May 29th, 1992

Harry stood dumbly in McGonagall's office with his thoughts scattered. In front of him was a sobbing Mrs. Weasley, a solemn Professor McGonagall, and a saddened Mr. Weasley hugging Ron. Harry was standing by the fire of the office, and despite the warmth of the hearth, was still chilled by an experience that most grown wizards and witches would have been frightened by. It did not help that he was also somewhat wet, both with sewage water and blood. The primary reason for his unsettled mind, however, was neither the current damp quality of his robes or the fact that he had just faced down and killed Salazar Slytherin's one-thousand-year-old basilisk.

No, it was the fact that Harry had failed, and now Ginny Weasley was dead.

Earlier

Harry entered the long, dimly lit chamber. The entire space had a green glow to it, and the snake motif continued throughout the hall. Harry slowly moved forward, wand out, checking each of the pillars on either side of him that straddled the main path for any signs of impending doom, mostly of the basilisk-related variety. There were a considerable number of tall pillars, and each one seemed to possess carved stone snakes that threatened to leap out at him whenever he looked away. As he neared the last row of pillars, a great statue of a wizard came into view, as tall as the ceiling and made of stone. And by its feet lay Ginny's prone and pale form.

"Ginny!" Harry sprinted over to the body of his best friend's sister, placing his wand down while falling to his knees and using both hands to grab her shoulders, hoping beyond hope that she wasn't dead. She didn't respond. Her face was pale, her body cold, her eyes closed… and not petrified. "Please don't be dead! Ginny, wake up!" Harry desperately said, almost whispered, gently trying to shake her back into consciousness.

"She won't wake," came a soft voice from behind Harry. Harry spun around quickly at the sound, still on his knees. A black-haired girl was leaning against one of the nearest pillars while looking back at Harry. She blurred at the edges, as if not wholly there.

"Wh-who are you?" Harry stuttered, shocked by the presence of another person in the Chamber of Secrets. He relaxed a bit after examining her uniform for a second, realizing that she was also a Hogwarts student, albeit an older Slytherin. She smirked.

"I'm Tom," she lazily replied, looking off past Harry's head into Salazar Slytherin's statue.

"Tom – Tom Riddle?" She nodded. "But, you're a … girl." Harry was somewhat bewildered – after all, he had never seen a female Tom before, and in all fairness to himself, much of the memory Tom had shown him was either shrouded in near-pitch-black darkness or from a first-person point of view. Riddle glared back at him.

Finally, Harry shook his head, and returned to the considerably more worrying issue. "What do you mean she won't wake?" Harry asked. "She's not, well…"

"She's not dead." Harry let out a breath of air he didn't know he had been holding. "But only just." Harry glanced up at that, finally looking at Riddle directly and taking her figure in. She was fairly tall, taller than he was at any rate, and her angular features, high cheekbones, and silky hair only contributed to what Harry could describe as 'pretty', though there was a look in her eyes that detracted from the attractiveness of her form. Riddle was also young – she looked like she could still be school, and not more than a few years older than Harry himself.

"Are you a ghost?" Harry questioned, uncertain of how Tom Riddle appeared here in this form.

"A memory," responded Riddle, her voice quiet. "Preserved for fifty years in a diary. And if things go right, I'll be more than a memory momentarily." Harry glanced at the feet of the statue, where a diary – Riddle's little black diary, the one he had found in Myrtle's bathroom – sat.

"You've got to help me, Tom." Harry, doing the best he could, tried to lift Ginny off the ground and slung her across his shoulders. Bending, he went to pick up his wand where he left it, only to discover that it had vanished.

"Did you see my –?"

Harry looked up at Riddle and found his wand in her hand. She was examining it while twirling the wand around between her long slender fingers.

"Thanks," Harry said, strained with Ginny's weight, as he reached out to receive the wand from Riddle. It didn't come. Riddle's mouth curled up in a smile, though it looked to have little happiness and a lot more of what Harry would describe as malice.

"We've got to go," said Harry urgently, glancing around. "If the basilisk comes back…"

"It won't come until it's called," Riddle replied, still playing with Harry's wand. Harry knelt to gently put Ginny back on the ground at this, unable to continue carrying her weight. Slowly, he stood back up, all the while looking straight at Riddle. This all seemed very odd – there was something else at play.

