Chapter 9 now. Still working on Chapter 10, but it'll be done soon.

There was silence in the room, a terrible silence that seemed to fill my ears and pound my eardrums to the point that they were close to bleeding. Then, much to my surprise, Tom laughed. Not to say that was a good thing – I cringed at the high pitched, cold sound. It was odd, but most certainly was the same sardonic laugh that I heard so often over the summer holidays from my father. I did not at all appreciate being reminded of home while I was here at Hogwarts.

"It's a bit too late to be backing out," Tom said quietly, closing his book and looking towards me. "You're already suspected, and you've already sat through two students being turned to statues without saying anything to anyone. And besides, if I return to the Chamber again alone, who's to say the Basilisk won't recognize betrayal and come after you next?"

I pondered over his tone for a moment, unable to decipher whether that had been a warning or a threat. "It won't come after me if you tell it not to," I said, looking at him. "Would you really command it to kill me?"

"I wouldn't, no," said Tom, "but I can only control the Basilisk to a certain extent. I'm not particularly keen on making it angry, as it would then attack me. You may back out if you wish, but take into account that the Basilisk is the most powerful entity in this equation. If it refuses an order, I won't argue with it."

I smiled. "If it kills me, Hogwarts might be closed." I sensed a sudden change of power take place within the room. I knew Tom's greatest fear – no, second greatest fear, was Hogwarts closing. He couldn't bear the idea of being sent back to that orphanage until he was eighteen, to live there with an insufferable bunch of Muggles. However, this wasn't his greatest fear, and I was afraid this might be overpowered by the greater. I continued my point anyway. "Regardless of how much Dippet wants me out of this school, I don't believe the governing board would allow the school to stay open if someone died there. Particularly not the main suspect in this Chamber of Secrets business. That would not only prove that it's real; it would also prove that the school's headmaster was targeting the wrong person the entire time, and to start the case over from scratch would be to put twice as many lives in danger."

"The only way to avoid any of that happening," said Tom, slight annoyance slipping into his regular stoic tones that generally kept him at the head of most of his arguments, "would be for you to not pull out of this."

I laughed. "If I pull out, I'll get killed, so Hogwarts closing won't be my problem, will it?" I was angering him. It probably wasn't normal that this was amusing to me, but I wasn't in a very sound state of mind. I was prepared to walk away if it got too bad – regardless of how foolish a state I was in, I knew Tom's breaking point, and that was something I didn't want to go past. Pissing off Tom Riddle was a risky thing to do. I knew that well. "And it's going to end up killing someone eventually, anyway, and what then? If they don't catch the ones responsible, then the school will close."

"You're not going to back out," Tom said. "You don't want to die."

"No one wants to die, but it's you who's so afraid of the concept, if I might remind you," I said.

"I'm not –"

"Afraid of death? That boggart we had to go against our third year would beg to differ, I think." And now the time was certainly right to get out. "I think I'll be heading back downstairs now," I continued, standing from my bed and starting towards the door. "Annabelle asked me to let her know how the interrogation went." I waved over my shoulder.

Then something caught me by my wrist and bent my arm backwards, and what felt like a fist collided with my back. I was pushed out into the hallway, where I stumbled and hit the stone wall, just barely managing to catch myself on the stone wall across from the sixth year dorms. I looked back over my shoulder at Tom, who looked angrier than I had ever seen him before. I supposed I had gone a step too far in teasing him about the boggart. That hadn't been a pleasant experience for either of us.

Even so, I allowed no one to hit me while my back was turned. I shook my head, laughed to myself, and turned back around, a sort of grimacing grin on my face.

"You son of a bitch," I said softly, crossing my arms.

He stepped into the doorframe and seemed to be about to talk, but it was at that moment when we both heard footsteps – I looked to my left in just enough time to see Orion Black rushing downstairs. A moment later, I heard his voice yell out at the common room one word, a word that was certain to break the entire Slytherin house into a panicked, excited chaos:

"FIGHT!"

And that was when the excited hubbub broke out downstairs.

I looked at Tom in just enough time to see the fist coming at me, in just enough time to dodge it so his fist hit the stone wall with a sickening crunch rather than my face. He swore under his breath. "I believe that if I was afraid of death," he said now, through gritted teeth, "it would be slightly more logical than fear of an inbred bastard who probably can't tell his face from –"

All this was cut short by another swing – my fist connected with his jaw and Tom stumbled back into the opposite wall. I glanced over, now aware of the number of faces peeking around the side of the stairway. "I'm not afraid of that bloody troll," I said, still quietly. "He knows as well as I do that I could kill him with my bare hands if I wanted to." I raised my eyebrows. "Would you really like to take your chances with me when a man roughly the size of a young mountain troll is afraid to come near me?"

He stepped away from the wall. "Don't see why not! At least I'm a right side smarter than any member of your family. Apparently my history didn't involve any inbreeding."

