A/N: I'm really, really sorry it took me so long to update. I'm not even asking for forgiveness, but would it help if I say that I love you all? It was your continued support that helped me squeeze time out for fanficiton during those difficult school months, and every single review gives me much joy to read. Okay, stepping off the soap box now, on with the story!

Choice-Chapter 12: Remembrance
Beta'd by Borne-shadow-child, many loves to you!

"Jasper…"The name was spoken softly, in a way a teasing cat would to its prey.

A man of average height and sandy hair slid out of the shadows to face his pursuer, his amber eyes shimmering iridescent in the dark. "Isidore," he acknowledged.

"I was wondering when you'd stop playing this childish game of hide-and-seek," The man who spoke first replied in a pleasant voice, head inclined to one side in apparent amusement as he took a step closer, a good-natured smile on his lips. The flickering light in the corridor gave his face an unnatural pale glow, ominous in a sea of shadows. He was a small man, bald on the head. His features were of the compassionate kind, not unlike those of a friendly uncle; and yet at the moment, there was a malicious gleam in his light blue eyes.

"Hide and seek? I should think that you are the one who has been hiding - rather a lot of thing - lately." The man named Jasper met the other's eyes straight on.

"Oh? And what led you to that assumption? If I remember correctly, it was your magical signature that was found in the study, and you are the one who had been evading the Circle's rightful punishment."

"The stirrings of the Mark, a broken locking spell, and a missing diary?"

The smile vanished from the other man's face. Even Harry felt his menace; it was bone chilling to see how much change came over his features. No longer could anyone mistake him for a kind uncle but for what he was: a panther ready to strike, "You should have learned not to tamper with dangerous things," he hissed in a low voice.

"And you should have stayed away from Master's possessions."

Brown eyes narrowed, and the man actually pouted as a boy would when wronged. He replied in a sincere voice, although his eyes betrayed a trace of mocking, "The Lord has fallen; I am merely doing my best as a loyal follower to carry on to the best of my ability…he would have wanted this."

"Indeed, Isidore…"

"My loyalty is not of your concern. I have always thought you as a clever man, and clever men do not stand in my way."

"You cannot harm me as a fellow Elite; it was part of the Oath we all took, however little you regard it now."

"But as the Head I also have the power to banish you from the Circle, "the man named Isidore smiled again, "You are no longer an Elite."

Jasper bent over in pain as the statement took effect; a strange purple light engulfed him; and, when it left, he looked as one drained of his energy.

Isidore stepped closer to the now defenseless man, "You, Jasper, had just signed your own death warrant."

The other man only laughed, blood trailing down his mouth, "You, Isidore, are a fool. You had just given me a means to escape." With that, before the other man could react, he vanished from the floor.

A few thousand miles away, Harry Potter woke up with a start. He wrapped the blanket around himself and pushed open the heavy curtains of his four-poster. He walked over to the window, the cold barren stone floor biting his bare feet. Cool night air ruffled his already unruly hair as he gazed thoughtfully on, eyes unfocused and not really seeing the scenery at all. He'd had yet another vision, but this one was…well…different. For one thing, it did not feature the dark haired boy who dominated all his other vision-dreams. Also, it had felt different. All the other ones, he just knew that they were of the past, and this one had felt as if it was just happening, right now. Yet he knew it was no ordinary dream and silently questioned his own sanity: having different kinds of visions of various persons did not bode well as far as he was concerned. He frowned as he thought of the contents of the dream. Jasper, Isidore…Fucifus, Serge, Valeria…a string of names rolled over his tongue. Harry's frown deepened; who were those people? What did the names mean? He knew he did not remember everything, but that usually left him a shadowy feeling that told him he was not remembering. This time, though, he absolutely found nothing to back up the names. And what could the dream signify? Who was the Master they were talking about? What of the Elite Circle? Then there was the mention of a diary, which seemed somehow important…Harry really couldn't see how a diary might be related to power intrigues; well, perhaps it could be of an important person and therefore held valuable information. But still…Perhaps it was time he truly allowed his memories to return?

