The dark tunnel, built of stone, had a thin stream of cold water running in the middle. Once he'd adjusted his glasses, Harry straddled it, bouncing on his heels, feeling far more relaxed than he had the last time he was there. Dumbledore pulled what appeared to be a silvery cigarette lighter, flicked it, and lights bubbled upward, warming the tunnel to something not nearly as terrifying.

"Fascinating," said Dumbledore, holding his wand aloft.

Ginny made a noncommittal noise.

"We are under the lake, right?" Harry asked.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "We are at the very boundary of Hogwarts, in fact. Its magical protections, at least. Travel that way, and you'd be able to Apparate out."

"Slytherin left himself a way in?" Harry asked. This made sense to him. Why would Slytherin leave Hogwarts — a place he had helped to build — without leaving himself a way to sneak back in?

"Seems to be," said Dumbledore, distracted by an oddly shaped stone jutting forth from the wall.

Harry stepped forward, grimacing when something crunched beneath his feet. "But — you know — when he was retrieving the basilisk blood for the pox… he snuck in through Hogwarts. Why would he do that if he had a secret way in?"

"Good question," Ginny muttered.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, "and one I do not have an answer to." Then, as though they were on an outing in a far more pleasant place, Dumbledore graciously gestured them forward. His wand swept from side to side, amassing the skeletons of the small animals in a neat row that seemed like respect. "This way?"

"Yeah," said Harry. Ginny squeezed his hand. In the light, she was pale but resolute, teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

Dumbledore was ahead of them, disappearing behind a dark bend, when Harry paused, turning to face her. Searching her face, he looked for something more dire than nerves, but found nothing of the sort. This had to be unsettling for her — it was for him — but she was nowhere near panic. This was one of the many wonderful things about Ginny: she was rarely less than nervy.

Harry pulled her in for the quickest of kisses, before they hurried along after Dumbledore once more.

Quietly, they splashed through the tiny stream. Cold, dank water soaked his socks. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed the skeletons of the dead animals were growing larger and more numerous. Harry and Ginny took to helping Dumbledore settle their remains more carefully.

Finally, after another bend in the dark tunnel, they came to the solid wall upon which two entwined snakes were carved. Emeralds winked from their eye sockets. Dumbledore strode directly to it, touching the stone, murmuring an incantation that sounded like a song. "Brilliant," he said softly.

"I think it only opens if — you know — I use Parseltongue," said Harry. Without hesitating, he narrowed his eyes, bringing the snakes out of focus. Once they seemed to undulate, Harry whispered: "Open."

At once, the snakes parted and the two halves of the door fell apart, sliding into the stone on each side. Harry was older now, and not terrified that he would find a dead Ginny waiting for him in the Chamber. Still, he stepped forward with caution, squinting so he would not be taken by surprise by the basilisk.

Instead of being the dimly lit chamber of his memory, it was shrouded in a darkness so thick it was blacker than blackest night as soon as the doors shut behind them. Harry planted his feet firmly, ignoring the twinge in his stomach, and the way his heart had leapt an inch upward. We're fine, he told himself, forcing calm, ruthlessly regulating his own pulse. The darkness only lasted several seconds. There was again the sound of a cigarette lighter being flicked, and bubbles of light appeared, bobbing outward, providing a light that was more complete than what Harry had experienced here before.

The statues stood in sharp relief. For the first time, Harry realized that every one of them had different faces: some were male, some were female: there was no rhyme or reason as to which was which. But all had snakes twined around their stone feet.

"Ready?" murmured Ginny.

"Protego," muttered Harry. A shield erupted from his wand, expanding outward around him and Ginny.

"A fine idea," said Dumbledore. "Ah! Which reminds me… here." From his pocket, he withdrew three pairs of glasses, all with lenses the color of bruised violets. "An invention of Newt's," he explained. "They ought to help prevent instant death against the basilisk: should it stare at us, we will be merely petrified until someone comes to rescue us."

Harry exchanged a glance with Ginny, fighting the sudden urge to laugh, and saw her fighting against the same thing.