"How did she get like this?" Harry asked, still eyeing Riddle and his own wand in her hand. Riddle pocketed the wand before replying.

"Ah, well that's an interesting question," Riddle said, a pleasant tone in her voice that contrasted with the grim smile on her face. "I suppose it's because Ginny Weasley poured her heart and soul into something she did not understand."

"What are you talking about?" queried Harry, confused.

"The diary," replied Riddle. "My diary. Little Ginny has been writing all of her fears and worries into it for months, telling me everything that she was thinking about: her family, her school experiences, and most importantly, you, about how she felt like she was never good enough for the great Harry Potter…" Riddle's eyes bored into Harry, a hungry gleam staring right into his soul.

"It was dreadfully boring, the silly troubles of an eleven-year-old girl. But I was patient, I wrote back, I was kind, I understood her. Ginny simply loved me. I was like the friend she could carry everywhere and talk to at any time." Riddle laughed, the coldness of which did not match her rich soft voice, and the laughter put Harry on edge. It seemed so familiar to him…

"The more Ginny wrote to me, the more I grew stronger. Eventually, I gathered enough strength, far more than little Miss Weasley herself had, and I could begin pouring some of my soul back into her." Riddle huffed a bit. "She did begin to suspect that something was wrong, however, and after some time, she tried to dispose of the diary. Of course, imagine my delight when the person who picked it up after that was none other than you, Harry Potter, the one I had wanted to meet and talk to for so long."

"And why did you want to meet me?" said Harry. His emotions were a mix of anger at Riddle for whatever she had done and concern for Ginny, whose condition he knew could only be getting worse in this miserable chamber.

"Well, Ginny told me all about you, and your fascinating history. I had to find out more about you, so to gain your trust, I told you all about my own fifth year, about my great capture of that oaf Hagrid."

"Hagrid's my friend," Harry responded, the wrath in his blood turning into shakiness in his voice. His fists were clenched. "I thought you had made a mistake, but you just framed him, didn't you?" Riddle laughed that cold laugh again.

"It was my word against his, and no one disputed mine against someone who everyone in the school knew liked all of those exotic creatures. The stupidity of Dippet and the others, believing that someone as foolish and weak as Hagrid could be the Heir of Slytherin. Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, didn't fully believe me. He never had…" Riddle trailed off at the end.

"I bet Dumbledore saw right through you," Harry grinded out, his teeth gritted.

"Well, in any case, I was unable to complete my goal then, but I knew that by preserving my sixteen-year-old self in a diary, I could one day return to finish what I had not completed." Harry had a triumphant look at this.

"You've failed again then. No one has died, not even a muggle-born. The Mandrake Drought is near finished and soon everyone will be all right."

"Haven't I told you already," whispered Riddle, "that killing Mudbloods doesn't matter anymore? My new target is you, and it has been for many months now." Harry stared at Riddle, confused and more than a little curious.

"Why?"

"Isn't it odd how a baby defeated the most powerful wizard of all time? How you escaped with little more than a scar when Lord Voldemort's powers were shattered?" Her eyes had an almost red gleam now, though it could have been a trick of light.

"Why do you care," Harry replied, slowly. "Voldemort was after your time."

"Voldemort," said Riddle, her voice now soft and quiet. "is my past, present, and future."

Pulling Harry's wand from robes, Riddle waved around her wand, writing out her full name.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

With a simple swish of the wand, the letters swirled around, re-arranging themselves.

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

"You see? It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, only to those closest to me, of course. I was never going to continue using the stupid name of my muggle father that my mother, at the end of her life and wit, chose for me in delusion because she thought I was a boy. No, I fashioned a name that everyone would remember, that everyone would fear when I became the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

Harry stood numbly staring at Riddle, whose rather pretty face had been twisted in the throes of her speech into something far less appealing. And then he realized the greatest twist of the speech. Voldemort was a female? Harry was shocked. He believed that Voldemort had always been male – no one ever said anything to the contrary. He remembered a cold laugh and green light as a baby, but that reasonably could've been from either a male or female, given the vagueness of the memory. The wraith in his first year, as well, on the back of Quirrell's head had little in the way of distinctive features for either sex; it wasn't much more than just eyes, a nose, and a mouth, and its voice was little more than a scratchy sound.

