"ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴇᴍɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴘᴇᴀᴛ ɪᴛ."— ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ sᴀɴᴛᴀʏᴀɴᴀ
Chapter Eight: Speak Your Sorrows (Or Forever Hold Your Peace)
Harry followed Dobby down the corridors, the house-elf's feet nearly silent as he went trotting off into the dark, yawning abyss at a pace that, even with his considerably longer and more substantial legs, Harry was having a hard time keeping up with.
"Where are we going?" asked Harry, but Dobby didn't answer. The silence only served to unsettle him further; his trust in the house-elf was quickly eroding. Had Dobby been following him? How else would he have found Harry when only Riddle, Myrtle, and Harry himself knew his whereabouts? Could Riddle have somehow sent him, as insurance?
What if it's a trap? What if the Malfoys sent him to lure me somewhere? There's no telling where this corridor leads. I've never been down here before...
Harry tried again.
"Won't the Malfoys miss you in the receiving room?"
Without turning around or even slowing down, Dobby clucked his tongue nervously. "Dobby will doubtlessly have to shut his ears in the oven again for this, Harry Potter."
He didn't like the sound of that.
"Won't the Malfoys notice?"
"Oh, no, Harry Potter," said Dobby in a self-castigating tone. "Dobby is always punishing himself. Sometimes, the young master reminds Dobby to do extra punishments in case Dobby forgets."
"Draco Malfoy," said Harry venomously, bile rising in his throat. Thankfully, he'd only had to deal with the horrible little ferret for one year, though the memories were fresh enough.
He cleared his throat. "Couldn't you... leave and never come back? You can Apparate; they'd never catch you if you ran far enough." If only Ruby and I had had the chance to leave the Dursleys in the blink of an eye and reappear somewhere safe. He was almost jealous.
"Dobby cannot leave," said the house-elf mournfully, his large, bat-like ears drooping a little.
There was something heavy and disconcerting about how he said 'cannot.'
"You're bound to them? With magic?"
"Precisely, Harry Potter."
Just then, and before Harry had time to even begin to puzzle that out, they had come to a brightly lit part of the hallway decorated with paintings depicting feasts and still-lifes of fruits and vegetables. While Harry was busy inspecting one of the figures in the paintings, who seemed to vaguely resemble Corvinus Gaunt, Dobby reached over to one of the still-lifes and, for some bizarre reason, tickled the pear.
Harry jolted in surprise when the pear emitted a high-pitched giggle, then turned into a green door handle.
In hindsight, it wouldn't be the strangest secret passageway in Hogwarts.
Dobby slipped behind the door, and Harry followed him into a high-ceilinged room the size of or maybe even bigger than the Great Hall.
Immediately, he was greeted with a flurry of commotion and sound. A fireplace twice as tall as Harry filled the room with a roaring heat. Copper pots and pans ringed the walls above wooden counters shined to a high polish and laden with food in various stages of preparation.
The Hogwarts kitchens, Harry realised.
Five tables were positioned identically to those in the Great Hall; Harry supposed that was how the food 'appeared' and 'disappeared' — it was simply being transported.
At least a hundred little house-elves were standing around the kitchen, beaming, bowing, and curtsying, which made Harry distinctly uncomfortable as Dobby led him past them. They all wore the same bizarre uniform: a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest and tied like a toga. Why not an apron? Harry wondered.
It was only when they found a little alcove hung with spare pots and pans that Dobby spoke, their conversation obscured from curious ears by the din of the kitchen.
"There is a plot against you, Harry Potter," said Dobby finally, his large, mournful eyes sparkling in the coppery firelight.
Oh, like that's news!
"I know Voldemort's trying to kill me!"
It was public knowledge, in fact.
Dobby winced a little at the name, but Harry barrelled on.
"You're right. Something's different," he admitted. "Something's changed." He looked up at Dobby. "Hasn't it?"
"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not working alone, Harry Potter," said Dobby seriously.
"Of course not, he's got Death Eaters — oh — oh — you mean a spy! Who is it? Who's the spy? Is it Nott?" asked Harry eagerly, leaning forward.
Dobby screeched so loudly that Harry swore he must have been audible in the Owlery.
I hate it when he does that!