Turning, he momentarily swayed and had to catch the windowsill to prevent himself from a fall. He frowned as he strengthened himself up; this was really getting serious. He knew he ought to see Madam Pomfrey about the fits and decline in strength, yet something or another turned up, and he had a most unexplainable reluctance. Putting on his warmer robes, he promised himself to see the nurse later that day.

Quietly Harry left his dormitory, careful not to awake his roommates - not that he cared about their rest, yet he was unwilling to let them find out that he had been restless at night. The common room was dark and chilly; the fire had died out sometime during the night, and apparently it was still too early for the house-elves to come and relit it. Pale moonlight escaped into the room from the tall windows; branches of the trees leaving behind eerie shadows, like ominous dancers of forgotten tribes. He lighted the fireplace with a whispered "incendio" and settled into the armchair besides it; it was more or less a habit now. Harry reached for one of his books just as the magical lights on the wall started to light up upon sensing his presence. Dimly he wondered what ungodly hour it was, although it hardly mattered - he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep again.

He supposed he was half way through the eighteenth page when he heard the soft opening of the portrait. Alarmed at the fact that anyone would be entering at such an hour, Harry turned to the door, wand at hand - only to face a distraught-looking Ginny Weasley, who turned even a shade paler upon seeing Harry.

"Oh…Harry…Oh…" she stuttered; and, to Harry's horror, seemed to be on the verge of tears.

"Er…Ginny, where have you been?" Harry asked hesitantly, careful that his voice was gentle.

But even that was too much for the young witch, for she broke into sobs, "I don-don't know! By Merlin's sake, I don't know! I know what you must think…but I just don't…"

Rather awkwardly, Harry walked over and pat his hand on her shoulder reassuringly, "Shh…Ginny, it's alright, I believe you."

Tearful eyes looked up at him, "You-you do?"

Harry nodded and tried to give her a smile, inwardly cursing over-dramatic young first-years and their mood swings, and helped her sit down on an armchair near by.

After visibly trying and failing to recollect herself, Ginny buried her head in her hands, "God Harry…I think I must've lost my mind! I'd wake up in the strangest places, and I have no idea why I ended up there or what I did… and all those attacks…do you think it could've been-"

"Shhh, Ginny, don't be silly, there is no way that you could've done it…no lower-year student could have; it takes a lot of power, you know." Harry sat down besides her, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. He was fast processing this intake of information…as he told her, he doubted that Ginny would have the power to commit those attacks, yet his mind jumped back to the flicker of red he had seen in that dark corridor. The description Ginny provided almost sounded as if she was being magically controlled…but such dark spells going undetected in Hogwarts? And why Ginny? As far as he knew, the Weasleys, despite being purebloods, were not of a particularly rich or powerful family. Besides, what can a possessed first year do? The average of them would be lucky to successfully perform five most basic spells. However, Ginny's voice brought him out of his thoughts and back into the situation at hand.

"Thanks, Harry," she grinnedweakly, "Tom said that, too - "

Harry furrowed his brows as he tried to remember which of Ginny's year-mates was named Tom; it was unusual for him to not know one from his own house. Shrugging, he dismissed the thought; after all, how could powerless lower-years be of any importance? He was probably just a friend Ginny made outside of the House.

After some more persuasion, Ginny was finally calm enough to return to her dormitory. Harry sat down wearily with a sigh; that was not something he liked dealing with - although luckily the girl was too distraught to wonder what on earth Harry was doing in the Common Room at such an hour. It was almost dawn now, and he had little sleep; yet he was restless, filled with the excitement of a hunter before a game. Something was happening, within and outside of Hogwarts… something important - and Harry had the feeling that he was running out of time.

