Author's Note: I have this story written all the way up to chapter eleven. I have held off on posting this chapter because almost nobody reviewed. Also, I was really disappointed that the last chapter didn't get any comments because I worked really hard on it. It was the longest chapter I've ever written and it was very difficult to do. I hope this chapter is greeted with more enthusiasm. Anyway, here it is:

Chapter Seven: The Sword and the Locket

He opened his eyes to see a girl with bright red hair and blue eyes looking down at him. The last thing he could remember was being at the Three Broomsticks with Melanie on Christmas. His vision, for some reason, was blurry and he could not see any of the other people in the room clearly. The only one he recognized was the girl kneeling on the floor beside him. 'How did I end up on the floor?' No answer was forthcoming, so he blinked furiously, trying to no avail to clear his vision. Thoroughly confused, he looked up at his red-haired girlfriend. "Melanie?" She didn't say anything. He saw her expression change, but of course, he couldn't see what it had been or what it had changed to. "Melanie," he repeated, "What happened? Why can't I see? Everything is blurry." Then he suddenly became aware that he was a) still lying on the ground and b) wearing glasses. 'Why in Merlin's name am I wearing glasses?' With that thought, he reached up and pulled the round, black-framed lenses away from his face. To his relief, the world slid back into focus. To his intense distress, he now saw that he was in an unfamiliar place and that the girl beside him was not Melanie. In fact, she looked more like a mix between a Weasley and a Prewett than she did anything else. He sat up and became even more alarmed when he realized that he didn't recognize any of the other people in the room, though one of them looked like a Black and another was definitely a Weasley.

He jumped to his feet and took a step away from everyone else. He could tell that his wand was missing, so he concentrated very hard on summoning it. A split second later, a wand went flying off the table and he caught it in his left hand. It wasn't his wand, but it would have to do. Raising the wand and assuming a defensive dueling stance, he demanded, "Where am I and who are all of you?" Apparently the strangers hadn't expected him to ask that because they all stared at him for several minuted before one of them, the girl who had bushy brown hair and amber eyes, the one who he couldn't identify by family, made a comment about him.

"He sounds different. His accent is different." She turned to the Weasley boy and continued, "He doesn't sound like he's from Surrey. He sounds like he's from- well actually, he sounds like he grew up in the same area that Lucius Malfoy did." At this, the boy sent him a very odd look, but the girl's words had held something that was familiar.

"Malfoy?" He directed his question at the probably mudblood girl. "Is this Lucius Malfoy any relation to Abraxus or Marius Malfoy?"

"Well," the girl said slowly, "I've never heard of anyone named Marius Malfoy, but I believe that Lucius Malfoy's father was named Abraxus." Funny. He didn't know that Marius had another sibling. Finally, realizing that none of them had their wands out, he lowered his.

"What are your names," he finally asked. This caused more staring and the Weasley boy looked like he was about to say something, but the mudblood girl cut him off and introduced herself and the others.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she then pointed to the two red heads, "They are Ron and Ginny Weasley." The name Ginny Weasly seemed very familiar for some reason. Suddenly, an image came to mind of this same girl, except about four or five years younger, lying on the floor in the Chamber of Secrets, of a boy who looked a good deal like himself talking about saving her and asking for his help, of summoning the basilisk to kill the boy, and-

Shaking his head to get rid of those images, he told himself, 'That's insane. I've never brought anyone with me to the Chamber of Secrets, so those things couldn't have happened.' Then he blinked and looked at the brown haired girl. He figured that since she was a mudblood, or at least a halfblood like himself, she was least likely to jump all over him about his last name, so he chose to keep talking to her instead of to either of the Weasleys or the man who hadn't been introduced. "I'm T-"

Before he could even pronounce the second letter of his first name, Ginny, the one who seemed so familiar began shouting at him. "You are not! Don't say that! It's not funny! You're not Tom Riddle, so stop imitating his accent and expressions, and stop using your left hand! You're right handed! You grew up in Surrey! And your mane is HARRY POTTER!" There was a ringing silence following Ginny's outburst.