"Dobby must not— must not reveal the Dark Lord's secret!"
More magic, Harry thought. Tentatively, he edged a little closer to Dobby and asked: "Is Nott spying for Voldemort the secret?"
His large, bug-like eyes welling with tears, Dobby shook his head.
"Disaster! Disaster! Great misfortune will fall upon Hogwarts, it will! Dobby must not tell Harry Potter!"
It appears we've come to an impasse.
"Well," Harry said stiffly, "thanks for trying, at least."
Dobby sniffled, blinking up at Harry with his large, watery eyes.
Harry made his way out of the kitchen, but found his exit much less smooth than Dobby's as the house-elves kept trying to press food on him, insisting much to his chagrin that he looked about to blow away if a particularly strong breeze came along (like he needed reminding). Somehow, he managed to escape and was making his way back up towards Gryffindor Tower (with Dobby still trailing him for some unknown reason) when he ran nearly headfirst into Hermione.
"Harry!" said Hermione, pulling Ron along with her. "It's past curfew — we were worried about you."
"I'm fine," said Harry heavily, turning towards the stairs.
She stopped suddenly, finally noticing Dobby. Hermione's eyes went wide. "Wha— sorry, who are you? Excuse me, but are you a brownie? I've read all about you! I just have to ask..."
Here we go again, thought Harry grimly. "Hermione, this is Dobby... Dobby, this is Hermione."
"I'm here too," Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth. And, quite loudly, he added: "That's a house-elf, in case you were wondering, Hermione."
He glanced over his shoulder at Harry. "Where'd you find him?"
"He's, er, a friend."
"A friend?" said Dobby in a dumbstruck, admiring tone that made Harry wince from the embarrassment. "Harry Potter's friend! Dobby is delighted to be Harry Potter's friend!"
"But where did you come from?" asked Hermione. "Do you live here?"
"Oh, no, Miss Hermione." With a sidelong glance at Harry, Dobby admitted, "I belong to the Malfoys, I do."
"Belong?" A dark look had passed over Hermione's face, and Harry heard Ron whisper, "No, don't."
"What do you mean, belong?"
Dobby made a sort of pained noise and Disapparated with a loud pop. The trio stood in silence for about a minute before Ron supplied, somewhat uneasily, "They're bound to magical families, as uh, servants."
Hermione whirled on him, her face a mask of horror. "Ron, that's slavery!"
"You could think about it that way — they, uhm, don't seem to mind very much, though. What I'm more concerned about is him being the Malfoy's house-elf. Harry?"
Harry could only shrug before he set off up the staircase. "He's helped us before. Or tried to, at least." And something tells me, he thought, he likes the Malfoys about as much as I like the Dursleys. That is, not very much.
"Harry, I know you're angry with us," said Hermione in a halting voice. "I know we shouldn't have said that stuff earlier. We got a bit carried away."
"It — it's a lot to deal with all at once," Ron pointed out as they hurried after him.
"Well, I'm sorry the truth is difficult for you." Harry kicked the step and glanced away from them. He ought to put his anger away; he'd had his fun, blown some steam off, and shoved Riddle to what Harry sincerely hoped was his death. "Anyway, we should be focusing on Nott. I think he's working for Voldemort."
"Hasn't he always?" asked Hermione.
"It's different this time."
"Different, how?" pressed Ron, skipping a step so he could be beside Harry.
"Different. All-out war, remember?" Harry wasn't sure if he was ready to tell them about Dobby. Misfortune to the whole school, he said. "We've got to get him alone and find out what he's up to."
"Ruby could do it," Hermione suggested.
She could try, thought Harry. But I don't think that would be very fair, considering the state she's in.
"He's not interested in her. He got what he wanted. We need another Slytherin."
Hermione and Ron were quiet for a while.
Ron spoke. "What about Daphne Greengrass?"
"Greengrass?" Harry spluttered. "She was in the Inquisitorial Squad last year, she ate up everything Umbridge told her, she's Nott's friend, she—"
"That's what makes her perfect. Trust me."
"I think," said Hermione, "we might need to ask Anthony for a favour. And—" she added, giving both of the boys a stern look that reminded Harry of McGonagall at her most frightening " —we need to talk to Dumbledore."
