"Well done, Ginny," Harry said fervently.
"Yes, well," she said, pleased, "I heard how someone else did it. You know. Once upon a time."
Harry let out a dark chuckle, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, and hugging her to him, tightly, and then letting her go. Triumph curled in his belly; he saw the same thing reflected in her eyes. The diary, and the phantom within it, was gone, gone long before it could enchant Ginny.
"Professor," Ginny asked, without taking her eyes off Harry, a sort of giddiness in her tone, "does this mean I will never have to see this diary? That it'll never… you know, possess me? Or anyone?"
Dumbledore was quiet, staring down at the diary. Harry had the impression that he was performing swift calculations. "Yes," he said finally, "This diary is gone now. The memories living within it are gone forever."
The triumph Harry was feeling had dissipated. "I know you wanted to learn from it," Harry said firmly, "but, really–"
"No," said Dumbledore. "Well, yes, I did. And it took some persuading myself to listen to the two of you. And I realize now how close I had come to opening up the diary." He looked up at Harry, blue eyes troubled. "I would have resisted it, you can be sure of it," he told them. "It would not have been able to sink its hooks in me as it did to you, Miss Peverell. But there was a subtle charm compelling me to open it, to see it, to lose myself within it."
"A compulsion charm?" Ginny asked. "That makes sense."
"It does," confirmed Harry, remembering when he had first come across the diary; it had felt like meeting an old, forgotten friend. He had wanted to write in it. "I knew it wanted me to write in it. It does make sense."
"It does," said Dumbledore. "And it does not."
Harry looked at him. The eerie light of the Chamber of Secrets, green and brackish, flowed oddly over Dumbledore's face.
"This," said Dumbledore, with a sweeping gesture, "makes sense." He nudged the diary with his foot. "Protecting this diary with the basilisk, with hidden doorways and secret rooms… that makes sense. For… these memories of his represent a… precious part of Tom Riddle. He would want to keep it hidden from all eyes. And yet… he placed a compulsion charm on it so that if it was found, it would be sure to be written in."
"Well, that's how he was able to possess me," said Ginny.
Dumbledore was silent another long moment. "And it was not kept here," he muttered. "He wanted it out in the world, not kept hidden here."
"But why is that so important?" Harry asked.
"Because," said Dumbledore, "if one has a most prized, most secret possession, one doesn't simply hand it over to one of his followers with the intention of putting it into circulation. Not unless… not unless it is not, in fact, a singular thing."
Harry traded a glance with Ginny. "Sir?" he asked, tentatively.
"I do believe," Dumbledore murmured, more to himself than to them, "that this diary is but one of several."
Cold squeezed at Harry's insides.
"More?" Ginny said, aghast. "More of these diaries?"
But a door seemed to shut on Dumbledore's face. He made a swift gesture. "Forgive me," he said bluntly, straightening. "I got caught up in my own thoughts. None of what I said must be true," he added. Harry had the strange sense he was back-pedaling. "Many of Tom Riddle's motivations are unclear to me–"
"Your guesses are generally better than others," said Ginny.
"It's simply the fact I taught him as a child," said Dumbledore. "Now, shall we?" he gestured back the way they had come. "I fear I have taken enough of your time today. Good thing it is still a holiday, otherwise I might have earned strong words from your teachers. Ah, but we ought not to leave this lying around, ought we?" With a flick of his wand and the blink of an eye, all evidence of the battle with the basilisk and the death of the diary disappeared. Harry wondered where it had vanished to; he wondered if Dumbledore would ever tell him.
Taking Ginny's hand again, he walked in silence, plodding on in Dumbledore's wake. The secrecy did not fill him with resentment, as it would have before his venture to the past. There had been such dread on Dumbledore's face, horror in his tone when he'd suggested there were other diaries that Voldemort had written, that Harry could not help but wonder if Dumbledore did not want to believe it.
Nor did Harry. The idea of more diaries hidden about Britain, waiting for one of Voldemort's followers to give it to some unsuspecting person, was horrifying. Palms sweaty, he squeezed Ginny's hand. She squeezed his back just as tightly.
"Professor." A thought had just occurred to him. "What will happen when Riddle returns for his diary? He'll be angry." Harry gestured toward the empty Chamber. "Won't he?"