Then suddenly, that silence was broken as Harry Potter let his holly and phoenix feather wand clatter to the ground. "What the fuck just happened," he exclaimed. "Why did I- Oh bloody hell!" He didn't go back to the table. He just dropped to the ground beside his wand and pulled his knees to his chest and stared at the white tile floor. He silently ran over the facts. First of all, he had just thought, for over ten minutes, that he was Tom Marvolo Riddle, and had had no recollection of being Harry Potter. That part greatly disturbed him. Merlin, he'd even remembered the scene from the Chamber of Secrets through Tom Riddle's eyes. Speaking of eyes, he also noted that he apparently no longer reguired glasses. Then he realized, and this was the most disturbing fact of all, that he had two full sets of memories, of two different lives, both reaching the age of nearly seventeen. One belonged to Harry Potter, and the other belonged to Tom Riddle. 'How the hell is that possible?' A memory flashed through his mind. He was asking Slughorn about horcruxes, or rather, he as Tom Riddle was doing so. Slughorn was telling him that if the person who created the horcrux was the one to destroy it, then the piece of the person's soul, as well as the memories imparted with it, would rejoin the rest of the soul. 'But that would mean that if I got the memories, then I am Tom Riddle. That's impossible. It just has to be some sort of freak coincidence.' He resolved to ignore all worries about the matter and just explain what had happened to him while he had been unconscious.

When he finished his story, they were all staring at him strangely, for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day. Ginny quickly shook it off though, and snapped, "Oh, come on, you lot, stop looking at him like he's about to Avada us all, for Merlin's sake! This is Harry we're talking about. He has a really strong connection to Voldemort and so the magic in the horcrux mistook the connection for part of the soul it belonged to and because Harry has more of a soul than Voldemort does, the memories went to him instead."

'And that,' Harry reminded himself, 'is why she's my girlfriend.' He looked over at her and said out loud, "Thanks, Ginger." Ginny flinched.

"Don't call me that," she insisted almost angrily.

"Why not?" He saw a picture of words being scrawled in the pages of Tom Riddle's diary, words written by Ginny. She wrote that she didn't want to be called Ginny because it was a baby name and she didn't want to be called Ginerva either because it sounded too grown-up. He (Tom) had from that point on called her 'Ginger'. "Nevermind," Harry said, answering his own question. "I'm sorry Ginny. I'll try not to let that slip. If it happens again, I apologize in advance." Ginny nodded. Apparently, that was alright by her. During this conversation, Harry had picked up his wand –in his right hand- and gotten to his feet. Walking back over to the table, he and every one else resumed their seats. Harry was just about to ask Regulus something when Hermione asked a general question, to no one in particular, but about Harry specifically.

"If the diary was destroyed just over four years ago, then why did he only get the memories back now?" No one had a direct answer. The closest thing to an answer that she got was Harry's response.

"Well, the diary had memories that ende when Tom was this age, I mean my age. It would make sense that I only realized I had all the memories once I was old enough to be able to deal with them."

"You mean, you think that subconsciously, you've been repressing all these memories since second year because you hadn't yet reached the right developmental stage, psychologically speaking, to deal with them in a non-traumatic way," Hermione asked. At that moment, Harry was very glad that Tom Riddle had possessed both a formidable vocabulary and a decent amount of knowledge about psychology, because for the first time, he actually understood every single word his best friend had just said.

"That's the best hypothesis I can come up with, Harry replied with a nod.

Forgetting about everyone except Harry and herself, the Ravenclaw-like girl continued along her line of questioning. "But why did you remember it all today? Is this the anniversary of the horcrux's creation, or is it something else?"

This time Harry was absolutely positive of his answer. "The trigger was talking about Melanie's death. I- he loved her a lot. He really, really loved her."

"But what about the other horcrux, the one you didn't destroy yourself?"

"My- HIS grandfather's ring? Marvolo Gaunt's ring?"