Professor Babbling was a full minute late, leaving the entirety of the fourth-year Ancient Runes class to form a small mob in front of the door, filling their corner of the hallway with a thunderous chatter.
Remarkably, Anthony Goldstein was quiet, pondering what Hermione had whispered into his ear in the Great Hall an hour earlier.
It's all a matter of timing this right.
And a second later, he resentfully thought: Why me? Ancient Runes — actually, any class with the Slytherins, but particularly Ancient Runes — was miserable enough these days. He pinched the bridge of his nose, shifted in his shoes, and decided to think about his favourite magical creatures, unicorns, to calm himself. Hagrid had promised to bring a few to class in the coming weeks. It was hard to feel all of the complicated, confusing feelings that Anthony was experiencing right now if you were petting a unicorn, its warm, velvet-smooth muzzle poking your hands in search of treats.
Anthony shut his eyes as Professor Babbling hurried through the throng of students, who barely noticed her arrival, and unlocked the classroom door. In his mind's eye, he could see Theodore Nott triumphant, standing atop the plinth, the terrible truth finally revealed.
She's changed.
I'm who I needed to be to survive. You've changed, too. Who are you?
He'd begged, pleaded to believe it wasn't true, but she'd admitted to it, and the evidence was placed right in front of him, and no Ravenclaw would be able to deny it. Nott was a dirty, filthy liar, but he was telling the truth this time.
Daphne Greengrass was the first to stride into class, as usual, and Anthony quickened his pace amongst the flood of students pouring in through the narrow doorway, barely managing to make it into the seat beside her before her habitual companion, Nott.
"Problem, Theodore?" he asked, with a little smile, when the Slytherin glowered at him.
"Not at all," said Nott under his breath, sweeping past in a flutter of black robes, and then he sat beside Ruby instead, who sat up straight and accidentally made eye contact with Anthony before looking away with a guilty expression.
His throat burned. She looked ill. She certainly hadn't been sleeping. Or washing her hair, which was piled messily on top of her head. And there was a finger-sized smear of ink under her right eye.
Anthony wasn't sure if he felt guilty for not noticing or betrayed by the blindsiding. Every time you think you know someone, they change. It didn't make sense. The girl who'd stood up for him since first year, his friend. Could she be as evil as Nott wanted him to think she was? Could it all have been an act?
Is it possible for both things to be true at the same time? Can you be a terrible person and do good things? Or be a good person and do terrible things? And which is Ruby?
"Penny for your thoughts?"
That was Daphne, peering at him with a slight frown.
"Oh, nothing, just..."
Daphne laughed lightly. "Don't worry about it; Astoria likes to stare off into space as well. Must be a Ravenclaw thing."
"Yeah, something like that."
Anthony's gaze strayed to Ruby again as his brain, accustomed to doing so through years of honing the skill, immediately tuned out the professor's droning voice. She was fiddling with the ends of her hair, her quill long abandoned.
Under her breath, Daphne said, "Does nothing have a name, or am I completely crazy?"
"Why don't you ask your boyfriend?" Anthony bit out, loud enough for the people around them to hear.
Daphne's ears went red. "One, Theodore's not my anything. Two, even if he was, the chances of getting anything of use into his massive head are close to zero. Three, be quiet and at least pretend to take notes, Goldstein. You might have a not-so-illustrious record of losing House points for lack of focus at least once per week, but I have a reputation to uphold."
With a haughty sniff, she put her quill to parchment and began to neatly write out today's topic at the top of the page. Anthony huffed.
Any chance of getting her to spy on Nott's a bust. Well, as Dad would say, I've gone and put my foot in it.
He glowered at the already half-full chalkboard, and began to half-heartedly take his own notes. Surprisingly, he soon found himself starting to cool off and sheepishly whispered to Daphne, "Sorry for snapping at you. I didn't really mean it."
"No hard feelings," she assured him, replenishing her quill with ink, though Anthony wasn't quite sure, especially now, how far a Slytherin's assurance went.
"To be fair," Daphne added, "he has been acting strange for a while now. Something's... off. And all the boys in our year are in a terrible mood. Then again, that could have something to do with losing the Quidditch game last weekend."
