LAST TIME: Tom discovers the location of the CoS, and meets the basilisk (who's a little bit crazy). Tom releases the basilisk, but only after making sure it won't kill anyone. I'm sure this won't escalate... Septimus Weasley is petrified, and Abraxas hasn't found anything on Tom's family. Tom tells him to keep looking. Harry remembers that Tom is both the Heir of Slytherin and a threat (#wakeupcall), and Dippet calls an assembly. Harry attempts to tell Dumbledore that Tom is responsible for the attack, but Dumbledore doesn't believe him. Cassius approaches Harry, and Harry vows to save Myrtle.

Harry was in Defence when he heard about the next 'incident'.

"Helena Powell's been petrified," Orion muttered, leaning subtly across the desk towards Harry.

"Who?" Harry tried to remember if he'd ever heard of that name before.

"She's a third year Ravenclaw. Bit of a Morgana, but friendly."

"And she was petrified?" Harry was a little taken-aback. He'd expected the body count to rack up, but not this soon. "When did it happen?"

"Just before breakfast, I think." Orion winced. "They found her in the girl's bathroom. She'd just had a shower."

"…Ah."

"They…" Orion paused, evidently trying to search for a tactful way of putting it. "They clothed her, afterwards, so they could take her to the hospital wing."

"Who was it that found her?"

"Professor Beery."

"That's our Herbology teacher," Harry realised, his mind summoning images of a heavily-moustached man who felt very strongly about the value of sunflowers.

"He's also Head of Ravenclaw. Apparently her roommates were worried that she'd slipped and drowned or something, so he had to break down the door. She was in there for quite a while before anyone noticed though- almost 45 minutes, they guess."

If the Ravenclaw bathrooms were anything like the Gryffindor and Slytherin ones, Harry had an idea of how the basilisk had managed to petrify this girl. He could almost see it in his mind's eye… the shower basin covered by a thin layer of water, the grate dark and cavernous. A quiet hiss from below, and a girl blinking downwards through the steam to see a pair of luminescent, yellow eyes staring up at her from the darkness, swimming in the ripples.

Harry shook himself out of the vision, spine crawling. "Before breakfast, you said?"

Harry glanced across the classroom at Tom, who sat hunched over his Defence textbook obediently, wearing a small, satisfied smile. Tom hadn't been in the dormitories when Harry woke up, and he'd been late to the morning meal.

"Yes," Orion confirmed. "Poor thing. She's an only child, too. No one to visit her."

"Won't her parents come to the school? Weasley's parents came last week."

"They're muggles."

Orion lowered his voice as Professor Merrythought swept closer, but it was too late. The long shadow of their Defence professor fell over them, and Harry and Orion exchanged a tentative look before glancing up slowly.

Professor Merrythought raised a thin eyebrow and glared down at the pair. "Having a pleasant conversation are we, boys?"

"Yes actually, madam," Orion said honestly.

"Completely relevant to the course, I'm sure," Merrythought said wryly.

"Obviously," Harry agreed.

"Any more detail to add to this story?"

Harry smiled innocently. "We were just talking about the best defence for petrification, weren't we, Orion?"

Orion nodded eagerly, and Merrythought looked unimpressed.

"Fascinating. Well, I'm sure you wouldn't mind sharing this conversation with Mr Riddle, now would you, Mr Peters?"

Harry blanched. "Perhaps Orion and I should finish the questions on the board first-"

"No, no," the Professor insisted, gesturing for Harry to stand up. "You and Mr Black are obviously already such experts on severing charms that you don't need to complete the assigned task, especially if you're finding time to discuss petrification. Maybe you can offer tips to Mr Riddle here, who is clearly quite busy at work."

Right on time, Tom offered their teacher an angelic smile.

Harry wondered if it was possible to set someone on fire with your eyes, and proceeded to try very hard. Unfortunately he was unsuccessful, as Tom continued to smile away, smoke-free.

Merrythought crossed her arms. "Come on then, Peters: up," she insisted.

"I'm not a broomstick," Harry muttered, but he reluctantly got to his feet, dragging his heels along the cobble-stones as he shuffled towards Tom's desk.

"Do try to look more like you're walking to your execution," Merrythought said with a heavy eye roll. "I don't think we've quite got it yet."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said sullenly, and dropped into the seat next to Tom with a bad-tempered thud.

Revenged, Merrythought returned to the front of the classroom, and Harry and Tom shared an awkward pause.

"I'm certain sitting next to me isn't the worst thing that could happen to someone," Tom said lightly, shattering the silence between them.

Harry focused on his hands, twisting them back and forth. He wasn't quite sure how to look at Tom anymore. On one hand, Harry held a fondness for Tom, and enjoyed his company more than he liked to admit to himself. On the other, Helena Powell and Septimus Weasley… that was Tom's doing.

"Have you… have you Seen something?" Tom asked, his voice holding rare notes of uncertainty that had Harry glancing up briefly.

Oh. So they were having this conversation.

"Yes," Harry said shortly, making a quick and probably foolish decision. "Yes, I have."

"I don't suppose I get a clue as to what those visions entailed?"

"I don't know, Tom," Harry said sardonically, finally meeting Tom's eyes. "Maybe I could have a clue about where you were before breakfast this morning."

Tom's face betrayed a flicker of shock, and then his features smoothened out. "I was checking up on a pet."

"So that's what we're calling it now," Harry snorted. "Cute."

