Disclaimer: *sobs into pillow*

A/N: IT'S FINISHED! *sighs, pants and laughs maniacally*. Oh my gosh, the amount of effort I put into writing this chapter! I did each of the sections non chronologically and then had to rewrite some of them because I wasn't happy with the way it turned out…

But, here it is. Submitted at 5 in the morning, in my bed, in Australia.

Thanks for everything, guys. Enjoy!

Pretending To Live

Chapter 9: Dreams and Reality

And then I fainted.

Grey was the predominating color in my surrounding environment. An endless spectrum of alternating shades of shadow—charcoal, slate, silver. I didn't know how much time passed as I tried to count them.

A sharp stab of discomfort reached me then, not precise enough to be called painful, but irritating nonetheless. Yet I couldn't identify its source...I could not discern precisely what part of my physical being was being affected. I could only have this awful knowing—

Ouch!

Now this was true pain. Colorful and bright and absolutely familiar. And it seemed to be coming from my scalp.

"You could do with a bit of a haircut, I think."

I yelped and the sound echoed within the confines of my grey prison. In front of me, the old woman—a laughably ill fitting description, as neither gender really appeared to apply here—cocked her head to one side as the gaping black holes that replaced her eyes focused on my own. I stared back, more out of a disgusted fascination than anything else.

When I was younger, I'd once left a hot iron on the cheap plastic surface of our kitchen table, the one that all the kids had to share for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The heat from the metal had caused the formerly pristine white surface to yellow and bubble, and then to spread across the rest of the table like rancid milk. When it had cooled, I found, much to my chagrin, that the melted plastic had twisted and curdled to form permanent ridges and divots in the table- like diseased skin, crumpled and ugly. Some of the younger kids had had nightmares afterwards, claiming that a face watched them from the mess. And though I made it my highest priority to encourage these fears, even I could not deny the grotesque scream of silent rage that yawned from the mass of ruined plastic.

Never had I thought I would meet the nightmare face to face.

The old crone had no mouth, no nose, no hair. Where her eyes should have been were only a strange darkness, one that alternated between that of on an abyss, or a freshly dug grave. I couldn't look away.

Smack.

Agh! I rubbed my stinging cheek. What the—

"It's rude to stare." The crone said very matter-of-factly. "So, you're the one, eh?"

What?

The gnarled ridges of her face settled into what was unmistakeably a smug look. "Thought so. Well, you look ordinary enough."

Who are you?

"Oh, I doubt you'll remember after this, so what's the point of telling you?" She sighed. "Try a better question."

I thought for a moment. Where am I?

The crone nodded approvingly. "Better, though still quite a mundane question."

She extended a hand around us; something silver gleamed as she did so and I flinched. Then I noticed it was only a pair of scissors. Tearing my eyes away from the item, I looked around.

What I saw surprised me; I had been expecting to see the familiar shades of grey. Instead, it had faded so that it almost like a fine mist I was looking through. We appeared to be standing in the middle of someone's living room. There was a long, red velvet couch behind us and on the walls hung a number of pictures in faux gold frames. A blue vase filled with lilies rested quietly in the corner of the room.

It's my parents' house. I turned around, scanning the familiar setting. What are we doing here?

"This is where it all began."

Began?

The strange blankness that was her eyes trained onto me. "Do you remember how your parents died?"

No.

She hissed and I jumped, staring at her in shock before I realized that the sound issuing from around us was her laughter. I wasn't quite sure how she managed to achieve this, considering she had no mouth...

This is a dream, I decided.

"What a pretty little liar you are," she said finally. There was a short, pregnant silence. "This is the reason your Strand broke."

My wha—

And then she was in front of me, her face only inches away from my own. "I need you to be ready, Ariadne. You cannot avoid us forever."

I was frozen in fear. Wha—

- one of my legs gave out then, as though part of a marionette whose strings had gone slack and I collapsed with it, snapping my head painfully against the stone wall behind me-

"You can't fight Fate."

"Hwaugh!"

"I told you that would wake her up," a smug voice said from somewhere near my elbow and I heard someone sigh. Coughing, I brought up a hand to my face, swiping at the icy water that drenched my head and shoulders. It occurred to me then that both my eyes were still tightly shut, so, problem-solving skills coming into practice, I opened them. The startling bright light disarmed me. I realized that I was somewhere that I was already becoming too familiar with...

"Hospital wing?" I coughed out, sitting up on the flat, white mattress.

"You think?" Draco scowled, his arms crossed over his chest from his position suspiciously close to the water pitcher. "How long were you planning on drooling on those pillows, de Lioncourt?"

"How long was I out?"

"Maybe a half hour," Hermione answered from the foot of the bed. "You gave us quite a fright, you know...what happened to you?"

"I..." Something jabbed at me in my memory and my mouth fell open in shock. "My wand! Where is it?"

Silently, Draco reached into the pocket of his robes and tossed the aforementioned item at me; I caught it with reluctant hands. Shaking my head, I let my fingers curl around it, feeling its slightly knobbled surface nestle snugly in the crevice of the scar across my palm. I held my breath.

Nothing. No strange warmth, none of that vibrating energy I had felt earlier... it appeared, for a ll intents and purposes, like only a common twig I held in my hand. I looked up at the other two and saw that an explanation was clearly needed.

"My wand... when I touched it..." Both my tongue and thoughts were heavy and sluggish. I could sense Draco's impatience, so I tried to pull myself together. "Something happened... I heard voices. I mean, voices that I'd heard before."

This was proving to be incredibly frustrating to explain. "Like a...like—a repeat?—a replay. Except that it didn't happen, did it?" I was talking to myself more than anyone else now. "The cauldron exploded—but it couldn't have, because Riddle—"

The air seemed to have disappeared from my lungs entirely and my eyes became glassy as I stared into space. "Riddle..."

-an elaborate chain that shone in the half light of the dungeons—

"...he..."

-suspended from it, on an ornate half circlet—

"He has the Locket," I blurted out. "The First, Rowena Ravenclaw's—the one that controls Time—he has it! And...he used it..."

Hermione's eyes were as wide as saucers and even Draco looked slightly uneasy.

"Are you sure, de Lioncourt?" he asked. "That the Dark Lord..."

"He used it on me, Malfoy. No, wait—he used it on all of us, the whole class, but no one noticed... except for me..." I put a hand up to my forehead, feeling the familiar pounding at my temples. "But why, though? Why can I remember it when no one else..."

My eye fell upon the red-brown wand lying innocently in my lap and the answer dawned upon me. "It's my wand. That's it, that's how we can know!"

Draco frowned. "Know...?"

"Know whether Riddle's used the Locket on us," Hermione said excitedly, her curly hair bobbing with each slight movement of her head. "Obviously, we're at a massive disadvantage here—if what Ari says is correct, then Riddle can—at best—make us forget what we've done earlier or at worst, trap us in an eternal time loop/continuum...