Dumbledore looked at him. "There are… certain defenses to Hogwarts that come down when there are powerful storms," he said. "I intend to take advantage of the next one and destroy this place. Nothing of it will remain. Let Tom be uncertain if it was done with a purpose or not. He will be angry, yes. I'd rather not give him a target for his anger."
Harry, who had been the target of Voldemort's anger before he could walk and talk, remained quiet.
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It was a far more swift journey back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Once they were outside the Chamber itself – the doors closed behind them with a boom; the emerald eyes of the snakes seemed cold and reproving – Dumbledore conjured three brooms for them. They were old and slow, but they did the trick: Once they came to the large, round pipe, they were able to fly up it. Harry held his breath as much as he could. It was an unpleasant smell that surrounded them and clung to them.
In minutes, they were back in the bathroom. Dumbledore was still as remote as though he stood on another continent, though he was not more than five feet away, climbing off his broom, and vanishing all three the moment Harry swung his leg over and landed on the ground.
An orb was dug out of his pocket. Dumbledore flicked it into the air and it spun, catching the light, a ghostly, translucent tail spinning out of it.
Once released, Moaning Myrtle gave Dumbledore a reproving look and flounced into the closest cubicle and began to wail.
"We have been given much to think about," said Dumbledore, gaze far away. In his hand was the first of Riddle's diaries, the one that did not have the dark glamor of the other one.
"Will you tell us if there's anything…?"
Ginny's voice trailed off. Behind them, the toilet gurgled ominously in time with Moaning Myrtle's caterwauling.
Dumbledore looked at them; he seemed to be searching Harry's face for something. "I do believe I will," he said, as though faintly surprised. "You two are… truly an astonishing amount of help. However, spring term is nearly upon us. And I need time."
"To find Simon Burke?" Harry suggested.
"Yes. Among many other things. And if you will forgive my abrupt departure, time is fleeting." He hesitated. "You saved my life tonight."
Harry shuffled his feet. "It might not have been… you know… fatal."
"You do yourself a disservice," said Dumbledore. That was how he left them, striding away and out the door. It closed gently behind him.
Harry stared after him, wondering if Dumbledore would make good on his word. Tonight, Harry had provided him with the key to enter the Chamber of Secrets. No doubt Dumbledore could have entered the Chamber on his own, but it would have taken time… and what had he just said? That time was fleeting?
So lost in thought was he that he did not notice that the wails had faded until Moaning Myrtle stepped right through him. It was as though he'd stepped into an icy bath.
"What was that for?" Harry roared.
Myrtle ignored this. "Did you say Simon Burke?" she asked with salacious interest.
"You know him?" Ginny asked, curious.
Myrtle adjusted her glasses. "Of course I know him. Everyone knows what happened to him." Her transparent lips puckered. "Was his body stolen? From St. Mungo's?"
"Er, no," said Harry.
"He'd woken up by then," put in Ginny. "He woke up a couple of months ago."
"He woke up?" Myrtle gasped.
"Yes," said Harry, glancing impatiently at the door through which Dumbledore had already escaped. "But now he's missing and Dumbledore's trying to find him."
"How did you know him, Myrtle?" Ginny asked, very kindly. "Were you two close?"
But kindness seemed to be the wrong tactic with Moaning Myrtle. Her face contorted as she seemed to remember that she did not like them, and that Dumbledore had trapped her. The curiosity at Simon Burke's name was gone: There was now only rage. Light winked on her glasses: Her eyes seemed to go opaque. There was a rumbling roar–
–Harry just had time to wrap his arms around Ginny before a tidal wave of cold, cold water splashed over them.
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Despite the drying charms, cold had seeped into Harry and was reluctant to let go of him. Shivering, he allowed Ginny to lead him back through the winding halls and moving staircases of Hogwarts. By the time they reached the Fat Lady, his teeth were chattering. The cold, January wind blew in through the windows, rattling them. In a low voice, Ginny told her the password. He paused just inside the portrait, scanning for a seat beside the fire. Stomach sinking, he realized the weather had driven everyone inside: His fellow Gryffindors stretched out and slumped over every available surface near the fire.
