Chapter Text
Harry Potter was sitting at his small desk in his room at No. 4 Privet Drive and was writing a letter. Compared to last summer, when his mail had been stolen by a well-meaning but misguided elf (and compared to all summers before, when he hadn’t had any friends to write letters to), he now had a surprising amount of correspondence. Just yesterday, he had received an owl from Hagrid, who was enjoying a few more days with famous Magizoologist Newt Scamander before he would return to Hogwarts and take up his duties once more.
Harry also got regular missives from Hermione and Neville, who were enthusiastically making plans for the last week of August, when they would all meet at Knotfield Cottage, Neville’s home. They had made plenty of plans for that during their train ride back to London: to go on a shopping spree in the Muggle world to buy clothes and new board games, go to Diagon Alley for ice cream at Florian Fortescue’s and to get their school supplies, and last but not least take the Knight Bus to Little Hangleton to destroy the soul piece of a dark wizard.
Harry had shared with his friends all that Tom had found out from the diary: that Voldemort’s younger self had made himself immortal by cutting off essential pieces of his soul and forcing them into magical containers. His empathy had been the first to go and had been put into the diary that had caused so much trouble last year.
Having gotten rid of his compassion, Riddle was then capable of every atrocity imaginable. He underwent another ritual to isolate an unwanted part of his humanity and murdered his family to rip it off his soul: his faith.
“You mean – his belief in God?” Neville had asked, sounding puzzled by the revelation. Riddle hadn’t struck them as a religious person.
“Not necessarily in the Christian sense,” Harry had tried to explain. It was hard to put a label on all the components that made one human. “His faith in people and in fate – his basic ability to trust. The belief that there is goodness and goodwill, and that it will prevail. Voldemort is paranoid. That’s because he always assumes the worst of everyone and everything. He has no optimism and doesn’t trust anybody.”
It explained why Voldemort was a total psychopath. It also told them what they had to do to stop him: Find the Horcrux and destroy it.
“Will it make Voldemort vanish for good?” Hermione had asked, wondering where to put that into their plans for the holidays.
“Only if he didn’t go through with the crazy idea of making seven Horcruxes altogether,” Harry had replied darkly, telling her that after Riddle had made the first, he wondered if it would be safe enough. “He also sort of regretted that his immortality was now embedded in something as ordinary and mundane as a Muggle planner. He now had Morfin’s ring, which would make a much better home for his soul. That’s when he had the idea of creating another Horcrux. Riddle was a strong believer in the magic of numbers. He used Arithmancy to conclude the ideal number to make was seven. Besides, there were more pesky traits he thought it’d be nice to get rid of eventually. So he asked Professor Slughorn if it was possible to make that many.”
“He asked a teacher?” Hermione asked, wide-eyed. “Surely the Professor must have been alarmed?”
“He was a bit shocked, but I guess he decided not to take it seriously. He merely pointed out the atrocity of having to commit seven murders to accomplish such a goal, but he never said it was impossible. Riddle was happy for the confirmation.”
“We need help, Harry!” Hermione had then said, looking outright fearful. “We can’t possibly find Voldemort’s Horcruxes all by ourselves.”
“We can find the ring. Tom and I know where it is. Let’s start with that and decide from there. Maybe he didn’t make more than those two. If we’re lucky, Voldemort will dissolve into thin air with the ring gone.”
“How would we even know that?” Hermione had asked sceptically.
"Rainbows appearing in the sky? Doves flying?" had Neville suggested not quite seriously, which had made his friends grin despite the circumstances.
“We can’t ask for help, Hermione,” Harry had told her gravely. “Dumbledore has been suspicious of me since the moment I was sorted into Slytherin. There’s no telling what he’ll do when he finds out about Tom. I might be a Horcrux after all, and the normal procedure to do away with them is to destroy them.”
It seemed outrageous – Dumbledore was almost regarded as incarnation of Merlin in the wizarding world: wise, good, powerful, a fighter for the light. But you didn’t become powerful without making hard decisions, and Harry couldn’t rule out that Dumbledore might be willing to make them ‘for the greater good’. He had done so before.
