Seconds passed as Riddle stared in horror at him.

But nothing happened.

In fact, Riddle had never looked more solid. With a horrified realization, Harry turned to look at Ginny, dread filling him as he remembered Riddle's words. He caught sight of her chest rising in a breath, before falling for the last time. One second passed, then another. But her lungs never filled, as Ginny Weasley had breathed her last.

"No. No, no, no. Ginny, wake up!" Harry shouted, his voice filled with panic. He tried shakily to stand, but felt his legs give out beneath him as he collapsed onto the cold, damp stone. "Please, Ginny!"

Bile threatened to fill his throat as he tried to stop looking, but a morbid fascination kept his attention rapt on Ginny. A slight ringing filled his ears, as it drowned out something Riddle seemed to be saying. After a few seconds, he finally ripped his eyes away, the vision of Ginny's body burnt into his mind.

He looked around to see Ron standing frozen, his face pale and his mouth opening and closing as the horror of the situation dawned on him. He felt a pang of sadness hit him, knowing that what he was suffering now wasn't even a fraction of what Ron was feeling. A strangled "no" had formed on his lips, but no sound came out. Tears went down his cheeks, as his trembling hands released the diary, letting it fall to the floor with a thud.

Then, faster than Harry could comprehend, Ron snatched up the basilisk fang again. With a strangled scream and a surge of fury, he raised it and brought it down as strongly as his shaking hands could.

But Riddle was faster, as his wand flicked towards him and stopped Ron in mid-motion, his whole body seizing up. His face twisted in a mixture of rage and agony, his arms locked in place, unable to move a muscle. The diary tumbled from his grip, clattering to the stone floor. Riddle barely spared it a glance, turning back to Harry with a cruel smirk.

"You were too late, Weasley," he mused, flexing his newly solid fingers as if testing them. His expression was one of satisfaction, as he laughed heartily. "I must admit, you both had me worried there for a few seconds. I didn't expect Weasley to wake so soon, let alone have the guts to try and end me himself, but…"

His voice dropped into a cold whisper as he turned fully to face them again. His eyes betrayed his calm demeanor, a dangerously frantic look in them. Ginny's wand, still clutched in his hand, glowed at the tip with a sinister red light.

"No good deed goes unpunished."

The spell holding Ron back shattered at the same moment a red beam struck him. He crumpled to the floor, and Harry winced as he began screaming.

It was a sound Harry had never heard from him before, something raw and primal that sent ice through his veins. His best friend thrashed on the ground violently, his limbs convulsing as pain seemed to wrack through his entire body. His screams echoed through the Chamber, bouncing off the stone walls, as Harry felt horrified. He could only watch helplessly as Riddle surveyed him, his face neutral, as though he were merely observing something uninteresting.

"STOP!" Harry's voice tore from his throat, as he attempted to get up once more.

Riddle's gaze flicked to him, his expression betraying amusement at the pathetic sight before him. With a lowering of his wand, the curse lifted, as it left Ron gasping on the floor and his body trembling from the aftershocks of pain.

Stepping forward again, he shook his head in mock disappointment. "Really, Harry," he sighed. "I expected better from you. Stopping his punishment will only make yours worse, you know?"

"You could have been great by my side. Instead, you're willing to throw your life away for THIS?!"

In a split second, he turned again, nailing Ron in the center of his back with another red curse, making him scream once again, as hatred burned inside Harry with an intensity he never felt before. Aiming his wand at Riddle's distracted backside, he felt another one of those dreaded memories that didn't belong to him come to the forefront of his mind.


Darkness flickered, and then there was a room. Cold stone and torchlight adorned the floor. The shuffle of cloaks brought Harry's attention to the center of the room.

A large circle of hooded figures surrounded another hooded figure.

"Ah.. Severus, are you ready?" He felt his own voice ask.

Another flicker—a familiar face, younger, pale and drawn, eyes unreadable beneath a curtain of greasy hair.

A body hung suspended in the air. Limbs dangling. Harry blinked. The face was changing.

"May I… make some changes?" The familiar man's voice, nasal and hesitant, cut through the haze.

Red hair turned black. Jaw lengthened. A nose thinned slightly, cheekbones sharpened. A pair of dirty glasses falling onto the face.

A thought came without warning, twisting his stomach. The man looked like him.

