After the ritual, Hermione retired to her dorm, digging in her trunk for Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, a book she hadn't picked up for years. She closed the curtains around her four-poster bed and laid back, just resting for a moment. The ritual must have taken more out of her than she'd thought – she felt ill, now, almost vaguely queasy. With a sigh, Hermione rolled over and opened the book, flipped quickly to the B's, and began to read.
Basilisks, she learned, were also called the King of Serpents and were classified as an XXXXX creature by the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, for the simple reason that they could not be controlled and were extremely dangerous.
Looking a basilisk in the eyes was deadly.
And they had bright yellow eyes.
Her own eyes went wide.
I knew that...
Hermione was furious and annoyed with herself for not realizing this before – Myrtle had told her about the yellow eyes of the monster months ago, but she'd forgotten. She'd gotten hung upon looking for serpents that petrified people, not ones that killed. How had she possibly forgotten so crucial?
Foolish, foolish girl. Hermione vowed to herself she'd pay more attention to details and do better in the future.
She grit her teeth and kept reading.
The basilisk was a created monster, Hermione was interested to learn – they were made by hatching a chicken egg underneath a toad. The first one ever had been made by a wizard known as Herpo the Foul, which made Hermione shudder. Being called "the Foul" in the annals of history… what a legacy to leave behind.
A basilisk could grow up to fifty feet in length and was a dark green color with bright yellow eyes. Its scales were armored, like the skin of a dragon, and could deflect spells. It also had enormous fangs that were incredibly venomous and deadly. The basilisk was somehow the "mortal enemy of spiders," and spiders were able to intuitively sense basilisks and would flee whenever they did.
The basilisk's own "mortal enemy" seemed to be roosters – it was said that the crowing of a rooster would kill one instantly. Hermione wondered if this somehow linked back to the basilisk's origin from a chicken egg. It seemed appropriate – magic was so fond of its neat circles. She wondered if Care of Magical Creatures, an option for an elective class in her third year, would cover things like that.
Hermione took notes as she researched. After she had gathered as much information as she could, she jotted down a list of the victims so far and began to puzzle them out.
Myrtle Warren had looked directly into the Basilisk's eyes and died, so that was straightforward. Hagrid had said someone else his year had been Petrified while doing potions. Mrs. Norris had been Petrified, as had Colin, with his camera frozen to his face.
It was Colin that made it click. He hadn't seen the basilisk directly – he'd seen it through his camera.
Armed with this knowledge, Hermione began to puzzle them out.
Mrs. Norris – hallway was flooded; saw reflection?
Colin – saw through his camera
Justin – saw through Nearly-Headless Nick
NHN – saw full-on, but already dead
Lilian – found next to suit of armor; saw reflection in breastplate?
Myrtle – saw head-on; died
Unknown boy – was doing potions; found with silvery potion spilled all over the floor. Reflection as well?
As Hermione wrote, she felt a cold descend upon her as she reasoned each incident out.
It was apparent that these people were very, very lucky. Given the power of the basilisk, it was incredible that only one person so far had died.
Hermione hadn't realized.
She'd made a bet about getting attacked by the basilisk with Lilian, thinking to get her Petrified. She hadn't realized she could have gotten Lilian killed.
Hermione swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. Lilian was okay; she had gotten lucky and not died. And Hermione would have died if she hadn't been able to heal herself enough to get up off the stones and not bleed out on the ground when Lilian had helped attack her. Hermione had gotten her revenge on her; it was sufficient, and she wouldn't think of it any longer.
The fact that only one person had died seemed practically a miracle, really. Hogwarts must have strong protective magics embedded into its very walls.
A basilisk, though… Hermione wondered how anyone could actually kill one of those. Apparently Parselmouths sometimes were able to exert some level of control over them, but would anyone really want to chance that? The simplest thing would be to chuck a dozen roosters down the sewer pipe and hope they crowed and killed the snake, but she doubted it would be that easy – how would the roosters know where to go?
It was with this worry that she wrote to Tom Riddle later that night. Her anxiety over the basilisk wouldn't abate, and she could tell it was taxing her body; her stomach was bothering her, tight and roiling as if she'd eaten something bad, and she she kept noticing her breath was coming in short breaths unless she forcibly regulated it. She needed answers to calm her worries, she needed a plan so she had a direction to move ahead with, and she was going to make sure Tom would give her what she needed.
Of course, first, she had to adopt the persona of a smart, utterly naive girl whom Tom wouldn't suspect.
She made a face as she wrote out pleasantries and platitudes to him, only paying half attention until she was able to gradually transition toward the heart of the matter.
People have died, Tom, and they're just having us wander around in pairs as if it protects us. She gnawed on her lip. I don't like it. We're genuinely in danger, and no one seems to truly give a damn.
The ink absorbed into the pages, words oozing back out a moment later.
Like I've said before, I can show you what happened when it opened last time, in my time.
Hermione snorted.