"But now we have a way of knowing if what we see in front of us is real and not something Riddle-manipulated...Ari, did you get your memories back after he used the First on you?"

"All of them. When I touched my wand." I thought for a moment. "Back in 19—at home, Ollivander told me that tempus was used as the core of my wand. Tempus, time. Dumbledore also said something about the strand...remembering vibrations?"

"Vibrations of previous events, thus producing projections into the future," Hermione breathed and I stared at her.

"Is that from a textbook?"

She waved my question away impatiently. "Your wand is memory-tactile! They store memories! When Ri—"

"Shut up!" Draco hissed suddenly and a beat later, we heard the rhythmic tapping of high heels approaching. Madame Laroche's head popped through the doors of the Infirmary and when she saw me sitting up in bed she tsked.

"Finally awake, there eh? I don't know what you're doing back here myself," she sniffed unapologetically, "there's nothing wrong with you as far as I can tell."

"Just a fainting spell," I said, clambering out of bed. "And headaches."

She eyed me speculatively. "What sort? Migraines, pressure headaches?"

"Um... just the ordinary 'power-drill-through-your-head' kind."

"You children and your slang these days," she sighed and waved her wand in a figure eight in the air in front of her. A small purple bottle appeared, which she handed over to me. "There. This should keep you happy."

I pocketed it with a thanks and quickly exited the Hospital Wing, following the other two. "Where are the others?"

From what I could see of him, Draco stiffened. When he replied his eyes were tight and his upper lip was curled as he spoke through gritted teeth. "Making new friends, I imagine."

"This is a really stupid idea, mate. I mean, really stupid."

"Ron…" Harry said through gritted teeth. "If you say that one more time, I swear…"

"Fine, alright, alright…"

Exchanging dark glances with one another, the took one simultaneous deep breath and pushed open the heavy iron door.

The room that lay before them was one Harry vaguely associated with a number of unpleasant memories, mainly involving giant spiders and even bigger snakes.

The Slytherin common room was as vast and spacious as that of the Gryffindor tower, although Harry personally felt that he preferred the cheery red color scheme to the green. Not much had appeared to have changed since 1997; the walls still seemed to emit a faint, greenish glow, the armchairs and pouffes looked (and felt) as stiff and uncomfortable as Harry had ever remembered. However, it was a much different story with the people who currently occupied it.

"Evans, McDonald," called out a thin boy with stringy brown hair and close-set eyes. "Good of you to finally join us."

Harry forced a smile and discreetly nudged Ron, who was staring at the boy with an expression of pointed dislike, under the ribs. A wide and slightly pained grin spread out on his face immediately and the boy, who Harry remembered was called Avery, looked alarmed but not suspicious.

"Haven't seen you around, often," he commented, while the rest of his peers, all clad in the familiar silver and green, looked on. Harry thought he even recognized a few faces: one boy had pale, pointed features and bore such a haughty, arrogant look that Harry was certain that he had to be one of Draco's ancestors. Another boy looked familiar but was harder to place: he had long, dark hair and an easy lounging grace evident in the way he sat…a sharp stab of emotion pierced Harry's heart when he realized that the boy must have been some relative of Sirius. He stared at him openly for a moment before Ron stepped lightly on his trainers; he hadn't noticed Avery was still talking. "It isn't polite to hide from members of your own House…"

Harry didn't know how to respond to that. "I suppose we weren't exactly big on teamwork back in…er…"

"Your former school? Drachenrache?" asked the Sirius look-alike interestedly. "My aunt's told me all sorts of stories about that place… I must say, you're very lucky…"

Ron looked mystified. "Why?"

"Well, it's got that reputation for practicing Dark Magic, hasn't it?" the boy said animatedly, putting his hands behind his head as he leaned into his armchair. "I heard that your teachers actually encourage you to use the Unforgivables on the people that cross you—"

"What?" roared Ron. The dark-haired boy looked surprised at the sudden outburst and around the room, some of the Slytherins exchanged meaningful glances with one another. Hastily, Harry tried to repair the damage.

"Er…don't mind him, he's just very protective of our school secrets," he said without thinking. This feeble excuse seemed to work; the suspicious looks morphed into smirks, as if at some hidden joke.

"Aren't we all…" said a heavily built, square faced boy Harry recalled to be Macnair and the room broke out into laughter. The boy who looked like Sirius was the only one who didn't laugh as he ignored the others and fixed a thoughtful, speculative gaze on the two faux-Slytherins. Harry noted that he seemed to be friendlier than his house mates, although perhaps he was just relying on his own experiences with other members of the Black family tree to supplement the gaps in his knowledge of the boy.

Sirius is dead, Harry told himself firmly.

"You two look rather familiar," the boy said curiously. "Especially you," he addressed Harry directly. "Are we related?"

"I'm a half blood."

The dark-haired boy looked faintly disappointed at his reply. "Maybe not, then."

At this, the Slytherin with the pale blond hair who so resembled Draco spoke.

"I'm surprised you couldn't tell, Black." His voice was haughty and filled with the arrogance of one who believed that the world had been designed for the sole reason of accommodating his existence. " 'Evans' and 'McDonald' are hardly names of a pure blood family."

"Excuse me," said Harry, with a surge of cold fury in his chest, "but I'd appreciate it if you kept your fat mouth shut about my family."

The whole room fell silent at his words and beside him, Ron shifted uncomfortably but Harry did not care, the blood was pounding in his head, all he wanted was for this Malfoy to feel some tiny part of the horror he had experienced at only one year old…

"I trust everybody's getting along."

All of the room's occupants including Harry gave a huge start at the unexpected voice that cut smoothly through the tense silence like a knife through butter. Harry whipped his head around so fast his neck gave a sickening crack.

Tom Riddle stood at the common room entrance, having entered as soundlessly as a ghost. He closed the door; it slid into place with a ringing thud behind him. Harry fought the sick rush of hot anger that ran through him as he watched the tall figure survey the room. Hidden in the pocket of his robes, his hand formed a cold fist around the handle of his wand.

"Riddle!" said Malfoy, looking very much like a child caught doing something behind his parents' backs.

Riddle nodded curtly. "Abraxas." He moved his gaze to Harry and Ron. "Evans, McDonald."

The nodded stonily in return.

"What took you so long, Riddle?" called out Black, rocking backwards on the back legs of his chair in a manner that forcibly reminded Harry of the Sirius he had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He alone seemed to be relaxed among his peers, although there was an underlying strain in his smile that had not been there earlier.

"I was…delayed," Riddle responded. One hand reached up almost thoughtfully to his collar then fell back down as he sighed. "No matter."

He crossed the room gracefully and sat down in the big, throne-like chair in front of the fireplace which Harry had noticed had been unoccupied since they had entered the room, as if reserved.

"Any luck with the Slugbomb?" a Slytherin boy with a wide, mocking face and sand-colored hair called out. Riddle did not answer, instead staring at him with an expression so ambiguous that the boy's smile faded and was replaced by intense chagrin.