And our audience gasped at that. This was odd for me. Usually I was the hysterical one throwing insults almost as fast as punches. Rather than speak aloud my next point, I thought it as "loudly" as I could, so it would project to Tom.

Well, I thought, raising my eyebrows – and I could tell he heard when a muscle near his left eye twitched, maybe not, but at least my family did what it could to avoid any filthy half breeds from sprouting off of our family tree.

Regardless of the fact that I thought he might have broken my nose with the next punch, I knew that I'd manage to get over this and that he most likely would as well, so publicly broadcasting such information would have been the biggest mistake I could have made. I didn't, though, and that would end up being a good thing later on. For the great Lord Voldemort to be known as a half-blood wizard and killing off his own kind would have been quite ironic. Or hypocritical. Whichever word suits your opinion of his views better.

When I moved my hands away from my face (they had reflexively flown there when I felt my nose crack – now it would have to be bloody realigned a second time, thank God magic would prevent it from coming out too overly large), it was in just enough time to see that Tom was pointing his wand between my eyes. I scoffed, and his expression became momentarily surprised – then set right back to one of absolute anger.

"Coward," I said, still calmly. This was quite starting to scare me. I was not supposed to be calm in situations like this. There was blood trailing down from my nose and onto my white shirt, an aching pain around the middle of my back. My hand felt like the wrist might be sprained from where he had twisted it. I was in a right state, but I was remaining calm. I had only hit Tom once, in the jaw, and that had been more or less a warning, and he was utterly livid.

"Coward?"

"You heard me," I said. "Sure, you got in a couple good swings – granted, one was while my back was turned, which only reinforces the coward theory – but now you're resorting to using that bloody stick. You know what I could do if you threw that down for more than a second, you've seen it plenty of times, no doubt formed a strategy in case we ever had a disagreement. And this is the best you came up with? It's intelligent enough, I'll agree with you there, but it's a completely cowardly thing to do, really."

"If I valued bravery over cunning, I'd be in Gryffindor with the rest of the idiots. Is that where you belong after all? I always wondered what it was that caused you to throw punches at people who insulted you in the middle of crowded corridors where you'd be discovered. Animalistic instinct or complete ignorance? Couldn't be instinct, or my jaw would be unhinged right now. Apparently you have some control over your actions. I take it you're just ignorant, then?"

"Gryffindor is, by far, the last place I belong." That had begun to boil my blood, just a bit. "I suggest you lower your bloody wand before I break it in half."

"You wouldn't do it."

Glares were exchanged silently for a few moments. Then, without warning, I reached up with my left hand. Tom quickly lowered his wand. As this put him off guard, I went for another punch, not a warning at all this time. A few cracks followed – most likely his jaw and a few of the knuckles of my right hand.

"Now say something smart, bastard!" I said, a bit louder than intended. The calmness was beginning to wear away now – or had it just been shock that Tom had actually initiated a fight? I wasn't sure which it was, not now.

What followed for the next few minutes were random arrays of punching, kicking, blocking, getting knocked into the wall – every great part of a good fight (which I've mostly grown out of by now – all right, I may have attempted to kill Terentius Malfoy's son when he tried to push my daughter off of a cliff, but that's a story for a later time). A fight like that can never be enjoyed while it's happening. What it was, was a bitter dispute between two friends without words (though there would have been plenty of those had no jaws been broken). Even so, after all is said and done and the friends are friends again, it's just one of those things a person can look back upon and laugh (and, in case you're wondering, no, Lord Voldemort does not openly laugh in front of his followers unless it's about something involving Muggle torture – that should clear up any misconceptions in advance).

The fight ended when I heard a familiar voice belonging to someone making his way up the stairs. It ended because I paused with my fist in the air and turned my head towards the source of the voice.

And because Tom didn't.

The final blow hit me in the side of the head. My vision instantly went double. I stumbled backwards into the wall and just caught a glimpse of two Abraxas Malfoys stepping onto the landing before, after a moment of drunken swaying, I fell face first onto the floor. Everything went black from there.

––

My consciousness and vision returned to me God-knows-how-long later, but I could see where I was after a good few minutes of blinking blindly into the bright lights. My first thought had been

(Am I in heaven…?)

a rather vague one, but it had been countered by a more overpowering thought

(Heaven? Idiot, that's the last place you'll ever be seen at this point.)

that I nodded to myself in agreement with. So, if the bright lights weren't of angels guiding my way to heaven (and they weren't orange enough to be the eternal fires of hell, either), then where in the bloody hell was I? My head, when I shook it a bit, felt like it was suffering through a nasty, firewhiskey induced hangover, but I didn't remember drinking any time in the past. What had happened? I blinked stupidly a few more times. Then it hit me all at once, as I saw that the lights were coming from chandeliers.

"Hospital Wing!" I said in a triumphant whisper, as though I thought only a genius could have figured that out. I sat up and looked around.

