Or perhaps, rather: for the first time.

"I think," Druella pursed her lips. "That this was a one time, isolated thing. Whether it was deliberate or not… it don't think we'll be hearing about it again. Not until Weasley wakes up at least."

Harry doubted it. The gleam in Tom's eye was distinctly greedy. No one would have noticed if they weren't looking for it but, well… Harry was looking for it.

Druella sighed, smoothing down her blouse. "Now, do any of you know where Cassius is? I could have sworn I saw him earlier…"

They had no idea, Harry realised. No one did, and so people were going to keep being petrified. If Tom kept clever and didn't do something really stupid, no would know how serious this thing could be until… until someone died.

Unless someone told them how to stop it.

Harry fixated his attention upon Dumbledore, who was wearing a morosely cheerful pair of yellow robes and beaming grimly down upon the students. And then it was just a matter of waiting for Dippet to dismiss the assembly, waving off Orion's attention, and waiting for the rest of the year to file out as he fought against the wave of students to reach the Transfigurations professor.

"Sir!" Harry yelled, pushing a first year Hufflepuff in his struggle. "Sir, I need to talk to you!"

He had to do this. If Tom was caught now, before anything got worse- Myrtle didn't have to die. This was something he could prevent, and he was bloody well going to do it, damn the consequences.

Harry squeezed past a group of giggling girls, desperately hoping he hadn't groped them accidentally, and finally managed to tug on the sleeve Dumbledore's canary robes.

"I need to talk to you," he panted, looking up into the old wizard's face. "Alone."

Dumbledore led Harry into a quiet classroom, shutting the door with a wave of his wand and turned to face Harry.

"It was Tom," Harry blurted out quickly, the words spilling from his tongue. "The petrification- it was him."

Dumbledore looked taken aback. "Do you have any evidence?"

Harry stared at his professor. "Do I… what?"

"Do you have any evidence to suggest that Mr Riddle is responsible for poor Mr Weasley's condition?" Dumbledore asked patiently.

"Well- no-"

"There's not much I can do, in that case."

"What do you mean there's nothing you can do? He petrified someone!"

"Purely speculation, I'm sorry to say."

"But he can speak parseltongue!" Harry spluttered. It seemed insane to him that Dumbledore wasn't jumping to arrest Tom already.

"I'm afraid speaking parseltongue isn't enough to convict someone for attempted murder-"

"He's the Heir of Slytherin!"

"There's been no indication that this attack has anything to do with the Chamber of Secret thus far, my dear boy, and certainly nothing to link a muggleborn-"

"He's a halfbood."

"-Even if that were true, there's nothing to link a poor orphan with the Slytherin line," Dumbledore dismissed, and it suddenly became very clear to Harry that this wasn't going to go how he'd expected.

"I can tell you where the chamber is!" Harry offered wildly.

"The Chamber of Secrets is a myth, one of Hogwart's several. There's never been any trace of it found, and many wizards more capable than Mr Riddle have tried."

"I'm telling you," Harry protested weakly. "He did it. Why can't you take my word for it?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Yourself and young Mr Riddle have had several public altercations, where your dislike has been made very apparent. I'm afraid your word won't count for much against such an… outstanding member of the school."

Dumbledore didn't seem like he believed what he was saying, but it was obvious that he wasn't prepared to take any action against Tom.

"There were only a few duels."

"And Professor Merrythought has yet to cease raving about the second- I'm not sure if she was impressed or infuriated by the state of her classroom. The whole staffroom is waiting to hear the latest news."

"You have to do something," Harry begged. "He'll kill someone."

"Mr Peters!" Dumbledore said sharply, and Harry's jaw snapped shut. He'd never had Dumbledore talk to him like that before.

"There's nothing to suggest that this was anything more than a prank gone wrong," the Transfigurations professor said gently. "You can rest assured that the culprit will be caught, and no more harm will come to the school. Now, I believe you should be popping off to your next class. Don't hesitate to speak to me if you see anything."

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered. For Merlin's sake! Was every adult in the Wizarding World incompetent? They'd never helped him, ever. Harry had been left to languish at the Dursleys' for ten long fucking years, constantly villainised and worshipped by people forty years older than him… He just wanted someone to go 'yes, I believe you, and I will help'. Was that so much to ask? The only one who'd ever treated Harry like a bloody person… Sirius… was dead.

It felt like climbing uphill, and something deep within Harry shattered.

Harry marched out of the classroom with a deep anger simmering within him, and a voice spitting 'I told you so' from somewhere inside his chest. He threw his fist out, striking the wall with a loud roar, clenching his eyes shut to hold back frustrated tears.

God, why did no one ever listen to him?!

"I take it that it didn't go as planned?"

Harry's eyes shot open and he whirled around with a snarl, growling: "I swear to Merlin, Riddle-"

It wasn't Tom.

