//------------------------------// // The Chamber of Secrets // Story: Harry Potter and the Crystal Empire // by Damaged //------------------------------// I ran the events through my head again, trying to bring as much sense from them as I could. Something was controlling the basilisk—that much was certain. Snakes were smart, but the one defining trait of them was that they couldn't bloody-well write words on a wall with blood—they didn't have fingers. So I faced someone plus the basilisk. That wasn't a fun prospect. Ron and Gilderoy (whose memory was now the equivalent of Swiss cheese) were waiting behind me on the other side of a cave-in. Deeper, Ginny Weasley was—Uh. Alright, I didn't have all the answers, but I had enough that I could act. I was the hero, Ginny was the damsel in distress, and the basilisk was a dragon. I paused the train of thought. Does this make me a knight in shining armor? What about whoever is controlling the basilisk? They're evil, right? Bad wizard? Good job, Harry, now you made more questions. Alright, new plan: go in, break whatever control is on the basilisk, ask it to help me, something-something, rescue Ginny. This was the best plan I had, and before I could do anything about improving it, I had a door in front of me that needed opening. Obviously, using an alohomora charm was the easiest option, so it was the first I'd try. Memories of Hermione teaching it to me made me smile a bit—my wizard friends always had that effect. "Al-loh-ho-mor-ah!" The feel of a fizzled spell met my wizard senses. Right. Gesture. "Al-loh-ho-mor-ah!" A quick circle and stroke with my wand and the spell yet again failed to open the door, but this time I felt the spell actually form and cast—it just didn't open the door. Okay. Snake-themed door protecting what I could already assume was a snake-themed room that held a giant snake. Oh gosh, I wonder what the way to get in could be? As if I hadn't read Lord of the Rings. —Open and grant me access.— The actual words, as ever, just came to me. I asked the door to open, and before the last sibilant syllable left my lips, the snake-motif door began to unlock. Typical for magic things, it was at least a hundred times more complicated than it had any right to be, but that was the nature of magic. You don't do something directly, when you could launch a firework display and simulate a brass band's sound. Loud clunks and grinding noises—of ancient magic-drive machinery—rang out, and the door opened toward me. Honestly, if my best friend's sister wasn't actually in danger, I would have commented on how the locking mechanism was all for show—it was on the outside of an outward swinging door! Lifting my wand before the door got all the way open, I felt the tingle from the exactingly made wand as the phoenix feather in the core energized with potential. With a deep breath, I invested a little more power into the wand—preparing it for a quick spell. Through the door, I could see a face carved in stone at the end of a long hall. Flanking the platform down the middle of the room was water, and from the water sprang giant, man-sized snake heads—fangs bared. But there was more, much more. The room was hewn from rock, but the wet environment had started to make its mark with stalactites hanging from the ceiling that resembled nothing so much as giant teeth. Here and there in the room, large crystal structures had begun to grow from the water, but beside the face at the end was the biggest group of them. Black and malevolent, the crystals seemed almost alive (and given what I knew about magic, that might not be wrong). The strangest thing about all the crystals was the way they seemed drained. Crystals should be bright colors like rose quartz, but these seemed to be gray. Climbing inside wasn't easy. There was a ladder that led down to the damp strip of stone down the middle of the room, and even as the walls showed signs of moisture and crystalline deposits, the ladder was betrayed by rust. A cloying atmosphere seemed oddly perfect for what I assumed was going to be the lair of a giant snake—a magical snake. A magical snake that could harm just with a reflection of its vision. There was a sense rising that I, Harry Potter, was an idiot. The floor was reflective water, there were reflective and refractive crystals all around, and I came down here without a single plan for how to deal with the snake?! Cold certainty in my magic resisted the rising anger. I could speak to the snake, cover my eyes. Surely—as Hagrid had spent years teaching us; animals just need respect and some kind words. I steadied my breathing and then spotted Ginny. She was laying on what seemed to be the driest patch of stone flooring at the far end of the room. The big face carved into the wall stared down at her with malevolent certainty. She looked peaceful—but it was the kind of peace that belongs to the dead. "Ginny?" My pace quickened, speeding past the awkward shuffle-jog of a muggle impatient to get somewhere but not wanting to put any effort into the task, I broke into a run and only stopped as my legs folded beside Ginny. She was so still, so quiet. I begged her, asked her to come back. I don't know why her plight in particular hurt me, even given she was family to someone I thought of as family. Seeing her laying there so close to death hurt. I dropped my wand to feel for her pulse when I heard footsteps coming from one side. "She won't wake." The voice gave my ears the focus they needed