"It's a basilisk! Don't look it in the eye," Tom yells as he runs. "It'll kill you!"
Once again Tom is grateful for the research they've done with Tom's 'help'- he can tell Harry he just managed to figure that bit of information out, without it being too much of a stretch.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tom sees where Ginny is still struggling with the rope and sighs, changing directions.
The girl is pathetic now, sure. But she does have the potential to grow into a loyal follower, and Tom did decide that he'd help her if the opportunity arose. He falls to his knees beside her and grabs the ropes, turning them to dust.
"Thanks," Ginny says as she clambers to her feet.
"Get to the entrance of the Chamber," Tom says. "Hide, if you can. Keep your eyes closed."
"After Potter," the puppet hisses. Delightful- the basilisk has arrived. "Return him to me alive- kill the others if you come across them."
The basilisk lets out a long hiss of wordless rage, and slithers off with a loud sh-sh sound that gets quiet the further away it gets- Harry must have run all the way out of the main chamber.
"On second thought," Tom says, as he quickly casts a disillusionment spell over the girl. "Probably best to stay put."
Ginny has gone very pale, and sinks back to the ground in a crouching position.
"Come out, come out wherever you are," the puppet mocks, sounding close. Shit. Tom steps back, nods to the terrified Ginny, then turns tail and runs in the opposite direction.
He doesn't need to worry about Harry right now- the boy can hold his own, and the basilisk is under orders not to kill him. At worst, he'll be petrified. So instead, Tom needs to focus on the root of the issue: himself.
When he gets far enough away from the girl, Tom dismisses the silencing charm he'd stuck on himself.
Who knew- the spells he'd forced himself to learn wandless and wordless to get him through the summer bombings alive lend themselves to combat situations as well.
Tom ducks and rolls as his footfalls echo through the cavern- it's a good thing he did, because by the sound of it, a spell had very nearly taken his head off. Tom comes to a stop directly behind one of the columns, breathing fast.
Tom pauses, head cocked. Is that… is that music? What the-
The column he's behind explodes, and Tom decides not to worry about it as he ducks and covers his head. He transfigures the debris falling around him into ash.
"You can't hope to stand against me," the puppet says. It's voice sounds close. Tom grits his teeth and throws a blasting curse in its general direction.
"Impressive," the puppet says. "You have potential-"
Tom feels a wave of rage pulse through him.
"Let me stop you right there," Tom says coldly, standing up and turning to face the puppet in one smooth motion. Its got its wand raised slightly, but its posture is relaxed. "I will be very clear here: you have more hope of recruiting Dumbledore to your side than you do me."
Becoming subservient to anyone is off the table as it is, but to serve the pathetic mess that has become of him? The very idea makes Tom sick.
"Very well," the puppet says. Quick as a whip, it shoots another spell at Tom, who twists out of the way just in time.
"You can't possibly hope to survive this," the puppet sighs. "Why not give in now?"
Tom lets out a snort and the puppet looks at him quizzically. "You do realize you've been bested by a child more than twice, now. Forgive me for not being overly worried about my odds."
Tom shoots another blasting spell, but at the ceiling above the puppet this time. The puppet doesn't even look up, just deflects the falling chunks of rock away from it and towards Tom, who turns them into a dense cloud of ash with a wave of his hand.
Tom uses the cover to do another silencing charm, shoot a blasting spell towards the puppet, and run behind yet another column.
"What are you going on about," the puppet growls. It blows the dust away with a gust of wind. "That incident eleven years ago was a fluke."
Damn, the blasting spell missed. Tom is really off his game.
Then, what the puppet had said sinks in.
Tom doesn't know exactly how much he's changed, but that had sounded like genuine confusion- could it be that the puppet truly doesn't know what Tom had been alluding to? That shouldn't be possible- unless…
"Oh, forgive me. I mistook you for Voldemort- you're both so pathetic, it's an easy enough mistake to make," Tom mocks before casting the strongest disillusionment spell he can on himself and running past the puppet. It means he's had to drop the disillusionment on the girl, but that's the least of his concerns right now.
The puppet shoots spell after spell at him, but the disillusionment does its job and the spells each miss by a wide margin. Panting, Tom comes to a stop behind yet another column and drops the spell back down to a mild one.
Tom wipes his forehead- that had taken a lot out of him. He's going to have to be careful. But it had also done its job: the puppet is mad, now.
"Wrong! I am the greatest Dark Lord the world has ever seen! Look at what I've accomplished!"
"You seem entirely unaware of your own legacy," Tom decides, stepping out from behind the column. He sidesteps a spell.
"Let me clear it up for you: Harry Potter? Not only did he utterly destroy you eleven years ago, he did so again a year ago. It's no fluke- you really are just that washed up."
The puppet screams in rage and shoots an avada at Tom, who ducks just in time. Tom darts behind another pillar, heart pounding in his chest at the close call. He really needs to get his hand on a wand- blasting spells will only get you so far.