"Thanks," said Harry, putting on the glasses. His vision wavered, distorted, and then grew clear again. It's better than nothing."

"That is precisely what I said," said Dumbledore, looking quite as though he shared their humor.

"Why glasses?" Ginny asked, as she put hers on.

"Yeah," said Harry, picturing a deep-sea diver, "why not a full on body suit, or something?"

"In fact, there are several theories on that," said Dumbledore, as he stepped forward and led the way down the long, silent hall. His voice filled the air, echoing against the stone walls. He did not seem to feel any urge to be quiet, taking no care to modulate voice or footsteps. "Ah, dear me, this chamber does go on a bit, doesn't it? As to your question, Miss Peverell, the simplest reason is that glasses are easy to enchant. Our eyes are windows to our deepest selves: wizards sought to protect them from the very first, so there is a great deal of learning and magical theory in regard to glasses – it helps that glass is so marvelously easy to enchant."

Harry walked on, listening, nearly forgetting that he was striding confidently directly toward a basilisk.

"In fact," continued Dumbledore, "you can buy lenses that have already been prepared for permanent enchantment… whichever you choose…"

"Like my dad's," said Ginny. "He says – said – will say? – that his are pretty good at detecting charms on objects. Nothing big, of course."

"Oh," said Harry, surprised. He'd never thought Arthur Weasley's glasses had had any sort of enchantment on them. "I didn't know that! I bet that helped – helps – with his job."

"Indeed," said Ginny, with a light squeeze around his fingers.

"That's a popular one," agreed Dumbledore.

Before Harry could ask if Dumbledore's glasses were charmed, there was a tiny splash from far up ahead, like something long and sinuous had just slipped into the water. Harry might have paused, but Dumbledore kept going, wand now aloft, his lecture on enchanted glasses forgotten. Nerves returning, Harry pushed onward, letting go of Ginny's hand, knowing they both needed hands free instead of comfort just now…

"It's coming," said Dumbledore.

"Unless we're hearing things," muttered Ginny.

Harry stepped forward, now the point of a triangle. His eyes swept the vast Chamber, sweeping first left and then right. Other than that tiny splash… the basilisk did nothing to reveal itself. You can call it, Harry told himself. Like Tom Riddle did. Would it work this time, or was Riddle's sway over the snake intact?

"Come to me."

His own voice sounded a mix between a hiss and a snarl; it was as though something vast held its breath. The silence was that of predatory anticipation.

Louder, and with more force, Harry said: "I SAID COME TO ME."

"...intruders…"

The voice was a tiny whisper, accompanied by a flick of water on the far side of the Chamber. Harry thought he saw a flick of motion by the stony beard of Salazar Slytherin. It was coming toward them. Was it answering Harry's call?

"You can kill it?" Harry asked Dumbledore, wiping his palms on his robes.

"I can kill it," Dumbledore confirmed quietly.

Harry looked up at the shadows that covered the high ceiling. Even with Dumbledore here, he would feel much better were he to see the scarlet figure of Fawkes, bearing down on them like fiery hope. In his thoughts, Fawkes's song soared.

"COME TO ME NOW!" Harry injected as much determination as was possible. This time, the basilisk thrashed, as though fighting his order, but Harry was winning, it was skimming across the surface, writhing…

"You've got it, Harry," said Ginny.

"...will rip… will tear… will kill…"

"You will not. COME TO ME NOW."

The basilisk's hiss filled the Chamber. Harry could feel his dominion over the snake. It fought him, but Harry was winning. It warred against him, but the more Harry spoke, the more orders he gave it, the more he could feel his command seeping into the basilisk.

"Here it comes."

"Wait." Harry had thought of something. What if, since he had called it, what if the basilisk was not on Riddle's side because it wanted to be, but because it was forced to be? He spoke, now, to the basilisk. "You don't have to be like this. You could be free of him."

"Intruders… rip… tear… kill…"

Harry ignored this. "You could be free of this place."

"RIP… TEAR… KILL…"

"There's someone who could take you." Newt Scamander would, wouldn't he? By all accounts, he was as fascinated by monstrous creatures as Hagrid was.