"You're not," Harry finally responded, his brain coming to grips with the whole situation. His voice was harsh, especially as he connected this school-aged student to his parents' murderer.

"Not what?" Riddle snapped back.

"Not the greatest sorcerer in the world. Sorry to disappoint, but Albus Dumbledore is, and everyone in the world knows it. Even you didn't dare to attack Hogwarts at the peak of your power. Dumbledore has seen through you since you were at school, and you're still frightened by him now." Harry breathed at the end of his long tirade, having vented some of his anger. Riddle's smile had been replaced by an ugly look; a glare far more malicious than when Harry had first exclaimed that Tom was a girl.

"Dumbledore has been driven out of this castle by my mere memory!"

"He's not as gone as you might think!" Riddle opened her mouth to retort, but a sudden cry stopped her. Music filled the chamber as a crimson bird flew in, its feathers glittering. It dropped a raggedy thing – Harry quickly realized that it was the school sorting hat – at his feet, before landing on his shoulder.

"That's a phoenix…" Riddle whispered, staring at it.

"Fawkes?" Harry questioned, curious about why the old bird had come.

Then Riddle began to laugh. Her laughter rang out, echoing throughout the chamber as it increased in intensity.

"Back to business – how did you survive my killing curse?"

Harry thought for a moment, analyzing his situation. Armed with only the sorting hat and having no reinforcements other than a phoenix, he was heavily disadvantaged against Riddle, who still wielded Harry's wand. He also noticed that Riddle was becoming clearer and more defined with every passing minute, so he had to end this conversation now before she became even more solid.

"My mother died to protect me. My muggle-born mother," he emphasized, "stopped you with her love. And now you're a wreck. You're less than human. I saw you, the real you, last year, and you are pathetic. That's where all your power got you. You're hiding. You're ugly, you're foul!"

Riddle's face contorted, before she forced it into a sinister-looking, awful smile.

"Very well, then," Riddle said, fingering Harry's wand. "Let's test this. Let's test Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived with the best tools Albus Dumbledore has to offer to him against the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Slytherin."

And things went rather downhill for Harry after that, considering he was facing trouble of the basilisk-related variety.

Present

Wrapping his arms around his slightly moist robes, Harry leaned against part of the wall by the office fire. He was overwhelmed by guilt – guilt from his failure, and that his relationship with Ron, and no doubt the Weasley family, was now irrevocably damaged. If only he had been faster. Maybe he could have saved Ginny. Then again, Riddle being there didn't make it any easier.

The basilisk had easily been the most terrifying thing Harry had ever faced, and that was taking into account the shade of one of the greatest dark lords of all time inhabiting a homicidal Defense professor that he faced last year. It took everything Harry had and literally more (in the form of Fawkes and phoenix tears) to defeat the basilisk, and it took the second year far closer to the death's veil than he wanted to be at this age.

Harry's mouth did curl up a bit when he remembered how angry Riddle was after seeing the basilisk defeated and dead.

Earlier, but not as early

With a great crash, the massive millennium-old basilisk slumped onto the ground as Gryffindor's sword pierced the roof of its mouth. Harry could vaguely hear a scream of fury from across the chamber, followed by curses of the non-magical kind. He could also feel a sharp solid object piercing his arm, and a glance confirmed his suspicion that he had been bitten by one of the most poisonous magical creatures in existence. Harry slid down the wall, feeling his energy draining from his body as he pulled the broken fang out of his arm.

"You're dead, Harry Potter," Riddle growled, stalking over to him. "Even Dumbledore's phoenix knows it." And Fawkes was crying, his tears falling onto Harry and sliding down his bloodied arm. Harry could feel death pulling on him – except that death's pull now felt like a good night's sleep. Inexplicably, Harry could feel energy surging back into him, and when he glanced back down at his wounded arm, there was no longer a wound.

"Stupid bird, get away!" Riddle yelled, furious. She cast a spell of some kind that sounded like a gun, and Fawkes flew away.