If he only had access to dark magic, none of this would even be an issue.
"I'm surprised you managed to ensnare even Lockhart," Tom says before he casts another silencing spell and slips further into the shadows. He needs to keep the puppet talking.
"Pah," the puppet spits. "That fool? All it took was a whisper here and there, a promise or two of glory, and the man was done for. I didn't even have to lift a finger to get him to put me on. Months I spent, feeding him ideas and promises, and months he spent, feeding me right back."
Tom winces. He'd hoped his suspicion had been incorrect, but no- it makes too much sense not to be true: that's why the puppet is wearing a circlet, why it doesn't remember last year. It's a horcrux. Voldemort had made more than one.
He really had been that stupid.
The horcrux laughs cruelly, continuing: "In fact, it was Potter that led the man straight to me- Lockhart found the Room, managed to figure out how it worked, and then asked it for power and glory. And as it always does, the room provided."
Tom opens his mouth to respond again when he hears it: the sound is hard to describe, but it sounds a hell of a lot like if a scream of pain was hissed out by a giant snake monster. It's accompanied by a piercing shriek that Tom couldn't place even if he wanted to.
He doesn't know what Harry is doing, but it's probably stupid, reckless, and until today thought of as impossible. And whatever it is, Harry needs to keep doing it.
The horcrux screams in rage, then hisses, "to me! To me- argh!"
Tom has taken the opportunity to bolt to where the horcrux is, launching himself at it. He has one hand squeezing the wrist of the hand holding the wand and the other on its other wrist, keeping the hand stretched far, far from Tom. The last thing Tom wants is a blasting spell to the face.
The horcrux hisses- not in parseltongue, just in anger- and staggers back.
Tom grimaces and digs his fingers into the horcrux's wrist. The horcrux drops Lockhart's wand, which clatters to the ground.
Unfortunately, the horcrux recovers from its apparent disbelief that Tom's resorted to brawling and begins fighting back in earnest, tripping Tom. Tom falls, but has hooked a leg behind one of the horcrux's and takes it down with him.
Tom hits his head hard on the ground. He's dazed for only a second, but it's enough for the horcrux to get a hand up to his face. Tom grits his teeth and rolls them both to the side, disrupting whatever violent spell the horcrux had been about to wandlessly cast on Tom's head.
Tom frantically reaches into the horcrux's pocket, grabbing blindly for the wand that had been stolen from him, but the horcrux beats him to it; grabbing the wand and holding it up to Tom's chin. Tom whips his free arm at it, knocking the hand away. The wand goes flying, and Tom holds a hand out to summon it.
Before he can, though, the horcrux has his wrists trapped in its hands and flips them back over. Tom hits his head again and has to take another moment to shake away some fuzziness.
"I don't know who you think you are," the horcrux says, voice shaking in fury, "but you will learn the meaning of true pain today."
Tom can't hear over the roaring of rage in his ears. He's never felt this angry in his life- it feels like his veins are aflame with it.
"Who-" Tom huffs, pushing against the horcrux's vice-like grip on his wrists. "Who I think I am?"
The horcrux narrows its eyes and squeezes Tom's wrists. Tom hisses in pain- he doesn't think bones are supposed to creak like that. The horcrux smiles.
The smile falls as Tom lets out a laugh- his real laugh.
"I'll tell you who I am," Tom spits.
Then all at once he stops pushing against the horcrux, and it pitches forward enough for Tom to kick out and shove the horcrux off of him. Tom jumps with the horcrux, angling so he lands on top of it.
He wrenches one of his wrists out of the horcrux's hands and grabs its face, pressing down hard. He feels the horcrux's nose break, and it lets out a huff of pain. Good.
"My name," Tom whispers, leaning in close. "Is Tom Riddle."
The horcrux's eyes widen. Then with a flash of green light, it goes still.
The circlet falls off of its head and rolls to a stop a couple feet from the body. Tom sits back, shaking out his hand. Who knew- casting a wandless and nonverbal unforgivable makes the hand tingly.
Tom surveys his work, backing off of the body. He gives it a kick. Yep. Definitely dead. Not bad for a first try.
Now if only Tom could shake the feeling that he's forgetting something.
"Tom!" Ginny yells.
Tom whirls around, and can only watch as the basilisk rears up, mouth open and fangs dripping with venom. Its eyes thankfully seem to have been gouged out, but it is still a sixty-foot long snake with the most potent venom in the world.
Tom feels frozen. He has no time to react- but Harry does.
Harry comes out of nowhere, leaping in front of Tom and shoving him backwards. He lifts his sword- where the fuck did he get a sword- just as the basilisk bears down on the two of them. Harry's aim is true, though, and the sword pierces the top of the basilisk's mouth and sinks into its brain.
