A Menacing Memory, A Frightful Familiar
He ignored the shed skin as much as possible.
Not that it was easy, it being some twenty feet long.
Instead, he kept his wand out, eyes flickering over every inch he could see of the columns and walls he walked past.
It was similar to the Slytherin common room, regality and heritage in each decoration.
Only, somehow, the weight of history was almost palpable.
There were large patches where the tile was torn or blasted apart. Water pooled elsewhere, and Harry could hear dripping coming from a handful of leaks.
But the mosaics under his feet were colored brightly, even under the centuries of dirt and dust that had collected.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine what they could learn from just the architecture down here.
Millicent would eat her robes for just an hour.
He opened another door, the language flowing from him easily as he stared at the empty eye sockets of the snakes adorning it.
The next room was almost an atrium, high ceilings, towering pillars, a statue on the far wall, and a boy looming over the unconscious (Merlin, please just be unconscious) form of Neville.
Harry’s focus narrowed as he lifted his wand.
“Who are you?”
The boy, tall, handsome, with a sharp smile, watched Harry approach. “Who do you think? Only the one person little Neville here has been able to talk to all year. The only one he could confide in, the only one to hear his plights.”
Harry’s gaze caught on black leather near Neville’s outstretched hand. “Riddle.”
Tom’s smile dropped. “Unfortunately. No need to ask who you are. Neville seemed convinced that you’d spare Slytherin cunning for Gryffindor heroics.”
“Luckily for him, I’ve got quite a bit of both. So, you possessed him through the book? Gained power from stealing his, used him to build fear in the school until you were corporeal?”
“Mm. Not the easiest way to handle things, but when my near century of solitude was broken by this blithering idiot, I decided I had to take advantage.”
“So, in a fit of… well, not quite cunning. Maybe nostalgia? You decided to try and end the school the same way you did when you were actually a student. Pitiful.”
Tom rolled his eyes at Harry’s attempt to anger him. “A shame that no one died this time. Don’t you think fear just adds a certain taste to the air? Of course, I realize that our victims were your little friends. That you’ve already created your own faction in the school, only to have me take them away without you even realizing what was going on. And you say I’m pitiful.”
“Shut up.” Harry barely noticed slipping into Parseltongue, his hiss echoing around the hard surfaces of the snake imagery scattered throughout the empty room.
Riddle’s eyebrow raised. “Parseltongue? And little Neville didn’t say a word. How… curious.”
“Curious that his loyalty doesn’t extend to some upstart in a journal?”
“Loyalty? To you? How can you call yourself their leader, little Potter? When your own godbrother needed me to make him feel like someone cared, like someone saw him.”
Harry worked his jaw. “I’m not disagreeing, Riddle. I let him down this year. But he’s mine. Not yours.”
Tom strolled closer, a predator’s stalk as he circled Harry standing protectively over Neville. “Would you like me to tell you? He told me. Every moment this year that you overlooked his pain, his loneliness…”
~
Neville peered through the door of the compartment, sucking in a nervous breath at his friends sitting within.
Pansy and Hadrian were bracketing a red haired girl, which must have been Ron’s little sister. Hermione was sitting with Theo, heads unsurprisingly bent over books and notes. Susan was dozing on Hadrian’s shoulder, and Hannah and Justin were chatting quietly.
There was an empty seat.
Maybe it was meant to be his.
He knocked quietly, and couldn’t help but smile when he was instantly waved in.
He perched on the edge of the empty seat, and was brought into a conversation about how Hadrian was going to organize this year’s journal.
“Gran wants me to start one this year. I have no idea what I’d write, though, and I forgot to buy one…”
Hadrian instantly perked up and pulled his out, walking him through the simple things he keeps tabs of. “Sorry, Nev, if I had an extra I’d let you have it, but I go through them so quickly.”
Ginny at his side leaned forward to dig through her bag, coming out with a simple leather journal. “Here, Longbottom. This ended up in my books, I think Mum bought it for me without telling me. I wouldn’t have the patience to keep a journal at school, you can have it if you’d like. It has some bloke’s name on it, so it may not be fit to end up in your family library, but maybe you can sort of see how you want to do things on something cheap before you start officially.”
