Rory Potter, the Girl Who Lived

The Heir of Slytherin

We're standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars carved with more snakes hold up the ceiling, which is so high I can't see it. A dim green glow lights up the chamber, and there's about six inches of water in random giant puddles flooding the chamber.
My heart is pounding against my chest, my skin is pale, and my eyes sweep the area, looking for Ginny. But there's nothing but Harry and I, and the eerie silence that chills me to the bone.
"Ginny?" Harry calls quietly.
"Shh!" I hiss. "Let's look around . . . "
We pull out our wands and proceed to creep forward through the puddles, our breath loud and fast in the silent chamber. Until I see something. It's the face of a giant man, carved into the stone wall. The carving's eyes are closed, his mouth is open, and it's so big that I can barely see the top.
Then we notice that Ginny lies face down at the bottom of it. Harry and I sprint forwards, splashing water everywhere but not caring. Harry drops his wand and falls to his knees beside the limp redhead. I stay standing, guarding them while Harry tries in vain to wake her.
She's as pale as the stone marble face above us, and her eyes are closed. I lean down and touch her cheek, which is ice cold against my hand. She's limp but not stiff and statue-like, so she's obviously not Petrified. Although she has to be: there's no other explanation.
"Ginny! Come on, Ginny, wake up! Please wake up - "
Just then, someone grabs my arm and yanks my wand away. They keep a firm grip on my thin bicep, so that I can't spin to see who or what it is. I let out a piercing scream to alert my twin. Harry jumps and turns around fast, groping for his own wand. But the person has his wand too.
"She won't wake," says the voice of the person who holds my arm. Its male, soft and deep, yet chillingly familiar.
Harry confirms my fear, gasping, "Tom - Tom Riddle!"
"Let go of me, you bastard! Of course she'll wake! She has to! She's not dead!" I growl, struggling.
Tom Riddle lets go of my arm and I stumble forward to fall on the cold stone floor next to Harry. I look up at the man with angry eyes.
"No, she's alive," Riddle says, brushing a lock of neat, shiny jet black hair from his glinting grey eyes. "But only just."
"How are you even here? You lived fifty years ago! Are you a ghost?" Harry says, pulling me to my feet next to him.
"A memory," Riddle purrs. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."
He points to the diary on the floor next to Ginny. It's the same diary we found in the bathroom, and that was stolen from Harry.
"You've got to help us, Tom," Harry says frantically, dropping to the floor and pulling Ginny's limp form to him protectively. "We've got to save her!"
"There's a basilisk," I add. "I don't know where it is, but it could be coming along at any moment. Please help us!"
Riddle twirls our wands between his long fingers and looks at us with a calm regard. His pale skin practically glows in the dimly lit chamber, and his tall form towers over us.
"It won't come until it's called. But for now, I wish to speak with the two of you," Riddle says.
"I don't think you understand," Harry says in exasperation. "We're in the Chamber of Secrets. We can talk with you later."
"No," says Riddle simply, a grin stretching his mouth. "We're going to talk now."
I glance warily at my twin brother. I'm most definately not Hermione, but I'm certainly smart enough to tell that there's something wrong with this picture. But what it is, I can't decide.
"Fine," I say decidedly, stepping forwards and brushing my long, wavy dark hair over my shoulder, at the same time flashing the lightning scar on my hand so that Riddle can see it. If I'm right, that scar could work to bribe him. "We'll talk. How did Ginny get like this?"
Harry gives me a look that screams, Stop right now! but I just give Riddle an smile equally as insane as his, making sure that he can see my lightning bolt scar, which he regards in an obsessive, almost hungry manner.
"Interesting question, Rory Potter," Riddle says calmly, his eyes never leaving my scar. "And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley is like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger."
"What are you talking about?" Harry snaps, pulling Ginny closer to him as though to protect her. "What do you mean?"
"The diary," Riddle grins evily. "My diary. Little Ginny's been writing to me for months, telling me how her brothers tease her so, how she had to come to school with tattered secondhand robes and books, how" - Riddle's steel eyes lock with my brothers - "she didn't think she'd ever be enough for the great, good, brilliant Harry Potter. How she was friends with the smart, beautiful Rory Potter, but that her twin brother Harry would never love Ginny."