"Harry!" Ginny said urgently. The frothing water was coming toward him as the basilisk fought against the invisible barrier that had held it in place.

"Just give me another minute," said Harry, sweating. Only Dumbledore appeared calm. "You don't have to do what they say, you know."

For the first time, the basilisk spoke to him. There was cruel intelligence in the hissing voice. "And instead I should do as you say? Because you speak the Hissing Tongue? Many have come before you. None of them bade me to leave this place."

"Because they wanted to control you," Harry said angrily. "They don't want you to think for yourself. They want you to do as they say, kill who they want you to kill, but you don't have to–"

"But you, little human with the forked tongue? Who would you bid me to kill?"

"No one!" Harry cried. "I wouldn't have you kill anyone."

"But who, then, would I eat?" the basilisk asked. It surged forward. The barrier was melting away: Harry had only seconds now. "Long ago, a wizard hatched me, and laid a most powerful curse upon me. Never before has such an insult been offered to one of my kind. We could eat only at his direction, he cursed me. Rats and mice he allowed. But of the food that is the most nurturing, the most tasty… ah, it is flesh of your kind, forked tongue boy. Humankind, with magic housed within it. I CRAVE IT."

"Uh," said Harry, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"As I thought," said the basilisk. It had been motionless for a moment; it had been waiting, Harry thought. But Harry would not promise to set the basilisk on his enemies.

Two things happened at once: Ginny yanked him backward and they fell upon the stone, and the basilisk flung itself at the barrier. It came crashing down as though it were made of stone, not magic. A moment later, Dumbledore snapped out a word. To Harry's intense surprise, the cawing of a rooster echoed through the entire chamber, loud and imperious–

–and utterly devastating to the basilisk, whose entire body shuddered and writhed in pain, as though the caw acted like the Cruciatus Curse. "Noooooo!" it cried, guttural and pain-filled.

Dumbledore did not make it suffer long. A jet of green light flared from the tip of his wand, and the basilisk fell, dead, to the stone floor.

Shaken, Harry stood from his crouch once Dumbledore had lowered his wand, the dead basilisk at his feet. "You did that a lot faster than I did," he said. His twelve year old self had done a lot more running and hiding than had Dumbledore. A thought occurred to him, and Harry did not call it back. "Can you teach me that?"

"Teach us," Ginny said firmly.

"Teach you to kill?" Dumbledore asked, face unreadable.

"No," said Harry. "I know the incantation. I wouldn't use it. But you held it–"

"-and took away its ability to kill us," added Ginny.

Dumbledore tucked his wand back in his belt after harvesting the basilisk of its fangs, eyes, and a good portion of its scales. There was a pause as he seemed to consider the matter. "I could not commit to teaching you anything until Simon Burke is found, among other things," he said, finally. "Or, as I ought to say, I can commit to teaching you some of my methodology, but I feel certain that I could not do so until after this term." His white eyebrows drew together. "Although, perhaps…"

"Sir?" said Ginny. "What if we return home prior to the end of term?"

"Then my older self can keep my promise," said Dumbledore. "I will make a note." He looked from one to the other. "There may be some few things we can discuss together, but the sort of learning it would take is better done when you have fewer commitments."

Harry's pulse was racing. With some effort, he forced himself to relax. But gaining Dumbledore's promise to teach them… he nearly couldn't believe it.

Dumbledore was far more casual about it: His interest was caught on the giant statue of Salazar Slytherin. Its mouth was still open, giving it even more of a look of an ape. The Chamber grew still. The wavelets caused by the basilisk's thrashing body had eased. The water was once more like flat obsidian. The reflection of the greenish torches were near perfect—

—until Dumbledore suddenly splashed forward, moving as nimbly as a much younger man, went to Slytherin's great toe and jabbed it with his wand. Cracks, like lightning, traveled upward from where it had been jabbed, flared white, and disappeared into impenetrable stone.

"Fascinating," Dumbledore muttered, sweeping his gaze up and down the statue.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"I sense protections," said Dumbledore, "even here."

"What kind of protections?" Ginny asked.