"Do you mean our Head of House, Lestrange?" he asked quietly. Something jolted in Harry at the sound of the name and he didn't need Ron's elbow in his ribs to remember where he had heard it.

Lestrange flushed in embarrassment and Riddle ignored him. "If you must know, nothing happened except for the usual," he gave an impatient sigh. "An invitation to yet another little 'party'…"

"You do realize, Riddle, that most people would sell their own grandmothers to attend those, right?" Black pointed out.

For a moment, Riddle seemed on the verge of rolling his eyes. "Luckily, I have no such inclinations, Alphard."

Alphard snorted. "Speak for yourself." He paused. "Actually, I think I might just do that... party or no…"

Beside Harry, Ron let out a chortle and immediately Riddle's eyes trained upon his face like a magnet. Ron turned beet red.

"You are adjusting well, I hope, Mr McDonald? Mr Evans?" Riddle said softly.

"We're fine," Harry replied shortly, struggling to hide his intense dislike for the man in front of him. It did not help that his scar gave a particularly painful twinge whenever their eyes met. "Not much to do around here…"

"I see."

Unexpectedly, the boy sitting in the seat closest to Riddle blurted out, "Are we having another meeting tonight?"

A ringing silence met his words. Harry knew that the meeting the boy had referred to was something Riddle wished to keep private. It was also the sole reason he and Ron had forced themselves to enter this den of lions…or rather, this nest of snakes.

It was Alphard, Sirius' ancestor, who broke the silence.

"Merlin, mate," he said, looking disgusted. "Desperate, much?"

A few nervous twitters broke out then; even Riddle smiled mechanically.

"As a matter of fact," he said, a thin smile playing around his lips, "there is, Nott."

"What meeting?" asked Harry at once.

"During the course of the school year," Riddle said calmly, "my friends and I hold several meetings to discuss topics that are of interest to us."

"Like what?"

Harry fought to keep a straight face as his scar flared white hot when Riddle's eyes found his own. He stared back defiantly until the Slytherin Prefect smiled once more. "Your school has quite a reputation, Mr Evans. Tell me, were there any subjects in particular that captured your attention?"

"Well, Herbology was fairly—" began Ron but was cut off by Harry's well delivered kick to the shin.

"Yes." Harry answered, levelling Riddle with a stare. "At our school, the professors taught us how to fight against the Dark Arts."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Harry replied grimly. "You tell me, Riddle."

There was an extremely tense silence; it seemed the other Slytherins were in equal parts fascinated and outraged at Harry's blatant show of disrespect to their leader. At his side, Ron had held his breath.

Riddle watched him curiously for a moment. "Very well." He stood up from the throne-like chair. "I have patrolling duty now. However, the meeting will commence at eleven tonight, in the dungeons. You're welcome to attend."

"Don't worry," said Harry. "We will."

"Well, Draco, it's about time you learned that the world doesn't revolve around you and what you think…"

He threw me a scathing look as we walked. "Ari, your judgement is at best, questionable. Why would the Dark Lord bother wasting his energy and the Locket's power on someone as insignificant as yourself?"

Although the truth of his words did not make his reply any more flattering, I found myself elapsing into a short silence as I considered.

"I don't think it was just for me…" I said slowly. "I think…it was more about his image, than anything else. Kid couldn't take anything below an 'Outstanding' on his report card….and Slughorn's reaction—oh!"

"What is it?" Draco asked, fraught with concern for my wellbeing as he delicately picked at a tiny imperfection on one of his fingernails.

I felt slightly faint. "I think I was just invited to one of Professor Slughorn's get togethers…"

That got his attention; he stopped in his tracks and gave me a look of disbelief.

"You?" he said incredulously. "But why?"

"Not by anything I did," I said bitterly. "Riddle. He completely set me up for that—oh dear Lord, hide me."

As we had talked, we had been gradually approaching the tall, brass door that led to our Charms class. However, it had soon burst open, with us only a few feet away, a familiar, sobbing girl with a somewhat spotty face emerging through.

"I wish Olive Hornby would just die!" she shrieked hatefully as she spun round to face the open classroom, before pushing past Draco and I to head, presumably, back to the girl's bathroom.

"Is that…?" Draco said uncertainly.

"In the flesh," I replied, stepping out from behind him. "C'mon…"

Inside, the rest of the class didn't even look remotely bothered that one of their own had just broke down in a hysterical fit, save for one Hufflepuff, a curly haired witch with a slightly upturned nose who was smirking behind her palm. I went out on a limb and guessed that this was the famous Miss Hornby.

"Yes, yes, well…now that that's all settled…" the tiny man at the front of the class squeaked dryly. I suppose Myrtle's tantrums weren't exactly rare occurrences. "Ah, here are the new students…"

Later, I paced back and forth in front of the Room three times and when the familiar handle appeared on its surface, I pulled it and entered.

It was completely deserted; I must have arrived early. Tossing my bag on the carpeted floor, I jumped onto my favourite purple beanbag that leaned against the far side of the room. I put my arms behind my head and stared at the arched ceiling for a while, counting the tiny dust motes that flickered in the air.

A thought struck me then; I reached into the slightly tattered school bag Dumbledore had loaned me and pulled out something small and card shaped that fit easily into the size of my palm.

Engorgio, I thought, flicking my wand at it and gradually it swelled to the size of a textbook. It was the folder that had been in the Room of Requirement when we first arrived in 1944. I hadn't had a chance to look at it yet...

I flipped it open to a random page and began reading. It looked like a timeline of Riddle-Voldemort's life... there were some dates I recognized: 1939, 1945, 1965...1981. There were more articles after the timeline; it seemed like personal notes made by Dumbledore himself. But there was nothing he hadn't told us already, nothing we didn't already know about the boy who would become Lord Voldemort within the pages and I rested the book on my lap, a slight sense of frustration creeping over me.

What was the point, then? I wondered. Dates, meaningless dates... nothing about a Locket, or—

My finger slipped on the edge of one of the pages and I jerked my hand away as a bright red bead of blood welled out from the small cut and landed on the yellow paper. Now vaguely annoyed, I shut the book and shoved it back into my bag.

"Ari?"

I looked up; Harry had entered the room, quietly closing it shut behind him. "Hey."

He sat in one of the big red armchairs and watched me. "What are you doing?"

"Researching." I shrugged. "D'you ever wonder what would happen if someone else—someone not from 1997—saw the book Dumbledore gave us?"

"Ari?"

"Yes?"

He eyed me carefully for a moment. "Last time I saw you, you were unconscious in the Hospital Wing. I spoke to Hermione, she said you'd be able to explain what happened with your wand to me."

"Riddle has the First Locket," I said bluntly; Harry looked surprised and then surprise morphed into anger.

"What?"

"He used it on us. In Potions. He made us loop—" I twirled my pointer finger in a circle to illustrate my meaning, "—back and we didn't notice. At least, until I used my wand—"

"Your wand?"