There was an uncomfortable pause between them, and Harry watched the storms gather in Tom's dark eyes. He suppressed a shiver that threatened to run down his spine. Whilst it may have been a stupid idea to reveal what he knew, Harry didn't think he could have hidden it. He had never been very subtle regarding his emotions- there was no way that Tom wouldn't have picked up on it eventually. At least, this way, Harry knew what Tom knew.

"…And so what are you going to do about these visions?" Tom asked finally, delicately.

"Nothing, for now," Harry said, and then continued pointedly: "You know, it's lucky no one's died yet, what with all these attacks."

"Yes," Tom agreed, his lips set tightly. "Quite extraordinary."

Harry was, for some reason, tempted to blurt out that Dumbledore knew about the Chamber- wanted to rub in that 'don't worry, Riddle, you're protected'- but he didn't, because that would have been possibly the most stupid thing he'd ever done. (More Slytherin than Gryffindor, he reminded himself, more Slytherin). It'd be like asking Tom to attack him. Even now, Tom watched him with deep, dangerous eyes, his shoulders ever-so-slightly tensed. Harry wondered if he'd go for his wand the moment they stepped out of the classroom.

"It's a shame," Tom said slowly, "That they don't know who's behind the attacks."

"I doubt they'll find out," Harry raised his eyebrow. "After all, the attacks are bound to stop soon."

"Perhaps."

And just like that, they were at an impasse. Tom thought Harry could tell someone about his identity (never mind that he'd already tried that); and Harry knew that Tom could kill him (although he wouldn't go down without a fight). What a wonderfully awful situation to be in, and Harry suspected that he probably should have just kept his mouth shut.

The chime of the bell had Professor Merrythought rolling her eyes and dismissing the class with a "and for Merlin's sake, do your homework!"

Harry scrambled away from his desk-mate as swiftly as possible, not liking the dangerous tension in Tom's jaw. He quickly found Orion, gripping tightly to his friend's arm and noisily helping him pack up his quills. Whilst Harry didn't think Tom would kill him, he'd be less likely to do it in front of a witness.

As they left the classroom, Harry spotted Tom standing just outside the door, watching them with a carefully blank expression.

Could he look any more like a serial killer if he tried? Harry wondered, but shot Tom a careless grin as he passed. How far could he push his luck, he wondered, and decided not to find out. Harry quickened the pace, and resolved to get out of Tom's sight as quickly as possible.

"I was thinking," Harry said to Orion as they walked away, Harry not looking behind him, "that I might visit Helena."

"That's such a lovely idea!" Orion cooed, looking at Harry like he'd just hung the moon.

"Just, y'know, see how she's doing," Harry clarified, a bit uncomfortable with the way Orion was looking at him. How did his eyes get so wide?

"I'm sure it'll bring her comfort," Orion said with great feeling, "I think people can hear us, you know, whilst they're in comas and such. I had an uncle who was catatonic for twelve years, and he swore 'til the day he died that he heard my aunt cheating on him in the next room. Considering she poisoned him so he wouldn't find out, it was all rather pointless."

Harry wasn't even surprised anymore. "Your family is so dysfunctional," he said, shaking his head.

Orion simply beamed at him. "I'm going to buck the trend."

Harry imagined what Sirius would have said, to hear his father talk like this. Probably something disparaging, or perhaps a reference to a muggle rock song. Most of all, Harry thought, Sirius would have been angry. Harry tried to forget that uncomfortable little epiphany.

"So you're coming then?" Harry swung open a portrait, revealing the passageway behind it. Moving via shortcuts should reduce the risk of a Tom-confrontation. Tom-frontation.

That was awful.

"Of course I am!" Orion enthused, following Harry into the passage without hesitation. "Perhaps I ought to have brought flowers."

"I'm sure you don't think coma patients can see," Harry said, with a touch of fond exasperation.

"Well, I had a cousin-"

They moved towards the hospital wing quickly, and all the while Orion wittered on. Harry was only half-listening, if he was honest, but Orion's voice was a soothing background hum and worked excellently to help Harry forget the potentially huge mistake he'd just made. He seemed to be making a lot of those recently.

Finally, Harry pushed aside a tapestry and blinked in the sudden sunlight. He stepped out into the corridor, and held the fabric back for Orion, who exclaimed in delight at their new location- but it didn't take much for Orion to be delighted.

That passageway was convenient though, and had led them to just outside the hospital wing door. Harry was glad that he'd memorised most of the Marauders Map before he'd left it in 1996, and tried not to miss it too much.

It took some effort to gently guide a still-talking Orion (who was now informing Harry about the time Lucretia went broomstick-diving and had to get stitches) into the hospital wing, upon which Orion stopped speaking rather abruptly

It was very quiet in the room, as there were none of the usual skiving teenagers and sobbing first years. But that just made the stillness of the girl in the bed- small, fragile and very, very still- even more obvious. Beside him, Orion let out a shallow breath that sounded very like the word "oh".

"Her hair's still wet," Orion said, voice caught in his throat.

The girl's face was stiff and petrified in an expression of shock, her hair spread in tendrils around her face as if suspended underwater. Her head was angled, supported even as it was by an impressive pile of pillows, and Harry could see clearly how she had been frozen, peering at death as it slithered below her.

If Harry blinked, he could see the ghost of a girl with bushy brown hair and brave buckteeth, lying in the next bed over.

"She'll probably be moved to St Mungo's soon," Orion said, regarding Helena Powell with an odd, distant expression. "Like Septimus."

"Are you okay, mate?" Harry asked, taking a concerned step towards his friend.

"Yes, yes- I'm fine. I suppose I didn't expect her to be so still. She looks almost… almost dead."