"Come," said Ginny, tugging on the sleeve of his robes.
Harry obeyed.
She led him, not to his room, but to hers. They slipped inside.
"I'm freezing," she announced, shuddering.
"Me too," Harry murmured.
Ginny strode over to her bed and got into it, "Hurry up," she said, holding the covers back for him.
This warmed him slightly, enough so that he drew his wand and muttered a warming charm on her bed itself, just before he climbed in after her. The yellow blanket was draped over a chair: Harry used his wand to bring it to them, settling it over them before he burrowed fully under the covers, tucking his wand under the pillow and wrapping his arms around Ginny. Her breath tickled his neck: They seemed to sigh at exactly the same time.
Burying his nose in her hair, he breathed in the scent of her hair. Underneath the smell of the Chamber of Secrets, moist and reptilian, the flowery fragrance lingered.
"I should wash ," he murmured, certain he had no such pleasant fragrance, though he was reluctant to leave.
Her arms tightened around him. "Stay," she said, voice muffled by his chest.
"All right," he said easily, "I'm convinced." But, shivering, he withdrew his wand from under the pillow and performed a couple of freshening charms on himself. "There."
She rubbed his back. "You were fine."
At some point after she'd awakened from the draught of living death, she'd hung three jars of pale yellow flames. She murmured a sleepy command and they came to life, brightening the room. They flickered warmly, tossing lights into her red hair. Fascinated, he toyed with it, watching it become alive with light. Bit by bit, the cold began to ease away.
"We were so young," she said.
"In the Chamber?" He asked, though he didn't have to. "We were. You, especially."
"Eleven and stupid," she said, voice dry as leaves.
"You weren't—"
A gentle touch to his lips quieted him. "I just brought it up, but I don't…"
"Want to talk about it?" Harry finished for her.
"Yeah," she said. "I'd rather be warm." Then, rather sternly, she said: "And you've still got your disguise on, Harry, do take it off, would you?"
This felt strangely more intimate than sliding into bed with her, but in seconds it was done, and he was himself again, and she was nudging her way into his embrace once more.
Harry held her tighter, wrapping his arms fully around her, wanting her to have as much of his warmth as he could give. For one icy moment, he remembered that moment in the Chamber, when his memory had superimposed on his vision, and he'd seen her down there, life nearly drained away by Tom Riddle. She might well have been in his charmed composition book, her face waxen and lifeless. He blew out a breath, squeezed her tighter, and forced the thought from his mind. Ginny's ordeal was long in the past.
Then, a different sort of ice touched him.
"Sorry!" she said when he yelped.
Her cold hand was now on the bare flesh of his side where she'd pulled up his shirt.
"Damn!" he marveled. "Your hands are cold."
"I know," she mumbled, pulling away.
"No, leave it," he said, pressing her hand back where it was. "It's fine."
"So noble," she teased.
Harry hummed a little, settling in, burrowing them further under the covers; half her face was obscured by the yellow blanket Molly Weasley had made for her at Harry's request.
Gradually, his thoughts warmed along with his body. The Chamber receded once more into the past. Ginny's hand was no longer a block of ice against the sensitive skin of his stomach: her touch was warm and light, her thumb stroking him in such a way that was not at all ticklish, and yet…
Harry brushed her hair out of her face, cupped her cheek, and kissed her. This kiss, gentle and sweet, served to banish the lingering gloom of the Chamber and Tom Riddle's adolescent evil. The last of the ice left Harry's belly; the bleak memories no longer had power over him. How could they, with Ginny's hand on his bare back, her lips on his, their breaths mingling and tongues tangling?
Her fingers tripped up his spine. Harry pulled away, looking down on her. The pale yellow light made her irises even brighter. There was fire there, in her expression, that had nothing to do with her charmed jars. Answering heat arrowed downward. Her lips parted: Harry knew she could feel him stirring against her — how could she not? — and his heart made a great leap in his chest.
Ginny pressed tighter against him, kissing him with enough force to make his head spin. Her nails pressed into his skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to urge him closer. Harry went willingly, rolling half on top of her, kissing her as hard as he had the night of his mum and dad's wedding. It was infinitely safer here, in this room, with its locked door. There was no one to see them, to question them, or to interrupt them.