He reached forward with a trembling hand. “Are you sure?”
He missed her hopeful glance towards the rest of the compartment. “I used my diary to vent when I didn’t think anyone would listen. I’m starting to think I’ll have better avenues for that now I’m at school.”
“Thanks.”
He skipped the midnight meeting in the Nook in favor of telling the friendly Tom Riddle all about his uncle and his gran, and how alone he felt being a coward in Gryffindor when all of his friends were flourishing in other Houses.
How spells just didn’t work, how he was holding his father’s legacy in his hand and couldn’t live up to Frank’s shadow.
Looking back, he never stood a chance after the words I’m sorry, Neville, tell me everything.
He forgot that he was supposed to be journaling for a family journal. Instead, almost every spare second he had was spent scribbling to his new friend.
One that never pitied him.
One that didn’t look at him and see his parents.
One that never hesitated to talk to him.
One whose only focus was him.
The Nook was bustling, and once again, Neville was sitting awkwardly near the door, not involved in any conversation.
Hadrian had squeezed his shoulder when he passed, and Theo had shot him a hesitant smile from across the room, but he was once again struck with how alone he was.
Not even Fred and George, the other Gryffindors in the Heralds official, made the gap between him and the rest feel any smaller.
The diary seemed like it was burning a hole through his bag.
Tom always listened to him.
Tom always noticed him.
Tom always asked.
He stood, shifting on his feet for a split second before he turned to walk out. He hesitated at the door of the Nook, looking back, over his friends laughing in small groups, passing notes, sharing books.
He looked.
No one looked back.
No one ever looked back.
So neither did he.
He was losing time. And when he did, strange things would happen.
He had to hide the blood on his robes. But no one noticed him anyways.
He didn’t know what it was from.
He was so clumsy, maybe he just slipped and hurt himself.
He didn’t see the message on the wall—that hallway freaked him out for some reason.
Another Gryffindor got hurt, a first year Dean was mentoring on Hadrian’s behalf.
Then Justin.
Hadrian was getting furious, Neville could tell when they ran into each other during class.
Neville avoided him outside of class.
Percy Weasley’s secret girlfriend was next.
Tom swore he was just tired, that maybe he needed to see Pomfrey.
But Pomfrey would write Gran.
And then Hermione got hurt.
Hadrian was a ball of rage, and everyone other than Heralds avoided him in the hallways.
Tom started asking questions.
Too many.
Too many nights he didn’t seem to get enough sleep.
Too many moments where he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes away from the diary waiting for him.
Neville was scared.
He tried to get rid of the diary when he woke up in the bathroom by that message, running out when a ghost appeared and started yelling at him for throwing things at her.
But he could feel it calling to him. He followed his Slytherin friends into their common room, using the dotty Luna Lovegood’s presence as a distraction to rifle through the second year boy’s lounge to get the diary back.
To get Tom back.
More missed hours.
More inexplicably sleepless nights.
He couldn’t stay awake in most of his classes, relying on Pepper Up potion that Tom walked him through making.
He knew, even with Tom swearing otherwise, that it was the diary.
But Tom just… cared.
And then he woke up back in that bathroom, with a strange hissing sound coming from somewhere, and he blacked out again.
And then he didn’t know where he was, but he was with Tom.
With Tom, who was somehow standing in front of him with a terrifying grin.
With Tom, who was hissing at a massive snake.
Neville didn’t know if he blacked out or passed out.
But the next time he blinked back awake, just for a moment, Hadrian was standing over him, the familiar feeling of his magic flowing through the room.
And when he passed out again, he knew he’d be safe.
Because his godbrother had come for him.
~
By the time Tom had stopped talking, satisfied smirk still in place, Harry was shaking as he stared at the limp body of Neville at Tom’s feet.
“What I don’t understand, Tom, is why you care so much. Is it just that I’m a threat to your precious title? Why did you fixate on me?”
Tom watched Harry for a moment, grin growing. “Oh, Potter. You still haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”
“What? That you’re the last of the official line of Slytherin through the Gaunts? That your father, your namesake, was a muggle? That you got Hagrid expelled so no one would suspect perfect prefect Riddle had anything to do with a muggleborn Ravenclaw dying? I got it.”