"She's not, though," Harry offered.

"I know. I just… hadn't expected this." Orion turned away and moved to a window, his fists clenched.

Harry hadn't considered that hospitals may not hold the best memories for Orion, but as he watched his friend's back- so tense and straight- the realisation hit him like a bludger (as did the sad reminder that today's decision-making was not going well for him).

Silence fell between them. Harry didn't interrupt, feeling all kinds of guilt.

"Don't mind me. You should speak to her," Orion said at long last, trying for a sweet smile. "I'm sure she'd appreciate it." His smile wavered. "Actually, I- I think I should go. I'll wait for you outside."

And then Orion left, giving Helena a look of deep sorrow on his way out. Note to self, Harry thought, keep Orion away from hospitals.

And then Harry perched on the bed next to Helena, alone in the hospital wing, feeling a little uncomfortable. Coming here had all been a bit off the cuff- mostly to avoid Tom and assuage the urge to do something- but now he was here, he didn't know what he was supposed to do. Talking to her was a bit pointless. Harry didn't think that petrification victims could hear anything- Hermione certainly hadn't- and even if they could, why would a third year Ravenclaw want to hear from Harry?

Still, he'd made the effort to come, so he should probably try something. He cleared his throat, just knowing that this would be the moment for his voice to choose to crack.

"Hey," he said, and promptly winced. Did his voice always sound that weak? Merlin, no wonder Avery rolled his eyes every time Harry spoke. "How are you doing?"

A lengthy pause followed, and suddenly Harry remembered that he wouldn't be receiving a reply.

"Oh, right. Sorry, I, er, forgot you couldn't speak. Or move. God, I can't even imagine how frustrating that must be." Harry frowned, adding quickly: "You won't remember anything though, don't worry! I had a friend who was petrified, and she said missing her exams was the worst thing about it. She always was a bit barmy, though."

Harry smiled fondly.

"What do you talk about in a hospital wing?" he wondered aloud, glancing around the space. It wasn't very inspiring. "The weather? It's a bit grey, if I'm honest. I think it was sunnier earlier, but that didn't last very long. Looks like it might rain, actually. That's Britain for you."

He snickered. This was what he'd been reduced to- talking about the weather like Aunt Petunia at the post office. Maybe he'd discuss a politician's hair, next, or Mrs Figg's divorce. What else did he really have to talk about? Other than-

"So, Riddle's a prat," Harry said suddenly, and snorted. Why did everything always come back to Tom Riddle? "Sorry- I bet you loved him. Everyone seems to. They'll keep singing his praises, even as he sends a bloody death snake after them. I bet you'd walk into its jaws if he asked you nicely."

Harry frowned down at the girl's small face: her lips thin and gaping. "Sorry. That was a bit grim. It's not even your fault- everyone's fooled. Even me, sometimes. Tom's good at pretending to be something he isn't."

Harry remembered the moments when Tom would glance over at him, perhaps as Avery was saying something particularly ridiculous, or when Walburga took it upon herself to give them all a lesson in etiquette, and then Tom would smile. It wasn't a particularly nice smile: more of a 'look at these idiots, ha ha' smirk, but in those few seconds, it was like Harry and Tom were the only people in the world.

As Harry said, Tom was very good at pretending.

"Think of it this way," Harry said encouragingly. "You could be dead!" Pause. "…That did not sound how I wanted it to. What I meant was…" he bit his lip and hesitated, "there are people who might not be as lucky as you."

And Harry watched as, before his eyes, glasses settled on Helena's face, her hair grew mousey and her cheeks chubbier, until suddenly she was pale and transparent: wailing and, well, moaning as she hovered above a toilet seat, trapped where she died alone, forever and ever.

He blinked the image away, and gripped Helena's cold hand with renewed determination.

"No one's going to die," he promised firmly, and it briefly occurred to him that if Helena could hear anything, this was going to be one of the weirdest one-sided conversations of her life. "I'm not going to let him kill her, I promise."

It was then that Harry heard a muffled commotion from outside the hospital wing door.

"Mr Black!" Harry caught the dulcet tones of Madam Hallpepper, and then snatches of: "What… outside… vagabond… how dare… care!... quite inappropriate… I don't think… see-"

The doors swung open with a loud bang, and Harry scrambled to his feet as Madam Hallpepper thundered into her domain.

"Mr Peters!" she shrieked, "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"…Visiting?"

"And who gave you permission?" Her eyebrows shot to dangerous heights. "Never mind, I don't actually care- out! This patient needs quiet!" Her voice echoed around the hospital wing, rattling against Harry's eardrums.

Harry checked the clock. "But it's still lunchtime-"

"And so perhaps you should be eating instead of harassing this poor girl."

"She's petrified, so I don't think she minds. Anyway, I was just giving her some encouragement-"

"That's not the point!" Hallpepper said firmly, her volume finally coming down to rest at a normal volume. "Miss Powell needs medical care, not blessings from sixth years. Out!"

Harry at last conceded, and raised her hands defensively. "I'm going, I'm going!" he said, before escaping the angry Matron and the hospital wing quickly. "C'mon," he said as he passed Orion, who'd apparently been sat against the wall for the past fifteen minutes.

"Where are we going?" Orion asked curiously as he scrambled to his feet, hurrying after his friend.

Harry clenched his jaw.

"We," Harry replied, his voice low and steady, "are going to find Myrtle Warren, and then we're going to keep her safe."

"…Who?"

"Actually, on second thoughts, maybe you should just go back to lunch."

And that was how Harry found himself awkwardly hidden in an archway as he listened to a girl cry.