"Cassius?" Harry asked uncertainly. "What are you doing here?"

"I didn't expect you to tell Dumbledore," Cassius admitted. "So I thought I'd stick close." A smile, rich with enjoyment, grew along the curve of his features. "I was surprised."

"Oh, you were, were you?" Harry rolled his eyes aggressively. "I'm sure it was the highlight of your week."

"It was, actually."

Harry sighed, feeling thoroughly defeated. "I suppose you know all about the chamber already." If anyone could believe him, it would be Cassius.

"Of course I do. The basilisk is rather beautiful, don't you think?"

"Well, the last time I saw it, it had a sword through its face," Harry said, remembering the feeling of a serpent's skull cracking as he thrust cold metal into the prickling heat of its jaws. "I wouldn't exactly call it art."

"There's a certain beauty in destruction, though."

"There wasn't any beauty in the fucking fang that impaled me."

"I'm sure Tom didn't agree," Cassius said, with an odd kind of smile that made Harry's skin crawl. "But don't worry- it'll be someone else's turn this time."

Harry couldn't understand him. "Well, why haven't you done something then?"

"What do you mean?"

"You could stop all this. You're a pureblood, they'll listen if you talk-"

"But why would I?"

"Myrtle will die-"

"She'll either die this year, or she'll die at twenty in a mugging, or at sixty-two in a floo explosion, or at eighty after four years of agony, longing to finally pass. It's difficult to get attached when you know how everyone you see will either cry, lie, or eventually cheat their way into an early grave," Cassius finished, the slight rise of his voice practically a shout when compared to his normal monotone.

Harry blinked behind his glasses. He hadn't thought the boy had that in him. "That sounds awful."

"It's interesting," Cassius countered, returning to his usual, detached demeanour.

"You know how everyone will…" Harry could barely understand the idea of it. "Do you, er, know how you'll die, then?"

"It's most likely that I'll be vanished by one of your Order of the Phoenix members," Cassius said, rather matter-of-factly. "I can see it in your past."

"They wouldn't do that."

"That's not what your subconscious says- it's really very talkative. I should probably thank you, actually. I've been Seeing so much more recently. It's much easier to channel the future when you have a living relic here in the castle."

"No, stop," Harry said drily. "You're making me blush."

"Anyhow, from what I've seen, my eventual death looks rather exciting. It suppose you'll have to wait and see."

"So you're not worried?"

"Not really."

Harry shook his head disbelievingly. "How are you so blasé about your own death?"

"Everyone dies eventually, and the same result is achieved no matter the method. I'm not scared of death. I'm not Tom Riddle. I just want my life to be as interesting and unpredictable as possible before I go. Which is where people like you," Cassius nodded towards Harry, "come in."

"So you're not going to help? At all?"

"Well, that would rather detract from the interest of it all, now wouldn't it?"

"Fucking brilliant," Harry spat, and turned away. He'd just have to do this himself. Perhaps he would head towards the Room of Requirement, and hope that he could find some space within his mind to work out what the hell he was going to do. It was taking a lot of effort not to run down to the chamber right now.

"Wait!" Cassius called after him, and Harry heard the quick thud of shoes on the ground as the Rosier boy ran to catch up with him.

"I don't have time for you to tell me what you're not going to do," Harry rolled his eyes, not slowing down. "Leave me alone."

"That's not what I want."

Finally, Harry let out an irritated growl and stopped, letting Cassius grab him by the shoulder and bring him around.

"What, then?" Harry spat. "What could possibly be troubling the great Cassius Rosier?"

"Druella likes ice cream. Strawberry and pistachio. Remember that, please." For some reason, Cassius was looking at Harry very seriously as he said this, and Harry got a little shiver up his spine despite himself.

"Okay, yeah, sure. Whatever," Harry shook off Cassius' arm uncomfortably.

"Remember."

"You're so weird," Harry muttered as he walked away, but ran over the information in his head anyway. Druella. Ice cream. He didn't know when the hell he'd need that.

He had more pressing things to attend to.

Perhaps, if Harry had felt slightly less cautious and slightly more reckless, he might have attempted to kill the basilisk fifty years early- but he didn't think he could take on the huge serpent without the sword, the hat, a handy phoenix, or a boatload of luck. And he definitely didn't think he could defeat the basilisk and Tom Riddle combined, not least because… well, Tom would probably be fighting to kill, but Harry didn't think he could do that.

Not yet, at least.

But the fact still remained, Harry was going to hold himself accountable for this. He wouldn't let an innocent girl die- not if he could help it. If Dumbledore wouldn't save Myrtle, he would just have to do it himself.

GUYS! I HAVE FANART FOR THIS STORY NOW! *fans self with laptop* And it is beautiful.
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