"Bloody ones," Dumbledore murmured. "Were they here before you, Tom? Or did you add them yourself?" Then, whispering a word that did not belong to a language Harry knew or had heard, Dumbledore turned back to the statue.

Dark liquid dropped from Slytherin's maw. Ginny clutched his hand. Blood was pouring out now: trickle became a flood, flowing down the beard and parting just at the bottom.

"It's a door," said Harry, astonished.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. There was a strange thread of excitement in his voice. But if Harry had not known better, he would have thought the headmaster on the verge of laughter. "Indeed, it is." Glancing back at them, he said, "Shall we find out what is behind it?"

And he made a gesture with his wand. An immense grinding sound filled the chamber, and the stone beard parted at its base, where the blood had made the outline of a door. Now, it was a door in truth.

Dumbledore stepped toward it.

But Harry leapt forward, grabbing Dumbledore's arm, pulling him back. What had warned him? A single glint in a jeweled eye? But a dagger was flung through the air, slicing through exactly where Dumbledore might have been a moment later. Harry stared at it as it buried itself in the stone below it, quivering lightly.

"Merlin," he mumbled, rubbing lightly at his chest. "Merlin, Dumbledore."

"You have a particularly keen eye," said Dumbledore, as though he had not just nearly been pierced by a dagger. Harry might have just handed him a crumpet.

"He was the youngest Seeker Hogwarts has seen for a hundred years," Ginny said shakily.

"Merlin," Harry mumbled again. He scanned the doorway for more traps, but it seemed empty now. "I think it's safe now," he said.

All three stepped forward. Whatever that dagger had been, it had been the last guardian of this secret space. Instead, Harry found himself plunged into pitch darkness until Ginny muttered "Lumos," and he found himself in what appeared to be the private room of an ascetic.

"I never saw this place," said Harry. Ginny seemed every bit as confused as he was, eyes wide and dark in the greenish light, her lip worried by her teeth. "You didn't either?"

"I… no," she said, shaking her head, a line forming on her brow. "No. I don't think so."

Gazing about the tiny room hidden behind the great statue of Salazar Slytherin – underneath its stone beard, to be precise – Harry once more had the uncanny impression that he'd stepped back in time. The secret chamber within the Chamber of Secrets must be exactly as Riddle had left it all those years ago: a tidy desk upon which stood a cauldron, a sheaf of papers, a stack of books, and a quill.

His eyes caught on the books. What had Riddle been reading down here in this secret within a secret? A moment later, his lip curled. "Wizarding genealogy," he muttered. "That figures." Beside the table was a small rubbish bin; the candy wrappers within it were old and faded. Riddle had sat here, eating candy, while the basilisk lurked outside, ready to strike at his order.

"Do you see it?" Dumbledore asked.

Startled, Harry looked at him. There was far more urgency in his tone than there had been when he'd calmly dealt with the basilisk. "See…?"

"That diary," said Dumbledore. "The diary. Is it here?"

"Oh," said Ginny. "Let me look…"

The three of them had stood in a tight knot, ready to guard against anything that might come their way. Harry eased away from it to peer closer at the shelves. The diary had not been flashy: rather, it had been a plain thing that could've been bought anywhere in Muggle London. It had only been its contents that had been in any way extraordinary.

"Lucius Malfoy had it," said Harry. "In the future, I mean. He's the one who gave it to Ginny."

"I remember," said Dumbledore, very grave. "However, I hoped that he would have kept it here before passing it on to one of his Death Eaters. It's certainly safe enough."

Ginny made a face. "What'd it need to be kept safe for?"

"Yeah," said Harry, "It nearly killed us. It took a basilisk fang to destroy it."

"One of the few ways it could be," said Dumbledore. "And yet… I had the thought that it is human nature to want to protect one's… memories. He may seem inscrutable, but I have hoped there would be recognizable motivation behind that dark glamor of his."

Harry blinked. "What?" he said blankly.

Dumbledore looked at him. "Searching for Tom Riddle's humanity," he said, "is the same as searching for his weakness."

"It may be hidden," said Ginny. "The diary, I mean. That would be just like Tom. Accio diary."