Harry and Tom had concluded that Dumbledore had to suspect that Riddle had made Horcruxes. It was Dumbledore who had claimed from the day of Voldemort’s demise that he would be back. Their best guess was that Dumbledore had suspicions about Harry’s scar.
“I don’t think he suspects that you have another person in your head,” was Tom’s conclusion on the matter. “But he might suspect that it contains a sliver of Voldemort’s soul. That’s why he always seems so wary of you.”
Harry, with a sinking heart, had to admit that it totally made sense. Dumbledore had been shocked to learn that Harry was a Parselmouth though he was no descendant of the Gaunts. Maybe it wasn’t Harry’s skill to begin with: It used to be Tom’s, and it simply had bled over!
Harry would have loved to at least tell Professor Snape, as Hermione had timidly suggested, saying that surely, adults would know how to handle this better than they did. But Harry feared that he might feel obligated to tell the headmaster, and that there wasn’t much he could help them with.
In the end, his friends had both agreed that they would first try to deal with the ring on their own. How difficult could it be? They knew where it was and they had a plan how to get there. The worst part was that it would cause Tom a great amount of acute pain and lingering discomfort if the reabsorption of the first Horcrux was anything to go by. Tom was still suffering from the aftershock of suddenly finding himself with an unusually high amount of empathy. When Harry and Tom had gone to the movie theatre on one of their free afternoons to watch ‘The Secret Garden’ – a movie that had just come out about an orphan sent to live with unloving relatives and finding friends – Tom ended up in tears. He was really embarrassed about it afterwards, and Harry had been torn between teasing him and assuring him that some scenes in the movie had admittedly been touching.
Lately, Tom also reacted particularly sensitively to Aunt Petunia’s snide remarks, which was a bit ridiculous, as they had heard them all their lives and should be immune to them by now. Due to Tom’s sudden compassion, they also had come into conflict with Dudley over his tendency to bully smaller kids on the playground. Tom had been unable to stand by and watch when one kid had started crying and urged Harry to step in. It wasn’t that Harry disagreed – he hated bullying – but going after Dudley when he was with four of his friends and Harry wasn’t allowed to use magic simply wasn’t a good idea.
Before the Horcrux-absorption, Tom would have been the first to point that out, but the urge to help a child in need had overruled even his strong sense of self-preservation. Tom could count himself lucky that Harry was still quick and agile (and fit, thanks to the daily stair climbing in a castle with high towers), as the only way to deal with the inevitable outcome had been to run away. As the old game of Harry hunting was more interesting than bullying a random kid, they could at least count it as ‘mission accomplished’.
So all in all, the first part of their summer with Harry’s horrible relatives hadn’t been much fun. Fortunately for Harry, the new term would begin a week earlier this year, as the last Easter holidays had been extended by the same period due to the petrification panic and associated investigations. It meant altogether two weeks less with the Dursleys, which really cheered Harry up. He was grateful that he had his snowy owl Hedwig with him, who, thanks to his aunt’s (baseless) fear that she might self-incinerate if depressed, was free to come and go unhindered during night hours.
Hedwig had flown as far as Italy this year, delivering a letter to Blaise Zabini, Harry’s Slytherin dorm mate. Harry had been surprised to receive a missive from him about two weeks into his holidays. True, they had played chess together every evening and chatted a bit – mostly about things going on in Hogwarts and Slytherin house, about staff, students and lessons. They had also exchanged Christmas gifts, and Blaise had stuck by Harry when rumour had it that he was a dark lord in the making who went about petrifying fellow students. Did that make Blaise his friend, too? Harry’s only frame of reference was Hermione and Neville, whom he had first met on his journey to Hogwarts and who had stuck with him ever since. But they weren’t Slytherins. His dorm mates were a bit harder to understand than average people. Maybe Harry would get to know Blaise a little better through their correspondence.
