Ariadne's Thread ⭒ h. potter

In the Chamber

When she opened her eyes once more, Ariadne found herself staring directly at two enormous gray feet. Trailing her eyes up from there, she saw a long stone beard that connected to Salazar Slytherin's giant, ancient face. She was in Slytherin's Chamber.

The ache in her bones and rips in her robes told her that she'd been dragged down there. A Levitation Charm would have been nice, Gin. Ariadne shot up at the reminder of how she'd gotten there, ignoring the dizzying rush of blood from her head. Ginny!

"Ginny?" she called. The name echoed through the Chamber, and Ariadne strained to hear anything besides it.

A low muttering sounded from behind her, and Ariadne whipped her head around to find a small, black-robed figure sitting up on her knees, staring down intently at the diary while her mouth moved rapidly.

"Ginny, stop!" Ariadne yelled, but it was too late. As soon as Ginny finished her incantations, she collapsed onto her side as though a discarded rag doll. Ariadne awkwardly dragged herself over to Ginny's side as best as she could with her bound limbs. She had never felt so utterly powerless in her life, unable to check Ginny's pulse with her fingers or even shake her in desperation. She looked dead, deader than even those who had been Petrified. There was no blood in her blue lips, spidery veins over her eyes standing out in a morbid contrast to her icy pale skin. Ariadne leaned down, placing her cheek as close as she could to Ginny's mouth. She waited a beat and...

She felt a breath.

It was shallow, but it was something. Ginny was not dead, wouldn't die if Ariadne could just figure out how to get them out of here. But she didn't even know which way they had come in.

Ariadne had turned her back to the diary in order to check on Ginny, but she knew that had been a mistake as soon as she felt something begin to rattle behind her. Turning around slowly, afraid of what she might find, Ariadne saw a diary no longer but a cloud of black smoke, shrouding the diary in its mysterious haze. It rose slowly at first, before condensing darker and darker until it seemed to solidify. With her wand in her pocket and her arms behind her back, Ariadne could watch in horror as it began to take shape– something almost humanoid in form. Not almost. It was.

When the smoke finally cleared, the only evidence of its existence was the small dustings smoldering from the shoulders of the man who had developed from it. Not a man, Ariadne observed, noting his Slytherin robes and youthful features. A boy.

The boy dusted off his shoulders before staring at the arms that he had used to do so, gazing at them with such appreciation that Ariadne wondered if he'd ever been able to use them before. He grabbed onto his robes, stroking them before smiling an utterly wicked smile. He was pleased, but with what she did not know.

He walked casually over to a puddle, leaning down slightly so as to observe himself. He touched each feature of his face, a face that would have been extraordinarily handsome if it hadn't been born from a diary of such terrible cruelty. Finally, Ariadne determined it time to break him out of his reverie.

"Who are you?" she called, casting herself in front of Ginny's body. The boy whipped his head around in surprise but did not let the emotion show on his face.

"Oh?" He said nonchalantly, raising a terrible, perfect eyebrow at the sight of her. "And who might you be? You have not written in my diary."

"Your diary...? You're Tom Riddle," Ariadne finally realized. "How did you get here? You've done this to her. Is it Lucius Malfoy that you're working for? What did he make you do to her?"

Tom Riddle laughed, a cold, cruel thing. He turned pensive, as though pondering an amusing thought. "I knew a Malfoy, once. Abraxas, though, slippery thing that he was. You know, I think he always resented me for making Prefect. Believed that he deserved it based on his blood purity alone. But what is a Malfoy compared to–"