The apparition laughed, dark, low, near manic. “All true facts. And as much as I applaud your researching abilities, there’s one vital thing you apparently missed.”
Harry held his wand a little higher. “Enlighten me, then.”
Neville’s wand flared, fire following its path as Tom wrote out his name.
A swish through them, causing them to rearrange.
Well, Ron was right. Voldie again.
And then Harry was laughing.
Tom’s mouth snapped closed, jaw clenched. “You dare mock me?”
“Sorry, Tommy, I’m just imagining you figuring that anagram out in the margins of your Defense notes. I thought it was just bad French.”
The older boy sneered. “Its purpose is a duality. A poetry I wouldn’t expect an imbecile such as yourself to understand, Potter. Honoring my escape from my past, and a name to strike fear into anyone who heard it, to edify the masses that the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the British Isles and beyond had finally come to power.”
Harry sucked at his teeth, giving Tom a mock frown. “But you’re not the greatest sorcerer. I took you down at eighteen months. And Merlin knows I don’t quite get along with the man, but even at the height of your power, you trembled at the presence of Albus Dumbledore.”
He watched Tom’s jaw clench again, and then his expression turned to a smirk. “Why do you protect him, then, his legacy, if you harbor no love for the fool? I can feel your own power, Potter. You join me, and together we can tear him down.”
Harry laughed again.
His laughter wasn’t bright, not even mocking.
It was dark, deep, and echoed through the chamber like a snake’s warning hiss.
Like prey that had turned on the predator.
Almost… deranged.
(Had this been an older Tom, he would have remarked to himself how similar that laugh was to one of his most devoted.)
Harry watched him for a moment, matching his smirk. “You know, you tried that with me last year. You, being the actual, adult you, that was only a parasite on the back of some professor you attacked while he was studying half a continent away. Tried to lure me over to the Dark. Didn’t work, in case it wasn’t clear.”
“You see the similarities, don’t you? Looks aside, from what little Neville told me, our childhoods were almost mirrors. You were raised an orphan in a muggle world. Left there by Dumbledore to suffer. Parseltongue, Slytherin, already collecting a following.”
Harry ignored the trembling of his hands as he took an idiotic step forward. “There’s one thing that differs, though, Tommy. My parents loved me, died to protect me from some megalomaniac. And, of course, I am more pure. My parents both had magic, and passed it on to me. Your parents were a muggle and a squib, and neither of them cared enough to see you live past infancy.”
Harry saw the hit coming, but reacted just too late to move away from Tom’s backhand.
The next moment, he was on all fours on the floor, spitting up blood as an idle hand went for his lip. “Once again, my lady, I bleed for your safety.” He patted the tile as pushed himself to his knees. “The things I do for Hogwarts.”
Tom stood above him, a proud sneer on his face as he watched. “So willing to die for a school that’s caused nothing but pain?”
Harry sighed. “Maybe for you, Tom. But I protect those that protect me. And this place has given me sanctuary when most don’t even look twice. I owe her my loyalty. Not Dumbledore, but Hogwarts , and all she stands for.”
“It’s just a building, Potter. No need for such hysterics.”
“None of your little minions could sense her?” Harry chuckled as he awkwardly stood, suddenly exhausted. “You think we stay here just for tradition? The founders built this place, Tom. They infused their magic from the first brick. She’s more alive than you are. And I will defend her for as long as she allows me.”
A sharp cry echoed through the air, cutting through the constant sounds of dripping water. Both boys looked up and Harry could feel a rush of peace course through him as Fawkes circled them to settle on his shoulder, a ratty bunch of fabric in one of his claws.
“Hey, buddy. Did you come to help me?” Harry gently pulled the fabric away, and grinned down at a currently unanimated Alistair.
“This is what Dumbledore sends his champion? His pet bird and some barely functional hat?”
“Don’t you listen, Tom? Not Dumbledore. Hogwarts. I stand in her stead against a threat to her own.”