And right now, because Tom, the boy who lived in his head, wouldn’t stop nagging him, Harry was composing a letter to Ginny Weasley. Harry still had trouble understanding why Tom had demanded that he should write to her in the first place. Ginny wasn’t a friend, just a fellow victim of the dark wizard who was after Harry, and the baby sister of Hogwarts’ most notorious mischief-makers who happened to give good advice from time to time. She was also only a first year. Well, a soon-to-be second year, but she’d still be one year below Harry. But worse, she also happened to have a crush on him. Under normal circumstances, that was reason enough to stay away from her. But Tom, who had never gotten emotional over anything in all the time Harry had known him (and that was basically since forever), had begged and whined, and finally made Harry give in.
His friend was still feeling a lot of remorse on Riddle’s behalf, and a strong urge to apologize to Ginny, who had fallen victim to his schemes. How was Harry supposed to do that? He couldn’t very well explain to Ginny that the boy in his head felt partly responsible for her suffering. What he could do was express regret for what she had gone through and offer an ear – he was, as Tom pointed out – the only one who knew what had truly happened.
“Think how terrible it must be for her – not even being able to talk to anyone about it!” pleaded his friend, and the fact that he was using emotions for his arguments rather than logical reasons was hard to get used to. “Every book on trauma I’ve read says that discussing events and your feelings with others is important for healing. Besides, it might be the best cure for her hero worship and adoration. She doesn’t know you. Once she finds out how stubborn you can be or how utterly unromantic you are, she might lose interest in you altogether.”
That finally was a sound and sensible argument (not that Harry was immune to emotional ones), and so here he was, bent over a piece of paper and trying to figure out what to say to Ginny. Harry finally decided on expressing his regret and telling her what had happened from his perspective – she had, after all, been unconscious for most of the time. He also admitted to her that he, too, had communicated with the diary and felt its allure. If Ginny hadn’t stolen it back, Riddle might have abducted Harry to the chamber.
He wasn’t sure if Ginny would reply to his letter. He had no such expectations, but to his surprise, a ruffled looking owl turned up on his windowsill only two days after he had sent Hedwig off with his missive. The little owl almost fell from the narrow board – it seemed to have issues with its sense of balance. Harry quickly reached out and pulled both owl and letter inside. As the poor thing seemed a bit out of sorts, Harry put him into Hedwig’s cage so he could get some rest while he opened the letter.
Dear Harry!
It was really kind of you to write to me! My parents also keep telling me that no one is blaming me, but they don’t understand … I was so stupid! I knew better than to trust anything that didn’t have a brain, but … coming to Hogwarts was harder than I had thought, and Riddle – that’s what I’m calling him now, too – was so understanding and comforting at first!
It took me a long time to realize what was going on. In the beginning, when Riddle possessed me, the memories were vague and fuzzy, and I really thought I had dreamed about being in the corridor when falling asleep before the Halloween feast. But then the writing on the wall was discovered and Mrs. Norris, and everybody said she was dead. Riddle told me not to worry – she was a nasty cat and nobody liked her. But that wasn’t true. Filch did. He was devastated!
When Colin ended up petrified, I had holes in my memory again. I remember being in the common room writing into the diary when Colin said that he was going to sneak into the hospital wing after curfew to bring you grapes. I rambled about him, mentioning his hero worship and told Riddle what he had just said. I guess that’s when Riddle took over. Getting the basilisk out from the bathroom and lying in wait near the hospital wing with it invisible by my side – once again, it felt like a particularly weird dream… I mean – a basilisk, it was so bizarre!
Of course I suspected that I had to have been the person who attacked Colin, but it didn’t make any sense. As Riddle pointed out, it was impossible – where had the basilisk come from? No one would believe me if I told anybody.