The tone of her voice told Harry that she did not truly expect the slim volume that had done so much damage to fly from a hidden corner and plop into her hand. All three of them were surprised by the sudden shuffling of papers and a small thud: A book tried to leap forward, but was pinned down by the weight of the wizarding genealogy texts.

"Is that–?"

"No, that's not it," said Ginny, slowly, wand pointed directly at the stack of books.

"But it's something," said Harry.

With a subtle wave and twist of his wand, Dumbledore drew the book out. It was a battered old composition book with half its cover rotted off and pages thick with moisture. "Preservation charm," murmured Dumbledore, "but rudimentary and clumsily done." In the air, the book turned over and lay supine, water-logged pages flopping. "It's not up to his standards… I believe he was a child…"

Ginny's arm brushed against his: Harry seized the opportunity and her hand, clasping it tightly in his. It was not the same diary, but there was a coldness emanating from it nevertheless. It combined with the deeper chill of the Chamber of Secrets, seeping into his bones. Ginny moved even closer, tucking against his side, offering him some small amount of warmth.

"What does it say?" Ginny asked.

"Oh, it's hidden," said Dumbledore. "He was quite skilled, even at… oh, say, thirteen. No older than fifteen."

Harry opened his mouth to ask how the composition book was protected, when Dumbledore drew himself up, wand pointed straight upward – like the opening position in a duel – then said, in a voice filled with terrible echoes: "SHOW ME." It was not a charm or a jinx, hex or curse. It was a simple demand.

Water sprayed outward from the book. Tugging Ginny behind him, Harry raised his arm over his face. But it was not the deluge that came suddenly from the book obeying Dumbledore's command. Instead, mist settled over him. Dropping his arm, Harry gaped at what was in front of him.

Oily sludge hung in the air, smeared in a rough, protective circle around Riddle's composition book. There was a noise like a suction cup loosening, and then – without any warning – there were images floating atop the oil, murky and dark.

"I said show me."

There was a jerk in Harry's navel – it was the ghost of what it felt like to travel by portkey – and he was pulled forward and then down–

–and into a classroom so crowded that not only the chairs contained seated children, but they also sat perched upon the desks, the wide window sills, and stood lurking at the back. But they did not look real, not in the way that Harry was accustomed to seeing during his jaunts in Dumbledore's pensieve. These figures appeared drawn in pencil and painted in with watercolor: some were indistinct smears of color, others were drawn in sharper relief.

There was a dull roar of noise, enough so that Harry wanted to cover his ears. But then, he picked out a thread of conversation that buzzed louder and clearer than the rest.

"-get to the Halls of Heritage, Myrtle. I'll help you look."

Two small girls seated atop a desk were suddenly standing out from the rest of the crowd. With a jolt of recognition, Harry realized one of the little girls was Moaning Myrtle: she was pale and pudgy, her face was drawn in a pout, and two fat tears welled in her eyes.

"It's hopeless, Olive," she said. "I'm just a Muggle."

Someone nearby sniggered. "Mudblood."

"You aren't… we'll look on every tapestry!" Myrtle's friend seemed to be trying to cajole her into a better mood. "We'll find you, even if we have to hide and let everyone return on without us."

Harry was just trying to make sense of what he'd seen when all the colors and people swirled together to create a clump of darkness. Breath coming out quicker now, Harry grasped Ginny's hand even tighter.

"I think," said Dumbledore, vague in the darkness, "that is enough for now."

There was another jerk in Harry's navel: The secret room in the Chamber of Secrets snapped into place around him. Suddenly disoriented, Harry swayed to the side and might have fallen were Ginny not there to keep him upright.

"What," said Ginny, "in Merlin's name was that?"

Dumbledore was still eyeing the book as sludge dripped from it. The oily substance disappeared before hitting the floor.

But something else had caught Harry's eye. His stomach constricted. They had been so distracted by the sludge-covered diary, that Harry had missed the odd shadow beneath it. Empty as the drawer was, there ought not to be a shadow there.