He hadn't meant to get himself into this mess- he'd just wanted to see where Myrtle was, and make sure she was staying away from first floor bathrooms. If he was honest, Harry was still working out the kinks in his plan. The latest incarnation involved somehow stopping the bullying of Myrtle. If she wasn't teased, she'd have no reason to run into that fated bathroom in the first place! He was, however, still trying to work out exactly how he was going to achieve this.

His plan had not involved coming across Myrtle sobbing her eyes out underneath a window. Harry gritted his teeth- he hated hearing girls cry, but wasn't entirely sure how to stop it. He couldn't in good conscience leave her like this though…

Harry coughed, and the muffled sobs stopped immediately. Harry saw Myrtle lift her head cautiously, revealing red-rimming eyes and a truly hideous pair of glasses (not that Harry could talk). The younger girl glanced around, calling out: "Hello? Is someone there?"

Harry stepped around the corner, trying to look casual.

Myrtle spotted him almost immediately, scrambling to her feet very like a startled cat. "Who are you?" she spat, her shoulders so raised they were nearly up to her ears.

"Harry. Er, Harry Peters."

"You're the boy who argues with Tom Riddle," Myrtle said accusingly, crossing her arms.

Would that always be his legacy, Harry wondered?

He coughed uncomfortably. "Er, I suppose I am. I do other stuff, though, too. Like…" Harry racked his brains, "homework?"

Myrtle looked unimpressed. "That's rubbish."

Time to change the subject. "So why are you crying?"

Myrtle sniffed, her expression darkening. "Olive Hornby said…" her voice broke, and she wrapped her arms around herself. "Olive said that it's my fault."

"What's your fault?"

"That Helena died," Myrtle whispered, eyes glassy.

Oh wow. So this was more serious than he thought. Harry tread closer, tilting his head sympathetically.

"She's not dead, though. She'll be fine when the mandrakes mature. And how on earth could it be your fault?"

"I was supposed to shower first this morning, but I slept in," Myrtle said miserably. "And so Helena went in instead. It should've been me in that bathroom, and now Helena's g-gone because of me!" Myrtle was full-on sobbing now, and Harry wondered if this was the moment when he was supposed to hug her.

He placed a hand on her back, patting gingerly. "There, there."

Myrtle narrowed her eyes at him. "You're not very good at comforting people, are you?"

"No one ever taught me how," Harry said defensively. "I just wanted to help."

"Well, first off: I'm a girl, not a farm animal. Stop patting me."

Myrtle nodded as Harry removed his hand.

"What's next?" Harry asked.

Myrtle immediately burst into renewed tears. "Now you leave me alone to die!" And then she curled up beneath the window again.

Harry was fairly that Myrtle was being overdramatic, although he supposed it was nice to know that she was the same in life as she was in death. He knelt down beside her, biting his lip.

"Come on," he said haltingly. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

"I killed someone!" Myrtle wailed, her face turning red.

"I told you already: she's not dead."

"And I'm ugly!" Myrtle added, screwing her eyes shut. "Everyone says so."

"You're not ugly," Harry said weakly. "Your face is, er, quite pretty, if you look at it the right way."

For a few minutes, Myrtle's whimpering was the only sound between them until, finally, she glanced up, with something like hope behind her eyes.

"…Really?"

Harry nodded. It wasn't a total lie, and at least her acne hadn't reached the heights of Eloise Midgen. "Mm."

"Oh." Myrtle sniffed and sat back on her heels, considering Harry carefully. "Didn't you say you wanted to help me?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed hesitantly.

She sighed, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. "Well, I suppose you'll do."

"Do what?"

"You can sit with me at dinner," Myrtle said firmly, setting her jaw. "If you're there, Olive won't dare to say anything."

"B-but…" Harry stammered. This was not how he'd expected the conversation to go. "At your table? But you're in Ravenclaw."

"You can sit at other House tables, silly. People just don't do it all that often."

"Hang on, why am I coming to your table? I'm older than you- shouldn't it be the other way around?" Harry crossed his arms.

"You can't expect me to sit near Tom Riddle and not faint," Myrtle explained, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Besides," she continued gleefully, "it'll really freak Olive out to have a Slytherin at the table."

"I…"

"Thanks for agreeing! I'll see you at dinner then," she told him, getting to her feet. "And by the way- my name's Myrtle Warren!"

And then she flounced away, leaving Harry to wonder if he'd just been outwitted by a third year.

After a lengthy Charms lesson, Harry and Orion took the short walk together towards the Great Hall. Whilst meals were usually the highlight of Harry's week, the colossal room held little joy for Harry today. It did seem more subdued, anyway- Harry supposed the unexpected news of another attack had dampened the mood somewhat. Harry frowned around at the quietly gossiping students, and told Orion to go on without him.

"Sorry mate," Harry shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I've got to go and sit at the Ravenclaw table."

"What?" Orion crinkled his nose. "Why?"

"I made a pact with Satan," Harry said gloomily. As this words passed his lips, he made eye-contact with the very object of his complaints.

Myrtle waved at him slightly, a little smile on her lips.

"She should be in Slytherin," Harry swore. "Manipulative hippogriff."

"So that's Myrtle Warren?" Orion asked in confusion. "She's the girl who followed Tom around for a week, picking up anything he dropped."

"She's an overdramatic nightmare, that's what she is," Harry bemoaned, and clasped Orion by the shoulder. "I'll see you in the common room." As he set off towards the Ravenclaw table, he muttered, "I can't believe I'm going to save her life."