I didn’t remember much of anything when Justin was attacked – I suppose Riddle’s hold over me was so good at that point that he kept me mostly oblivious. I remember sitting at the breakfast table during that blizzard – then nothing but a vague memory of going to the Hufflepuff common room to deliver a message from Professor McGonagall to Justin. That she wanted to see him in the Tranfiguration classroom. I was almost sure that I had been in her class before, although I couldn’t remember it very well. The next thing I knew, I was back on the second floor – probably after having escorted the basilisk back to the Chamber - with everybody running past me to the third floor staircase. I suspected that I was somehow responsible, but I didn’t know how or why ... I was so scared! Riddle was sympathetic – even suggested that someone might have cursed and Obliviated me, as I would never do such a thing. So I kept quiet and a close watch in case anybody approached me. They kept saying it was you, but … you never even came near me.
I didn’t know who to talk to. I felt so guilty! Luckily, the Christmas holidays came and I decided to leave the diary at the Burrow when I went back to school. Unfortunately, my brother Percy found it and took it back to Hogwarts for me. I burst into tears, and Percy thought I was so happy to have it back. I managed to resist writing into it for a short while, but the compulsion was too strong! Barely two weeks into term, I was corresponding with Riddle again, who gave all kinds of excuses and made me doubt everything again. I finally managed to throw the diary into a toilet. I was so relieved! I thought it was gone for good! Imaging my shock when I saw it falling out of your backpack! Of all the people in the world, you were the last person I wanted to get his hands on it. I thought that if Riddle spoke to you, he would tell you things – to get his revenge on me for throwing the diary away.
I also found I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was as if Riddle was still whispering into my ear. I missed him. And so I started making plans on how to get into your dormitory to get the diary back.
Stealing the Polyjuice Potion from Professor Snape’s store seemed like the only way. I followed a Slytherin down to your common room and slipped in behind him. The main trouble was finding your dorm room, but I was lucky. Or maybe I could feel the diary, because it was the first room I set foot into. But I ran out of luck on my way out. I ran into Lockhart who wanted to talk to me – or rather to you – and he made me follow him to his office. I tried to back out, but I didn’t dare talk too much, as I couldn’t mimic your voice. So I had no choice but to follow him. Even though he was doing all the talking, he eventually noticed that something was wrong. Then the potion started losing its effect and I morphed back to my own body.
I gave him a pitiful excuse as to why I had broken into your dorm – trust me, you don’t want to know! – and he stupidly bought it. After lecturing me, he demanded that I go to Professor Snape and admit the theft to him. He said it would go better if it came from me and if I showed repentance. He even promised to put in a good word for me.
I knew Snape would have taken my head off. He’d been so furious about the fireworks! I told Riddle, who wasn’t very charming anymore, but very upset that I had tried to get rid of him, and he commanded me to kill Lockhart. This time, he didn’t even bother to keep me unaware of what I was doing, which gave me a small chance to resist him.
I had figured out by now that victims didn’t die, but ended up only petrified if they didn’t look the basilisk straight in the eye. I’m not sure if Riddle knew or even cared. I still have no idea what his agenda was or why he made me do these things. But I waited with my command to kill until Lockhart was posing in front of his mirror, and luckily it worked.
I don’t even want to imagine how it would be right now if I had actually succeeded in killing people. Professor Dumbledore told me that Lucius Malfoy was behind it, who wanted him out of Hogwarts. He said Malfoy had slipped me the diary in the bookstore to take revenge on my dad. Though I fail to understand the connection between Riddle and Malfoy. Did Malfoy know that there was a former Head Boy in the diary, hoping to come back to life somehow? Did he know that said boy would be able to command a monster? I think there’s something they’re not telling me. You know how adults are – they always want to protect you by keeping information from you, but usually, it only makes it worse.
Professor Dumbledore said that the basilisk was caught and dealt with. He also told me that you saved my life down there by destroying the diary. I want you to know that I am very grateful to you for that. Thank you – for coming after me and for writing to me. And I’m also very sorry for stunning you.
Sincerely,
Ginny Weasley
“Wow, that’s a lengthy letter,” said Tom, a little overwhelmed. “No wonder she liked to keep a diary.”