I explained to him what I had said to Draco and Hermione earlier in the infirmary and he listened to all of this with a troubled expression.

"He has Ravenclaw's Locket..." he murmured to himself, steepling his hands underneath his chin. His expression was so eerily reminiscent of Hermione's that I half expected him to announce he was off to the Library. "That complicates things..."

"Yeah, no kidding. But at least now we can tell—"

"There's a meeting tonight." I stopped in the middle of my sentence.

"What?"

His eyes met my own. "Riddle's group. Ron and I are going."

I didn't know what to say. "Oh."

'Riddle's group'...Death Eaters.

"You aren't going to get the Dark Mark, are you?" I blurted out suddenly. There was a moment of shocked silence and Harry laughed.

"No, no, nothing like that... I hope, anyway," he gulped, an anxious expression crossing his features. "Riddle invited us himself."

"Not out of the blue, surely?"

Harry looked guilty. "No... Ron and I asked to come."

I twiddled my thumbs for a moment, not looking at his face. Silence filled the room.

"What do you think you'll do, there?" I asked, still not looking up. "The Unforgivables? Raise an army of Inferi? Virgin sacrifice?"

"Actually," Harry said, looking like he was holding back laughter, "I think we're just going to introduce ourselves to the other Slytherins."

"This isn't funny," I said in a low voice. "You know what this means, don't you? If you go through with this."

"Yeah, we went over this, Ari, he'll have a closer eye on us, one slip up can mean our downfall—"

"And," I interrupted, "he can tell you what to do. That's what it is, to be Riddle's lackey, isn't it? He could make you do anything... curse, torture, ki—no, maybe not that, that's more his kinda thing. And, of course, you'd have to, because if you didn't... he'd know something's off..."

He was silent for a moment; I could tell he was thinking about what I just said. "Ron and I would find a way out," he said finally.

"He could make the five of us stop meeting together."

"We have the Invisibility Cloak. And the Map."

"He already knows there's something strange about us. He'd have people tailing us... tailing you..."

Harry smiled unexpectedly. "Isn't that the point? To get his attention?"

"Yes, but—"

Voices filled the room suddenly as the others began to file in and I stopped in the middle of my sentence.

"Weasley, you can't possibly hope to just ask the Dark Lord—"

"Will you stop calling him that?" said Ron, an irritated red coloring the tips of his ears. "He's not your master anymore, you know…"

Draco looked furious. "No. He's yours."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron demanded and Hermione sighed all-knowingly. "What're you sighing for, then?"

"Well it's obvious, isn't it?" Hermione pointed out, crossing one leg over the other as she slumped in her green pouffe. "Riddle has control over you, as the leader of the Knights of Walpurgis."

"Stupidest name I ever heard," I muttered under my breath. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Weasley here," said Draco, gritting his teeth, "had the bright idea of simply asking the Da—Riddle if he could have a look at his jewellery."

"I said Locket!"

"Well we're going to have a right piece of work getting him to say yes then, aren't we?" said Harry impatiently. "We need to get the Locket back to 1997, but obviously it's a little harder to do now…"

"As if it was a breeze before, hey, Potter?" snapped Draco, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Stop it, all of you!" cried Hermione, finally losing her temper. "None of you are making this any easier, and—I can't think!"

The bickering ended then, all four of us shocked into silence.

"Thank you," she said, letting out a sigh. "Right. So, then…let's look at the hard facts. Riddle has the First Locket, the one that Dumbledore requires us to bring to the future. He can control Time, and by extension, our actions. However, we have Ari's wand to act as an indicator for when he's using it—"

"Ari's wand?" asked Ron with a bemused expression.

"—but we can't have that with us all the time, can we?" Hermione continued, ignoring him. "So, our most pressing question is: how do we manage to get the Locket from him without him using the Locket on us?"

"I could do it," I suggested. "He's my Potions partner, it wouldn't be too hard to just make a passing comment on it while we're working."

Harry shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea. You've already drawn too much attention to yourself, Ari, and we can't afford to have all his suspicions focused on one person only."

"Isn't that the point?" I said quietly. "To get his attention?"

He frowned, but Hermione jumped in before he could say anything else.

"Ari, he's right," she said seriously. "Judging by what you said, Riddle already knows that you're—on some level- aware of what the Locket can do. He's probably made a note to himself to watch you in future… I think it would be too dangerous to draw all of his attention on you alone."

"So what, then?" I said, feeling frustrated. "Sit back and do nothing?"

"Lie low. Harry and Ron are—well, should be, by tonight—in his little "club" and Draco and I can do the late night research on temporal magic—" Draco looked horrified at the prospect "—in the Library. You have to act normal and keep up this pretense of normality for us."

I stared at the ceiling, biting my lip.

"Fine."

"Where are you going, Ari?" Ron asked. I had one hand on the doorhandle.

"I left my Charms book in the classroom," I explained. "I want to get it back before dinner— Pringle might confiscate it thinking it's a bag of Dungbombs in disguise."

"Ah, that Apollyon Pringle," Ron said fondly. "Sort of makes you miss Filch and his thumbscrews, eh?"

I closed the door behind me and headed for Flitwick's classroom, in the Charms Corridor. When I arrived, I hastily let myself in through the double doors Myrtle had emerged through this morning. I felt a twinge of guilt as I remembered her tearstained face when I met her in the bathroom and resolved to somehow make it up to her when I could…or if I remembered.

I found my book, kicked underneath the twin desks Draco and I had shared and picked it up. Dusting it off with the sleeve of my robes, I shoved it into my bag with one hand as I exited the doorway. I had only taken two steps before I collided heavily with someone. My bag slipped out of my fingers and fell to the floor, its contents spilling.

"Oh, I'm sorr—oh." My apology was cut off as I stared at the tall, handsome young man in front of me. "Hello."

"Hello, Miss de Lioncourt." Riddle responded politely. "What are you doing back in the Charms classroom when it's almost time for dinner?"

I bent down and began to pack up my books, trying to hide my eyes nervously darting around the corridor. It was entirely deserted; no one to come to my aid if things went...awry.

Lie low.

"I left something," I said, holding up my Charms textbook for him to see before I put that in my bag also. One hand fumbled around in my pocket and closed tightly around my wand, which was as still and silent as a piece of dead wood. None of the thrumming energy I had felt earlier, so I took that as a good sign- I was still in 'real' time. Still, I felt very defensive, and it was with that tone that I next addressed him. "Why, what are you doing?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I was patrolling."

"Pa—oh, yeah," I said as my eye caught the silver Prefect badge gleaming brightly on the front of his robes. "Well, good for you."

I reached a hand out for the last book lying on the floor—Dumbledore's book—but Riddle had swiftly picked it up before I could touch it.

My blood froze; my entire body stiffened.

"Give that back," I said to him, fighting to keep my voice steady. Dark eyes glinted strangely at my response and he raised the hand holding the book, as if he hadn't realized he was holding it.

"This?"