Tom stalked closer. “I am the Heir of Slytherin. I am not a threat, I am the purge. I will cleanse this place until only those worthy remain.”
“And you think you qualify? You barely count as a halfblood, and for all that it’s worth, a campaign of fear and discrimination gets you nothing but razed ground and a dying following. You are nothing but a ghost, a memory. And I will do the same thing I did to the real you—destroy you. Which, if we’re being honest, by rite of ancient conquest, makes me the Heir of Slytherin.”
A pulse of magic ran through the chamber, and Harry felt the magic of the castle swirl at his feet.
He smirked at the other boy, who was now clenching Neville’s wand in his fist with a fierce scowl.
“You may take that title, but she is still mine. Come to me, servant of my forefather, and protect that which you were ordered to serve.”
The large statue on the far wall shifted, a large door scraping loudly as it opened, stone on stone.
Harry felt himself begin to tremble when he saw the slightest movement emerge from the shadows within.
He screwed his eyes closed, instantly retreating back towards the long hallway he had entered through, ducking through one of the side channels.
Tom laughed as he watched. “Run where you’d like, little Potter. She can hunt you down like a rat scurrying away from a cat.”
“Morgana help me, Hogwarts help me,” Harry whispered as he tightened his grip on Alastair.
The hat got heavier as Fawkes let out a mighty cry.
Harry looked down, and reached into the opening of the hat with a frown.
His hand hit metal.
“What the-”
He grabbed and pulled.
A shining ruby, a leather bound hilt, a gleaming sword, letters embossed that he couldn’t quite make out in the dim light.
“A sword? I’m twelve, how do you expect me to know how to fight a giant snake with this?” he breathed, barely hearing himself over the sound of approaching scales.
He looked around, and seeing no other way of escape, took a deep breath.
He stared at the floor, ignoring the tears of fear that began to form and stepped back out.
The basilisk was moving closer, but he could hear it squeal in pain, and Fawkes was singing what almost seemed like a call to arms.
Tom was yelling at the phoenix to get away.
Harry bit back a curse. “Everyone’s going to murder me.” He raised his voice (not his eyes) and shouted to Fawkes. “Please, don’t hurt her beyond help, not for me. She’s another victim in all this.”
“Spare us your hysteric heroics, Potter, your stupid bird just blinded my snake.” Tom sounded furious, but sighed a moment later. “No concern, she can still hear you. I’m sure her bite is just as… definitive as her stare.”
Harry took a chance to run through the open area of the chamber, quickly looking around to get a read of what was happening.
Tom was attempting to shoot down Fawkes, yelling in Parseltongue for the basilisk to focus on Harry.
Fawkes was still pecking at the eyes of the basilisk, seemingly not even worried about Tom.
The basilisk was rearing its head back and forth, whether to get away from Fawkes, or to try and listen for Harry, he didn’t know.
Running across the atrium, Harry shot a few disarming charms towards Tom, heading towards the one vantage point he thought he could use.
There were only two thoughts in Harry’s head when he used the distraction of Fawkes to climb the giant statue of a bearded man, awkwardly holding a sword in one hand.
The first was that with as many suits of armor there were in the school, the Heralds should definitely learn how to fight with swords.
The second was that this would have been a hell of a story for Lockhart to write up for another Boy-Who-Lived story.
He scrambled onto the top just as Fawkes squealed and flew to a far corner of the room.
The giant creature turned to him.
He could almost feel his heart break, watching the blood trail down from the snake’s eyes.
But there was malice in the air, a hatred as the head swayed in front of him.
This is gonna suck, Harry thought as he balanced on the top of the bust, watching the now-blind basilisk track the sound of each step he took with a tilted head.
Beyond the big, pointy, large, too-wide mouth was Tom watching his plight with a sadistic glee, standing over the prone body of Neville.
Harry took every ounce of strength he had left to clang the sword on the marble beneath him, yelling as he did.
The snake reared back, its hiss echoing through the chamber like an earthquake.
It was almost as if the next few moments happened in slow motion.
The snake lunged forward, mouth getting impossibly wider as it did.
Harry took a deep breath, doing his best to calculate what little he knew of physics, what he knew from years of Harry Hunting and climbing trees and falling from Quidditch.
