A Different Story

Chapter 31

29th Of May, 1993

Harry was 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.

His heart beating very fast, Harry stood listening to the chill silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where was Weasley?

He pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. He kept his 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 him. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir. Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.

Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard’s sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair.

"Weasley!" Harry muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees. He flung his wand aside, grabbed her shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble and as cold as ice, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn’t petrified. "Weasley, wake up," Harry muttered, shaking her. Weasley's head lolled hopelessly from side to side.

"She won’t wake," said a soft voice. Harry jumped and spun around on his knees. A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window.

"Who are you and what do you mean she won't wake?" Harry asked desperately. "She is not dead, is she?"

"My name is Tom Riddle and she’s still alive," said Riddle with disgust when he said his name. "But only just." Harry stared at him. Tom Riddle had a weird, misty light shining around him. "Are you a ghost?" Harry asked uncertainly.
"A memory," said Riddle quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years." He pointed toward the floor near the statue’s giant toes. Lying open, there was the little black diary.

"You’ve got to help me, Tom," Harry said, raising Weasley's head again. "We’ve got to get her out of here. There’s a basilisk here. I don’t know where it is, but it could be along any moment Please help me" Riddle didn’t move. Harry, sweating, managed to hoist Weasley half off the floor, and bent to pick up his wand again.

But his wand had gone. He looked up. Riddle was still watching him twirling Harry’s wand between his long fingers. Harry stretched out his hand for it. A smile curled the corners of Riddle’s mouth. He continued to stare at Harry, twirling the wand idly.

"Listen," Harry said urgently, his knees sagging with Weasley's dead weight. "We’ve got to go! If the basilisk comes —"

"It won’t come until it is called," Riddle said calmly. Harry lowered Ginny back onto the floor, unable to hold her up any longer. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Look, give me my wand, I might need it." Riddle’s smile broadened.

"You won’t be needing it," he said. Harry stared at him. "What do you mean, I won’t be?"

"I’ve waited a long time for this, Harry Potter," said Riddle. "For the chance to see you. To speak to you."

"Look," said Harry, losing his patience, "I don’t think you get it. We’re in the Chamber of Secrets. We can talk later"

"We’re going to talk now," said Riddle, still smiling broadly, and he pocketed Harry’s wand. Harry stared at him. There was something very funny going on here. "How did Weasley got like this?" he asked slowly.

"Well, that’s an interesting question," said Riddle pleasantly. "And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley’s like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger."

"What are you talking about?" asked Harry. "The diary," said Riddle. "My diary. Little Ginny’s been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes; how her brothers tease her; how she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books," Riddle’s eyes glinted All the time he spoke, his eyes never left Harry’s face. There was an almost hungry look in them.

He went on: "It's very boring having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl." But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic. I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. No one’s ever understood me like you, Tom. I’m so glad I’ve got this diary to confide in. It’s like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket." Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn’t suit him. It made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry’s neck.

"If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted. I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her."

"What d’you mean?" said Harry, whose mouth had gone very dry. "Haven’t you guessed yet, Harry Potter?" said Riddle softly. "Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib’s cat."

"No," Harry whispered. "Yes," said Riddle calmly. "Of course, she didn’t know what she was doing at first. It was very amusing. It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary," said Riddle.

"Well, you haven’t finished it," said Harry triumphantly. "No one’s died this time, not even the cat. In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who was Petrified will be all right again."

"Haven’t I already told you," said Riddle quietly, "that killing Mudbloods doesn’t matter to me anymore? For many months now, my new target has been you." Harry stared at him.

"I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I knew you’d come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter."

"Like what?" Harry spat, fists still clenched. "Well," said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, "how is it that you a boy with no extraordinary magical talent managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?" There was an odd red gleam in his hungry eyes now.

"Why do you care how I escaped?" said Harry slowly. "Voldemort was after your time."

"Voldemort," said Riddle softly, "is my past, present, and future." He pulled Harry’s wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words:

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Harry was shocked to know that the boy that he was talking to was none other than Voldemort. Then Voldemort called for the Basilisk, and the Basilisk tried to attack Harry. Then something unexpected happened, but Harry was grateful nonetheless.

"FIENDFYRE!"