"Phoenix tears," Riddle muttered, staring at Harry's wet but no longer wounded arm. "Of course. Healing powers. But it makes no difference. In fact, I prefer it this way. It's just you and me now…" She raised the wand to point at Harry.

Suddenly, a flutter of wind gusted upon Harry as Fawkes flew back, and a small object dropped on his lap. The diary – Riddle's diary. Without thinking, Harry grabbed the nearby fang as Riddle's eyes widened, and he proceeded to thrust it into the diary, only to realize that it had been pulled out of his lap before he was able to do so.

"Yes!" cried Riddle, with a smile on her face and the diary in her hand. "It's almost time!"

Harry glared at the nearly rejoicing Riddle, and he lunged out at her. Reacting quickly, she shot a red spell towards him, but Harry, a naturally talented and Oliver Woods-trained seeker, reacted even faster, dodging the spell. One hand grasping the broken basilisk fang, he jumped right at Riddle.

The pain of contact with a not-yet-corporeal form was far more than Harry expected, and he found himself almost suspended, barely touching the front of her robes. He could see her eyes widening in pain, as her mouth moved to form sounds of anguish. A blue aura surrounded them both as a scream echoed throughout the chamber but coming from neither of them. As soon as it began, however, it ended, and Harry felt himself going forward, albeit far more light-headed and weakened than he had started. Still, he grasped onto the diary in Riddle's now-weakened grip and fell forward as a force blew them apart with moderate strength.

Harry groaned on the ground, fang in one hand and diary in the other. Without any thoughts, he thrust the two together, watching the ink spurt out of the diary as the basilisk fang's poison worked its way through the magically enhanced muggle implement.

"Yes!" came a cry from behind Harry. Sitting him, he gingerly turned around to see a jubilant, no longer transparent or blurry. She was completely solid, as corporeal as Harry or Ginny. Disheartened, Harry discarded the useless destroyed diary and the broken fang and crawled over to Ginny. She looked even worse than before, and Harry could not feel any signs of life from her small frail form. She was dead.

Harry's heart filled with despair as he turned back to Riddle, who was now stalking towards Harry with a smirk of absolute confidence on her face. The smirk slipped for a few seconds as she blinked a couple of times and looked at her outstretched arms.

"What the…," the newly reconstituted Riddle whispered to herself – Harry could see why. The relatively mature teenaged Riddle that had been a memory of a small, black diary had been replaced with a corporeal version, but this version was somewhat younger. Not as young as Harry himself, but she was certainly no fifth year any longer, at least not as far as appearances went. She looked closer to Harry then she did

Riddle uttered a quiet tsk at the unwanted revelation, but she looked at Harry again and raised her wand.

"It's unexpected that I'm younger than I envisioned, but I've won, Potter. And now, you will-,"

"I think not." Riddle spun around at the soft yet stern voice behind her, and her eyes widened at the sight of Albus Dumbledore. He stood resolutely with his wand in his hand, not more than fifteen paces behind Riddle, and while his face was calm and composed, his eyes showed more rage and power than the would-be fifth year Riddle could ever recall seeing in her Transfiguration teacher.

"You! No!" Riddle yelled, raising her wand. Her eyes showed signs of fear as she realized that her moment of triumph could very well turn into her second great defeat. She fired off multiple spells in quick succession, a lightshow of every color flying through the air towards the aged headmaster of Hogwarts. He barely flicked his wand as each spell was absorbed by a translucent semi-circular shield that flickered in front of him, and even though Riddle was flinging curse after jinx after hex at him, Dumbledore advanced forwards towards his former student at a consistent pace.

"Avada Kedavra!" Riddle yelled as the all-too-familiar green jet of light bursted out of Harry's wand towards Dumbledore. He simply flicked his wand upwards and one of the side pillars flung itself in front of the old man, blowing apart at impact with the killing curse to reveal an eerily calm Dumbledore amidst the dust and rubble. Riddle fell to her knees, wand clattering out of her hand onto the stone floor, her magical core spent, and she looked upwards at Dumbledore as he pointed his wand at her. He seemed to deliberate in his mind for a second, before almost imperceptibly nodding to himself and fired a red spell at his fallen student, Riddle slumping over onto the ground at contact with the spell.