He heard something—the hiss of breath, and absolute fury being expelled by the man in front of him, and a spell was shouted. A low moan was uttered, followed by the soft thump of flesh hitting stone.

The man staggered forward, dazed and compliant.

There were holes. In clothes. In flesh. They didn't make sense, just voids where there should be substance, blood pouring from the holes.

Screams, distant and muffled like they came through water.

Then a flash.

A head falling.

Gone.

Harry couldn't breathe.

He saw his hand, no, not his, a pale white hand extend its fingers to trace something onto the hooded figure's forearm.

A symbol. Smoking. Black.

"Well done…" his voice said again, far away, as if from the bottom of a well. "The others must learn…"

Then it all tore apart.


Coming back to himself, he shook his head at the memory. Harry felt his fury burning hotter than before. He screamed out the horrid spell that he had heard be used, desperate to stop Riddle.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!"

The bright flash of light barreled straight towards Riddle's back. He barely had a second to react, as he expertly parried it with his wand, sending it flying away with a grunt of effort.

Harry cursed in his mind, as it impacted a pillar instead, shredding a large part of it where it hit. But seconds later, he dropped his arm. He had exhausted himself again.

A few seconds passed, with the only sound heard was Riddle's slightly haggard breathing, before he steadied himself. Aiming his wand at Harry yet again, he looked at him with subdued interest before letting out a small chuckle.

"I can't say I recognize that spell, but it's definitely not second year curriculum. Dark magic at such a young age… You know, they say it twists the mind and soul to use it." He mocked him, as he approached him again.

Stopping right in front of him, he asked one final question.

"Are you perhaps reconsidering my offer now?"

Paling at his words, Harry clenched his fists as he breathed out hard again, nails digging into his palms and drawing blood. "Go to hell," he finally spat.

He lost his smile, a slight snarl on his lips. "Now, now, there's no need for rudeness. Take your death with a little dignity, after all."

He raised Ginny's wand, pointing it directly at Harry's chest. His eyes gleamed with anticipation, and his voice seemingly almost gentle when he spoke again.

"Don't worry, you won't be alone for long," he murmured. "I'll be sending Weasley with you right after."

Despite the anger building up in him again, Harry couldn't move. Feeling glued to the floor, all he could do was stare Riddle in the eyes.

"Avada Kedavra."

A flash of green light filled his vision.

Everything went black.


A soft, silvery glow surrounded him, warm and weightless. There was no pain. No exhaustion. Just the gentle hum of something unknowable, stretching beyond his comprehension.

Harry's breath came easily, though he wasn't entirely sure he was breathing at all. The last thing he remembered was the sickly green light, and then nothingness.

And yet, he was here, somewhere vast, white and seemingly went on forever.

Looking down, he blushed, seeing he was naked, and that's when that simple realization hit him. If he could tell he was naked, he must still be alive somehow!

Standing up now, he felt the need to have something to cover himself with while looking around his surroundings, as a familiar Hogwarts robe materialized in front of him, laying on the floor innocently.

Stopping for a second, he reached out for it as he began to put it on, feeling the familiar feeling of cloth against his skin. Now dressed again, he began looking around again for some type of answer.

The silent air was pierced by a small wailing, as he jumped back in shock. Taking a few steps to where it originated from, he reeled back as he saw something horrific.

The reddish brown body of an infant was on the floor, curled into a bawl trembling, as he took a step back. It looked horrendous. And he took a few more steps back before coming to a stop. Whatever it was, he wanted nothing to do with it.

"My sweet boy."

The sound of someone pierced through the wailing. He looked back, his breath catching as he took in the sight of the woman standing there.

She was taller than him, with fiery red hair that cascaded over her shoulders, and familiar looking eyes that were brilliant and green, filled with warmth.

"Mum?" Harry's voice wavered, the word being something he had only spoken in dreams.

A smile broke across her face, radiant and full of love. "Oh, my sweet boy."

And then she was holding him. He didn't know if it was possible here, but he felt it, warmth and love wrapping around him like a shield. He clung to her, gripping fistfuls of her robes as though she might disappear if he let go. His breath shuddered, something inside him breaking apart and knitting together all at once.

"You've been so strong," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his hair. "So much stronger than anyone should ever have to be."