I'd really rather not. I don't need the horrors of your time in my mind as well as those of mine.
It's not like that, Tom argued. I managed to catch the perpetrator last time. Maybe with this knowledge you could do the same.
Hermione scoffed, annoyed.
"You framed Hagrid," she told the diary, not writing. "I know it was actually you behind it all, you stupid little twit. And I told you that."
I'm just so anxious, she wrote back. I wish I knew where the Chamber was. I could make sure to never go near it again.
You haven't seemed quite like yourself for several days, now, Tom responded. There was a pause, before new words followed. Hermione… are you okay?
Hermione hesitated, quill poised above the book.
No, she finally admitted. I'm not. Not really.
I'm sorry to hear that, Tom responded. Would you let me help you?
Help me how? Hermione wanted to know immediately. You're a book. What can you possibly do?
I'm more than a book, Tom insisted. I just want you to feel better. I can help, Hermione. Trust me.
Hermione frowned at the book.
"I can't believe a book is making me feel guilty," she muttered. "Just trying to help a friend indeed…"
As she considered her response and gnawed on her quill, abruptly, she was suddenly being burned alive.
It was as if she was in a volcano, a river of lava in front of her, a wall of flame above it, with a violent sandstorm of fire and flames swirling around her. Hermione flailed around for a moment, panicked, before realizing that despite the oppressive heat, she wasn't burning. Her eyes widened as she looked around, realizing.
She'd been here once before.
As soon as she understood what was going on, she moved to the edge of the lava river, flames all around her, and peered through the wall of fire to the other side.
On the other side stood a tall, black-haired boy of about sixteen. He wore Slytherin school robes, with a glinting silver prefect's badge pinned to his chest. He was striking, with vivid ice blue eyes, and he looked astonished as he looked at her through the wall of fire.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
It had to be.
Hermione felt her anger flare, and the storm of fire increased.
"Trying to possess me?" she screamed into the storm of fire. "I knew you would try it, Tom! I'm not a fool!"
The boy looked startled, before refocusing on her.
"I—Hermione? Where are we?" he called to her. "I was trying to help you with your anxiety."
The winds of fire were loud in her ears, but his lies reached her ears just fine.
"We're in my mind, which means you were trying to invade it," she yelled, rage growing. "You are so full of shit, Tom Riddle! Trying to help me indeed!"
"I was!" Tom yelled back, looking angry. "You've been off-kilter over the Chamber of Secrets mess for days, now!"
"Oh, like that's not your fault?" she shot back, livid. "I know you're the Heir of Slytherin, Tom. I'm not an idiot!"
Tom's face twisted in rage for a moment.
"How dare you! I caught the Heir last time!"
"You framed Hagrid, you deranged sociopath!" Hermione screamed. "You grew up to be Lord Voldemort! You're a Parselmouth, and you possessed Ginny to make her unleash your stupid basilisk! I know it's you!"
Tom's face reacted with astonishment and shock.
"How…?" he demanded. "How did you know?"
"I'm not an idiot!" Hermione screamed. "And I'm not going to tell you anything! Stop trying to invade my mind, you creep, and maybe I won't destroy your diary as soon as I get out!"
That caused Tom to fall back, holding his hands up in surrender.
"I'll stop," he told her. "I'll stop. But Hermione, let's talk about this. Don't just try and destroy the diary, okay?"
Hermione was gearing up to scream at him again when abruptly she was back on her bed with the diary and quill, off-kilter and the world spinning around her. She lost her balance with a shriek and toppled off the left side of her bed through the curtains, landing hard on her head and shoulders, prompting a very surprised look from Tracey Davis.
"Hermione…?" Tracey ventured. "Are you okay?"
Hermione unfolded herself, eyes wild. Her head was spinning.
"I… I think so…?" she ventured. "I… wait, I think I'm hurt?"
She felt as if she'd been stabbed in the kidney while she'd been gone, and she gasped and staggered with pain. Her head was throbbing, and a flicker of worry if she'd gotten a concussion flew through her mind.
"What did he do to me?" Hermione gasped, grabbing her back where it hurt. "Did he stab me?"
"Did who do what?" Tracey asked, getting up in alarm and immediately dropping to her side. "Hermione, what is going on?"
"The ghost of the Heir of Slytherin," Hermione said rapidly, distracted. "I was trapped in a hell, and there was fire, and I came back, and now… oh my god…"
She raised her hand from where it had touched her tangled-up robes, her face one of horror.
"He tried to kill me," she breathed. "Look."
Her hand was covered in blood, and Tracey's eyes went wide.
"Hermione—"
"You have to tell Snape," Hermione said, grabbing the front of Tracey's robes, her eyes wild. "I—I think I'm going to pass out. But you have to get Snape. Tell him—Tell him it's the Dark Lord, but his ghost as a boy—The monster's locked away, but I know the key—Tracey, promise me—"
Tracey was saying something, but Hermione could feel her body give out as she slumped against her friend on the floor, her vision blurring and going black.