Anthony managed, somehow, to make it to the end of class without further incident. Daphne said something polite before gathering her effects and disappearing.
Strange how? he wondered, watching Nott out of the corner of his eye while carefully screwing the cap of his ink bottle. And why did she tell me? Is she actually trying to help me?
If you want to get something done, do it yourself... I wonder how late I can be to Charms without risking detention.
The classroom was rapidly emptying, but Anthony caught a flash of dark curls and a head of mousy hair following it.
"Oh, well, three can keep a secret," he muttered under his breath, slung his book bag over his shoulder, and headed out.
Anthony hurried a little as he entered the hallway; it sounded like Ruby had already noticed Nott. They were just barely in earshot, so he ducked behind a convenient-placed suit of armour.
"Why are you following me?" Ruby had turned to face Nott, her arms folded.
"Well, someone ought to keep you out of trouble."
Daphne was right. There was something odd about the cadence of his voice, but it sounded familiar all the same. Anthony tried to remember where he had heard it before and failed.
"Keep me out of trouble? You're the one who did this!" Her voice rose at the end of the accusation, and Nott stepped back in surprise.
"No, you did this, Ruby Potter."
She made a frustrated noise. "What do you want, Nott? Because I know someone like you wouldn't care if Muggles live or die."
"Here, I thought we were on first-name terms," said Nott dryly.
"Friends don't tell friends' secrets."
"Friends should hold each other accountable."
"Ah, the throes of young love," rumbled a deep voice. An icy shock jolted Anthony, and he bit the side of his hand to stop from crying out. The clink of chains and a glance over his shoulder told him that the Bloody Baron, the Head Ghost and the infamous spectre of Slytherin House, was right behind him.
Anthony glowered. "They are not in love!"
"Love, hate, 'twas merely the same thing mirrored in the pool of human suffering. Or so said the bards when I was't a youth."
"You killed your girlfriend," said Anthony through gritted teeth. "I really hope you won't be offended if I don't take you seriously when it comes to love stuff. Now, be quiet, I'm trying to listen." He coughed. "My Lord."
"Who," asked the Baron in a quivering voice, "told you that?"
In any other circumstance in which he was less peeved, Anthony might have been warier about irritating the Baron. Besides, he'd missed half the conversation.
"Well, Ruby, it is all your fault," Nott was saying.
"I didn't spike the pumpkin juice with cantarella, so it is not 'all my fault!'"
A very cruel look had spread across Nott's face. "Nor I. And even if you had proof, who would believe you? You, Miss Queen of Poisons, will be the prime suspect."
And with that, he turned and swept off. Ruby kicked the floor, stuck her hands in her pockets, stared up at the ceiling, wide-eyed, and screamed.
Me, too.
He watched Ruby check her watch and storm off past him, not noticing Anthony nor the Bloody Baron, towards the dungeons. The Baron muttered something about leaving and floated off in the same general direction.
Before Anthony could make his own exit, three more people came through the hallway; one was a harassed-looking Professor McGonagall, and the two trailing her were Fred and George Weasley.
"Professor, you never told us you were such a romantic at heart!" said one of the twins — Fred, Anthony thought, though he often had a hard time telling them apart.
"You see, ickle Ronniekins told us about somebody called To—" the other started.
"Finish that sentence at risk of detention, Mr. Weasley," said McGonagall in a severe tone. Though Anthony couldn't see her face, he could see the tension in her shoulders as she walked off twice as quickly as she had entered the hallway, leaving the twins in a heavy silence.
After a few beats, George said to Fred (or at least that was Anthony's best guess), "Who is Tom Riddle, anyway?"
Anthony shut his eyes; in his mind, he could still feel the panic of the night when Voldemort attacked the castle, of that strange, menacing boy out of time and place in McGonagall's office, of Ruby's rushed explanation: "Tom Riddle is the Heir of Slytherin. He's here, because... because I summoned him."
True, it might not have been Tom Riddle who directed the basilisk to take his arm. But it was still his monster.
"Dunno. Showed up the same time Ruby did, right before the... incident."
"Think there's bad blood?"
"Definitely. Every time we bring him up, she goes ballistic."
"Then again, we have teased her about it at least fifty times."