"Give it back," I repeated, and we stayed like that for a moment, locked eye to eye, before he extended it towards me. I breathed a sigh of relief as I beheld it once more. But it the old covers slipped through my fingers and it fell with an echoing thud on the floor of the stone corridor, its pages wide open.

No, no, he'll see...!

I stopped and then stared at it. The pages were blank. Wiped clean of the slim, spidery handwriting I had perused over only little more than an hour ago. Feeling Riddle's eyes on me and fighting to hide my relief, I shoved it roughly into my bag and stood up.

My nerves were tense, drawn taut like wire on a violin and I avoided looking directly at the dark haired wizard as I tried to make my way past his tall figure.

"A moment, please, Miss de Lioncourt."

Sheer intimidation made me stop in my tracks, my body obeying the order hidden in his voice immediately. I wanted to scream.

"Don't call me that," I said instead. "It's just—just Ari, or Ariadne, if you prefer."

It almost made me smile when I looked back and saw that Riddle looked momentary confused, before his face was rearranged in polite puzzlement once more. "I'm sorry, but I don't feel I know all that well..."

"Well, you had no problem saying it this morning, didn't you?" I said without thinking, remembering my 'acceptance' to Slughorn's invitation. My face twisted into a scowl.

There was a short silence; it occurred to me then that I had come across as far too hostile for the situation. Chagrin swept through me and I was almost about to apologize before Riddle spoke again.

"Fine, then. Ariadne." My eyebrows pulled together slightly; I hadn't thought he would actually comply. "I was meaning to speak to you about my behaviour, lately..."

That was the last thing I had expected to hear. "What?"

"I would like to apologize," Riddle said very seriously, clasping his hands behind his back in a picture of earnestness. "I understand that I may not have been at my most... welcoming when we first met in the Library and I am aware that my manners had suffered immensely as a result. I was under a great deal of stress then, although that is no excuse—"

"Riddle. Stop." I held up a hand, unable to process the situation presented to me. The Dark Lord, apologizing? Not even Luna could have hallucinated this in her dizziest daydreams. "Why are you apologizing for that?"

Riddle frowned slightly. "I assumed that was the source of your irritation towards me, is it not?"

"Well...yeah," Not really, I thought, "but why does it matter?"

"Miss d—Ariadne." I was starting to regret asking him to call me by my first name. Mainly because it sounded far too good in wrapped in his voice. "Contrary to what you may feel, I don't wish to start off the school year by making enemies."

I was beginning to understand, now. Making enemies... of course, because you'd get more information out of us if we were friends, wouldn't you?

"Furthermore," he continued, "if we're to be partners, I would very much prefer to have a healthy working relationship with the source of fifty percent of my term grade."

I almost smiled then: Voldemort, a closet nerd. Or just a more good looking nerd than any that have ever existed before...

But I knew what I had to do. To Riddle, this was just a game, a way to gather information on his curiosity of the five strangers that had trespassed on his home turf. Making enemies with him would not benefit us in any way; on the other hand, becoming acquaintances...

You have to act normal and keep up this pretense of normality for us.

I smiled at him. "I accept your apology."

He smiled too and I was certain that the expression had a greater effect on me that mine had on him; he looked like an ebony haired angel. A vicious, murdering, psychotic Angel of Death... "Shall I escort you to the Great Hall, then?"

I really would never get used to this 1940's polite society, even as I gingerly took the arm he offered to me like it was dangerous python I held in my hand instead. "Uh...sure."

We both turned simultaneously in the other direction and began to walk. To be hanging off someone's arm was a sensation I was far from accustomed to; I felt like I should have been wearing a floaty skirt and heels like a classic movie star instead of slightly big, second hand robes.

"So how are you finding your stay at Hogwarts so far?" Riddle asked me.

I thought for a moment and seeing no harm in the question, I decided to tell the truth. "I think it's amazing. Really amazing. I've never seen anything like...this..." I waved vaguely at the ceiling, "...before in my life."

"I know what you mean," he said quietly and I darted a glance at his face. Hidden in my pocket, my hand tightened its grip on my alder wand. "But what of your former school? Was it very different there, in Drachenrache?"

It sounded like an innocent question, though I knew better. Unfortunately, I didn't know how to answer it. It was obvious Riddle had done his research—I knew nothing about my supposed 'former school' and a single ill chosen word would lessen our story's already questionable credibility. "Um..."

"Miss de Lioncourt?"

Riddle stiffened and I turned around. "Professor Dumbledore!"

The old man smiled. "Hello, dear. I'm afraid to cut your traipsing in the moonlight short but, I would like a quick word."

"Uh... yeah, sure." I turned to Riddle who looked like he had been sculpted from marble, with the amount of tension that radiated off him, although it never showed on his features. "I guess I'll see you...around."

He smiled mechanically and gracefully inclined his head. To Dumbledore, he gave a terse nod. "Professor."

"Tom," Dumbledore said softly, blue eyes piercing. Riddle seemed to tense even more before he turned on his heel and left, robes whipping out behind him.

When the sound of his footsteps had completely faded away, I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and leaned against a nearby stone pillar. "Man oh man... what am I doing..."

"I suspect, pondering deeply upon the mysteries of life."

I jumped; I had almost forgotten about Dumbledore, who now stood smiling across from me. I was once again startled by the auburn color of his hair and had to remind myself that this was a different Dumbledore from the one we had left behind.

"Professor... thanks, you really got me out of a tight spot just then..."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean, my dear," Dumbledore replied, twiddling his thumbs. I blinked.

"Er...right."

He swept out midnight blue satin- covered arm at the long corridor that lay ahead of us. "Shall we go for a walk?"

I nodded and followed him.

We took the pathway I recognized as leading to the greenhouses we used for Herbology, though we didn't venture outside of the castle. Dumbledore began to slow down around this point and we both looked through the stone archways that overlooked the grounds. It was already dark and I could just make out the thin sickle of the crescent moon in the sky.

When Dumbledore next spoke, his voice was quieter and his tone more sombre than the one he had used earlier. "You and your friends have undertaken a very dangerous task, Miss de Lioncourt. Time and Fate... they are forces not to be tampered with."

I hugged my arms across my chest and stared out a nearby archway. "Yeah, you told me."

"You're referring to my future self?"

I nodded. "Yes. The one who gave us this mission in the first place." I wasn't sure why I tacked on that last sentence yet I felt a rush of fierce approval and guilt run through me in equal measures as I said it.

"I see," Dumbledore said softly. A silence fell then, though it wasn't necessarily uncomfortable. It seemed Dumbledore was deep in thought. "Forgive me if I seem somewhat different from my older counterpart, dear. Experience, I'm afraid, has not yet had the time to fully sink its teeth..."

I backtracked immediately. "I didn't mean—"

He held up a hand. "An apology is quite unnecessary. Miss de Lioncourt. Lemon drop?"

I blinked at the small beaded bag suddenly thrust into my face. "Oh, thanks." I took one and put it into my mouth. There was another silence as we both chewed, I having trouble unsticking the sweet from my back teeth.