"Harry!" Myrtle declared, gesturing to the space beside her which, coincidentally enough, was empty. "Sit down."

"If I must." Harry slid into his space, and glanced around him. He was surrounded by curious third year Ravenclaws, all peering at him with their beady little eyes- it was like his first year all over again. Not an experience he wanted to repeat.

"Myrtle," one of the girls whispered unsubtly, red hair bound tightly in bunches. "Why do you have an older boy sitting next to you?"

"None of your business, Georgie," Myrtle huffed.

'Georgie' looked Harry up and down, and he pondered on whether to remind them that he did have both ears and eyes.

Georgie leaned over to Myrtle, whispering again, "He's cute."

"I know," Myrtle said with great satisfaction, taking a large bite of chicken.

"Why is he sitting with you then?"

"Because I want him to," Myrtle said, stiffer this time, and her shoulders were tense. Luckily, Georgie seemed to lose interest, turning back to her friends.

Harry shrugged, deciding that if he was to be stuck on this table for the next however many days, he might as well eat. And so he began to pile up his plate with meat, taking a heap of peas when he visualised Hermione's disapproval.

The younger Ravenclaws seemed to be content to carry on their meal without engaging Harry, other than through curious peeps. Myrtle wasn't involved in any of their conversations, but this didn't seem to bother her. Instead, she ate quietly and- when Harry properly looked at her- he saw a book propped on her knee, which she appeared to be reading as she ate.

He supposed she was a Ravenclaw, after all.

Harry took the opportunity to sneak a glimpse of the Slytherin table, and then- because Harry had the worst luck in the world, so why on earth would anything go right for him?- he made direct eye contact with Tom Riddle.

Tom's gaze was, for lack of a better word, captivating (and maybe a bit terrifying too). Harry couldn't tear his eyes away, sure he looked like a wide-eyed rabbit. To be fair to him, Tom's gaze was rather predatory. At last, Tom's eyes flickered away from his, looking obviously at Harry's present company, and then, meeting Harry's gaze once more, he raised his eyebrow.

And Harry, being the mature individual he was, turned his back.

It was just in time, too, as Myrtle's little elbow dug into his side and she murmured, "Olive's coming."

Harry glanced around, and immediately spotted another third year girl coming towards them. She looked rather ordinary- although prettier than Myrtle, certainly. Her dark, curly hair was tucked behind her ear, and the sneer on her face twisted her sweet features. She froze when she saw Harry, clearly rethinking her plan, but wasn't halted for long.

"Did you bribe an older boy to sit with you?" Olive laughed, stopping just behind them.

"I asked him," Myrtle said, suddenly quieter and smaller somehow.

"Asked him? Did you cry too?"

"…No."

"Are you going to kill this one too, Myrtle? Is he your next target, freak?"

"Helena Powell isn't dead, actually," Harry spoke for the first time, swinging a leg over the bench so he could face Olive. He was suddenly aware of how much taller he was than her, even if Harry had always been small for his age, and a cold smile settled on his features. "So Myrtle hasn't killed anyone."

Olive pursed her lips. "It was her fault though-"

"It really wasn't," Harry said shortly.

"And who are you to say that?"

"He drew with Tom in a duel," Myrtle mumbled, gesturing in Harry's direction vaguely.

"And you're a thirteen year old girl," Harry added, loathe as he was to take almost-defeating Tom as any kind of qualification (again).

Olive turned bright red, but seemed more interested in Harry now. "You know Tom?" she asked.

"Is that all anyone's ever gonna ask me?" Harry shook his head. He supposed it could be worse- people could be interested in him because he was the 'Boy Who Lived' (shudder). This was a vast improvement.

"Why would someone like him hang out with someone like you?" Olive asked, cocking her hip and looking at Myrtle distastefully.

"Myrtle's alright," Harry defended.

"She's not 'alright'," Olive said viciously. "She's a spotty, scabby little freak!"

Harry shot to his feet, his wand suddenly in his hand. He didn't point it, aware of eyes on him from the staff table, but Olive's eyes flashed towards it.

"Take that back," Harry said firmly.

"YOU'RE AN AWFUL PERSON!" Myrtle wailed. Well, at least she was backing up Harry in her own way.

Now, the majority of the Ravenclaw table was watching their interaction, and Olive was clearly aware of it.

"…Freak," Olive hissed at last, and grabbed one of the Ravenclaw girls- Georgie- by the arm before marching away.

There was a pause, like the world was holding its breath and then-

"I think that went well," Harry mused, sitting down again and reaching for a spoonful of carrots.

Myrtle ogled at him, stars in her eyes. "That. Was. Amazing," she breathed.

Perhaps it would be easier to protect her now, Harry reflected. He could always work around the hero worship.

Time passed, and Hogwarts held its breath. Harry watched Tom grow more and more smug, and felt himself grow more and more paranoid. Mad Eye would be proud.

He found little support from anyone else. Orion tried his best, but since Harry refused to tell him what was going on, there was only so much he could do. And to top it all off, after the last attack- a seventh year boy, found in the courtyard next to a puddle one morning- Harry was now avoiding Dumbledore's eye. It had been during yet another uncomfortable dinner at the Ravenclaw table that Harry chanced a glance towards the staff table, and made eye contact with the Transfigurations professor.

And, boy, had Dumbledore looked suspicious.