He narrowed his eyes as he remembered the riddle-like words of the Bloody Baron; the ghost must've known something. Harry supposed it was time that he asked the ghost some thorough questions. Not now though - now was too near morning, and it'd be almost impossible for him to find the Baron and then get back before any of his housemates realized he was gone.

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances as they tried to follow Professor Snape, almost running to catch up with the taller man. Their Housemates followed less eagerly, yet no one dared to stay too far behind - the dungeon's hallways were complex, and they were not familiar with this part of it; getting lost in it would not be a fun experience - not to mention with a monster lurking around the castle. It turned out that their Head of the House, Professor Flitwick, had some business to attend to early in the morning, and Snape ended up having to escort them, as well as his own Slytherins, to his Potions classroom. Thus they are currently heading for the Slytherin common room; which none of them had ever gone to before. The Potions Master had been more irritated than ever.

Turning a corridor, however, Snape stopped dead in his tracks, causing Harry and Hermione to almost smack into him - which, Harry was sure, would not have yielded pleasant results. Looking forward, though, he too froze as he saw what made Snape stop. It was the Bloody Baron, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor.

Harry stared; it did not make sense… not at all. Wasn't the Baron a Slytherin ghost? From what he learned about the Chamber, there was no rational reason for him to be attacked. He bit his lips in frustration, another dead-end… And here he was hoping that the ghost would provide him with some answers. From the gasps behind him Harry knew that the rest of his Housemates saw the scene now as well, and Snape shouted for quiet and order. With an impassive face, the Potions Master led them into the classroom (which was nearer) instead and left them there after some stern warnings and a locking charm.

It was not until half an hour later that he arrived again with the Slytherins, and Harry presumed that he had let the other teachers know of the situation and taken care of the ghost. Everybody was too excited to focus; yet Snape seemed bent on giving them a hard lesson anyway - not that Harry expected anything less. There were meaningful exchanges of glances and whispered speculations, but nobody dared to slack off too much on their potions.

Although most of his classmates were still struggling, Harry soon found himself staring dully at the purple fume rising from his cauldron; all he needed to do now was to wait for his potion to be cool enough before the last ingredient was added. He rested his head on his arms as he thought the events over, his classmates' whispers fading into a soothing hum. It was quite warm near the fire of the cauldron…

Not another one of those blasted dreams! Harry thought as he found himself floating in a dimly lit chamber. All around the room, lighting spells flickered weakly, whether it was by design or because of age Harry could not tell. On the ceiling he could make out a replica of the night sky, not unlike the one in the Great Hall, except it was full of dark, rain-fat clouds advancing upon two bright stars. Harry also noted that it was a moonless night. The damp walls were tiled delicately with patterns of silver serpents and symbols unknown to Harry. On the floor there was a deep green carpet, decorated yet again by the serpent. (1) In the center of the room stood analtar of sorts, its shadow looming over the room ominously in the flickering blue light; Harry thought that there was something on top of it, but he couldn't be sure. All he had seen so far felt old, very old. He felt chilled despite the fact that he was merely a ghost presence in a dream. In the back of his head somewhere he knew that he was in his Potions class, and that he ought to wake up before he royally messed up on his potion; yet from experience he knew it was useless to try to break away from one of those visions. So he just prayed that something showed up soon, and that he wouldn't need to spend the whole dream staring at walls in a gloomy chamber.

Before Harry could study the room in greater detail; however, a door invisible to him before slid open, and the boy who now so frequently occupied his dream-visions stepped inside. The spells immediately lightened up upon his presence, and Harry almost gasped at the effect it had on the room. In the brighter, and somehow warmer, light (which is now a normal white/yellow); Harry saw that he had missed a few things upon his first inspection. The room still looked mystic enough, and Harry could feel ancient guarding spells floating around it, threatening to flare at any unwelcome intruder. Yet there are some more modern, personal items. On a simple desk near the corner, there was a pile of books, all with bookmarks intact. An opened notebook lay besides the books, and a half-bald feather pen stood in an inkbottle. A yellowed picture of a woman he couldn't recognize hung on the wall, framed and all; yet the frame couldn't quite hide the rugged edge on one side which indicated that it was probably once ripped off from a larger picture. Harry stared at it for a while, but it showed no sign of moving; slightly confused, he shifted his gaze to more interesting items around the room. On the table there lay more artifacts even Harry couldn't quite recognize. On the whole, they blended in strangely with the ancient room, causing it to be dark and strangely personable all at once. And the style quite reminded him of something…