Turning the sword in his hand, he did the only thing he could think of doing.
Hadrian James Potter jumped.
He thought he knew pain. But not even ten years of Dursleys could prepare him for the agony that consumed him as he thrust the sword downward into the mouth of the beast, just as the top jaw began to close.
He knew there was a tooth now resting in his arm, and for some reason his forehead pounded like a war drum was being played on the front of his brain.
He landed hard on his feet, pain staggering as it lanced up his legs. He staggered back a moment later, tears streaming down his face, but sword still firmly in his hand, dripping blood and venom.
The basilisk screeched, an unintelligible hiss as it retreated back down one of the passageways in a blind, pained panic.
Harry shook as he tried to catch his breath, using his uninjured arm to wipe at the tears still falling. Fawkes flew overhead, wary of the other boy but singing a worried tune, circling lower and lower until he landed on Harry’s shoulder again, twisting his head to look at the wound in his upper arm.
When the bird started to cry, tears dripping down to mix with the blood on his arm, Harry instantly knew what was happening.
How close to death he stood, even as someone who had somehow defied it stood opposite.
He just hoped it would be enough.
Tom stood there, laughing even as the snake he claimed was his disappeared, bleeding and dying. He started to clap slowly, watching Harry with a smirk. “Good show, Potter. Almost makes me wonder what you could do with the resources at my disposal. Of course, you’ll not live long enough to find out.”
One step forward, and Fawkes flew away in fear, Tom with a manic grin as he began to close the gap.
“And neither will you.” Harry used the last ounce of strength, of adrenaline, of hope he had to lift the sword one last time, swinging it on the soaked diary lying just to his right.
The laugh that escaped from Tom was cut short when the venom slowly being absorbed by the Sword of Gryffindor cut through the leather and paper and became lodged halfway through the book.
He took another step forward, this one narrated with a scream as he staggered, wind picking up as he fell to his knees.
Harry echoed his scream with one of his own as he pulled the sword away and swung again, losing his footing and falling to the ground beside it.
He sucked in breath after breath as he watched the spirit of Tom Riddle be dragged back to the diary until a gust of wind had it disappear forever.
And then he closed his eyes.
Harry wasn’t sure how long he laid on the damp, cold marble of the Chamber floor.
He could feel water seeping into his robes.
He could feel the leather grip of the sword in his hand.
He could hear the shifting of feathers, the occasional wingbeat, as Fawkes floated overhead.
He could hear soft breathing from the middle of the room, where Neville was still unconscious.
He could hear the dripping of water, dripping onto the tile, into puddles, onto his back as he laid prone.
He could smell the blood, acrid and sharp.
He could smell the venom still lingering in the air, bleeding from the sword, from the diary.
There was a slight shift in the air, a lack of stillness, the promise of more rooms, another exit.
After he had finally caught his breath, after the pain in his arm dulled into a sharp ache, he blinked back into awareness, watching Fawkes a few feet away.
He smiled as he pulled himself together. “Thanks for the help, buddy. I would have been a goner without you.” He pushed himself up, trying not to cry out at the pressure on his wound. When he was seated, he reached a tentative hand out, breathing easier when Fawkes nuzzled into him, no longer seeming to worry about his arm.
Harry took one more breath before he started to slowly crawl towards Neville, dropping the sword and picking up both his and Neville’s wands as he went.
“Nev?” He pulled himself closer, until he was able to reach for a pulsepoint. “Nev, c’mon. Please. You gotta wake up for me.”
He used his wand to cast the basic diagnostic Hermione had forced him and Ron to learn after they met up in Diagon at the end of summer.
Summer, when all he had to worry about was some poser author and meeting with family.
Harry nearly started to sob at the mostly normal outputs of the scan, but bit back his emotion to lean against his godbrother’s side.
“Neville, please. I don’t know if I can go up there without you. You have to wake up. Ron’s waiting, Luna’s worried sick, Theo may actually cry if you don’t come with me, especially with Hermione still petrified.” He leaned his forehead against Neville’s barely moving chest.
He didn’t know how long he sat there.
