Chapter Thirty-Three:
The Other Chamber

Nigh in a literal manner did February melt away into March, the month quietly passing like frost softly dripping from a skeletal tree branch. Tom had not brought his Death Eaters together since I had last met with them in the Slytherin Common Room; and it appeared that he did not intend to do so again, just as he had hinted of before. Thus the weeks were wonderfully peaceful—or as much so as they had the potential to be with the approach of our N.E.W.T.s, as they had deeply earned our concern.

Indeed, it was these examinations which left me unsettled one afternoon, and I paced as I waited for nothing in particular to come. It was one of the few times which I had the freedom to do what I wished when in years past I would have been in a classroom being taught. Instead, it provided an opportunity to simply change roles and teach myself from my many school books. At the time, I did not realize that even that day, I would still learn, though not of things I had expected.

Later, I could not explain what prompted me to walk the seventh floor corridors that day, or why I paused before a particular—and foolish-looking—tapestry. Yet I did so all the same, my fingers idly fidgeting with the sleeves of my robes. I was restless, as my free period had only just begun, and for once I wanted nothing more than for it to end.

Tom was in History of Magic at that moment, I remembered as I passed the tapestry for the second time. There was a stretch of blank wall beside it, and when I neared the end, I abruptly turned to absently march in the direction from which I had come. No doubt he was learning of yet another war amongst the goblins, their misdeeds falling upon his ears in a dull drone. I half-smiled at this before it was abruptly replaced by another thought, and another after that until my mind was spinning endlessly in a thick fog.

That was why, when I passed both wall and tapestry for the third time, I did not at first notice the discrepancy in the surface of the former. I was preparing to turn once more and continue as I had already thrice done, when at last I spotted it: an unfamiliar color in the familiar surrounding grey. When I turned so that I could view it before me in full, my eyes widened, then narrowed in thought.

Protruding slightly from the wall was a door, the wooden boards of it rotting slightly so that a faint light on the other side could be seen. The softened edges were laced with patches of moss, and at a place slightly lower than it should have been was a tiny keyhole.

I neared it curiously, my fingertips hovering a hair's breadth above it as though my touch would cause this apparition to vanish. Yet my hand was unsteady, so soon I had brushed the soft wood.

Suddenly, there was a sharp tug at my neck, an invisible force pulling me forward and causing my head to collide with the boards. As I made to straighten myself, I glanced up and found myself staring directly at a tiny snake, etched just beneath the metal of the keyhole. Other than the deep shade of rust seeping into the indentation, it was the exact replica of something I had first seen so many years ago at the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets.

At first, I mistook this to be precisely as the aforementioned chamber was: opened only by Parseltongue. I attempted several phrases and their variations, yet the door remained still—a decaying statue. However, I was struck by another thought before a final hiss had escaped my lips. I spoke only the language of the snakes because of the locket Tom had given me—a locket which had another feature I had almost forgotten of.

I unclasped the chain from around my neck and fumbled with the latch. Moments later, a minute key lay exposed in my palm. With a slight smile of satisfaction, I slipped it gently into place within the keyhole, and turned it. There was a gentle yet distinct click; with a creak, the door swung ajar.

In contrast to the light which had seemed to shine through when the door was shut, the room beyond was dark. Or at least partly so, for threadbare curtains fluttered softly as they flanked a still opened window, framing the grey of the outside.

By the softness beneath my shoes, I could discern the thick layer of dust upon the floor—and could smell it molding, as well. Just beneath the window ledge, the ground was clean; here, all debris had been washed away each time a storm had dripped inside. It was there that I chose to stand while I surveyed the room, holding my lit wand aloft.

It was arranged as a bedroom, fused with an office that reminded me of those the teachers currently possessed. A desk stood in one corner, a leg rotted completely through so that it seemed to sink into the stones below it. There were shards of glass littering the space around it: a shattered inkwell whose contents had long since dried. Near it were the remnants of a bookshelf. In the opposite corner, there was an ornate bed, the entirety of which was perfectly preserved. Both sides were still unmade, and the faint imprints of those who had lain in them remained. Everything else that there might have been was gone.

Through the window was an unfamiliar view of a clearing surrounded by trees I did not know grew upon the grounds. At the center was a monstrous, gnarled oak. Drawn to it somehow, I frowned and struggled to crawl through the window—something I never thought I would do.

Outside, the air was unnaturally still, and of a temperature that made it seem as though it did not exist—like I was walking through nothing, yet something all the same.

Grass grew in a circle around the tree, though nothing but the tree itself seemed to have become overgrown. The branches stretched above my head, bent and twisted so that at the same time it looked unnatural, it seemed just the opposite. At the first fork in the trunk, the bark had been worn smooth: a perfect place to sit and read. I gazed up at it for a moment, wishing to climb into the limb's embrace, but soon I decided it was too high for me to attempt to reach.

With nothing more to see, I turned once more to the window out of which I had come, only to discover that it had disappeared. In its place was another door, like to the one I had first encountered. This time, however, there was no place for a key to be inserted, and no knob to grasp and turn. I suddenly wished very much that Tom had been with me at the discovery of that place. If there had been any other way to return to the well-known parts of the castle, I would have sought him out at once. These thoughts instilled a small fear within me as my mind grasped the fact that this was my only means of escape.