Returning his attention back to the other boy, Harry saw that he had moved to stand in front of the altar. Holding out a hand, the boy whispered something Harry didn't catch. At his command, however, the stone lid opened slowly, and out came a shadowy figure of a wizard. It didn't look quite like a ghost, yet what it was Harry couldn't tell; he also strongly suspected that the wizard was Salazar Slytherin himself from the few pictures of the man he had seen from the books.

All the while the other boy had stood reverently, not taking his eyes off the ancient wizard.

"Not reading it will not stop it from happening," the mysterious wizard simply stated, sounding faintly disgusted, yet the boy seemed to understand and looked deep in thought. He folded his hands and began to pace about the room. Just as Harry was getting bored and cross-eyed with all the pacing, the boy stopped and returned to face the altar. Reaching into it, he took out a sealed roll of parchment. Tapping it thoughtfully for a while, he began to open it. However, instead of unrolling it completely, he merely glanced - although very carefully - at the first few lines and closed the parchment again. Harry was getting a little exasperated; what dreadful things could the parchment say? Just read it already!

With a sign the shadowy wizard voiced the same thought, "Just read the whole prophecy so that I get to have my rest, too. I could never understand why I chose to leave a part of my memory here anyway…"

The other boy frowned, "If he is indeed as you prophesied, then with or without my doing he shall be who he is born to be; why should it matter if I read on or not?"

The shadow's expression was inscrutable, "Because it is a future with two possibilities; you read that he was your greatest assert, yet he could also be your deadliest enemy."

The other boy laughed coldly, "Why am I not surprised?"

The wizard merely cocked one eyebrow, "My, my, aren't we the optimist?"

The boy narrowed his eyes, "What makes you think that I would even believe in such things? I have no reason to think that it even has likelihood to happen." The bitterness and contemptuousness surprising Harry; the boy had seemed to hold the wizard in such high respect in all other matters.

"Hmm, perhaps because of the fact that you are still keeping the ring?"

It was then Harry noticed that the other boy also held a small, jeweled box - quite carefully if he might add.

"My will shall shape the future; whether I fail or succeed shall be no man's doing but my own. My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny. (2) I will not allow my fate to be dependent on another!" the boy avoided the wizard's gaze and turned resolutely away; Harry thought he looked a little frantic.

Levelly the wizard replied, "I may see the future, but it's for you to make it."

The boy stared at the box for a while, and Harry thought that he saw a flicker of something he couldn't quite grasp in his eyes. "No…" Harry heard him whisper, "No, I shall not read on. I want to know…without seeing his name."

To Harry's surprise, the rebuttal he fully expected the wizard to make never came. Returning his attention back to the boy Harry saw that he had carefully placed the roll of parchment back into the holder and snapped the box open. Full of curiosity Harry looked on…

Snape circled around the classroom, glaring at the few who dared to whisper. Granted, the kids had just seen a petrified ghost, but that was no excuse for distraction or poor performance in class as far as he was concerned. Out of the corner of his eye he saw pink smoke rising; some brainless brat must have left their potion to cool a while too long - he had long ceased to be surprised by his students' ability to mess up on the simplest procedures. With a scowl he turned, and had to blink to make sure that what he saw was true. The smoke was from Harry Potter's cauldron. Not that he expected anything more out of a Potter, yet this boy had always been attentive during class. And from what the Potions Master knew of Potter's skills, there was no way that he could have messed up on such a simple potion. Shifting his gaze, his eyes widened in astonishment: the said boy was sitting with his head buried, apparently deep in slumber.