It wasn't fair, Harry seethed, pulling a book off the library shelf. He tried to do the right thing, and it always backfired. Worse of all, Tom seemed to be getting off scot-free, and the attacks still hadn't stopped! Harry had successfully managed to avoid Tom since their last chat (he was getting good at Tom-dodging) but Harry knew he wouldn't be able to keep up the charade for long. Someday soon, Tom was going to wonder why Harry hadn't just told someone that he was the Heir, and then it would all come out, and Harry wouldn't have any leverage.

"Urgh," Harry groaned in disgust, and slumped into one of the comfy armchairs.

"Harry!"

Harry glanced behind him, and his disgust disappeared. "Orion!"

His friend grinned, and joined Harry in his little 'panic corner'. It was really quite snug- it had its own fireplace and everything.

"I didn't expect to see you here without your entourage. Where's Myrtle?" Orion looked around in surprise, and Harry didn't blame him. It was a rare sight to see Harry without the younger Ravenclaw these days.

"She's in the Charms section," Harry replied darkly. "I'm taking a break."

"So you're still, er, protecting her then?"

Harry nodded.

"…From what, exactly?"

Harry winced. "Look, it's a long story, and I know it's a bit far-fetched- but just trust me. She will be in danger."

Harry knew he was acting a bit odd. He'd barely seen Orion these past few weeks, as he'd avoided the Slytherins dorms. It was partially because he was protecting Myrtle, and partially out of his desire to avoid Tom- unfortunately, that also meant that he saw little of his best friend.

"I believe you," Orion said simply, and took a seat next to Harry.

"Thanks mate."

They grinned at each other, and immediately everything felt warmer.

"So what's the gossip at the Slytherin table?" Harry asked, putting his book to one side.

"You," Orion admitted, and they laughed. "And your newest, smallest friend. Rupert suggested some truly unsavoury things. Don't worry- Druella gave him boils. Walburga thinks it's sweet that you're looking out for a younger student- she says you'll make a great father."

Harry blushed, but grinned teasingly and nudged his friend. "Well, if Walburga says it, it must be true."

Orion turned bright red, casting a nice contrast with his dark hair. "Anyway," he coughed. "Then Tom suggested that you might be taking on responsibility for someone younger in response to the trauma you've gone through, and everyone stopped talking about you after that."

"Bastard," Harry muttered. Tom knew full well that Harry hated being pitied- which was probably exactly why he'd said what he had.

"We mostly talked about Ronald Moore yesterday, though," Orion shrugged.

Harry startled at 'Ronald', but remembered that was the name of the latest victim: puddle-boy. "Oh."

"His parents came into school and took him to St Mungo's themselves. No opportunities for visits there!" Orion said cheerfully, but Harry could see the haunted look in his eyes.

"Maybe that's a good thing," Harry said, and Orion gave a small nod of agreement.

Suddenly, there was a scream from somewhere in the library, and the sound of sobs following close after.

Harry leapt to his feet. "That sounds like Myrtle," was all he said, and then he was already moving, pushing past students and a library assistant or two.

By the time he got to Myrtle, she was sat on the floor at the foot of a book shelf, rubbing her head and sniffling softly. Seeing that Myrtle was okay, Harry's heart began to slow. Her glasses were cracked on the floor, though, one of the arms twisted out of shape. For a moment, Harry remembered a scrawny little boy, with wild dark hair and knobbly knees, crying in a cupboard as his cousin laughed.

That was not what he needed to think about.

What happened?" he panted, leaning on a nearby table.

"A book dropped on my head," Myrtle whined. "I think someone pushed it."

From the high-pitched giggling on the other side of the shelves, Myrtle was probably right, but Harry felt a bit ridiculous for how panicked he'd been. It wasn't like the basilisk was going to attack someone in the library.

He sighed and threw a reparo at the glasses, having dealt with broken glasses more times than he could count. As he placed a comforting hand on Myrtle's back, she winced and shrugged it off.

"Remember-" she mumbled.

"-Yeah, I know," Harry sighed. "Not a farm animal."

"Has she been successfully protected?" An amused voice had Harry looking up to see Orion casually leant against a wall, a smirk on his lips.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up." But he felt a spark of fondness within him. He'd never had a little sister, but maybe this was similar.

Maybe.

Fear grew in the school during weeks that followed the Moore attack, and that fear only intensified as the end of the school year crept closer. Could the student body really go home without finding out who was behind the attacks? What would happen over summer? Harry, especially, became understandably more jumpy and tired, as the confrontation with Tom crept inevitably closer.

The pervasive fear only made Myrtle more 'sensitive' and so it was many more 'boy who cried wolf' instances later (which really should be called 'girl who cried at literally anything'), that Harry spotted Myrtle bawling her eyes out and pelting down the corridor, face buried in her hands.

Harry rolled his eyes, too exhausted to chase after her and begin the calming-down ritual. Besides, he had a Potions lesson to suffer through.

"Quick," Orion grinned, walking beside him with a spring in his step. "You'd better go after Myrtle. Maybe she's been attacked by another book."

"Or maybe you should go check that Walburga's okay. You know all these attacks make her 'terribly anxious'," Harry replied, miming fainting dramatically with a hand over his face.

The tips of Orion's ears went red, and he shoved Harry. Harry was just about to laugh when- oh. The conversation rewound before his eyes, and his stomach sank. "Er, Orion?"

"Yes?"

"Which direction would you say Myrtle was heading towards?" he asked urgently.

Orion frowned. "I would say the stairs? So probably the first floor."

"Shit." And just like that, Harry turned and ran after Myrtle, his heart leaping into his mouth. Shit, shit, shit, shit! He took the stairs three at a time, pelting past a flash of colourful robes and sea of school robes.

