Tom's handwriting was not elegant.
Perhaps due to the way the blood flowed, the letters sprawled and clawed across the wall in a sinister, jagged style.
One word in particular, sincerity, stood out, glaringly sharp.
Was this "mercy" because they were both Hogwarts students?
Harry murmured, "I have to go alone."
"Has your brain been stuffed with as much Fudge as Dumbledore's?" Snape's expression twisted with fury as he pointed his wand at Harry's waist. Finding the armor in the way, he lifted it to aim at Harry's head instead. "Do you have any idea who you're up against?"
"You're going to face him alone?"
"With so many professors—"
Harry interrupted him. "I know exactly who he is."
"But he's not at full strength right now. I have a chance."
Snape's irritation deepened.
Harry continued, "Not a single student has died at Hogwarts. Is that because he's unwilling to kill?"
The skeleton on the floor, now being tended to by Scrimgeour, said otherwise.
"This is his 'sincerity.'" Harry's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "It's all so he can meet me."
"A general."
He gave a self-deprecating laugh.
"I can't just stand by and let my friends die because of him…"
The words trailed off.
Harry noticed Snape's expression shift drastically—regret, pain, a fleeting sense of vulnerability.
Such overt emotion was rare for a master of Occlumency, except when it came to Harry. Especially during their frequent detention sessions when conversations inevitably turned to Lily Potter.
Harry's eyes narrowed, his voice tinged with incredulity. "Don't tell me…"
Snape instinctively avoided Harry's gaze.
"Oh, wonderful," Harry said evenly, his composure restored. "When I get back, we need to talk. Or perhaps I'll speak with Dumbledore about it."
Snape remained silent.
Harry turned to leave, only to be stopped by Ron, who had darted forward, his hands still smeared with blood despite Professor McGonagall's efforts to apply dittany.
Ron grabbed Harry's hand, his eyes pleading. "Harry, you'll bring Ginny back, right?"
The warmth of blood seeped into Harry's skin, rough from the scabbed-over wounds.
"I can't promise anything," Harry said, locking eyes with Ron.
Tears welled in Ron's blue eyes, threatening to spill over. His grip loosened.
"But you've all treated me like family," Harry added. "Ginny's your sister, and that makes her mine too. I'll do everything I can."
Ron's grip tightened again, his strength returning as tears began to stream freely down his face.
He hadn't cried when Ginny was possessed.
He hadn't cried when he was pinned to the wall.
But now, the floodgates opened, and he sobbed uncontrollably.
McGonagall waved her wand to pull Ron away. "That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Come back and let me finish applying the potion."
She looked at Harry, her expression fraught with worry. "Bring Ginny back safely—and yourself too."
Harry nodded and left.
The path to the Chamber of Secrets was one he knew well.
The deepest door had already been opened. Torches illuminated the area, casting a bright light on the scene. There were even flowers and a red carpet laid out, as though for a grand ceremony.
Quen.
A faint golden shield enveloped him.
Protego.
Another invisible shield layered beneath the first.
Only then did he step inside.
The hall was pristine, yet a chilling, oppressive magic pulsated like a beating heart, alive and almost joyful.
At the far end, beneath the grotesque statue of Salazar Slytherin, lay Ginny, flat on the ground like a sacrificial offering, clutching an aged diary to her chest.
"Tom Riddle, I'm here. Just me," Harry said softly, his gaze fixed on Ginny.
Black mist poured from the diary, solidifying into the shape of a man.
Tall, handsome, with short dark brown hair and eyes like polished obsidian. Unlike Lockhart, who flaunted his charm with exaggerated theatrics, Tom exuded a natural charisma, effortless and magnetic.
He was like a brilliantly vibrant azalea.
"Harry Potter," Tom Riddle greeted with a courteous bow. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you properly."
"So you're Voldemort?" Harry tilted his head. "Compared to the last time I saw you, you look like a completely different person."
"You have hair. And a nose."
Tom's expression darkened. "Of course. I'm him—Voldemort as he was fifty years ago."
That answer made Harry's thoughts race.
"It's hard to believe," Tom said, running a hand through his hair with dramatic flair. "From everything I've heard from Ginny, it's incomprehensible."
"That someone as brilliant as me could become a feared Dark Lord, only to be defeated by a mere infant—even if…"
Harry interrupted him. "Are you referring to your brilliance at sneaking into the girls' bathroom every night?"
Tom's face twisted in fury. "That was for Slytherin!"
"I'd been searching for the Chamber of Secrets since I started at Hogwarts. It wasn't until my fifth year that I finally found it."
"That must've been tough," Harry said dryly. "Finding your way to the girls' lavatory."
"Harry Potter!" Tom's voice rose, his teeth grinding. "Your tongue is far sharper than Ginny described."
"I didn't think someone like you could get angry," Harry quipped, a faint smile curling his lips. "Considering how you've been toying with so many people."
Tom straightened, pride flashing across his features. "I'm glad you recognize my talent."
"Manipulating others has always been one of my greatest strengths…"
"Imperius Curse?" Harry cut him off again.
Tom shook his head. "No, no. Don't belittle me. While magic certainly helps, most of it comes from my natural charisma. It's a gift."
"Except for Dumbledore, no one could resist me."
"Ginny trusted me almost immediately. I have Hogwarts to thank for that—especially their brilliant idea to screen for Dark artifacts at the gates."
"I'm not one of those inferior cursed items. Even as a fourth-year, my mastery of the Dark Arts far surpassed any of your professors—except Dumbledore."
His dark eyes bore into Harry's. "Ginny said you're sharp. You notice the tiniest clues."
"Your eyes… they remind me of the greatest Dark wizard who came before me. He had a similar gaze."
"That's why I was cautious of you. But you still caught me off guard. You started searching for the 'unmoving serpent,' forcing me to act prematurely. I had to transfer the basilisk and regain some strength."
He paused, glancing back at Ginny's unconscious form.
"Ginny is a good girl."
"But should I praise her for her perceptiveness, or scold her for her lack of foresight?"
"She chose to trust you over me. Originally, I planned to use her to fully restore my power, but by Christmas, she was already preparing to turn me in to the professors."
"She even anticipated I might erase her memory and wrote herself a note in advance."
"Clever, but far too naive. I couldn't let her get away with it. I had to stir up trouble and pass myself off to Lockhart."
"You know how useful house-elves can be—pathetic creatures, but terribly convenient."
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Powerstones?
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