Harry pulled back slightly, drinking in every detail of her face, trying to commit it to memory. "I—I don't understand. You're really here?"

She laughed softly, her fingers brushing against his cheek. "Yes, honey, I'm here."

His mind was reeling. "How? Wait, where's Dad? Is he here too?"

A shadow of regret flickered across her face, but her voice remained gentle. "No, sweetheart. There are rules. Only one of us was allowed to meet you this time."

Harry frowned. "Why?"

She hesitated. "I don't know all the reasons. But I promise you—he loves you, just as much as I do."

Harry swallowed hard, nodding. He wanted to ask more, but another thought struck him. His voice wavered. "Am I… dead?"

She sighed, her hands squeezing his. "That is for you to decide."

Confusion knotted in his chest, as he tried to make eye contact through his tears. "Decide? How can I decide something like that?"

Lily glanced past him, looking directly at the still suffering form of the ugly infant. "There was another soul inhabiting your body when you fell, Voldemort's. And so when you were hit with the killing curse, both of you were sent here, to a sort of limbo."

Harry stiffened. "His soul?"

She nodded, her expression clouded. "That is what the curse struck down. That part of him is gone now, but the choice remains for you. Whether you choose to stay here, or go back."

He swallowed, trying to wrap his head around it. It felt impossible. He glanced around at the endless glow, at the peace that settled over him like a warm blanket. No pain. No fear. He could see his Mum whenever he wanted. He could apologize to Ginny for taking too long.

His voice cracked. "I want to stay."

Lily's eyes filled with sadness, but she didn't look surprised. She squeezed his hands again, gently but firmly. "Oh, Honey, you can't."

Tears burned in his throat. "But—Mum, I—I don't have to fight anymore here. I don't have to hurt." His voice dropped, raw and quiet. "I'm tired. I'm hurt. I don't even remember who I am!"

Her hands came up to cradle his face, her touch firm yet gentle. "I know, sweetheart. I know. But you have a life left to live. You'll regain those memories again. You deserve to live. To be happy. To love and be loved."

Harry swallowed, shaking his head. "What if I go back and it all just—hurts again?"

Lily smiled softly, brushing his hair back. "It will. But you are strong enough to face it. And you won't be alone."

A lump formed in his throat, hot and heavy. "But I want to stay with you."

She kissed his forehead, her voice thick with emotion. "Someday, my love. You'll be with us again. But not today."

Clearing her throat, she gave him a final hug. "We're both so proud of you. But you have to remain strong. After all, you have so much left to live for. It's going to be hard, but there will also be so much to live and experience."

He closed his eyes, as the whiteness of the room seemed to be getting even brighter again. "Wait! I still have so many questions! I can't just go yet!"

His final sight was of his mother, tears in her eyes, as she waved him away.


Darkness.

For a moment, he wasn't sure if he still existed. He felt weightless, as though his very essence was slipping away, stretching thin, unraveling—

Then, with a gasp, he awoke.

Riddle's body seized as he sucked in a desperate breath. His vision swam, his limbs felt weak, and his magic—Merlin, his magic—felt wrong. The moment he reached for it, a sharp burn flared in his core, as if the very act of being alive came at a cost.

What had—?

His breath hitched as he remembered. The Killing Curse. He had hit Potter with it, and he remembered falling the second it had touched him.

His fingers curled into fists. It made no sense! Why had it affected him as well? There was no reasoning he could make to himself, as a small noise from behind him made his skin feel clammy, as a horrifying realization settled in.

Harry Potter had survived the Killing Curse again.

Still sprawled where he had fallen, but stirring. His breath was uneven, his fingers twitching against the stone, his face tightening as if he were trying to drag himself back to consciousness.

Riddle stared, and though he willed himself to feel nothing in front of them, something knotted in his chest. He couldn't show it. He wouldn't dare show it. But for the first time since returning to this world, Tom Riddle felt true fear.

What was he? What was Harry Potter?

Riddle had spent the last year learning everything there was to know of Potter through Ginny's eyes. He had sneered at the recklessness in his actions, his foolishness in the choice of those he surrounded himself with, his inexplicable luck, and yet none of that explained this. None of that explained why a boy could do what no other wizard in history had done twice.

His fingers twitched toward Ginny's wand. He had to try to kill him again. To ensure Potter never took another breath, didn't dare defy him a third time.