Fred (maybe?) shrugged. "Either way, we'd better get to Potions before Snape skins us for being late."
The twins headed towards the dungeons, and as sound as they were out of earshot, Anthony stepped out from his hiding place. I'd better get to Charms, too.
"Oh, good, you're already here."
Hermione Granger was coming towards him, Ron and Harry a few steps behind her. Swallowing nervously, Anthony asked: "What's going on?"
"We're talking to Dumbledore about the cantarella," said Harry.
Well, so much for Charms, thought Anthony with a faint twinge of regret.
"You've got an appointment, then?"
"Ruby's got one, and I don't think Dumbledore will mind too much if we come, too."
"I thought she had those solo Divination lessons with Trelawney after Ancient Runes," Anthony blurted out, and then realised it might seem odd that he knew her schedule. Why did he know her schedule?
"She's been skipping those," said Harry, as he fell into step beside Anthony, "and she won't tell me why."
Anthony had a few guesses, and from the knowing look Hermione gave Ron, he wasn't alone. The anxiety that had begun in Ancient Runes had settled into a solid pit at the bottom of his stomach. For a moment, Anthony entertained the idea that unpleasant feelings were extractable, like bezoars.
"Someone has got the password?" asked Hermione. Harry held up a slip of paper in response just as they drew closer to the office entrance, which was guarded by a particularly large and ugly stone gargoyle.
"Er... Cockroach Clusters?" Harry read off the paper, wincing as he did. Anthony involuntarily pulled a face at the thought.
Ron seemed similarly off-put. "I've always wondered. They're not really made from powdered..."
"Oh, come on," said Hermione irritably and hurried past the gargoyle and up a winding set of stairs. Anthony followed the rest up and through a set of oaken double doors into a circular, sunlight-flooded room, quite different from any other office he'd been inside. It reminded him a little of Ravenclaw Tower, except that the common room didn't have dozens of spindly tables stocked with silver magical instruments or portraits of Headmasters and Headmistresses of time long past lining the walls.
Most of all, his common room certainly didn't have Ruby Potter, who had gotten up from her chair and was squinting at them in disbelief, or Professor Dumbledore, peering at them silently from over the rims of his half-moon spectacles.
"I must say," said Dumbledore after a pause. "This is a surprise."
Hermione, somehow, had found her way to the front.
"We're very sorry for interrupting, Professor Dumbledore, but we needed to speak to you about the canterella, and we didn't know how else to."
"I assure you, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore placidly. "We are doing our utmost to manage the situation. Professor Snape is personally supervising the kitchens."
"Did you know that Theodore Nott has a vial of canterella in his trunk, Professor?" asked Hermione.
Professor Dumbledore waved a hand, and Anthony noticed Ruby frown almost imperceptibly.
"All of the students' belongings have already been searched by the house-elves. The vial in Mr. Nott's trunk, we all agreed, is crystallised Felix Felicis." At their bemused expressions, he added: "Liquid Luck."
Anthony's head spun. It can't be, he reasoned. He must have switched out the vials and hidden the canterella. Or given it to a house-elf to hide it for him.
He stood rooted to the floor as the others said goodbye, apologised to Dumbledore for the interruption, and then shuffled out the door, only following when Ron led him out by the elbow.
They all silently went down the stairs, an air of gloom hanging over them.
"Come to think of it," said Ron suddenly, "who says it's canterella?"
Hermione stopped on the stairs ahead of him; they nearly collided.
"Nott said it himself," Harry pointed out.
I've heard whispers... I've been told Ruby's the one poisoning us all, that she's done it before. But I don't believe it. I don't believe she poisoned Harry.
She'd been distraught, Anthony recalled. But could he tell guilt and fear apart? What if it was an accident? What if that pumpkin juice had been meant for someone else?
I have to talk to her.
Tee groaned and peeled himself from the stone floor of the corridor leading towards the Chamber of Secrets. Somehow, he found that his pride was more bruised than his body, which still ached from the impact.
Potter... Potter tricked me. He felt hollow.
A quiet laugh escaped him. Me, the Legilimens, tricked? It was the same thing he'd mocked Dumbledore for, yet he'd made the identical mistake of underestimating his opponent.
Maybe, he thought ruefully, we are more similar than I'd like to believe.