"Yes, that. What happened to those memories?"

"I have no idea, unfortunately," Harry answered.

Ginny brought they back to their surroundings by suggesting, "Why don't we try out our theories by testing them out on the horcrux we do have?" Ron, Ginny, and Hermione all looked at Harry. He shrugged. It was worth a try.

Regulus watched in fascination as they seemingly forgot about him, becoming completely absorbed in what they were planning. Harry asked Ron if he had 'it' with him. From what Regulus gathered, the four had planned on making sure that every horcrux they found was on one of their bodies at all times. Ron, it seemed, had been entrusted with the first of the four remaining horcruxes. Out of the ankle of his boot, he pulled a tiny sword and scabbard. The sword could be no longer than a muggle pencil, but it was made out of pure silver with rubies decorating the dcabbard. Ron handed the sword to Harry, who removed it from its sheath before laying the sword itself in the middle of the long table. Pointing his wand at it, Harry muttered, "Engorio." The sword was immediately restored to its full size. Now that it was life sized, Regulus could easily read the name engraved upon the blade. He gaped, but didn't dare say a word to interrupt the process. "Alright, everyone," Harry ordered, "I don't know if this spell could possibly back-fire and hurt someone, so I want all of you to remove yourselves at least as far as the doorway." Hermione and Ron found Harry's use of the phrase 'remove yourselves' to be a little uncharacteristic, but Ginny just realized that he now had Tom's vocabulary. All four of the kitchens other occupants obeyed the command and went to stand in the doorway. "Oh, one last thing," Harry added, "If you see that I am about to fall off my chair again, I would very much appreciate it if someone would cast wingardium leviosa. I would prefer not to break my neck or crack my skull if the situation is at all avoidable." Again, his speech pattern was uncharacteristic, but figuring that after today it would be characteristic, his friends ignored it. Everyone assured him that he wouldn't end up lying on the floor again. Harry nodded and turned his attention back to the sword.

'Here goes nothing,' he thought to himself as he gathered his power and focused his will. Once he was sure that he had put enough strength and willpower behind the spell, Harry finally spoke the incantation, "Deleo anima." Just as it was supposed to, a deep violet beam of light shot out of his wand and surrounded the sword of Godric Gryffindor with purple flames of light. Harry waited with baited breath for the purple flames to turn black. To his surprise, they turned white instead and glowed brilliantly for an instant before vanishing. He couldn't believe it. Dumbledore had been so certain: the diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, something of Ravenclaw's, and something of Gryffindor's. And this sword was the only thing of Gryffindor's that they could find.

"What is it Harry," Ron asked, seeing the disbelief on his best friend's fave.

"It's not a horcrux," Harry said, more to himself than as an answer to Ron's question. "Now the only remaining horcrux, which we are sure is a horcrux, is lost only Merlin knows where." Harry dejectedly miniaturized the sword again and placed it back in its sheath. Then he unexpectedly cast a few extra spells. One conjured a silver chain that was sturdy and thick, though not heavy. A second spell, which was in parseltongue, attached the miniaturized sword to the chain via its sheath. Last of all, Harry cast a notice-me-not charm on what now looked like a pendant, before he announced that everyone could return to the table. Once they were all seated, Harry handed the 'pendant' back to Ron.

"You're giving Godric Gryffindor's sword to me," Ron questioned, stunned.

"Yes, I'm giving it to you. The spell in parsel allows you to pull the sword from its sheath and have it return to full size at your will. It will be very useful in battle." Still stunned and quite honored, Ron took the sword and reverently slipped the heavy-looking chain around his neck. After a moment, Harry turned back to the rest of the group. In a business-like manner, he addressed his 'god uncle', saying, "Now, regarding the horcrux that is only Merlin knows where, perhaps you might have some small piece of information that would imply that someone other than Merlin knows where it is." There was a pause before Harry rephrased. "In other words, Regulus, as you were going to say about what happened to the locket before I so unceremoniously and inconvieniently fell unconscious…"