But he paused, as he stared in horror his own hand betrayed him.

It was trembling.

A sharp, seething rage curled in his gut. The drawbacks of his resurrection were shackling him, making him as weak as the girl he had stolen his life from. His new magic reserves built upon her soul were pathetic. He could feel it, could feel the way his magic felt depleted. He had his full arsenal, yet no way to use it.

His magical exhaustion was tearing at him, holding him back from his full potential. If he used too much magic now, he wouldn't last long enough to escape.

And escape he had to. The thought of Dumbledore stopping his before he could even truly start them stirred a fire in his soul.

His body ached as he slowly pushed himself up. His movements were sluggish and hurt, but it only served as fuel to his anger.

Finally managing to stand, he caught sight of something else. The Weasley boy.

The fool had managed to drag himself across the Chamber, and was now curled at the dead girl's side, his arms shaking as he tried to hold her.

The sight of it made Riddle's fingers clench. He had wanted to watch the idiot break, to see his mind shatter under the weight of his failure. His pain should have been longer. Worse. He wanted to curse him again. To curse both of them. But even just standing was straining his newly made body more than he could handle. He could feel the way his magic was flickering like a candle on its last breath.

He hated this weakness.

But he was not rash. He knew how to be patient. After all, what was another year of biding his time for a man who waited 66 years to be released from a book?

His lips curled in a sneer as he turned his gaze back to Potter. The boy was still on the floor, but Riddle could see the anger in his eyes. The way he stared him down.

I will make you pay for this, Potter, he thought darkly. Soon, you will experience pain beyond understanding. I will make you fear the name Voldermort once again.

His expression smoothed into something eerily calm, as his mouth twisted into a smirk.

Soon.

Taking a chance on one more spell, he summoned the diary into his hands, his hand slowly stroking the worn leather, angrily staring at the hole made into it.

With one final glance at the fallen boy, he turned sharply on his heel. Potter's time would come.

For now, he had to ensure his safety.

Pushing through the searing ache in his core, he strode toward the entrance of the Chamber. The stone door was still sealed shut, just as he had commanded it earlier. He sucked in a breath, and shouted as quickly as he could.

"Open!"

The walls trembled, as with a deep, grinding groan, the stone began to shift once again.

The moment the gap was large enough, he ran, disappearing into the darkness.


A dull ringing filled Harry's ears as he slowly pushed himself upright. His limbs felt leaden, keeping him from moving too briskly.

The stone beneath his fingers was cold and slick, and as he blinked the haze from his vision, and caught sight of movement near the center of the Chamber.

Harry swallowed back some bile building up in his throat. Ron was on the floor, hunched over a small, motionless figure.

Ginny.

His breath hitched. She had never looked so small before. The way she lay there, it felt almost wrong. It wasn't like she was asleep. It was—

Harry's stomach twisted. He didn't need to check for a pulse. He already knew she was gone.

They had been too late.

No, he had been too late.

She was gone, and it was his fault.

Ron was crying, his body wracked with silent, shuddering sobs. He was shaking, his hands gripping at Ginny's limp shoulders as if he could somehow pull her back, as if just holding on might be enough.

Harry had never seen Ron cry before, and at that moment wished he never had to. The desperation in his cries felt like blows to his body, each one hurting more and more. He slowly made his way over, his legs almost refusing to carry him.

For a long moment, Ron didn't even seem to notice that Harry was standing beside him. His fingers trembled as he reached for her hair, her hand, her face, anything to try to prove that she wasn't truly gone.

Harry's own throat felt tight once again as he crouched down beside him. He wanted to say something, but what words could possibly be enough? What could he possibly give as an excuse for something that had been his own damn fault?

A choked noise broke from Ron's throat, something between a sob and a whisper.

"She didn't—" he tried, but his voice failed him. He sucked in a shuddering breath and shook as more tears were streaming from his eyes. He tried forcing it out again, his voice cracking—

"She's dead."

Harry swallowed past the lump in his own throat. He didn't know what to say to possibly comfort him. Instead, slowly, gently, he reached out and placed a hand on Ron's shoulder.

Ron tensed at the touch, his body trembling. For a moment, Harry thought he might shove him away, might start blaming him right there, but—

He collapsed against him.