He lifted his wrists to his mouth and tore the knots out with his teeth, wincing at the bitter taste.
It could be worse. He'd levitated himself out of the Chamber before, and he could do it again.
At least part of his plan had worked. He was down here, after all, and the naudiz seal would wear off soon, and he'd be able to speak Parseltongue again.
Tee squinted down the corridor. A little overhead lighting would be a nice addition.
A ball of light cupped in his palm, he slunk along the corridor, his steps echoing all around him until he reached the atrium. Tee's light only illuminated about five feet in front of him, but he could smell the putrid scent of Lockhart's decomposing body, along with the dark, damp smell of dirty, stagnant water. Despite his disgust, he found himself awash with gratefulness for this place, where he'd sobbed out his first painful breaths after fifty years of nothingness.
It was a little over a year ago, but it felt more like a lifetime since Ruby Potter had staunched the blood from the wound that both immortalised him and nearly killed him, since she had demanded his name and he hadn't been able to answer.
He sent the ball of light fluttering up to the ceiling, his heart thudding fast with anticipation.
"Speak to me, Slytherin..." The familiar sound of Parseltongue leaving his lips was a relief like cool water to a parched throat. "...Greatest of the Hogwarts Four!"
The thousand-year-old artifice within the statue began to come alive, a faint whirring filling the Chamber. He heard the dry sound of scales on stone, and though he knew the basilisk was coming, his eyes were fixed on Salazar's.
"I'm back," he said quietly.
Salazar stared down at him fiercely, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. "And why have you come?"
That was irrelevant. But still...
"I failed," he admitted, and perhaps it was easier to admit it because the failure was not wholly his. "I lost everything."
"The price of power is high," Salazar agreed, disappointment in his voice, "but you assured me that you were willing to pay. You told me that you would defeat Death using any means necessary."
"I—"
"Would you rather have died?"
"I want to live," said Tee fiercely. He put his hand in his pocket, and the once-nigredo, bleached white and turned into albedo on the night Voldemort had stormed the castle, lay there, cool against his fingers. I want to live, and yet Tom Riddle is dead. He could think only of his reflection in the Mirror of Erised, the image forever burned into his mind. "But I want to live more than I fear to die."
"Then all is not lost," Salazar assured him. "Do not fail me."
"Do you know how it happened?" Tee went on, almost shouting now. "Do you know how it all came to nothing? How, at the height of his—my power, we lost to a child, prophecised to rise against us, to be our equal? That 'either must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives'?"
"The path is simple. Kill him yourself!"
Salazar's voice shook the Chamber like thunder, quaking under Tee's feet. The familiar thud of weight against the stone alerted Tee to the basilisk's presence.
"One problem: he just won't die."
Salazar responded with an arched stone eyebrow. Tee knew what he was implying, immortality beyond the capabilities of even the Philosopher's Stone, immortality and indestructability both. But how else was he to explain an Obscurial who'd lived a full year too long before the monster started to kill him and then lived longer still?
Even if he's not immortal, Tee reasoned, he still conflicts with the known laws of magic. No one survives the Killing Curse. No one evades the Reaper without some unnaturalness in the mix.
"A solution to that lies behind you."
Salazar had a point. The boy who had been bitten last year had been lucky to be placed in stasis soon enough to slow the venom. Under any normal circumstances, Potter could be in pieces in the basilisk's stomach by tomorrow, and the prophecy averted. Even if he could evade magical harm, Tee doubted he could survive dismemberment.
Should he do it? Send the basilisk after Harry Potter, seal himself safe in the Chamber, and damn the consequences from Dumbledore?
The thought made him shudder; after fifty years in the diary, he was wary of confinement. The prophecy concerns the Dark Lord. Not me. Tee thought bitterly of their meeting during the siege, how Voldemort had treated him so coldly, of how the Mirror of Erised was right. If Voldemort couldn't give him what he so desperately wanted, how could he expect Tee to fix the Dark Lord's problems? If he did this for the Dark Lord, it proved he was no more than a pawn on a chessboard, sacrificed to gain the upper hand.
No. Harry Potter wasn't a threat to his survival. But perhaps, maybe he could turn the boy to his side. Make him an ally. Neutralise the threat.