Dumbledore spoke again, perhaps having sensed that I had now successfully swallowed the candy. "I see you have met young Tom Riddle."

I shrugged. "Yeah. He's my partner for Potions."

Dumbledore actually chuckled. "How very fortunate!"

I wrinkled my nose. "Do you really think so, sir?"

He hesitated for a moment. "Tom is...brilliant, Miss de Lioncourt. But I ask you to be careful around him. He has charmed older women than yourself—"

"Professor, I—trust me. I'm not charmed by Riddle. He's sick. Twisted and insane, he..." I took a deep breath, "the things he's done as Voldemort...it's unforgivable."

Dumbledore surveyed me for a moment, his light blue eyes performing their usual x-ray trick. "You have lost family." It wasn't a question.

I glanced at him. "My parents. But not by Voldemort's doing, no. In fact, I think you're talking to the wrong person about this, Professor. You see, I—I don't belong here." I ran a hand through my hair and took another deep breath. "I was born in 1993. I was torn from my time in 2010 by something—I don't know what—and brought to the year 1997. I wasn't born a witch. I only became one after I time travelled."

The words tumbled out one after another like a confession; I didn't dare look over at Dumbledore's face as I continued to speak.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," I admitted. "I know I have to be—but what am I supposed to do? Everyone else knows what to do, they have their plans. I don't. It's like I'm just tagging along, doing nothing, helping no one..."

"Miss de Lioncourt," I looked up and caught the smile and kind look of the Dumbledore I remembered and almost immediately felt better despite myself. "You must learn the value of patience."

I stared. "Hm. Well, anyway, at least now that I've got into Riddle's good graces, it might make taking him out a lot easier..." I mused over that train of thought for a moment before I remembered who I was talking to.

Dumbledore had an unusually grave expression on his relatively unlined face. Another silence hung between us; this made me nervous.

"Do you think it's a bad idea?" I asked him.

"I cannot make judgements, Ari," he said gently.

"There's no other way, though. There's no other way to stop him."

"I understand." A tiny, chiming noise sounded suddenly and I looked around. Dumbledore looked at his watch, a strange one with planets instead of numbers, and his expression became one of someone who was pleasantly surprised. "Oh, it does appear that dinner is about to start soon... shall we go then, Ari?"

"Yes... oh wait, sir, I have to return my books to my room."

He nodded and we parted ways then, moving in opposite directions. I had just reached the end of the corridor when I heard him call my name.

"Miss de Lioncourt?"

I turned around.

A mischievous twinkle was in his eyes and I backed away warily. Something's up...

"That's a rather nasty looking papercut."

"Ah…you came!" Alphard greeted them with a wide smirk, taking his feet off of the long wooden table in front of him.

"Wouldn't miss this for the world, mate," Ron replied with a grin of his own. Harry looked around the dungeons; it surprised him how man faces he recognized already.

"Where's Riddle?" he asked.

Alphard tensed slightly and then relaxed immediately so that Harry felt uncertain as to whether he'd imagined his discomfort. "Probably at the Library or something. Don't know how he can stand it, if you ask me…oh, we haven't been properly introduced, have we? I'm Alphard Black. Over there," he pointed to one of the Slytherin boys on the opposite end of the long table, "is my brother, Cygnus, right git he is. And that's Mulciber, Rookwood…you've met Avery already…Macnair, Nott, Travers…"

He continued to list off names and it was with a slight jolt that Harry realized he recognized nearly all of them: they were all the surnames of convicted Death Eaters. Avery looked over at this point and noticed Harry and Ron.

"Ah, there they are," he said, making the other Death Eaters look over as well. "Thought you wouldn't turn up."

"You were wrong, then," said Harry coldly. Avery raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

"Don't take everything so personally, Evans. You didn't really seem to get along with Riddle earlier, I was merely stating my opinion."

Harry refused to let someone who had killed more people than he had fingers on his hands guilt him into acting nicer. "Fine."

Ron stepped in then, preventing the inevitable awkward silence. "So, what do you do? In these meetings?"

Avery raised an eyebrow. "You'll see," he said infuriatingly.

Alphard snorted, putting his feet on the table again. "Oh come off it. It's not that big a secret." He began to explain to Ron, yawning widely as he did so. "Riddle's sort of the leader of our group so normally we wait—"

But Harry was not listening to Alphard; instead, his attention was caught by the conversation taking place across the table in hushed whispers by two of the other Slytherins. Alphard had mentioned their names: Mulciber and Travers.

"—Merrythought's class, I can't believe Slughorn managed to find another Boggart after what we did to the last one—" the bigger of the two, Mulciber, was saying.

The other boy, Travers, waved away his concerns impatiently. "Never mind that, what will Riddle do to us when he finds out?"

Harry watched as another Slytherin with curly brown hair walked over and joined in the discussion. "Mulciber, we need to talk." He cut in urgently.

Mulciber grunted. "Not now, Rookwood."

"It's important!" Rookwood said through bared teeth. "You have to tell Riddle that it's not going to work, I couldn't get it—"

The door to the dungeons opened with a heavy metallic thud. Immediately the room fell silent as Riddle emerged from the entrance. But it was as if a different Riddle had come, or so it seemed to Harry, one without the delicate charm and courtesy he presented each day to his professors and his peers. This Riddle was commanding, almost regal, and stripped of the mask of false modesty he wore like a crown. Magic, dark and powerful, crackled around him like thunder.

Riddle acknowledged them all with a single, sweeping glance. "I see we're all here." His eyes lingered on Ron and Harry and then he swept to the front of the room, taking his seat at the head of the table. There was a short pause; it seemed every person in the room was literally holding their breath to hear him speak.

"Welcome, my friends, to the first meeting of the Order of the Knights of Walpurgis. I imagine you must all be thrilled." His voice was dry, and although snickers erupted around the room at his words, Harry sensed that Riddle was feeling very much annoyed by something.

"We have new blood among our ranks, so it is best that I first make the introductions. I am not in the mood for candid frivolity tonight, so I shall breach the topic directly." Riddle leaned forward, his mouth twisting into a slight smile. "It is common knowledge that wizards and witches of our age have been taught to fear—even loathe the Dark Arts. At Hogwarts is where this prejudice is at its most obvious. The professors refuse to teach it, instead choosing to teach a weaker subject—defence against such magic. I believe that this should be corrected.

"We are not children, to be spoonfed what is 'good' and what is 'bad' in this world. We are old enough, and wise enough to understand that there is, in fact, no good and no evil…there is only power. To have such knowledge of the Dark Arts is power." He paused. "Power over your enemies and foes…power which I will gladly share with you."

Riddle looked directly over at where Harry and Ron were sitting. "I will teach you what I know of the Dark Magics. I have delved, yes, maybe too far, in this field…I can teach you spells more powerful than even your professors would dare to imagine.