His sobs were muffled in Harry's shoulder, his fists clenched tightly in Harry's robes, as though attempting to ground himself.

Harry just held him, as they stood there in silence while Ron slowly gained his composure again.

But, from above, a soft, mournful cry filled the Chamber.

The phoenix from before descended gracefully, his golden feathers glowing faintly in the dim chamber light. A beautiful song filled the space around them, and though it didn't erase the pain, it pierced through it, in an attempt to help.

For Harry, the song was comforting. It was like warmth on a cold night, a whisper that told him he wasn't alone. Some energy seemed to almost seep back into his bones. But Ron only looked up at the phoenix, red-rimmed eyes dull and hollow. He looked a little steadier, but he wasn't sure it would be enough.

After a long silence, he let out a shaky breath and pulled back slightly, wiping at his face roughly with his sleeve.

"We—we need to go," he croaked. "We need to find someone. A professor. Now."

Harry nodded. He wasn't sure what they could do, but they had to do something.

Ron shifted, wincing as he tried to move.

"I—" He let out a shaky breath, gripping his side as if steadying himself. "I can barely walk. You—you might have to help me."

Harry moved to support him, but then Ron hesitated, looking back at Ginny's still form.

"…We can't leave her here," he whispered.

The phoenix let out a soft cry, as he lowered himself, spreading his magnificent wings as he extended his tail feathers toward them.

Staring at the golden-red hue emanating from them, Harry extended an arm, before stopping, unsure of what to do. "Do you want us to grab on?"

A swooping up and down of the phoenix's head was his response, as he grasped a few firmly, before glancing over at Ron. He had lifted Ginny into his arms, holding her close as he let out a few more sobs. He looked back at Harry, his expression almost alien to him, and reached for the feathers as well.

The moment they touched his feathers, a sudden rush of warmth and a pull emanated—

And the Chamber was gone.


The mood in McGonagall's office was thick with worry and dread. Both Weasley parents had been called in to be informed about their daughter's abduction, as well as the recent disappearance of their son, which only led to panic. Thankfully, they were both willing to listen to reason, even if Molly had taken a lot longer to convince. After all, if they didn't even know where the Chamber was, how could they look for them?

They had been in there waiting for some sort of news for an hour now, and the thought of calling in the Aurors, or getting anyone involved had been tossed up, but it had been shut down. There was enough fear going through the halls already, and if the staff themselves could not find the Chamber, the likelihood of Aurors less familiar with the passages finding it was incredibly low.

As Mrs. Weasley finally broke out of a sob, she stood up to beg them to search once again, a golden fire emanating from the center of the room, illuminating even the darkest corner of the room.

Once the heat had vanished, it left behind three figures—Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

For a split second she rushed to them, ready to grab them in a bone-breaking hug, but stopped. Harry felt he could see the exact moment her heart broke, as she let out a sharp wail, so raw with agony it tore through Harry's soul once again.

"No—no, no, no—Ginny!"

She stumbled forward, hands reaching, but Mr. Weasley caught her just in time, steadying her as her legs nearly gave out beneath her.

McGonagall's face had gone pale, as she raised her hands to cover her horrified face. She too, choked back a sob, as she turned to a tall man in a blue robe that Harry didn't recognize.

"Albus? Please tell me she isn't—"

But the older man lifted a hand, his eyes full of sorrow, as he gently lifted poor Ginny up, and covered her body with a pale blanket. His lack of an answer was enough, as she too began to shed a few tears at the loss of her student.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft.

"There are no words," he said, "that can ease the loss of a child."

He looked down at the covered body for a moment, then up again to meet Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's eyes. "But I promise you… we will get to the bottom of this. Whoever did this will be brought to justice. That I promise you."

Mr. Weasley gave a shaky nod, but Mrs. Weasley couldn't seem to respond. Her hands hovered in the air, unable to reach out, unable to look away.

He turned slightly to McGonagall. "Minerva, if you would… please prepare a private space in the Hospital Wing. Ginny deserves to be treated carefully. And her parents deserve the privacy to grieve."

She nodded as well, still crying. "Yes," she croaked out. "Yes… Of course."

He then turned his gaze to Harry and Ron. Harry knew they must have looked a mess, as he was barely upright, and Ron… Ron was trembling so hard he had to lean against the wall for support.