After all, it's been a long time since someone's asked me what I wanted.
"Why do you hesitate?" asked Salazar.
"Why should I act on his behalf?" Tee countered. He shut his eyes and thought of the cache of his father's things, of the diary that told the truth of how he'd come to exist. His reflection in the Mirror of Erised haunted him.
You cannot cleave yourself from the wanting. You cannot separate desire from the bone. Tom Riddle is dead, but the yearning survives.
"There was once a young man who stood where you stood and swore to me that he would rid the castle of Mudblood filth!"
Salazar's fury shook the Chamber, but Tee dug his heels in and stood firm.
"Tom Riddle is DEAD!" he shouted, voice raw. "I killed him fifty years ago, and no one mourns him, not even me! The thing I was so afraid of — I did it to myself!"
He stilled, swaying a little. "I thought you would help me."
Salazar, too, was quiet for a while.
"You might kill him and take his place."
"Him — you mean me — Voldemort?" Tee laughed out loud at the earnest simplicity of it. I am a great wizard, as was my father before me. He still wanted it, deep down, buried deep under the need for survival. Yes, perhaps he could live like that. Perhaps that was possible.
"But if I kill him, assuming I could beat him, which is unlikely, and destroy Mordred and any others like him..." Tee trailed off "... the cycle would begin again. There would have to be more Horcruxes. It's not so simple."
There would have to be endless pain. There would be no rest. No calm. As I plot against Voldemort, some other would plot against me.
"The path to greatness is rarely so."
But the words fell hollow on Tee's ears, not eager to sign himself up for fifty more years of suffering.
"And what if I don't do it?"
For a minute, Salazar is silent.
"Then you are a fool, Tom Riddle. And you will lose."
"But that's just it," said Tee, a wry smile upon his lips. "I have nothing left to lose."
A splash resounded through the corridor, and Tee startled. Reflexively, his left hand went to his pocket. Realising he was unarmed, Tee swore under his breath.
The rhythmic sound of a tail beating through water followed.
It's only the basilisk. He relaxed, realised how absurd it was to be more afraid of a person than a basilisk, and laughed uneasily.
The great serpent came into the light, her emerald-studded body glimmering a vibrant, poisonous green. Her massive maw gaped, wide enough to easily swallow Tee whole, her white fangs curving down like two sharp scimitars. A speck of sickly-yellow liquid glistened on the end of one.
Why did she take so long to come? Tee wondered.
"You left in a hurry, hatchling," said the basilisk in a low hiss. She made as if to nip him but thought better of it. "Tonight, we feed?"
"I'm afraid I can't. Full schedule. Besides, I lack the necessary deniability."
The basilisk turned her head, her long tongue flickering out from between her fangs. Her voice was yearning and sibilant. "I smell... human. Not... you. Another..."
"Where?" Tee spun around, panicking. The light hovering above him darted from corner to corner but revealed nothing. "Show yourself!" he shouted.
"All who venture here are mine," the basilisk insisted and headed off, tasting the air. Tee ran after her, taking care to give her tail a wide berth as it whipped back and forth.
"Strange... gone... HUNGRY!" the monster bellowed, her yellow eyes maddened.
Tee watched, transfixed, as the bead of venom rolled down her teeth.
"The venom," he pointed out. "You must have fed... What happened?" Tee demanded. He summoned more and more lights until the Chamber rivalled the candlelit ceiling of the Great Hall.
But there was no one there — no one but a stone statue and a boy and a very large snake.
A/N:
Whoopsie! I disappeared!
In all seriousness, IRL has been super super hectic. Apparently being a full time researcher reading papers and writing code all day drains my creative energy or whatnot (or just makes me sick of typing things on my computer) and being in a current application cycle apparently also doesn't help. Anyway I've promised myself not to publish this chapter until I refresh my backlog of about 3 chapters, and pledge to not deplete my backlog anymore, because even when I have a roadmap apparently it still leads to bad things happening. Anyways I am very emotionally attached to this little AU-verse so if anyone's still reading from before my unannounced hiatus, I'm not planning to abandon it.
The funny thing is that this chapter has been drafted since June of last year. I was just very unhappy with the details because I'm a neat freak.