This time, the blue-eyed man took the hint. "Alright, wher did I leave off? Oh, yeah. As I was saying before Hermione started her inquisition and you had your epiphany, they didn't find the locket. It was actually in my pocket and they didn't find it. I suppose that the Dark Lord assumed it had been destroyed already and just didn't bother to tell them to look for it. I already told I had healing potions with me. I healed myself as best I could and then I morphed- yes I'm a metamorphamagus- into a nondescript appearance and went to visit Melanie's sister-"

"Heather," Harry supplied. "She was in Gryffindor."

"-yes, Heather, and posed as the manager of Melanie's estate. I told her exactly what Melanie told me to say to her." He paused to breathe. "I told her that Melanie had just died in a car crash and that she had a will, which she had supposedly written several years ago incase something were to suddenly happen to her. This will supposedly requested that the locket e given to Melanie's niece, Heather's second daughter, Lily Evans." For a full three minutes, Harry gaped at the exdeatheater.

Suddenly- so suddenly in fact, that he startled everyone else- Harry literally leapt out of his seat and bounded back to the den, with the exclamation of, "I think I just figured out what's in the other box!" In a matter of seconds, the Boy-Who-Lived had retrieved the box and sprinted back to the table. Placing the box on the table, he didn't even say a word before he opened it. This box contained two objects, which where covered, as his mother's wand had been, by green velvet. Pulling the material back, Harry gave a cry of triumph. Once more, he leapt out of the seat, byt this time, he held on high the golden locket that Salazar Slytherin had given to his only child, Serina.

"Bloody hell," Ron swore. "Harry, you realize, don't you, that one of Voldemort's horcruxes, which he was so bound and determined to hide was a) in the home of the people he was attacking without him knowing it, b) around the neck of a woman he killed without him noticing it, and c) in the attic under loads of dust and cobwebs in a box in the house of his worst enemy for fifteen years without him even thinking that even still existed, or that having a clue that his archenemy lived there to begin with." There was a momentary pause before Ron added, "Not to mention that he happens to be your mum's uncle." This observation caused everyone to freeze. Hermione was stupefied that Ron, of all people had picked up on that little detail. Regulus had a look of befuddlement on his face, wondering why he hadn't thought of that before. Harry and Ginny however, just looked at each other and started laughing hysterically. Harry thought it was so funny that by the time he regained his wits, he had to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes. Once more, the room was silent as everyone eyed the locket.

"Hem hem," Ginny coughed, in perfect imitation of Dolores Umbridge, the Ministry's excuse for a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Ron jumped and then glared at his little sister. Hermione had to stifle a laugh. Regulus raised an eyebrow, perplexed. Harry, who was once more sitting down, groaned and let his forehead hit the table.

"Please, Ginny," he begged, "don't do that. It was bad enough that I had to deal with that toad being in my house, in my year, and thus in most of my classes for seven years, not to mention having her 'teach' that travesty of a Defense Against the Dark Arts class in fifth year."

"Seven years," Ron repeated in a horrified squeek, "Man do I feel bad for you, mate." They all laughed this time. Then Harry got serious again and repeated his instructions from earlier. Everyone retreated back to the safety of the doorway. Harry placed the locket on the table. (Hermione was holding the box and whatever else was in it.)

Taking out his wand again, Harry pointed it at the locket and said, "Deleo anima." The purple light shot out of his wand again and surrounded the locket. After a moment though, the flames just dissappated. "Stupid," he muttered to himself, "Slughorn said will and power." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, summoning his power and reinforcing it with his will. Then he cast the spell again. This time, he felt a rush of power unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. It felt tike some kind of high. Harry remembered that this spell was as dark as, if not darker than, the killing curse. Suddenly he understood exactly why people said the Dark Arts were addictive. The black flames around the locket rose up high into the air as Harry felt the dark energy crescendo. Then the flames vanished.