"Why do I do this, you may ask?" It was as if he had lifted the question directly out of Harry's mind. "It is because I believe that the wizarding world is at war. Not Grindelwald's—but rather a war that has existed beneath our very eyes, yet unbeknownst to us, since the dawn of Time itself. I believe that it is time to assert who is dominant in this world and quell any ignorance of our own magic because of fear." He hissed the last word like it was something vulgar on his tongue. "I will create a stronger, better world where wizards like ourselves are free to practise our gifts without prejudice nor mistrust: a world where we will hide no longer from lesser, inferior beings." Harry saw Abraxas Malfoy straighten up in his chair at that and it struck him then how Riddle must have gained so many followers during his rise as Voldemort. It was not only in the way he spoke, or presented himself, but in how he tailored his speech almost perfectly to suit the deepest desires of his audience… each word like a key fitting into a lock. "And I will do this with you—all of you at my side."

Riddle stood up then and the fire that had burned in his dark eyes had quelled somewhat, becoming muted once more. When he next spoke, it was with a quieter tone, and addressed to Harry and Ron alone.

"Will you join me?"

Harry stood up as well and met Riddle's eyes. Ignoring the searing flash of pain in his forehead, he answered.

"I will."

I remember you.

"Funny," the old crone said, twiddling her gnarled fingers together without looking at me, "and yet you seem to have forgotten everything else."

I didn't understand what she meant, but I pressed on anyway. I'm dreaming, aren't I?

"Yes, you are."

A short silence ensued.

How come I couldn't remember this when I was awake? I asked.

I thought the old crone could have been leering, though nothing in her twisted face showed any sign of it. "You weren't supposed to."

I was still busy scratching my head over this potentially problematic answer when she spoke again. "This is the last time I can speak to you like this. My Sisters are already becoming suspicious."

What is it that you want to tell me?

"You weren't imagining it."

Imagining what?

"Ari."

What?

"Wake up, damn you!" Draco hissed in my ear and my eyes flew open as I groggily unstuck my cheek from the pages of the Transfiguration textbook in front of me.

"Wuzzhappin?" I mumbled, blinking at my surroundings. I realized that I was sitting at the Gryffindor table; a few seats away, several elegant fifth years pointed at my face and giggled primly behind their hands. I wiped a spot of drool off my chin and turned to Draco, who looked disgusted.

"We have Defence Against the Dark Arts now," he pointed out. "Ari, would you kindly explain why you're sleeping during lunch?"

"I forgot about the Herbology homework Professor Radvire gave us last week," I replied tiredly, pushing a few strands of hair out of my eyes. "Two rolls of parchment on dirigible plums, of all things..."

We stood up together and I followed him to our next class, teetering slightly as I walked. I reached into the pocket of my robes and took a swig of the Madame Laroche's headache tonic and the pounding in my head eased somewhat.

It had been a little over a week since the Death—Knights of Walpurgis meeting that Ron and Harry had attended. There hadn't been a word about another meeting since, which set all of us on edge. I kept on replaying in my mind what Harry had relayed to us.

"Rookwood kept on saying something about how it "wasn't going to work"… what d'you think he could've been talking about, d'you reckon?"

I had no clue.

"Alright, class," Professor Merrythought announced, rapping his wand smartly on the raised lectern. "Pay attention...that means you too, Black..."

A dark-haired Slytherin leaning on the back legs of his chair and talking rather animatedly to Harry, who sat next to him, fell silent with a smirk and a proud toss of his head.

"Now. You remember in your third year that you have covered all dangerous magical creatures such as Hinkypunks, Kappas, Chimaeras..."

"Chimaeras?" I murmured to Draco on my left and he shrugged.

"I suppose they held less regard for safety in the 40's..."

"However, due to several...er, complications, you have not yet had the chance to study Boggarts," Merrythought continued, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "But thanks to Professor Slughorn, we have managed to procure one for this lesson. Now, a Boggart is a shape-shifter that takes on the form of the worst fear of its intended victim..."

I saw the back of Ron's fiery head twitch slightly a few desks ahead of us and fought a smile. No doubt he was thinking something along the lines of 'giant spiders'. I felt my own smile dissipate, however, when I remembered that I'd have to face the Boggart as well.

There's a big difference between reading about it and doing it... I rubbed my eyes. What was my worst fear? I didn't know. I was afraid of lots of things: worms, heights, falling, being upside down, the dark. None of them in particular seemed to jump out, though...

"...and I'll be having someone come along later to help move the wardrobe. I want you all to form a single line, to perform the spell on the Boggart each in turn..."

Reluctantly, I left my desk and fell in line behind a mousy haired girl who I recognized from my dormitory. My hand clenched and unclenched around the wand in my pocket in my nervousness. I only hoped that what my Boggart would turn into wouldn't be too embarrassing...or frightening.

A boy with platinum blond hair and an arrogant, pointed face went first. At the appearance of his Boggart, several people screamed; it was a great, red dragon with bulbous yellow eyes. Sparks flew from its nostrils as it breathed and it reared its scaly head back, ready to attack—

"Riddikulus!" shouted the boy and with a crack! the dragon transformed into a small white kitten, who squeaked pitifully on the floor. Shouts of laughter echoed around the room but Draco remained looking very pale beside me.

"That's grandfather Abraxas," he said, eyes fixed on the other Slytherin in a sort of half-fascinated horror. "He died of dragon pox."

The next person's Boggart was a naked corpse twisted so that it scuttled around on its arms and legs with its torso facing the ceiling; there was a crack! and it became a sluggish red crab; then a writhing, twisted mass of black leeches which transformed into a mound of glitter; then a headless knight in rusted armour atop a dark horse with flashing red eyes which turned into a painted wooden rocking horse. It was Ron's turn then: a giant spider who clicked its pincers menacingly before a crack! and it became a dangling child's mobile whose movements mimicked the jerking of the creature's legs…

I stepped forward, wand held ready.

"Ah, there you are Mr Riddle! Excellent timing, I think we're nearly done here… just after Miss de Lioncourt finishes this Boggart off…"

Fiercely alarmed, my head snapped towards the person leaning casually against the doorway of the classroom, looking almost bored; our eyes met. A single shudder ran through the piece of wood in my hand then, from the handle to its very tip and I gasped out loud, nearly dropping it.

No…!

I turned my head towards the child's mobile that floated in front of me…except it was no longer there. Out of the fine, smoky mist that normally preceded the appearance of a new Boggart, something formed—

The figure that emerged from the shadows was inhumanly thin and tall, to the point of skeletal. It had no blurred, heavily distorted and barely discernable features but the deathly pale face gleamed white—

-a flash of silver—

-it extended a single arm towards me, beckoning, beckoning—

-a burst of green and then all was red-

-and the eyes—

Several people in the classroom screamed; I took a few stumbling steps backward, crashing into the wooden desk behind me.