“You’re one to talk,” snorted Harry, “when a different version of yourself did the very same thing!”
“A VERY different version, if you please!” said Tom indignantly, then turned serious again. “Harry – is it possible that Dumbledore kept the true identity of Tom Riddle from Ginny? She doesn’t seem to know.”
“You know how Dumbledore likes to keep his secrets and only admits what is commonly known. Maybe he thought it would be more traumatizing for Ginny to know that she was actually possessed by the darkest wizard of the last two decades?”
“Well, I think she should know. I mean – if you blame yourself for falling victim to another wizard, wouldn’t it be a little easier to know that it wasn’t just to someone ordinary, but a very powerful wizard who still instills fear in the entire populace when someone so much as mentions his name?”
“I agree. I guess we should also tell her about Scilla, too. Who knows – Ginny might run into her at some point, and imagine how scared she’d be if she didn’t know.”
Harry took a piece of paper from his notepad (he still refused to use parchment outside classes – it was a matter of principle) and sat down to write a reply. He’d have to wait until nightfall anyway before he could let out the exhausted owl, so the tiny thing could have some time to recuperate.
Dear Ginny,
Thank you for telling me what happened to you. It answered quite a few questions I still had – like how Justin ended up petrified in a corridor while classes were in session.
As to Riddle and my correspondence with him: He never spoke about you. Not a single word. In fact, he never mentioned having been in someone else’s hands. And I, for some weird reason, didn’t even ask. He had a way of directing conversations where he wanted them to go, and keeping your mind too occupied to ask uncomfortable questions.
It was great what you did with Lockhart! You saved him – that was very good thinking! As to Riddle’s agenda – you’re right, they did leave out an important bit of information which I think you have a right to know: Tom Riddle wasn’t just anybody. Later in life, he became a very powerful dark wizard. You actually know him. He goes by the name of Voldemort. He told me so himself down in the chamber. His primary intent with the diary was getting a new body so the spirit of him that still keeps drifting around somewhere can come to life again.
Do you know how many people Tom Riddle (the later Voldemort) managed to charm, deceive or manipulate? He isn’t called the darkest wizard of our time for no reason. We’re only kids, Ginny. I was incredibly lucky twice. But we are not supposed to be able to hold our own against a dark lord at eleven, so stop blaming yourself.
And for the record: It wasn’t right of Dumbledore to paint me as some sort of hero again. I don’t know why he keeps doing that. I wanted to destroy the diary, but Riddle vanished before I could do anything. He probably wasn’t as clever with his nifty charms as he thought he was.
That part was basically a lie, and Harry couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty about it. They knew by now who had destroyed the diary and how, but Harry couldn’t very well tell her that without explaining Tom. He’d just tell her as much as he could without revealing his biggest and most dangerous secret.
There is one thing more you should probably know: Riddle had another victim in this – the basilisk. It’s a ‘she’, by the way, and her name is Scilla. We managed to capture her during the Easter holidays, and I spoke to her several times. Scilla is actually quite nice. She thought she was helping protect the school from dangerous wizards – that’s what Salazar and Riddle told her. She was just another being who believed their lies and was devastated when she found out the truth. We didn’t kill her. She was shrunken down to a more manageable size and now lives in the Forbidden Forest, chasing Acromantulas (which I personally think are really scary!). She’s actually quite friendly with my familiar, Marvolo. (Yes, I know. It’s a weird name – I came across it long before Riddle turned up. He’s very friendly as well, I swear!)
If you ever want to meet Scilla under friendlier circumstance, I could introduce you to her. I should point out though that she won’t obey you anymore – which I’m sure you’re pleased to hear. And there is another person you might like to talk to: Myrtle, the Ravenclaw ghost Riddle always made you banish from the bathroom. She’s the girl Riddle killed in 1943, and she, too, is fully aware of everything that happened, as are Neville and Hermione. So if you ever need someone to talk to who has a very unique perspective, I’m sure Myrtle will be thrilled.
Regards,
Harry