The first floor bathroom had never seemed so far away, and it felt like an eon until Harry was tugging on a wooden door and flinging himself inside.

"Myrtle?" he yelled, shuddering a little at the familiar bathroom. He tried not to focus on the gleam of the taps in the centre of the room.

Muffled crying gave him a clue about Myrtle's whereabouts pretty quickly, as did her soft, "Harry?"

Harry scanned the room, noting where the sound came from. He ran towards a cubicle, pounding on the door. "Listen, Myrtle, we need to get out of here!"

The sound of sobs increased, and she wailed, "But I want to stay here forever!"

"You might just get your wish," Harry muttered and then, louder: "Myrtle, someone else is coming, we need to go."

"But I don't care about anyone else!"

"For Merlin's sake, Myrtle, don't be an idiot!"

Myrtle was inconsolable now, and she hiccupped something like; "I can't help it!" and then dissolved into hysterics.

Harry took a deep breath, pressing his forehead against the door. Clearly, he needed to change his approach, or he'd just scare her. He knocked again- lightly, this time. "Er, Myrtle?" he asked gently. "Can I come in? Please?"

There was long pause. At last, Myrtle sniffled, "Fine- but I'm not leaving," and the door swung open.

Harry barely glanced at her red, snotty face, stepping into the cubicle and closing the door behind him quickly. It was crowded, but Myrtle budged over and Harry took a seat on the toilet lid next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"So, er, why are you crying then?" Harry said. Perhaps if he could calm Myrtle down from her tantrum, they could get out of this bathroom quickly. If not, he'd just have to stun her.

Myrtle let out a tortured howl at the question. "Olive said my glasses were-" hic "-hideous," she sobbed. "A-and that they'd look b-better without my face behind them!"

"Don't listen to her. I think your glasses look nice," Harry said kindly. "They really, er, bring out your eyes."

"You're the only one who thinks so."

"I'm sure I'm not. You said that Marlin was nice to you yesterday."

"He wanted me to do his homework for him!" Myrtle wailed, and buried her head in her hands once more.

Just then, Harry heard the faint sound of a door being opened, and the breath left his body. He slapped a hand over Myrtle's mouth, ignoring the snot and her muffled shrieks of surprise, and 'shushed' her quietly. The sound of footstep made Myrtle freeze. Harry brought a finger to his lips, then got out his wand.

They listened in silence as the footsteps continued. Riddle, the prat, was really taking his time. Finally, Harry heard:

"Open, and come to me, serpent of Slytherin."

(Well, it was nice to know that Tom hadn't lost his dramatic touch.)

To Harry, this sounded like normal speech… but not to anyone else. He realised this only too late, by which time his hand had already relaxed. And so the snake speech drew a surprised squeak out of Myrtle, which echoed around the bathroom.

The hisses stopped.

"Is anyone there?" the slow, smooth voice of Tom Riddle had never been less welcome to Harry, and he groaned silently, banging his head against the wall.

"Hello?" Tom's voice was followed by the crash of a cubicle door at the end of the row, and Harry suddenly knew he didn't have long.

"Come out," Tom said gently, seductively, another door crashing open. "I promise I won't hurt you."

If Harry were to open the cubicle door now, he was fairly sure he would meet the cold eyes of a basilisk before he could even raise his wand, and thus a very swift death. He could only hope that, maybe, if Tom knew who he'd be killing…

"Tom," Harry said finally, his voice like a bellow in the quiet of the bathroom. "It's, er, it's me. It's Harry."

"Harrison." Tom sounded vaguely surprised. "Oh. Well, by all means, why don't you come out and say hello?"

He had little choice now. Reluctantly, Harry got to his feet, pushing open the door and leaving relative safety. Myrtle followed close behind him, and he let her curl her fingers round his hand.

As expected, Tom stood by what had been the sink, now a cavernous hole, looking very casual but for the miniscule twitch of his eye. The basilisk rose like a magnificent sculpture behind him, and Harry was relieved to see that it had its eyes closed, clearly on Tom's orders. That was a good sign.

"Ah," Tom said, looking at something over Harry's shoulder. "You brought a little friend."

As Myrtle set eyes on the basilisk, she screamed, loud and shrill, stumbling back and dragging Harry with her. Harry turned automatically to right himself, grabbing Myrtle when she almost crashed into a sink. That was a mistake. Before he could blink, his wand was ripped out of his hand and sent flying through the air, caught deftly by Tom.

Harry surged around, growling. "Give me back my wand," he snarled, pushing Myrtle behind him.

"Now why would I do that?" Tom asked with a languid grin, twirling the wand around his fingers in a familiar move. "Now we can finally have a proper chat."

"A chat?" Harry laughed mirthlessly. "Dunno about you, but I'm not really feeling tea and biscuits."

Tom's face shuttered up, and the air around them turned colder. The basilisk shifted, scales clinking on the cobbles. "Perhaps we'd best skip to the crux of the matter, then."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Perhaps we'd best."

"I am the heir of Slytherin," Tom announced, and he sounded so proud. "But of course you knew that already."

Myrtle let out a whimper, peering around Harry with wide eyes. "T-Tom, but I don't understand- why do you have that- that thing?" She gazed up frightfully at the basilisk. "I don't-"

"Silencio," Tom said dismissively, barely flicking his wand.

Myrtle fell silent.

"Don't you dare hurt her," Harry threatened, taking a miniscule step forwards and feeling a wave of protectiveness. He directed the next part over his shoulder, towards Myrtle. "And- no matter what- don't look at the basilisk, especially not its eyes."