so that I could look and see, "Tom? Tom Riddle?" I watched him walking toward me. "What do you mean she won't wake? She's not…?" "She's still alive, but only just." Tom walked closer, looking no older than I remember from the spell in the diary. He wore his uniform, complete with a robe of house Slytherin. The thing that surprised me, however, was how silently he moved, like he was a… "Are you a ghost?" I asked. "A memory—preserved in a diary for fifty years," he said. What he was, then, was a ghost. A memory of someone. Why does everybody have to be so bloody—? Ugh, keep on track, Harry. Focus on Ginny. I checked her temperature again, and her hand felt, well, it didn't feel as cold. The realization dawned quickly—my hands had been pressed to cold, wet stone. "She's cold as ice." I—I kinda lost it. All the pain and shock of seeing friends being petrified, of knowing that something truly evil was stalking the school, all piled up. Anger tried to push through, but the cold calm of my will kept me from lashing out. "Ginny, Please don't be dead. Wake up." A sound met my ear, an unmistakable sound—that of a wand being picked up from a stone floor. It didn't fully register at first. "You've got to help me, Tom. There's a basilisk—" "It won't come until it's called." The words chilled me more than the floor could have, more than the freezing water would. I looked up and saw Tom Riddle standing over me, his hands feeling my wand. Anger seethed, and I felt all the hairs on my arms prickle and stand up. "Give me my wand, Tom." "You won't be needing it." The way he worked his fingers over it, familiarity plain in their movements, disgusted me. The import of the situation slammed back into me—Ginny was dying. "Listen," I said. "We've got to go. We've got to save her!" "I'm afraid I can't do that, Harry. You see, as poor Ginny grows weaker, I grow stronger." He looked smug, and it was obvious why. He was doing this, he was behind all of this. Connections started coming together, and the smug bastard in front of me was killing Ginny Weasley. If my wand had been in my hand, I would have—I would have hurt him. "Yes, Harry, it was Ginny Weasley who opened the chamber of secrets." "Duh," I said, sarcasm dripping off the word. The distinct pleasure of seeing Tom Riddle's face contort in surprise was worth interrupting his monologue. I might not have gotten all the details from him, but it wasn't like it was hard to guess—he was draining Ginny of her lifeforce, that must have given him some control over her. "Yes, well, when she tried to dispose of my diary, I was almost defeated, but who should find it but you. The person I was—" "Listen. Is there a point to all this? I mean, I may be twelve, but I'm not stupid. You did this—all this—fifty years ago, and now you're still haunting this place and doing it again." When I mentioned haunting, Tom's face seemed to contort in anger for a moment. Interesting. Tom Riddle—or the ghost of him—seemed to shake off my interruption. "How is it that a baby with no extraordinary magical talent, was able to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a sc—" He was focused on my face, on the scar above my right eye. He almost touched it with my wand and then the tip of the wand strayed just a little—no longer pointing at me. My hand was quick, but I didn't want to rely on it. I shifted to my left, and while he began to bring the wand across, all that did was put it into my hand quicker. "What are you—? Give me that!" Tom Riddle tugged back, trying to yank my wand from my grip. —Come, protect me!— The last words burned in my ears as only a snake's could. I tightened my grip on my wand, even grabbed it with my other hand and jerked backwards. Ever supple, my wand flexed a little, but with the advantage of a two-handed grip on the wand, I was able to keep hold of it as I fell backward. A rumbling sound came from the face carved into the wall, and I stared down my body at it as the mouth opened. I turned just in time not to look at what I knew was coming. The sound of scales on water and on stone rang behind me, and I realized this was the moment I was going to need to use my wits. —No. I am your master!— "Parseltongue won't save you now, Potter. It only obeys me!" —Hunt him, kill him, bring him to me.— Possibilities ran through my head. Reach back and launch spells at them? That would be great, but without being able to aim I could hit Ginny. I could try some kind of teleport, but there were reasons why they only taught those to older students. Or I could try— Of course, in hindsight, running along ancient, uneven stones in wet conditions was hardly the smartest move ever. That I did it in school shoes was even worse. The tip of one of my shoes struck a raised edge of a stone, and I felt my weight pitch forward while my legs were both behind me. As I hit the stone for the second time, I kept hold of my wand at least. My glasses bounced off my face, and as I reached for them a loud screech cut through the air. I pulled my glasses on just in time to see Fawkes fly through the open door and, claws extended like a hawk, zoom over my head. Fawkes' flight caused the hair on my head to shift in the breeze of his passing—I hated to think how close to my back the basilisk was. The sound of an impact, followed by meaty-tearing noises sickened me. Looking up, I saw in the shadows what Fawkes was doing. "Its eyes!" Retreating quickly, Fawkes let out another cry and swooped back past me with