The first thing I saw – and I winced, then grimaced, realizing that Abraxas Malfoy had probably suggested I be put here on purpose – was the motionless, statuesque body of Algie Longbottom, who was lying in the bed next to mine. I shut my eyes and turned my head to face forward again, deciding that it would not be a good idea to look to my right again. So, I checked my left.

Tom was sitting there, quite conscious (and it appeared he had been for a while), and reading a damned book through his eye that wasn't swelled shut. First, seeing him, I felt anger again, a sudden urge to hop out of this little hospital cot, walk over to him, take the book from his hands, and hit him over the head with it hard enough to knock him out – as I had suddenly remembered why I hadn't known where I was or why I was there for a moment when my eyes opened up. Then just annoyance at the fact that I had only managed to swell one of his eyes shut. I'd done a much better job than that in the past on Algie Longbottom. Then slight wonder at the fact that his jaw appeared realigned. I remembered my nose breaking – I checked, and it was set back in place as well, not fractured at all. Thank you, Madam Millden. Then there was slight sympathy with a side of regret. This was my fault – I had pushed Tom to it. I doubted he was going to be getting any sort of detention with Dippet in charge, but it was my fault, so I supposed I deserved it more.

But only a little more. He had struck when my back was turned. Regardless of the situation, that put points against him.

He glanced over from his book and apparently recognized that I was quite awake, as I heard him a moment later – he didn't speak out loud, but I still heard him well enough. Legilimency comes in handy for plenty of different things.

"That didn't take long. I suppose you've arrived here unconscious enough times to break out of it faster than the average person."

Insult? I asked. Because it's not a very good one if it is. I know full well how many times I've been here.

"No, not really an insult," Tom replied, turning over a page in his book. "Mostly just an observation. Come to your senses yet?"

About what?

"About the Chamber of Secrets, obviously."

Ah… moment, please.

I immediately blocked off all invading presences from my mind in case Tom decided not to give me a moment to think without… let's say, without "outside help". I wouldn't call it much of a help, but it's a polite way to put it.

The last thing I really needed was to stay involved with the Chamber of Secrets, I thought with an accidental glance to my right. I flinched at the Longbottom statue lying in the bed next to mine again and directed my range of sight back in front of me. But, I didn't want to die. Oh, I was afraid of it. It might not have been the greatest of all my fears, but the idea of it definitely shook me. Sixteen was not an average age to die, not in the least little bit, but what was I going to do? If I stayed working with Tom on it, I'd live. I wanted to live. If I pulled out of it, I'd die. I did not want to die. I closed my eyes. Stupid bloody morality. I didn't understand why I had to be cursed with morals when my father had none, and my grandfather apparently hadn't had any either. If my father knew that I was in on this Chamber of Secrets business, all he would have for me would be praises. But me, I was constantly scolding myself. I didn't understand why. These bloody morals. I was a Gaunt, and according to popular opinion, Gaunts and morals just did not mix. So where had it come from?

(even he doesn't want a blood traitor for a mother)

My hand flew to my forehead as the thought cut painfully through to the front of my mind, then faded away in much the same manner as a dream dissipating shortly after consciousness is achieved.

"What was that?"

I glanced over at Tom, who was looking at me oddly. Dunno. Just happens occasionally. Then, before he could ask about the Chamber, I added on, And yes, I've come to my senses as you chose to put it. I'll continue with this. But if it gets me kicked out of school, then you're going to regret ever getting me into this. Got it?

"Got it."

Good.

I didn't want anything to do with the Chamber anymore, but I wanted even less to do with death. He would have to save his scythe for someone else; Death wouldn't be getting me any time soon. I'd outrun him no matter how much it took.

Madam Millden had just entered from a room she kept medicines of sorts in, carrying a bottle potion with her (one I recognized – it served the basic purpose of getting rid of nasty bruises, swelling, and sealing small scrapes) as she hurried over to Tom and either began or continued giving him the reprimand I usually received for fighting (which I would no doubt be getting as soon as she realized I was awake). I was used to the scolding. I had learned long ago not to argue with anything she said, just nod and smile and agree. Tom had enough common sense to do that right off the bat, even though he had been able to avoid confrontation of this sort for the past nearly five and a half years he had spent at Hogwarts.

Trust me to break that record, I thought, and laughed under my breath.

(doesn't want a blood traitor for a)

This time, I formed my hand into a fist and hit the side of my head with moderate force to knock away the headache the thought would bring with it. It was my father's voice, it was almost always my father's voice that cut through like that, but occasionally it would be a young voice that I suspected was most likely me before my memory kicked in well enough to consciously hold onto important memories. They were all there, just buried in the back of my mind, waiting to crash through with a horrid pain every time I let my guard down, whenever I least expected them to.

I hated it. If I couldn't fully remember much before I was five years old, then I didn't want to remember anything of it. I somehow doubted, however, that my mind would ever comply with that.

Fight scene XD Fun stuff.