There was no onslaught of memories this time, no blacking out. One moment, Harry didn't have the memories and the next, he simply did. And he also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that somehow, someway, he had been and, if his heart was anything to go by, still was Tom Marvolo Riddle. As he remembered the last few years he had spent with his wife, something began to well up inside of him. Something that Harry Potter was well acquainted with, but which Tom Riddle had not been whole enough to feel in over thirty five years. One tear trickled down his cheek as he finally realized all that he had lost. And for the first time in his life, in his original body or in his current body, Tom Riddle allowed himself to grieve openly. Harry Potter allowed himself to be pushed to the back of his own mind for the time being.

"Are you alright," Ginny asked when she saw him crying.

He shook his head. "I just need time to be alone," he replied. Then he stood up and, clutching the locket in his hand, made his way to his room. No one bothered him, figuring it was just better to let him be.

Meanwhile, in a town not far from London, Neville Longbottom was having an argument of sorts with a good friend of his. The other boy, blond, slightly tall, and now only slightly overweight stared resolutely at the carpet in front of his armchair. Neville stood in front of the seventeen year old and firmly declared, "Come on, Terry, you've got to do it." Finally, the boy looked up at his best and only friend, meeting his gaze. Then he looked back down.

"I can't do it, Nev, I just can't. She already kicked me out. My dad's disowned me completely. Besides it would be ridiculous. I'm seventeen! I should be graduating next june, not finishing first year."

"You wouldn't be finishing first year," Augusta Longbottom pointed out from where she sat in her rocking chair, knitting as she observed the debate Neville and Terry were having. Terrence, it turned out, was a wizard, but had either never gotten a Hogwarts letter, or had been forbidden to go. He was a halfblood. His mother had pretended to hate magic for most of Terry's life, but last September, she had revealed, after Terry's father became abusive, that she was a witch and had kicked them out of the house. Terry Had moved out with his dad. The divorce, the move, and the revelation had changed him. He no longer agreed with his father's opinion of the magical community. After a fit of accidental magic in early October, his father had disowned him. He was too afraid and confused to try to go back to his mother, so he had begun living on the streets. Augusta, who lived a ways down the road, had witnessed the incident and when she saw the poor sixteen year old boy on the street, she just had to take him in.

Terry had been hesitant at first, but then Augusta had offered to teach him magic and so he quickly agreed and moved in with her. Neville had, of course, been at Hogwarts when this happened, but after a little encouragement, the boys had begun to owl one another regularly and quickly became friends. Victoria and several of her acquaintances had home-schooled the 'orphaned' wizard, beginning in late October and even now, in the summer, the boy still had his one-on-one lessons every day.

"What do you mean, Gran," asked Neville, who was very curious to see how the home-schooling his friend had received would measure up to Hogwarts' standards.

"Well, I'd say, at the rate you're going, Terrence," Mrs. Longbottom explained, "if you keep up the lessons all summer, you'll be at third year level by September first." Terry's blue eyes widened in surprise. Neville looked at his friend, quite impressed that the boy had covered first and second year in one year's time.

"You mean that if I did –that's theoretical, Neville- write to my mum and ask her about going to Hogwarts, I would be put in third year?" The old woman nodded. Terry could hardly believe his ears. "But would Professor McGonagall even let me in?" His voice was filled with hope and uncertainty at the same time.

"I'm sure that she would be willing to give you a chance," Mrs. Longbottom stated, not looking up from her knitting, "But I won't write a single letter about your previous education unless you write to your mother and get her permission first. Minerva McGonagall is a very strict woman. If you don't have parental consent, she can't let you into the school, not in these troubled times."

He thought about it for a moment before he made up his mind. "Alright, I'll give it a try." Neville clapped him on the back and Mrs. Longbottom smiled proudly.

"Go on then," Neville encouraged, "We won't bother you, but don't stay up all night trying to write the letter."