The basilisk lurches and for one horrible moment, Tom thinks it's still somehow alive- but no. It stops twitching after just another moment more, and then falls dead.
"Thank you," Tom says shakily, clutching his chest. "That was a close one, Harry."
Harry is staring at Tom, green eyes wide. He's covered in dust and has a bloody scrape on his face.
"Harry?" Tom says, cocking his head.
Harry wordlessly reaches a shaking and bloody hand up to his other arm, the one that had been wielding the sword. Then, the boy's knees buckle and he sinks to the ground.
Tom follows Harry down, heart lurching unpleasantly as he sees what he'd previously missed: there, embedded in Harry's upper arm- a six-inch long fang, glistening with blood and venom.
"Harry?" Tom says again.
He distantly registers Ginny coming up beside them- she lets out a cry, but Tom can't bring himself to feel one way or another about that.
"Sorry," Harry says. His eyes are glazed and unfocused. "Sorry."
Wait.
Tom feels a hysterical laugh bubble up and out of his chest. With some effort, he swallows it back down.
What- what is happening? He can't fail.
They need to get Harry out of there. To the, to the hospital wing. Or, there's probably a potion for this, right? Tom doesn't know of one, but it's been fifty years. There's probably an antivenom now-
Tom reaches a shaking hand to his own face. It's wet, for some reason. He doesn't know what's going on. Is he bleeding?
Harry's eyes focus on Tom. "It's alright- don't worry Tom. Everything will be alright." Harry yawns and blinks sleepily. "Everything is spinning so- I'm just… I'm going to take a nap. I'm so tired. If I don't- tell Remus I'm sorry, okay?"
"No," Tom grits out, feeling a rush of rage that rivals what he'd felt at the horcrux.
Tom jostles the boy, a little harder than perhaps necessary. He can't lose Harry- he's much too valuable of an asset. And Tom had worked so hard to get the boy to trust him-
"No," Tom says again. "Stay awake, Harry. Don't you dare fall asleep."
"Tom," Ginny whispers brokenly.
Tom rounds on her, teeth bared. It's like the girl is asking to get crucioed.
Ginny has tears pouring down her face.
"Tom," she says again.
"What!" Tom shouts, pulling Harry's body close.
Ginny just points. Tom turns and his blood roars in his ears as he sees none other than Dumbledore's familiar, fluttering his wings. Fawkes cocks his head, staring quizzically at Tom.
Tom wastes no time- he tears the fang out of Harry's arm and flings it far away. Harry cries out in pain and the sound echoes in Tom's head right alongside the rushing blood.
"Fix this," Tom growls through gritted teeth at the bird, holding tight to Harry's arm. "You fix this right now. I will personally tear Dumbledore limb from limb if you don't fucking fix this."
Fawkes ignores Tom entirely. Instead, he looks sorrowfully down at Harry.
The bird hops forward, lowers his head down to the bloody wound, and blinks softly. Pearly tears fall from his eyes, sizzling softly as they land on Harry's arm.
Tom holds his breath, staring as the wound goes from a sickly gray-green color, to a healthier looking yellow, then red, then closes entirely.
Harry is horribly still for a moment, then all at once color returns to his face and he takes in a big gulp of air, sitting up and pushing Tom off of him.
Tom lets out a little huff of air as he falls back on his heels, feeling lightheaded. Lightheaded and- well, almost as though he'd just been hollowed out of all his rage and then refilled with, with… some sort of feeling. An emotion that he can't place.
Tom pushes all that to the side, and is just about to ask Harry if he's alright when- "oh I don't think so, you overrated hunk of metal!"
Tom turns just in time to see a furious Ginny swinging the bloodied sword down at the now suspiciously smoking circlet. Wait- is that the Sorting Hat hanging out of her pocket?
Tom is about to tell her that a sword isn't going to do anything against that particular crown, but to his amazement it slices clean through.
Tom stares. All he can think of is that it's a damn good thing he'd decided to save Ginny's life too- she really will make a fine follower one day.
The chamber falls into silence.
"What was that?" Harry asks, staring at the crown. "Another artifact of Slytherin's?"
"Must be," Tom says tiredly.
"But then how could Voldemort possess it?"
Tom blinks. Ah, shit. What to say here…
"Oh. Well then, maybe not," he says carefully. "I think Voldemort must have discovered the Diary, either just before or after I found it- and decided to try to replicate it. Or something."
"Huh," Harry says. "What a dick."
Tom is inclined to agree.
Then, Ginny bursts into laughter, letting the sword fall to the ground with a clanging sound as her shoulders shake. After a moment Harry joins in.
Tom blinks at the two children: they're battered, bruised, caked in dirt and blood, and laughing so hard their sides are going to burst. Then he turns to look at the shattered circlet, the former defense professor, the giant snake, the sword, and the phoenix.
Tom doesn't see what's so funny. He joins in anyways.