"I believe," The man said again, more firmly now, "that these two young men need immediate medical attention."

Mrs. Weasley flinched out of her daze, glancing over at Ron for the first time. "Oh—oh, my boy," she gasped, rushing to his side. Her hands fluttered over him as if unsure where to land, taking in the bruises and the blood covering his body.

He looked once more at Mr. Weasley, offering a softer voice. "If it's alright, I'd like you both to come with me. We'll take Ginny to the Hospital Wing now. I believe Poppy will want to see to Harry and Ron at once, and she will have a private space prepared."

Mr. Weasley nodded stiffly. He didn't trust his voice yet, and lifted his daughter, as he and Mrs. Weasley began their walk to the Hospital Wing.

He didn't resist when they too began walking, too exhausted to do more than allow himself to be guided. Ron gave a low groan as a woman Harry didn't recognize appeared from the hallway with wide, panicked eyes, already conjuring supplies.

"Albus, what on earth—?"

"Later, Poppy," The man called Albus said softly. "Please see to their injuries."

At that, she turned to observe them and almost let out a sound, taking in their current states. She began casting some form of spells over Ron as her lips pressed into a thin line. "Fractured bones, minor and major bruises all over his ribs and shoulders, and—" Her voice faltered for the first time. "Residual traces of the Cruciatus Curse."

Albus's expression darkened, but the nurse shook her head sharply. "No immediate remedy," she muttered, half to herself. "Just time. Just time." Her voice was tight, angrier than Harry had ever heard it. "You're lucky, Mr. Weasley. The younger you are, the easier it is to recover, but you'll feel it in your bones for a while yet. Expect pain. And tremors. Maybe for weeks. Maybe longer."

She then turned to Harry, casting another set of spells over him.

"Bruised ribs. Minor back trauma. And…" She stiffened. Her wand trembled slightly over his forearm before she turned to Albus with wide and horrified eyes. "A Basilisk bite."

Before he could respond, she went back to work trying to piece together something. "Neutralized, not sure how. There's been minor head trauma, and traces of…"

She trailed off, before she stared at him with an almost heartbreaking gaze.

"Harry, dear, do you know who I am?"

He shifted uncomfortably, as he almost reluctantly spoke.

"No."

Albus inhaled sharply, but did not interrupt.

Her brow furrowed in concern, then hardened. "Memory charm," she said grimly. "Strong one, and recent by the look of it."

"It was Lockhart," Ron said solemnly, his voice hoarse from crying. "He tried to use my broken wand, and he managed to get Harry before I stopped him.

She stared at Ron for a beat before spinning on her heel and rounding on Albus. "Of all the irresponsible—Albus! I said from the beginning that man was dangerous! And now—memory tampering? With a broken wand?"

He raised a calming hand. "Poppy, please. We'll deal with Lockhart. But first, we must tend to Harry and Ron."

Poppy looked like she might combust with fury, but she swallowed it down and nodded tightly. "Right. Yes. They need proper care, immediately. Come along, both of you. Let's get you into beds and start the treatment."

The lady waved her wand, and the curtains on the far end of the wing parted slowly to reveal two clean beds already prepared. She led them inside, moving with the kind of efficient urgency that told Harry she was doing her best to remain composed.

"Ron, left bed. Harry, right. We'll begin with stabilizing charms and healing draughts." She paused, casting another quick charm over Harry's head. "We'll discuss the memory charm further once you're both resting. But make no mistake, this is serious."

Slowly getting into bed, the next hour almost seemed like a haze as he and Ron were fed potion after potion of seemingly more and more gross things, before the nurse finally told them that they would have to stay under her supervision for the next few days to ensure they both healed alright.

Through it all, the old man stayed, seemingly lost in thought, until she finally left them to check up on the Weasleys. He seemed to almost shake himself out of it, as he walked up to them, with a face of solemn understanding.

"In case it is necessary for you Harry," he began, "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. And I will need to know everything that happened," he finished gently.

Ron's head remained bowed, his hands clenched into fists in his lap.

Harry swallowed hard. His voice felt caught in his throat, but he forced himself to speak.

"It—it's a long story."

He began to recount the events in the Chamber, his voice uneven, his thoughts scattered. He told him about the pipes, the way they had followed the trail deep beneath the school. He told him about the basilisk, about Riddle, about Ginny.