I send a glance at Harry, but his expression gives nothing away. He just stares right back at Riddle's icy gaze, not flinching one bit.
I've known that Ginny fancies my brother for a while. I never told him. I never would. And based upon the way Harry cradles Ginny in his arms, based on his valiantly brave expression and protective stance with Ginny in his arms, I can guess that he may fancy her without realizing it.
"It's rather boring listening to the troubles of an eleven year old girl," Riddle continues, "but I was patient. I was sympathetic. I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. She said, 'Oh, Tom, no one understands me like you do!' and 'I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in. It's like having a friend in your pocket!'"
Riddle laughs; a high, cold sound that makes me shiver as I frantically try to decide why this laugh is familiar.
"Ginny poured out her heart and soul into that diary, into me. And I grew stronger on a diet of her worst fears, her deepest worries, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, so much more so than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding her a few of my own secrets. Pour a little of my soul into her."
"What do you mean?" I manage to choke out, even though I know the answer. But I'll ask the question for Harry's sake, as he'll need it spelled out for him.
"Haven't you guessed yet?" Riddle says, returning his unblinking gaze to my face. "Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny Weasley strangled the roosters. Ginny Weasley painted those messages on the wall and set the basilisk on those Mudbloods and that cat."
"No," Harry hisses, glancing at Ginny with wide eyes.
"Yes," Riddle grins. "Of course, she didn't know what she was doing at first. It was rather funny. 'I think I'm losing my memory, Tom. There's rooster feathers all over my robes and I have no clue how they got there.' and then 'Dear Tom, I've got paint all down the front of my shirt an there's a painted message on the wall. What if it's me?' The power of the diary began to scare her, so she tried to dispose of it in the bathroom. And who finds it but the two of you? The very people who I was most anxious to meet."
My green eyes widen and I demand, "Why Harry and I?"
"My dear girl, Ginny told me all about the two of you. Harry in particular. All about your fascinating history." His eyes take on an even more hungry look as he stares at my scar. "I knew I had to speak to you, meet you if I could. So I decided to show you my capture of that great oaf Hagrid to gain your trust."
"Hagrid is our friend!" I spit, glaring at the tall boy through angry green eyes. "And you framed him!"
Riddle laughs again, and a shiver runs down my spine. Why is that so familiar? Think, Rory, think! You're right behind Hermione in almost every class, why is this so hard to find out?!
"It was my word against Hagrid's. Poor old Professor Dippet believed me in an instant, but the Transfiguration professor, Dumbledore, was skeptical. He didn't believe me, and convince Dippet to let Hagrid remain as gamekeeper. He seemed to guess."
"I'll bet he saw straight through your lies," Harry says, his voice shaking with anger.
"He certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled. I knew I wouldn't be able to open the Chamber of Secrets again while I was at school, but I wasn't going to let years of work go to waste just because of him.
"So you're the Heir of Slytherin. You controlled Ginny, you framed Hagrid, but it's you. You coward! You're not even strong enough to do it yourself!" I hiss, narrowing my eyes in hatred.
"Yes, Rory. And I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen year old self in the pages in hopes that I could lead another to do it for me. To finish Salazar Slytherin's noble work."
"Well you haven't finished this time," I say triumphantly. "No one has died, not even the cat. And in a few hours, the Mandrake Drought will be ready, and all the people who have been Petrified will be back to normal again."
"Silly girl, can't you see? I don't care about killing Mudbloods anymore. For weeks now, my new target has been the two of you."
Harry stares and I take a step backwards. My brother grabs my arm and pulls me behind him as though to protect me, even though I'm the one who can still use magic: my necklace.
"Imagine my anger when my diary was opened and Ginny wrote to me, not you. She'd seen you with it and was terrified that I might spill all of her secrets. So the foolish little brat stole it back. But I knew what I had to do. It was clear to me that you were on the trail to Slytherin's heir. From everything Ginny told me about the two of you, I knew you would go to great lengths to solve the mystery - particularly if one of your best friends was attacked. And she told me that the whole school was buzzing because you both could speak Parseltongue . . ."