"Potter…" Snape called in a dangerously low voice; a few horrified students turned to watch in morbid fascination. Even as he closed in, the boy gave a start and jumped up from his seat. He seemed oblivious to the staring and, in Snape's case, glaring. His eyes unfocused, as if seeing something that was not really there. Potter then stared at his own hands, took a step back, and swayed. When his eyes did meet with the Potions Master's, the green orbs were of swirls of confusion and turmoil. Taking note of the boy's irregular breathing and deathly pale face, Snape reluctantly came to the conclusion that Potter was not well. He was about to order the brat to the hospital wing after class - without taking off points, even - when Potter blinked and finally seemed to notice his presence.

"I'm sorry…" the boy whispered half-heartedly, steadied himself on the edge of the desk, and ran out of the classroom!

Inwardly cursing the Potter line back up sixteen generations, Snape just caught a glimpse of the boy disappearing around the corner as he stepped out of the room. He supposed that he could lock the class up again and go look for Potter, but there was no guarantee of what could happen when brainless students were left alone with their potions. Giving an irritated sign, the Potions Master stepped back inside and turned to his office, which is next to the room. Facing the fire, he called, "Flitwick, a word with you."

Oblivious to his surroundings and not caring where he was heading, Harry ran through the corridors of the castle. What he knew was that he needed to get away, away from everything so that he could try to recollect the chaotic mass that was his mind. Voldemort…Tom Riddle… his thoughts flew, and he was almost choked by the many unnamable emotions that arisen in him with the names. Stopping and leaning against a wall, he looked down at the ring on his finger, the one that had provided him much comfort, and the one the boy in his vision - Tom Riddle - had held in the jeweled box. He closed his eyes as memories surfaced like poppling ripples when a stone hit the calm surface of a lake, sweetness and bitterness intertwining. Murderer of his parents… Voldie… Spanish Gold, Nagini, troll…the Stone… Voldemort who had killed his parents, Voldemort who had treated him as an equal, Voldemort who wanted to kill him the previous year - no, Voldemort who saved him at the end. Harry narrowed his eyes; the events in the underground chamber were still blurry, yet it was no mistake that Voldemort had come to his aid after he took the Stone. Could the Dark Lord then never really meant to kill him?

Calm down, Harry, calm down. He took in a deep breath and tried to form a logical train of thought. Alright, so he thought that the troll was sent after him, and that Nagini had attacked him upon the Dark Lord's order. Those had been the bases of his belief that Voldemort wanted him dead. And yet as he reviewed the events now, adding the fact that Voldemort had risked his own elimination by helping him in front of the mirror…that belief seemed somehow a little ill founded. The Dark Lord might not have tried to kill him after all… But why wasn't he relieved? Shouldn't he be happy? Why did he feel almost as if - as if he wanted to believe that Voldemort betrayed his trust and had attempted to murder him so that he could hate him in peace? Wait, no…how could he even think that he should be happy with the Dark Lord? What of his parents? His parents who genuinely loved him and who were ruthlessly murdered by Voldemort? Harry wanted to scream in frustration; he should have never let Remus and Sirius tell him all the stories about his parents last summer. And those two, too: why did he ever allow them to be so close to him? Why can't he go back to be impassive about those kind of things? His parents were of the past…the past… Harry growled; it was no use. His brain was rampaged by conflicting thoughts until even he didn't know how he was thinking anymore.

He massaged his temples and caught the sight of the ring again…what could the ring mean? The image of the young Riddle talking with the painting reappeared in his mind; and now Harry realized where he must have been - the Chamber of Secrets.

His eyes widened as the implication hit him: if the Chamber had been indeed opened again now, who would dare to invade something of the Heir of Slytherin? He remembered Voldemort saying that only a Parselmouth could have opened it, and as far as he knew, the only Parselmouths alive were the Dark Lord and Harry himself.