Harry pulled away some time later, breath coming in pants. Pleasure blurred his vision, but she was smiling at him, he could feel her smile like a kiss upon his skin. "Ginny…" he breathed. There was a question in the way he said her name.
In reply, she pushed against him, hand sliding into the thin fabric of his trousers, gripping his hip. Their lower bodies pressed together even more intimately than they had the other night. Harry whuffed out a breath, his erection throbbing, his thoughts circling one thing and one thing only, that this was happening, was going to happen, at this moment, with her.
"Harry," she whispered, squeezing his hip.
In reply, he rolled over, settling himself fully atop her. He wanted this move to be smooth: It was not. His elbow trapped her hair and his hand was caught awkwardly under his body long enough that it made Ginny giggle… which did interesting things to where their bodies were pressed together. Her kiss tasted of her laughter, reminding him of the sparkling wine they'd had at the wedding. Pleasure fizzled through his veins; the cold of the Chamber was well and truly gone. Beneath the blankets, with Ginny's lips on his, her tongue in his mouth, her body beneath his… Harry had never been hotter.
Kissing was not enough. He fidgeted under the covers, shimmying his trousers and pants down, groaning when his penis made contact with the coolness of her sheets. Ginny didn't waste time: She used her wand and a charm to remove her own clothes beneath her waist.
"God, Gin," he said hoarsely. His heated flesh met hers. "Oh — damn — the charm—"
"I've got it," she said, and used it.
Harry pressed his forehead against hers. It was difficult to believe they were doing this, that Ginny had performed the charm that would ensure he, Harry, would not get her pregnant. He'd imagined this moment in every way possible; but those fevered dreams could not compare to the reality of what he was feeling pressed against her, skin to skin, her bare foot caressing his calf. His whole body flushed.
"You're sure?" he murmured.
"Oh, yes," she said, grinning up at him, her eyes bright. "I've thought of this for ages."
Harry huffed out another breath. He hadn't known he'd been keeping her waiting. Her legs widened as he shifted against her. The head of his penis brushed the slick heat of her. "Sorry," he muttered. Raising up on his elbow, grasping himself in hand. A later, he found what he was looking for. Pleasure shuddered through him; he could not look away from her as he pushed forward. Tight, wet heat enveloped him.
Her back arched and she let out a low sound.
"Are you all right?" Harry had stopped.
"Yeah," she said, wriggling beneath him. "It feels… ah… keep going… it's full, that's all."
Harry pushed forward another inch, sucking in a breath as he did — had anything in his life felt as good as this? — the feel of her, the sight of her, it was better than everything he'd ever experienced. His hips surged of their own accord.
She let out a short, sharp sound.
"Ginny—"
Her arms squeezed him tight, trapping him in place when he would have withdrawn. "It's fine," she said, breathless. "That was it — that was — I was warned. But it's over."
"If you—"
"I don't want to stop." There was a fierce, blazing look on her face, one he recognized. "Don't stop, Harry."
"I won't," he promised. He held still, though, long enough that he could feel his heartbeat in his erection. His lips parted. There was a tightness in the small of his back… it urged him to move, coiling tighter and tighter, until—
Harry obeyed it, pushing forward until he was fully inside her, his hips pressed tight against hers. Harry shivered at the feel of it, sweat beading on his brow. There were tiny flutters in the sheath around him. Thrust. Obedient again, Harry withdrew and pressed in again. Beneath him, Ginny gasped, legs tightening around him.
"Ginny." Her name was yanked out of him. "God, Ginny." He tried to go slow, wanting to make it last, but his body was making demands now.
They had not broken eye contact. Harry watched different expressions flicker across her face, and had a gratifying surge of pride when her eyelashes flickered and she let out a low moan.
"You feel so good," he told her. "Better than anything."
Her hand came up to cup his cheek. "So do you — ah! Like that!"
Harry had swiveled his hips, not quite on purpose, not that first time, but he did it again. Her nails dug into the small of his back, clutching him to her. Harry grinned down at her, his body shuddering. Suddenly, without warning, he was on the verge of coming.
His face tightened. "Ginny — I can't — I have to —"
Her hand pressed against his chest, through his shirt. "You can," she said softly.