one shredded eyeball in one of his talons, and a whole one in the other. "No!" Tom's voice betrayed actual emotion now, I realized. "Your bird might have blinded the basilisk, but it can still hear you." I had to roll my eyes at that. It was almost like Tom didn't know snakes had an excellent sense of smell, too. Or maybe he was deliberately leaving that out? I couldn't take any chances. With the snake blinded, I made a run for a side passage. This was better. Despite feeling the wind of the basilisk's movement right behind me, I was no longer hindered by lack of targeting or worry about hitting Ginny. Ginny… I'd left her alone with Tom—with a monster. I'd only have one shot at this—I had to do it right. Turning around, the monster was about twenty feet behind me down the tight corridor. I almost giggled as I began the incantation. "En-gor-gee-oh!" I had to gesture a circle with my wand, then aim it. Blue light shot from my wand and struck true on the basilisk's nose. The charm was something we'd only learned in the last week, and though I wasn't perfect with it, I didn't need to be. The basilisk lunged toward me and stopped. Stuck. On one hand, I didn't have a basilisk chasing me anymore, on the other, I had to find another way out. Turning back to the tunnel—away from the basilisk that was now stuck—I put my shoes to good effect and started running. "Left," I said. "Left, and… This will be the way back, I'm sure." Trying to keep my feet quiet, I stepped out of one of the tunnels near the head at the end of the hall and ran up to Ginny, or what was laying in Ginny's place. "What did you do to her?" On the ground, Ginny was no longer human. Her clothes stretched and tore in places as arms and legs changed to pale-furred limbs that ended in hooves. Her head, too, was changing. Where Ginny had been, over the course of seconds, a pony now lay. A pale furred pony with a shock of vivid red hair. "I said, what did you do to her?!" I looked at Tom Riddle, but his own eyes weren't on me. Higher than my head, he was gazing at something behind me—and there was fear in Tom's eyes. "Sh-She's mine!" Tom Riddle dove at the pony-Ginny. His forms seemed to contract as he sprang into her. Starting to turn to see what had spooked Tom, I saw the black crystals just behind me bleeding smoke and darkness. Green fire boiled within the smoke, and before I could think to do anything it rushed forward, and it too shot into Ginny. "No! Leave her alone!" I pointed my wand at Ginny and—and—I couldn't think of what to cast. —Let me free.— I shook my head from the stupor. I was just angry enough to want to blast something, and if the basilisk wanted another party, I had plenty of incendio to go around. —Why?— —He no longer controls me.— The basilisk sounded scared, panicked. —I can help.— "Dammit, Hagrid." I gestured a V with my wand, and aimed at the tail end of the basilisk. "Ruh-doo-see-oh!" I could feel a battle raging close by. Magic boiled within Ginny, dark magic unlike anything I'd experienced before. Even—Even Voldemort hadn't been like this. "What are you, Tom?" My words had drawn the basilisk near, and I could feel water wash up against my leg. Putting my hand out, not the one with my wand in it, I felt the scaled hide of the basilisk. —You can help her, do you know legilimency?— The odd name struck something in my mind. Cold certainty flooded away all the anger inside. I shook my head. After a moment, and realizing the basilisk was still blind, I said, —No.— —I can fix this, Harry Potter, but only if you promise that He will never again dominate me.— The snake's words hung with a thousand meanings, but one was clear: the basilisk hated Tom Riddle's ghost. Trembling, I held onto the basilisk for support as it whispered instructions to me. I pointed my wand at Ginny. "Leh-jill-ih-mens!" If it weren't for the basilisk I would have fallen atop the pony Ginny had become. As it was, I fell into her instead. Dark magic swirled around me, and I had to throw up a defensive charm just to be able to see where I was. Ginny. I was in Ginny's head. "Ginny! Ginny, are you there?!" Hindsight was clearly better than my glasses-corrected vision. I mean, stepping into a war zone and shouting loudly was hardly the smartest thing I could have done. "A-vah-dah ke-dah-vra!" The green bolt of light streaked toward me, but a moment from touching me it seemed to turn aside. A shape stepped from the haze of magic—Tom Riddle. "Potter? How did you… Forget it. You have to help me turn it aside!" "What?" As I looked into Tom's eyes, I saw real fear. I turned around and looked where his wand was pointing. "Oh. That." Seething clouds of black were pouring around Ginny's mind. It was sinking into her body and investing parts of her with its own energy. A shape stepped from the smoke—another pony shape. This stallion, and he was definitely a stallion by his stance, glared past me with red eyes with smoldering green smoke bordering them. Black mane, dark as midnight, tumbled around his gray forequarters. He looked amazing—majestic. "You have been tricked, Harry Potter. Tom Riddle wants to use Ginevra's body for himself. He would have infested her, taken her over, and lived again." The voice was like steel wrapped in velvet—dark and dusky, with a promise of action. I looked at Tom for a second, then back to the creature. "What are you doing to her?" "Ridding her mind of him." The stallion pointed one shod hoof at Tom. "A-vah-dah ke-dah-vra!" Tom's wand made