A story in which Isabella Jenkins shows great potential from a young age. When Isabella's powers first appeared they were aggressive and violent. Her mother was a muggle and was scared and unsure of what to do with Isabella's unpredictable outbursts...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
We were standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. The chamber was very ornate and ostentatious. If it was a different situation I would have loved to examine it, but now was not the time.
My heart was beating very fast and my magic swam through every inch of my body in a state of paranoia.
Harry and I stood listening to the chill silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? Would I be able to control it as well as Tom? I was still the Hier of Slytherin, despite whether Tom was as well. And where was Ginny?
Harry pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. Pulling out my own wand followed him, we kept our eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following me in interest. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, I thought I saw one stir.
"Where are you Tom," I muttered. "I gathered you're a bit too old for fucking hide and seek,"
Then, as Harry and I drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall. I had to crane my neck to look up into the giant face above: the statue was a man from the neck up. I recognized the man immediately from the Slytherin bloodline book- Salazar Slytherin himself. It felt odd looking at him, knowing he was my however many greats grandfather. Looking at the statue I resisted letting out a scoff.
Vain much
Between the statue's feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair.
"Ginny!" Harry muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees. "Ginny — don't be dead — please don't be dead —" I followed Harry and swept to Ginny's side. Harry flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny's shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn't Petrified. But then she must be...
"Ginny, please wake up," Harry muttered desperately, shaking her. Ginny's head lolled hopelessly from side to side.
"She won't wake," said a soft voice. I quickly stood turning and pointing my wand at the voice. Harry jumped and spun around on his knees.
A familiar, tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though I was looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him.