He groaned. He'd wanted to wait for her, to make sure she'd have her enjoyment, but he wasn't going to be able to help it. Slick with sweat, he pressed into her again and again. Even though muffled by the blankets, he could hear the sound of their bodies meeting again and again, and an erotic scent teased him. Breathing in deeply, he pressed forward—
Harry came. Pleasure spasmed inside him and burst out as he swore and Ginny held him even tighter. His orgasm lasted long enough he was dizzy from it, sweat dripping into his eyes. His arms gave out and he only barely managed to roll, preventing himself from collapsing on top of Ginny. Her warm chuckle brought a reflexive smile to his face, but it was long moments before he'd pulled himself back together.
"That was…" Harry shook his head.
"Amazing? Wonderful? Fantastic?" she offered with a great deal of energy.
"All of the above." Harry squinted at her. She was propped up on her elbow, peering down at him, long hair tousled. "I'm sorry it wasn't — that you didn't—"
"I don't think that happens for many witches," Ginny told him. "Not the first time, I mean." She bit her lip, cheeks turning pink. "But I still loved it," she said, almost shy. "I loved it."
"Me too," said Harry.
Her fingers twined with his and she rested her head on his shoulder. Harry turned toward her, needing to feel her against him. Under the covers, their legs, too, twined together.
"I bet we'll get there," she offered.
"I won't rest until we do," said Harry. Then, after a moment's thought, he added: "I mean, I have to rest right now but later…" He kissed the top of her head, brushing his cheek against her silky hair. "Later. I promise."
In minutes, Harry was asleep. It had been the most pleasant night of his life — he was certain he'd fallen asleep smiling, every part of his body relaxed and content — which was why it came as a shock to him to find himself once more in the Chamber of Secrets, cold and alone, blinking in the greenish glow. This isn't right. It isn't right…
Muffled yelling had him turning back toward the entrance.
"Harry! HARRY!"
That voice had him running, now, sprinting up the dank rocks. "I'm here!" Harry shouted. "I'm here!"
"HURRY!"
The tunnel was caved in as it had been long ago and forward in time, but Ron's face peered out at him from a hole he'd made in the rocks. Harry stopped, shock once more reverberating through him. "Ron?" He said.
This was Ron, but not as Harry remembered him: Ron was taller, older, long hair held back in a queue. There was a great slash of a scar over his right eye. The other had tears standing in it. "—don't have much time, but we've finally found you—"
"Who?" Harry felt quite slow and stupid.
"We knew you weren't dead. We knew it."
"We aren't — we're in 1979–"
But Ron shook his head. "I can't hear you."
This time Harry shouted. "1979!"
"There you are," said Ron. "It was Moaning Myrtle, if you can believe it! Said she met Ginny, but she was Ginny Peverell—"
"That was just tonight," Harry said, astonished. He marched closer to Ron, astounded at the differences in his friend, wanting to ask all the sudden questions crowding into his thoughts, but they were jammed there. "But how did she know?"
"Ghosts don't always experience time the way we do," said Ron. "Listen — I don't have much time — but I'm going to keep working on this wall, Harry. I can take it down. I can." His voice deepened with determination. "I will."
Ron seemed to fade into the darkness, becoming one with it. All that was left was his bright hair, and a final whisper for Harry to tell Ginny they would find them.
A hand on his shoulder shook him awake. So vivid had the dream been that Harry was disoriented when he woke, unable to comprehend how he had gotten from the Chamber of Secrets and back into Ginny's bedroom. Confused, he blinked at the ceiling and the jars that hung from it. He'd just been talking to Ron. Hadn't he?
"You were dreaming," murmured Ginny.
"Oh," Harry said thickly. "Right."
"What were you dreaming about?" she asked. "You kept saying 'I'm here, I'm here'."
"I…" But the dream slipped from his grasp. Harry frowned, still sleepy, and said: "I don't remember…"
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Author's Note: Here's another arc done. I hope you enjoyed. I'm hoping the next arc will come sooner rather than later... I was sort of working on it in tandem with this one, so I've made good headway on it, at least. However, unless things change a lot, the next arc is going to be a bit bulkier than this one. Wish me luck! I really, really want to be at least mostly done before I go to Scotland.