It felt like hours.
It was probably minutes.
But the next thing he knew, Neville shifted under him with a groan.
“Nev?” Harry was too tired to be shocked at the broken tone of his own voice.
“Hadrian?” He sat up, wincing as he did.
Harry let out a sigh as he leaned back, holding back another sob. “I think you can call me Harry after this, mate.”
Neville stared at him for a moment, and then started to laugh, and Harry followed him a second after, adrenaline started to fall into hysterics.
After they had caught their breath from the startling laughter that broke through the oppressive echoes of the Chamber, Neville looked around. “Where are we?”
Harry started to stand, uselessly brushing off his pants. “Neville Longbottom, welcome to the Chamber of Secrets.” He spread his arms out, barely wincing at the tug along the bite wound. “Turns out the Heir of Slytherin really did cause all the fun this year.”
Neville’s eyes had caught on the diary, the sword of Gryffindor still half stuck on the leather cover. “The Heir of Slytherin… Tom… was possessing me? So… I really did all that? To Colin, Justin… Hermione… Harry, I’m so sorry, I tried to get rid of it, but-” He began to panic, not able to catch his breath, babbling and stuttering.
Harry fell to his knees again, instantly wrapping Neville in a hug. “This wasn’t you. I’ll explain everything later, but I promise no one will think less of you for what happened this year.”
Neville started to sob into Harry’s shoulder, melting into him as Harry tried to comfort him.
After a few minutes, his heaving settled, and he pulled back from Harry, face ruddy and eyes still wet.
“Is that… a sword?”
Harry followed Neville’s gaze to see the blood-covered blade gleaming in a puddle a few feet away.
“Yeah.” He gave half a snicker, turning back to his friend. “You ready to get out of here?” Harry asked, pushing Neville’s bangs out of his face.
“Please.”
They stood, leaning on each other, both exhausted and shaking.
Neville didn’t comment when Harry picked up the diary, and then sword, cast a scourgify, and awkwardly carried them as they went.
It took them longer than Harry would have liked to admit to make their way through the puddles and rubble on the floor, but soon enough they saw Ron’s face peering through a sizable hole in the wall.
“Nev? Thank Merlin. C’mon.” He thrust a hand through and helped Neville wiggle through, Harry just behind.
Ron stared when Fawkes flew through next. “You don’t do anything in halves, do you, mate.”
Harry looked back at the phoenix and shrugged, adjusting his grip on the sword. “Lockhart still out of it?”
“Seems it. Might wanna throw that Incarcerous on him again. Also, how are we getting out?” He held out Harry’s bag, eyeing but not mentioning the sword that then went into it.
“I might be able to ask the castle for stairs or something.”
They looked upwards. “That’s a lot of stairs.”
Fawkes chirped, and then grabbed the back of Lockhart’s robes with his claws, hovering in midair.
Even with barely any energy, even with basilisk venom still lingering in his veins, even with more open wounds than he thought was possible, Harry’s face lit into a massive grin. “Really?”
Fawkes chirped again, a happy trill.
“Harry?” Neville asked, leaning hard against Ron.
“Phoenixes can carry insane amounts of weight while flying. I think he wants us to hold on so he can fly us out of here.”
Ron sighed.
A moment later, they all collapsed on the cool tile of Myrtle’s bathroom, blinking against the harsh light. As soon as Neville stood, Luna was throwing herself in his arms.
Ron and Harry got similar excited greetings, even from Myrtle, who seemed more disappointed at the lack of potential ghost company than anything else.
When they stepped back, Luna was wrinkling her nose. “You both smell of death and have so many fribleknees around you. You need to get to Madam Pomfrey. But after you talk to Professor McGonagall.”
Neville groaned. “Do we have to? I want a shower and a long night’s rest.”
Luna winced. “Myrtle was keeping watch over the main halls. Your gran’s in McGonagall’s office.”
Neville stumbled to his feet and started walking immediately, Harry and Ron staggering behind him.
Luna waved to Myrtle and closed the door firmly behind her as she left, heading to the Nook.
No one thought twice about the unconscious, snoring figure still laying on the tiled floor.