a wiggle motion, then spouted a green beam of light toward the pony. Tom, I knew, was evil. This creature, a pony, I would have to take my chances with. I dove at Tom, knocking into him and shoving his wand out of his grip. "Stop this! I know that curse!" "Good." The words came from just behind me, and carried that same tickle of velvet. I shivered at the sound of a chuckle from the stallion. "I told you the absolute truth." As he spoke, the stallion walked around me, putting himself between Tom and his wand. "He would have done all that, and I'm here to stop him,"—the stallion chuckled—"because I want this body for my own." My heart felt like it stopped as the stallion's magic rushed toward Tom Riddle. "You are both whelps to me, beings not yet even begun to grow, but while you, Harry Potter, have earned the peace of my reprieve, your fellow human has not." As he spoke, dark magic rushed around and through Tom, and I watched as it sank into him. "It is an interesting trick, this magic of investing a part of yourself into an object, but it has dangers." Tom Riddle's ghost looked at me with honest surprise—another real emotion from him. "Harry, I can't stop it. It's more powerful than—than me." Realization seemed to have a calming effect on him. "It's going to consume me, it's going to—" "Shhh. Just serve your purpose. You were born to slavery, to a line spawned from those who dared escape my hoof. Welcome home, Voldemort." The stallion leaned over Tom, and I could see a mask of darkness forming over the ghost's face—a mask that resembled the stallion. "NO!" Tom screamed and began thrashing. I watched him rip out part of himself and throw it at the stallion. "You just want my—my horcrux! Well, I won't let a beast like you have it. It needs a soul, and it has destroyed mine, but there's another here." One of Tom's hands shot out to the side, and I watched it stretch—magically—beyond Ginny's mindscape, while the other aimed directly at what seemed to be Ginny herself. "You have—You have bested me, King Sombra, but you won't get my horcrux." Something rushed along the conduit that Tom's arms made, something amazing and wonderful, but as I watched it move beyond Ginny's mind, I was kicked from the mindscape. I screamed and fell back from Ginny's pony form. Cold and wet, I wanted to stop what was happening to Ginny, but there was nothing I could do. —WHAT IS THIS? YOU STINK OF HIS MAGIC!— A moment after the basilisk's voice hit my ears, I felt pain lance into my shoulder. It was as if a six inch blade was shoved past skin, flesh, and bone. Then it got worse. A hot rush of pain blossomed at the end of the knife blade. Screaming at the bite from the basilisk, I stumbled to my feet and ran forward blindly. Anger—fury—cut through the cold and calculating part of my mind and shoved free. A screech greeted my own inarticulate shout, and I saw Fawkes rushing toward me. Where the basilisk had bit me, was just above my heart. Its deadly poison would be rushing to every part of my body. As much as the venom's chill was eating my flesh, it also fed my anger. The bite would kill me, but until then the burning of it invigorated my flesh. Something called to me, some power I had never felt before. Running on instinct, barely able to think beyond my emotional explosion of rage, I grabbed for what the power offered. The crystals. Reaching out, I shoved magic through my wand and into one of the crystals. The gray mass brightened, then shimmered, and finally it radiated magic back. The power hadn't lied. "More!" I reached to the second mass of crystals as Fawkes reached me. I ignored his claws digging into my shoulder, and focused on empowering and extracting all the magic from the crystals. I needed more. More magic. More power. More crystals. I charged the remaining masses of crystals all at once, and the returning wave of magic set my soul on fire. I burned hotter than the sun. On my shoulder, Fawkes decided to make my body burn as well. "Leh-jill-ih-mens!" I screamed, aimed my wand at Ginny, and let loose the charm. But Ginny rolled over and jumped out of the way. She looked back at me with red eyes rimmed with green smoke. She smirked at me. "Harry Potter, the boy who lived. That's incorrect now." It was that same velvet-steel voice I'd heard inside her head. King Sombra's voice. Black smoke coiled out to surrounded Ginny Weasley, and she vanished. I looked at my arms, and purple-blue flames danced over blackened limbs. But something was wrong. Different. My arms were changing and my hands merging in on themselves. My wand burned—the fire danced up the length of wood and consumed it in an instant. The smoke from my wand, however, was alive. It swirled about me, caused me to turn around a few times in a dizzy circle, then it floated up before my face and slammed into my forehead. Screaming in rage, I ripped at my tightening clothes. I didn't care if my hands had turned into hooves, and I didn't care if I was dying anymore. Ginny was gone, and that was all that mattered. I collapsed on the stones and whined as even my clothes caught fire now. Changing just like Ginny had, I felt a tail stretch from my backside as a muzzle pushed out of my face. A sharp pain, different from the rest, lanced through my head. It felt like I was being ripped in two, and then a scream echoed through the chamber that wasn't my own. All the cold certainty of a wizard in his second year of school was gone, and soon so was my anger and consciousness.