Harry straightened himself up determinedly; he would have to find out - it would be in the best interest for both sides. And it was something fishy indeed; he needed to put aside his own confusions for now - he had a feeling that whoever it was behind the opening of the Chamber did not bode well. A small voice in the back of his head suggested slyly that this was just his way of stalling to deal with his own conflicting emotions, but Harry silenced it vehemently.

Whatever plan he had in mind, however, hardly had the chance to be carried out as he was attacked by yet another wave of pain. Harry felt as if he was being physically torn apart and screamed as he had never done.

Luckily, like all other times, this passed rather quickly - although to him it seemed to drag on forever. Harry knew he ought to get up from the floor, but he was so very tired and the cool stone was quite soothing. Mustering his will, however, he sat up anyway, letting the wall support his body. Not for the first time he wondered about the strangeness of the pain; it had but all left him, no sore muscles, no physical trace what-so-ever save for a bit of weariness. Wryly he remembered a little too late his promise to see Madame Pomfrey earlier that day. Lingering side effects or not, however, the pain had been real enough - and never more intense. Harry was surprised that he had not passed out…or had he?

With a start he recalled that he had run away from his Potions class, and with that his newly re-claimed memories. The pain had distracted him earlier, but now he was left alone to deal with the shock of the revelation again. It was after a few moments of mounting self-pity and mingled thoughts about Voldemort and the Death Eaters that he remembered he had better think up an excuse for running away in the middle of a class soon. Hearing approaching footsteps, Harry knew there was little time - and his brain was still not functioning properly enough…

Heck, he thought as he let himself fell back onto the floor, he'd had enough for one day. Let them find him unconscious; the damned explanations could wait.

(1) I took reference to Garth Nix's Lirael here for the description of the room; which, by the way, is an amazing book and should be read by all.

(2) It's actually a quote by Elaine Maxwell

Review Responses:

MajinBakaHentai: Ah, thank you for reviewing. Yes, Harry will meet Tom soon – hopefully.

Myzteek: Thank you for pointing that out! I shall fix it accordingly.

Rinuda-Chan: Thank you for your reviews! I'm not quite sure how/when to introcude Harry's pet yet, but we shall see.

japanese-jew: Thanks for reviewing. Acutally it was hard for me to remember Harry is not famous as I am writing, as well, lol. As for his wand, he didn't get a new one, it got back to working order sometime later.

Julie Long: You don't know how happy I am to hear that! One of the reasons I started writing this story is to create a Harry that is more complex than a golden boy or a total, vicious little devil.

Riantlykalopsic: Thank you and here is the update!

sami1010220: Here is the update! Thank you for your continued support!

GoddessMoonLady: lol, thank you for your review! Puts hands together and gets excited in the prospect of introducing magical creatures and torments for Malfoy

CrimsonTearsOfPain: I'm glad you liked it! Here is the update!

Sariel Aleithea: Thank you! Here it is.

A.Potter: Thank you! Hmm…yes I shall give his pet some more thought, at the moment everything is still up in the air.

Yana5: Thank you for reviewing and here is the update!

DARKMARK33LV: Thank you for your continued support. You get to see more of Isidore and co. in the chappie, and even more explanations in the next. Voldemort will find out all that happened, and Harry is getting his memory back – soon actually. My Halloween was tolerable – stingy neighborhood with almost no one offering candy…lol.

Igonia: Thank you! :) You'll get to know more about the men in the first scene soon, and yes, the yearly research project is solely my invention (at the time of writing it, I was struggling with my research essay for Government, so it figures…) As for Aelwen Ellingham…well, I can't say much about her as I really don't know yet, either. Lol, a winged pony? That would be a hilarious pet for a supposed hair of the most feared Dark lord…crackles

Shadowface: Thank you for your continued support, and sorry it took me so long! Here is the update.

borne-shadow-childe: Haha, thank you for your lovely work as usual. loves

Night-Owl123: Thank you for reviewing and here is the update.