𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐜𝐞 | ʜ. ᴊ. ᴘ. [ hiatus ]

• 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐫 •

❾¾ ⌁☍ ♪ ‹ 𝓶𝓪 𝓭𝓸𝓵𝓬𝓮 › ♪ ☍⌁¾❾

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 his girl?

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 shiny light brown hair.

"Dolce!" Harry mumbled under his breath, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees as his eyes glimmering tears again. "Dolce - don't be dead - please don't be dead - don't leave me-"

He flung his wand aside, grabbed Mal's shoulder, and turned her around, he let out terrible crack gasp.

Her condition was very bad, horrible, blood was scattered dry on her robe and uniform, her face very white to her feet was covered with severe blue bruises and her hair was disheveled, her face was very peaceful but harbored a tremendous pain that made Harry's heart ache terribly.

The traces of blood flowing in the puddles form a pool that psychopaths might enjoy licking.

"Dolce, please wake up," Harry muttered desperately, cupped Mal's cheek. Her shoulders lolled hopelessly from side to side. "Don't leave me, I'm sorry to left you- I shouldn't had-"

"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. But there was no mistaking him -

"Tom - Tom Riddle?"

Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry's face.

"What d'you mean, she won't wake?" Harry said desperately. "She's not - she's not - ?"

"She's still alive," said Riddle. "But only just since with lot of bruises and I gave her some present."

Harry stared at him with anger.

"Why is Mal like this?" said Harry quietly in anger.

"She sacrificed herself for the person she loved more than her own life," he said, looking satisfied at Mal's stiff body. "actually there's no need to go this far, but considering she's so powerful- I have to cripple her."

Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen.

"Are you a ghost?" Harry said uncertainly.