"I won't," the other boy replied as he reached the top of the stairs. Once he had reached his own room and was sitting at his desk, he pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill and began to write. Several hours later, he at last signed his name and put the quill away before changing into his nightclothes and going to sleep. The next morning, right before breakfast he sent the letter off with Mrs. Longbottom's owl.

Right after breakfast, the owl delivered the letter to the boy's mother. Taken by surprise to see her name and address written in her son's handwriting on an envelope that had been delivered by owl, the perplexed witch sat down at the kitchen table and opened the letter.

Dear Mum,

I know you probably never want to hear from me again, after all the stuff I let Dad get away with last year. But please, PLEASE don't throw this away without reading the whole thing. When Dad and I moved away, I was upset a lot, and weird things started happening. I had no one to cover for me and no one to blame it on, so Dad realized I was doing accidental magic. He got furious and kicked me out. He told me never to come near him again. I had to live on the streets for a few days, but then a lady that lived a few houses down the road took me in. It turns out, she was a witch. Her name is Augusta Longbottom. She had me write letters to her grandson, Neville, who was away at Hogwarts, and now Nev and I are best friends.

Anyway, Mrs. Longbottom found out that I was a wizard a couple of days after I moved in. She took me to get a wand –which she says she refuses to let you pay her back for- at Ollivanders. It's beech and mahogany, twelve and three quarters of an inch long. Before I left the shop, Mr. Ollivander told me that I would be a quick learner. And he was right. Mrs. Longbottom and some of her friends have been home-schooling me since right before Halloween. Because everything is one-on-one, I got to cover stuff a lot faster. she says that if I keep going at this pace, I'll be ready for third year level spells by September.

I wrote this letter for two reasons, Mum. First of all, as much as I like Neville and his grandmother, I really miss you and I really miss home. I'm (obviously) not a wizard hater like Dad. I'm actually really proud to be a wizard, even if I'm only a halfblood. In other words, I'm asking you to take me back in. Please, Mum. I've changed, really, I promise, and I'd really like to know more about our (wizarding) family. Where both your parents purebloods, were they half and half, were they muggleborns? What kinds of spells were they good at? What types if spells are you good at? I'm best in Herbology (I blame that on Nev- it's his favorite subject) and charms.

The second reason I'm writing to you is because I want to go to Hogwarts with Neville in September. Mrs. Longbottom told me that the headmistress would only let me into the school with your consent. I'm begging you, Mum, even if you won't let me come home to live with you, at least let me go to Hogwarts, please. I know it would be strange, being in classes with a bunch of thirteen year olds, but I've decided I don't really care. It would mean so much to me, and i know I don't deserve it, but please will you write to Headmistress McGonagall?

You don't have to reply to this letter if you really don't' want to. I'll understand. I'll always miss you, but if I go to Hogwarts, at least I'll be around other wizards. Please write to Professor McGonagall, even if you don't write back to me. If you do write back to me, then write your last name and my middle name on the envelope, since that's the name I'm going by now.

Love, your son,

Dudley (Terrence) Evans Dursley

P.S. Dad's hair was purple until Christmas. That was brilliant.

So, who saw that coming? Do you hate the Dudley thing? Do you like it? Was if believable? If you really hate it, I'll take it out, since the story is already really complex. What about Harry being Tom? Please someone say they already knew that would happen. Did anyone guess that the locket would be right under Harry's nose the entire time? Why did Melanie give it to Lily specifically? Why not give it to Petunia, Rose, or Blaire? What is the other object in the square box? And I'll ask again if any one has any idea what Melanie's riddle means. Please try to solve at least one line of it. If you can figure out at least one line before Hermione or any of the other characters (they figure it out in the next chapter), then the next chapter will be dedicated to you. Also, here's a really trick one: If Gryffindor's sword was not a horcrux, but something of Gryffindor's is, what is it? Who visit's Grimwald Place in the next chapter? What decision does Petunia make? Will Terry (Dudley) get into Hogwarts? How will Harry react? I would REALLY appreciate it if you guys (and girls) would take the time to answer some of these questions.

Thanks,

Phoenix