"Oh Jesus," I gasped out, as the figure drew closer to me, moving like mist across water. I could feel its icy breath on my cheek—

"Here!" shouted Harry, throwing himself in front of the phantom. The figure paused, almost as if confused, before it transformed into a hooded monster with slimy, rotting hands and deathly cold breath. "Riddikulus!"

The Dementor exploded into wisps of smoke and the temperature of the room began to return to normal. A fine mist of cold sweat covered my body from head to toe and I was shaking against the icy wood of the desk behind me, as if fevered. My legs felt dead and wooden and there was a strange numbness in my hands despite the fierce grip I still maintained on my wand.

"Harry…" I whispered. Emerald eyes found my own and I saw that his face was white, strained.

"Well, er…yes, thank you, Miss de Lioncourt, Mr Evans…that was a nice finish…yes… five points apiece to Gryffindor and Slytherin…" Professor Merrythought didn't seem to know what to say, so he addressed Riddle instead, discussing in low tones where to move the wardrobe from which the Boggart had emerged.

I stayed rooted to the spot, unable to move despite feeling Riddle's intense gaze at the side of my head and hearing the whispers that began to spread around the room.

"Come on." A hand grabbed my arm roughly and I followed Draco obediently back to my desk, sitting down with mechanical precision. For the remainder of the lesson, I stayed in the same position, both hands clenched tightly at the edge of the desk, back ramrod straight as I stared directly ahead of me. I couldn't seem to pay attention to anything Merrythought was saying, and I had the feeling that it was the same case with Draco beside me.

Finally, after what seemed a mere moment, the class ended and I moved robotically with the flow of black-clad students through the door. Then I felt Draco grab my arm again and steer me forcefully into one of the deserted side-corridors.

"Ouch, Draco, you're hurting me…"

He let go and crossed both arms over his chest, staring at me with an expression I could not decipher. Ron and Harry found us then, and soon we formed a tense, quiet circle.

Harry spoke first, quietly. "Ari, what was your Boggart?"

"My…" I felt a current of white-hot anger pass through me then, crackling like fire in every cell of my being. "Why does that matter?"

"Ari, we need to know."

"Why?" I fired at him, taking a few steps backward. "Why don't you mind your own damn business?"

Draco made a sudden movement towards me and an intense irrational fear flooded my mind and clouded my thoughts; I turned on my heel and fled.

There was no specific destination in my mind as I ran. The uneven rhythm of my footfalls matched the pounding of my heart and it was this sort of mindless energy that I continued.

When Harry finally found me, out of breath and panting, I was curled against the stone wall behind me, arms around my knees.

"Ari… look…"

"My Boggart," I said, without looking at him. "is the man who murdered my parents."

The was a short silence and then Harry took a few steps forward. He knelt down so that his face was in level with my own and his eyes glinted strangely in the dim light of the corridor. When he next spoke, it was almost a whisper.

"And mine."

We walked in silence, the sounds of our footsteps echoing against the walls of the corridor. I felt strangely calm, my head clear and unclouded.

"Harry, that can't be possible." I broke the comfortable silence with a small pang of regret. "I've never even seen Voldemort face to face before."

He tilted his head to the side slightly to look at me out of the corner of one eye. "You've met Riddle."

"You know what I mean." I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "Maybe you just made a mistake…"

"Ari," we both stopped and he looked me directly in the eyes. "I've duelled him a year ago."

I felt embarrassed. "Right…I'm sorry."

Another silence fell.

"Do you…" Harry trailed off.

"What?"

He looked slightly uncomfortable. "Do you remember how they died?"

A flash of silver. "No. I don't."

He nodded slowly, as if he'd been expecting my answer. "How old were you?"

"Thirteen." I caught his look and elaborated, "Snape said I had a sort of…mental block about it. I dunno."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I smiled. "No."

He nodded again and we continued to walk in silence until I broke it once more. "Riddle saw."

"I doubt he'd guess the truth, for some reason, though."

"He makes me nervous," I confessed.

"Really? He makes me violent."

I chuckled despite myself and Harry smiled. "Besides—"

He stopped suddenly and the smile slid from my face like grease. "What?"

Harry shook his head at me and brought a finger to his lips, telling me to be quiet. His head was cocked to one side as if listening to something and I looked around the deserted corridor nervously.

"What is it?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowed. Then he drew a sharp breath and began to hiss and spit without surcease, the sounds reverberating around us. I stared at him in shock; Parseltongue?

Harry continued like this for a while longer, pausing for short periods of time as if listening to his unseen partner in this unintelligible conversation. I thought that if I listened hard enough I could hear the faintest sounds of hissing in reply… but perhaps that was my own imagination, and nothing more.

Finally Harry stopped. "Ari, come on."

He grabbed my hand and dragged me in the opposite direction of where we were going, half jogging, away from the Great Hall. Bewildered as I was, I followed him without complaint, having heard the urgency in his voice.

When we reached yet another turn however, I had to ask him. "Harry, where are we—oh. Oh. Oh my God…"

One hand found its way to my mouth as I stared, with eyes as wide as saucers, at the words, painted in gleaming scarlet on the grey surface of the stone wall above us.

The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.

It was like having a hammer taken to the back of my head, this rush of extreme déjà vu and terrible awareness. Fear rose its ugly head as I reread the words, no longer fine black print in a pocket book, but as foot long letters, bright scarlet and dripping.

"We have to get Professor Dum—" The rest of his words were cut off by the sound of a terrifying roar; we both jumped and looked towards the source of the sound. Harry and I exchanged glances and then almost simultaneously began to run straight towards the Great Hall where the roar became at its loudest.

We burst through the twin doors and the sound nearly deafened us; it took a moment for me to realize that it wasn't a roar of some great beast after all, but rather, the collective scream of the entirety of the students of Hogwarts.

It was obvious that we had barged in during the middle of dinner; nearly everyone was still at their respective House tables, and the sumptuous scent of roast meat wafted to us at the back of the Hall. Yet each and every student's face was upturned, as if looking towards the heavens and slowly, inch by inch, Harry and I followed their gazes.

There was a body in the air. Suspended horizontally, stiff as cardboard, underneath the perfect, starry sky of the enchanted ceiling. The girl's head was lolling to one side and a thin stream of blood trickled from her mouth and stained the pristine white collar of her uniform. Her face was covered by her curly hair.

"Myrtle…?" croaked out Harry from somewhere beside me and slowly, I shook my head, sticky sweat trailing down the back of my spine.

"No…" I whispered. "Not Myrtle…"

There was a flash of lightning, a crack of thunder—

And then Olive Hornby's lifeless body hit the marble floor of the Great Hall with a sickening crunch.

A/N: Soo… what did you think, guys? Worth the wait?

Writing Riddle's speech was so darn hard… that was the one I kept on rewriting, and I'm still not that happy about it…I haven't written in third person for three years and I'm trying to remember the rhythm of it…gah.

Also, I spent ages trying to figure out the whole 'pureblood' family tree for the 1944 Slytherins…

Leave some love (I mean reviews), alright?

Peace out,

N