"How sweet," Tom said drily. "But I think we both know who has the upper hand. You're not in much of a position to be making demands, Harrison. Now hand over the girl."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"I would…" a flicker of uncertainly ran over Tom's features. "I am willing to leave you unharmed. You've already proven you won't tell anyone about my heritage. But the girl knows, and now she must die."

"I'm not letting you kill her," Harry insisted.

"You don't have much of a choice-"

"Yes, I do." Harry gritted his teeth, and took a risk. "You're not going to kill me. If you were, you'd have done it already: weeks ago, even. Now close the chamber." It was all pure guesswork (who knew what was going on in Tom Riddle's head), but Harry thought there might be some truth to it. Surely there was a reason Tom hadn't already cornered and crucio'd him.

Tom laughed, and it wasn't a nice laugh. It was cold and chilling, and brought Harry to a graveyard momentarily. "Now why would I do that?"

"Because if you do, I won't tell anyone about this. You can get away with petrifying Weasley, and Helena and… and the other boy, but this ends today. And if you don't, I will make sure Myrtle gets away, and she will tell everyone."

"And how will you do that? I have your wand."

Tom's features were almost unreadable, but Harry could see the uncertainty. Voldemort had always underestimated Harry- he'd just have to make sure that Tom overestimated him.

Harry gripped a door handle, ready to fling it open as a barrier, just in case. "I'll do it," he promised, shielding Myrtle with his body, "even if I have to die. You know I will."

The pause that followed could have lasted years, but Harry wouldn't have been able to tell. Myrtle shook behind him, and Harry steeled his resolve. She was innocent, he had to remember that. She was innocent.

Finally, Tom sneered and held out a hand. "Give me the girl."

"I already told you-"

"I'm not going to kill her," Tom said, frustrated, looking as if he'd like nothing better than to strangle Harry. "I'm going to obliviate her."

Myrtle shuddered behind him, but Harry frowned. That didn't sound awful- almost suspiciously reasonable, actually. "Only obliviate?"

"Yes."

"Do you swear?"

"On my father's grave," Tom said impatiently.

"Your father's not dead."

"Oops." Tom didn't look very sorry, but he did look very impatient. "Look, I'm merely going to erase knowledge about the Chamber of Secrets, and anything else you told her. And then…" It looked like it was physically hurting Tom to say it. "And then I will close the chamber."

Harry considered Tom carefully. Whilst Tom looked unconcerned and rather bored with the whole affair, Harry could see the tension in his white knuckles, clenching tightly to his wand. There was no way of telling if he would carry through with his promise. Harry would, he supposed, just have to trust him.

"Come on Myrtle," Harry said gently, guiding Myrtle forwards. "It'll only take a minute, and then you won't even notice it happened."

Harry could see Myrtle trying to say something through the silencing charm, but Harry ignored it. This was saving her life, he told himself. Nevertheless, Harry watched Tom carefully, and prepared to leap forwards at the first sign of trouble.

Tom tugged Myrtle closer tetchily, raising his wand and pressing it against her forehead. Tom hesitated for a moment, before he closed his eyes and murmured, "obliviate." Myrtle's eyes went dreamy and unfocused, and she slumped to the ground. Tom waved his wand in the air, like the memories were dissipating away. Harry swore he could almost see them melt into the air.

"Satisfied?" Tom asked, but Harry rushed to Myrtle's side, brushing the hair away from her face. She was unconscious.

Tom appeared to ignore them, getting to his feet and moving towards the basilisk. "I release you from your duty," he hissed. "Return to slumbering beneath the school. The chamber will close."

"But master-"

"Do as I say."

"I'll be so hungry…" the snake replied petulantly, but sunk back into the pipes. "Farewell then, heir…"

The taps slid closed with a definite crunch, and Tom watched with undetectable emotion. His posture was strangely imperfect.

"Er, Riddle?" Harry asked timidly, all bravado drained out of him. "Could I have my wand back?"

Harry thought Tom muttered something like: "You didn't even have your wand," but he couldn't be sure. Nevertheless, as Tom handed Harry back his wand, Harry almost felt sorry for him. Harry knew what it was like to cling desperately to some part of your family.

"They would have closed it, you know." Harry said suddenly. "Hogwarts. They would have closed it if she died."

Tom simply raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's lucky she didn't then, isn't it? Ennervate," he said, pointing his wand at the fallen girl. And then he swept out of the bathroom, sparing the pair nary a glance. As Harry watched him leave, it sunk in that Myrtle was alive. Tom had spared her. Harry resolved to later work out why that thought brought with it a spark of hope.

From where she was still sprawled on the floor, Myrtle's eyes blinked open. They were hazy and confused, but she seemed unharmed. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, looking around her surroundings with wide, scared eyes. "W-what? Where am I?"

"You're fine," Harry soothed, running a hand over her back. "I think you collapsed."

"W-who are you?" Myrtle stuttered, and her eyes held no recognition when she looked at Harry.

Damn you, Tom, Harry thought, but he smiled down at the girl regardless. "Don't worry," he said, his heart in his throat. "I'm no one."

And thus the Chamber of Secrets arc ends swiftly. And then school year is almost at an end- this came quickly! (Or not really if you look at the word count XD)
Myrtle is me, btw. Constantly crying at every opportunity.
I feel like this story should include the tag 'Enemies to Acquaintances to Enemies to Friends...ish back to Enemies then to... Friends? (Eventually to Lovers heh heh)'
Well, Tom doesn't want Harry dead! Tom REALLY doesn't want Harry dead! That's a start... right?

I promise we'll get Tom POV next chapter ;)