Struck by another fancy, I pointed my wand at the place a lock should have been. "Alohomora," I murmured tentatively.

There was another click; I stepped backward at the sound of it, for simultaneously, the door melted into the wall, leaving but an entrance behind.

This room was illuminated by what appeared to be hundreds of candles, their flames not flickering and their wax not melted as if they had never been burned. Yet a thick layer of dust had collected around their bases as well, which I upset when I stepped inside so that the air became clouded. I closed my eyes, and when everything had settled, I opened them once more to look around me.

In the center of the floor there stood an enormous mirror, guarded on either side by two statues: that of a serpent, and that of an eagle. The frame was gilt, and had an inscription at the top that I struggled to read. Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi, it said.

My mind immediately reversed the lettering: I show not your face but your heart's desire. Yet when I gazed into it, it at first was merely my reflection, though my expression was different, for I was smiling then slowly, two other images seeped forth, one familiar and one not. Tom was the first, standing just beside me. His expression matched my own, though when the third image appeared, a small, dark-haired boy, we turned together to look at him fondly. There was no mistaking that within the mirror, this was our child—and that this was what my heart wanted most.

-

The following afternoon, I returned with Tom, and we repeated my steps of the day before. Although, he spent far longer examining each thing than I had, tapping with his wand all that was there. There was a strange yet familiar look in his eyes as he did so, one that I had been so frightened by in the past but now I had begun to grow accustomed to.

He took particular interest in the tree when I brought him to it. He speculated each leaf and section of bark as though he expected something to be there. And indeed, after several minutes he prodded a knot in the trunk to reveal a hollow interior.

A black cloud rose up to meet us, though as quickly as it had come, it dissipated, leaving a foul, rotting odor in its place. Tom waved it away impatiently with his hand and peered within. It appeared to be empty, yet as I had learned so many times over throughout the course of my life, things were not always what they seemed. For beneath a pile of rot was a thick book, the lettering upon its cover in runes I could only half interpret. Inside, however, toward the center of a blank page at the beginning were those of a different type—much simpler.

For Rowena, it read. Below it was the signature of Salazar Slytherin.

-

"I tell you this in great detail, Albus, for it is my hope that you will be able to find it once more. I later learned that this other secret chamber was hidden within the depths of the Room of Requirement, which I do not doubt you know of." I remove the locket from my neck and present the key to Albus, who carefully tucks it away into his robe without questions or protests. Though it is unspoken, I trust he will return it to me when it is no longer of use to him.

I know that I is the wish of the world for Tom to perish, though I would wish for better things—my heart's desire has not much changed over the years. Yet I know as well that I must aid the side I was neither for nor against for decades.

"I am not entirely certain of what still remains inside. It may have been changed by Tom, after he left. I do know that at one point in time, the room was home to a Horcrux, made from something of Rowena Ravenclaw's. It is my guess that it is either the tree or the book, which were the only items he ever discovered of hers while we were together."

"Thank you, Ms. Riddle," he replies softly. "What you have told me is crucial."

I nod, and he eyes me closely, as if still uncertain that I do not mind betraying Tom. Especially when Tom has never so grandly betrayed me.

-

For a reason I could not explain, I was nervous when we first reached the room containing the magical mirror. I was certain that even if we stood side-by-side in front of it, our reflections would differ. But it was that they would differ in a way I did not know which made me most anxious. I had grown to know Tom very well, and yet never had I gazed directly into his head, so I knew not what dwelled there.

The room was just as I had left it, for I had not dared to disturb anything—not even a speck of dust more than was necessary. Once more, Tom's eyes gleamed in a way that candlelight could not induce as he surveyed the room. His mouth, for the first time I could recall, was opened slightly in wonder. Here was a boy who had forgotten himself in the face of a great discovery. This was a different Tom than I knew at first, and different than the one I knew now. This Tom still had a sense of innocence about him—something I came to believe that he never could have possessed. I found his sense of amazement cross my own face as I watched him, captivated by this change.

Yet as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, and I had to hastily look away when I saw his eyes turning to meet mine.

Thrice he circled the mirror. His head tilted upward, then downward as he seemed to survey as much of it as was possible. Almost unconsciously, he touched the head of the serpent beside it. When he came to stand before the glass, I tentatively joined him, standing in a place that would allow us both to look upon it.

The familiar scene of Tom and I with a son was instantly displayed. When the mirrored Tom touched my reflection's shoulder, it was as though I could nearly feel it. And when the child placed his hands within my own, I could nigh feel their softness against my skin.

Beside me, the Tom in flesh had let his expression fall into nothingness. There was no soft smile in his eyes or at the corner of his lips, no joy, scrutiny, or disapproval. It was as though he was frozen, transfixed in is farce reflection, for such a long time that I nigh expected him to never move again.

When he did move, however, his tone and appearance gave still nothing away.

"I have seen all that I can," he said simply.

We left then, already late for our respective classes. Neither of us would ask what the other had seen, and never would we be sure in our assumptions.