"I think something's here," Harry said abruptly, pointing. "Look at that shadow, there…"

It was somehow not a surprise when Dumbledore removed the shadow from the drawer, spinning it in midair until it revealed the actual diary, the real diary that had once so tormented Ginny. All three of them frowned at it as it shed more and more blackness, revealing more of itself, including the engraving of Tom Riddle's name on the cover.

"It's here," said Ginny, with loathing.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, eyes flaring behind half-moon glasses. He'd exchanged his violet-lensed ones for his regular pair. Harry did the same. His own were a bit crooked for having been kept in his pocket.

The shadows about the diary shrank fully away.

"But… Lucius Malfoy had it," said Harry. "In the future, I mean. Why is it here?"

"In my mind," said Dumbledore, "the better question is why Tom Riddle ever took this diary — and the, ah, memories it contains — out of this room."

Harry traded a glance with Ginny. "Sir," he said, "he wanted the Chamber of Secrets to be opened. He wanted to terrorize the Muggleborns with the basilisk." He pointed at the diary. "And he used that to do it."

"My question is when he came to get it," said Ginny, grimacing. "We know it's some time after now and… you know."

Harry did know. Two years from now, in 1981, Voldemort would seemingly be defeated; there would be no time for him to distribute poisonous gifts to his followers. What had been the impetus for Voldemort to retrieve his diary from this place? What had happened to make him want to send it out into the world and bring others to this place?

An idea scratched at him.

But before Harry could explore it further, Dumbledore was summoning the diary toward him, hand out-stretched.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore was saying, "it can tell us these things."

"Professor!" Ginny said sharply. "Don't touch it!"

"There is much we can learn from it," Dumbledore said quietly. "More than we know, I would guess. Perhaps it can tell us of its association with Simon Burke, and other–"

"It won't tell us anything," Harry said firmly. "It will only show you what it wants you to see–"

"-and it'll hurt you while it does," said Ginny.

"You should just destroy it," finished Harry. His heart beat rapidly in his chest. He knew the allure of the diary; Ginny knew it even better than he did. The memory of Tom Riddle trapped in that diary would not give any of the answers that Dumbledore wanted from it. "Please, Dumbledore."

"Don't let that foul thing back out of here," Ginny said flatly.

Dumbledore was silent for a long moment.

"Professor…"

"Wisdom," said Dumbledore, "prevails."

The shield around the diary constricted. The eerie light faded into nearly nothing. This small, secret room could not be considered cheerful, not by any possible stretch of Harry's imagination. But the fraught moment was gone. The diary, as though sensing it, quivered.

Dumbledore spoke into the silence once more. "Why improve on perfection?" he murmured. Diary held aloft before him, he led them out of the secret room and into the large chamber. Harry ducked under the stony trailings of Slytherin's beard. It was not until they splashed across to the corpse of the basilisk that Harry realized what Dumbledore meant. It was fitting that the diary be destroyed by its fiercest guardian.

"Professor," said Ginny, "may I do it?"

And even more fitting that Ginny be the one to wield it.

"But of course, Miss Peverell," Dumbledore said, as cordial as though he were offering her tea.

Harry was close enough to Ginny that he could feel the warmth of her as she painstakingly severed one of the basilisk's fangs, using her wand with the skill of a surgeon. Once the fang was loosened, the shield protecting the diary evaporated, sweeping upward toward the invisible ceiling. He felt her pause, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Thoughts flowed between them: What would happen to the future – their future – if Ginny destroyed the diary now, long before it was loosed upon her?

Do it, he willed her.

In the shadow of Ginny's brief moment of indecision, Tom Riddle slid in.

Even paler, and more translucent than a ghost, he appeared in the air above the diary. It was quiet, this version of Tom Riddle; it glared back and forth from the corpse of the basilisk, to Ginny.

It opened its mouth–

–but Ginny did not give it a chance to speak. With a fierce look on her face, she ignored the phantom Riddle so completely it may as well have not existed. The basilisk slammed into the diary with enough force that the leather cover cracked completely in two. Ink leaked out, pooling on the stones like blood. The pale Riddle vanished as though he had never been.