"So I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and come down here to wait. She struggled and cried and become very boring. But there isn't much life left in her; she put too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last . . . I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I knew you'd both come; you do everything together. I have so many questions for you, Rory and Harry Potter."
"Like what?" I demand.
My brain whirls at a hundred miles an hour as I try to piece together what's going on here. Why his laugh is so familiar.
"Well," Riddle says, smiling broadly, "how is it that the two of you - skinny children with no extraordinary magical talent - managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but scars, yet Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"
There's an odd red glow in his hungry eyes now.
"Why do you care how Rory and I escaped?" Harry demands. "Voldemort was after your time."
Riddle laughs again and his eyes turn even more red. And that's when I realize why his laugh is familiar. Harry opens his mouth to continue, but I smack his arm repeatedly, saying, "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
"Voldemort," Riddle says softly, "is my past, my present, and my future, Harry Potter. And I think that your sister has cracked my . . . ahem, riddle."
My green eyes widen and I press my lips together, shaking my head in denial. Not this all over again. It can't be. But it has to. There's no other explanation.
Riddle's eyebrows twitch as his eyes rest on my face. And his red eyes remain locked with my green eyes as he pulls Harry's wand from his pocket and begins to firey red draw letters in the air.
TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
He waves the wand once, and the letters begin to rearrange themselves in midair, confirming my fears.
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT
"You see?" asks Riddle. "It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me before I was even born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No - I fashioned myself a new name, a name one day wizards everywhere would fear to speak, when I became the greatest sorcerer in the world!"
Harry is staring in shock. He didn't see that coming at all. His mouth hangs open as he stares at the boy who grew up to murder our parents. I for one, figured it out just before Riddle literally spelled it out for him. And it just makes me hate the man even more.
"You're not," I hiss in a deadly quiet voice. I have a feeling that if Riddle was a mortal human, he may have dropped dead at the amount of venom in my voice.
"What?" Riddle snaps, with equally as much hate.
But I'm not scared of him. I stand tall and take a few steps forward, so that there's only a foot of space between me and the glowing form of Tom Riddle.
"You're not the greatest sorcerer in the world," I say, my green eyes flashing, my lips forming a half smirk. "Not sorry to burst your bubble, but Albus Dumbledore is the greatest sorcerer in the world. Even when you were at your peak power, you never had the guts to take Hogwarts. Because you're scared of Albus Dumbledore. He saw right through you. And wherever you are hiding now, you're still scared of him. Because you're a bloody coward."
The smile fades from Riddle's face just as fast as it appeared. It's replaced by a very ugly look filled with hatred. My smirk just widens as I stare at his flashing red eyes.
"Rory, that was a horrible idea . . . " Harry whispers.
I ignore him as Riddle takes a step closer to me, his expression one of murder. My grin just widens.
"Dumbledore has been driven from this castle by the mere memory of me," Riddle says quietly.
"He's not gone. He'll never truly leave Hogwarts as long as those who remain are loyal to him. And there are so many people who are loyal to him left at the school. You'll never be able to take Hogwarts, Tom Riddle, never," I hiss.
He opens his mouth to say something, but stops dead at the sound of trilling music. He whirls around to stare down the empty Chamber. The music slowly gets louder; something is approaching. It's eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly, and it makes me feel weird. Then, as the music reaches such a pitch that my blood starts to feel odd, a burst of fire erupts at the end of the Chamber.
A crimson bird the size of a swan has appeared, piping it's strange music so loud my ears tingle. Its golden tail is as long as a peacock's, and it's gripping a bundle of faded and patched fabric in its gleaming talons.
And the bird flies straight at us. Harry pulls me backward and away from Riddle, using the bird, which I now recognize as a phoenix, as a distraction. It drops the ragged bundle at Harry's feet, then lands on my shoulder. It folds its great wings and makes itself comfortable.
It stops singing and sits still, its warm feathers pressed against my cheek.
"That's a phoenix . . . " Riddle states the obvious.
"Way to go genius, you've identified a phoenix," I say sarcastically, then I address the bird: "Hello, Fawkes, how are you?"
Riddle looks as though he can't decide whether to be angry at the comment about his intelligence or whether to tell me I'm bonkers for talking to a bird ("It can't understand you!")