His voice wavered when he reached the part where she stopped breathing, only worsened by Ron's attempts to stay composed.

Ron barely spoke, only nodding or adding details when Harry faltered. When they reached the part where Riddle was taunting Harry, Ron finally lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, his voice hoarse.

"And that bastard tried to kill Harry," his voice still hoarse, eyes rimmed with red. "Hit him with the killing curse, but it failed."

At that, Dumbledore's eyes widened, before he turned to him.

Harry hesitated, his fingers tightening around the edge of the chair. "It didn't fail," he said finally, voice barely audible. "He did kill me with it."

Ron jerked his head toward him, eyes wide. "What—? But you—" He looked at Dumbledore, searching for an explanation, but the his expression remained still, save for the slightest twinkle flickering in his blue eyes.

"I remember…" Harry swallowed hard, staring down at his hands. "I don't know how to explain it. Everything just—stopped. And then I was somewhere else."

The room was silent. Even the soft rustle of the nurse's robes in the far corner had stilled.

"There was this… place. All white, kind of foggy. And she was there. My mum."

Ron gasped quietly, but Harry pressed on.

"She looked like the photo Hagrid gave me. But she smiled at me like she knew me—like she'd been waiting for me. She said she was proud." His voice broke, and he blinked rapidly, forcing himself to continue.

Ron looked like he didn't dare breathe. Dumbledore sat, hands folded in front of his mouth, eyes watchful but calm.

"I asked if I was dead," Harry continued. "And she said that was up to me. That a part of Voldemort was what the curse had really hit. She said I could stay, if I wanted." His fingers clenched again. "I— I wanted to. I really did. But she said no."

"She said no?" Ron asked in a hushed tone.

"She said I had a life to live. That I deserved to be happy, even if I had to fight for it. She said I wasn't done."

There was a beat of silence.

"She told me to go back. So I did."

Dumbledore exhaled slowly, the barest curve of a smile touching the corner of his mouth. His eyes sparkled briefly, as he nodded.

"I see," he said quietly. "There is much to be done then."

Harry gave him a confused look, but Dumbledore merely patted his hand gently.

"What matters, Harry, is that you came back. And that is no small feat."

Dumbledore let the moment sit before he straightened slightly, folding his hands behind his back.

"And now that I know the full extent of what occurred," he said, tone gently turning businesslike, "I believe your condition may not be so irreversible after all."

Harry blinked. "You think the memory charm—?"

"May be undone, yes," Dumbledore said. "If Lockhart is indeed still in the Chamber, I will personally retrieve him. If he is… cooperative, there may yet be a way to restore what you have lost. But time will be of the essence."

Harry nodded, cautiously hopeful.

"Rest now," Dumbledore said, placing a hand briefly on his shoulder. "And know, Harry… your mother was right. You do deserve a life worth living."

He turned to leave, his expression solemn, though that familiar twinkle lingered behind his spectacles as he made his way toward the door.

But before he reached it, Harry's voice cut through the quiet room again.

"Wait!"

Dumbledore paused, turning back to him with a curious look. "Yes, my boy?"

Harry shifted upright in his bed, the words bubbling up before he could second-guess them. "What about Riddle?"

Dumbledore blinked, visibly confused. "The diary was destroyed, was it not? Mr. Weasley stabbed it—"

Harry shook his head slowly. "He tried. But it didn't work the first time. And then Riddle—he stunned him before he could try again. He—" Harry's throat tightened. "He hit me with the Killing Curse before Ron could stop him, not after. And when I woke up… He was gone."

Gone.

The word seemed to hang in the air like smoke. For a moment, Dumbledore didn't move, his face drained of color.

It was the most shaken Harry had seen him through the whole conversation.

"He escaped?" Dumbledore said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry nodded. "I saw him. He ran. He used the same exit we came through."

Dumbledore's eyes unfocused for a brief second, as a calculating look overtook his expression. His hands tightened behind his back, the lines of his face drawn in grim clarity.

"I see," he said at last, though his voice was hollow now, distant.

Without another word, he turned and swept from the room, heading to walk out the room.


A.N. A really late update, very very sorry. Hospital visit cut into my writing time, but I tried my best to get it out as soon as possible! Really hope you guys enjoyed!