Meanwhile, Harry held Ginny's head in his lap as he watched the duel – if it could even be called such – between his greatest enemy and his headmaster. He had no doubt that even Snape, who defeated Lockhart with ease during the doomed first meeting of the Dueling Club, would be completely outclassed by either combatant here and would be no more than the Lockhart to either of these Snapes.

"Harry." He glanced up to see the towering form of the headmaster, wand in hand and an unreadable expression on his face. His aura exuded unparalleled magical ability, and for the first time in his life, Harry could see why Albus Dumbledore was considered the greatest wizard in the world.

The time after that passed in a blur. Harry had gone to McGonagall's office with Ron (who had not taken the sight of his sister's body well), while Dumbledore, accompanied by a dazed Lockhart with Ginny and Riddle – the latter bound with magically conjured ropes – floating behind him, headed towards the Hospital Wing with patients in tow.

It took the pair about ten minutes to reach the Gryffindor Head's office, and in it, they found the Weasley parents sitting with Professor McGonagall. The Weasley patriarch looked solemn and downcast, while Mrs. Weasley was full-on crying. She glanced upwards at the pair as they entered, and upon seeing the desolate look on Ron's face, sobbed as she realized what must have happened. Mr. Weasley stood to hug his son, while Harry awkwardly shuffled behind, feeling guilty that the events had transpired as they had. He was shocked when he felt a pair of warm arms slide around him, and he realized that Mrs. Weasley was now hugging him.

"Thank you for trying so hard," she sobbed, as she held on tighter to Harry.

The hugging was interrupted by a throat-clearing by the open door, and everyone in the office looked to see Dumbledore, an out-of-place smile on his face.

"I have the most extraordinary news." At this, everyone blinked and focused on his next words.

"Miss Weasley is alive." Mrs. Weasley squeaked slightly. "Whatever ritual or process used by the diary did not completely drain her magical core. She has acute magical exhaustion and will remain bedridden for perhaps up to a month, but she will fully recover from her ordeal, given proper care and guidance. Mrs. Weasley turned to Mr. Weasley and the two hugged each other tightly, both now crying in joy. Ron's eyes widened as he turned and grabbed Harry by the shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. Harry, for his part, stood still, shocked once more, but for once, in happiness.

Dumbledore stood there, smiling, for about a half-minute, before clearing his throat once more. "I daresay that you will all want to be with Miss Weasley in the Hospital Wing." Mrs. Weasley nodded and was the first to head for the door. As everyone began leaving the office, Dumbledore placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, a silent gesture for him to stay behind. Harry smiled at the Weasleys, and Mr. Weasley only glanced at Dumbledore before nodding and gesturing for his wife and son to continue walking. Professor McGonagall shot a curious glance to Dumbledore before she exited and closed the door.

"Is there something you need to speak to me about, professor?" Harry questioned. Dumbledore seemed to lose some of his joviality. He looked down at the pierced diary, which Harry had carried out of the Chamber of Secrets.

"This is something that we must discuss in my office," Dumbledore replied. The pair turned to the door, only to see it flung open with a bang and an irate Lucius Malfoy enter. The house-elf Dobby, wrapped in bandages, walked in a few seconds after his master.

"Good evening, Lucius," Dumbledore responded pleasantly, his joviality back in full force for the elder Malfoy's benefit.

"So, you've come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts." Dumbledore smiled.

"Well, the other eleven governors contacted me today. They'd heard that Arthur Weasley's daughter had been killed and wanted me back; they seemed to think I was the best man for the job. Strangely, many of them seemed to think that you had threatened them with violence if they didn't agree to suspend me. Curious, wouldn't you say?"

Lucius Malfoy paled, but he still glared with fury at the pair.

"It was fortunate that no one died during Ginny Weasley's possession. There might have been some very unfortunate consequences otherwise…" Dumbledore continued, still looking at Malfoy with a pleasant smile on his face.

"How… fortunate," Malfoy replied stiffly. Before Harry or Dumbledore could say anything, he spun on his heel to leave. "Dobby! We're leaving." Dobby continued pointing at the diary and Lucius Malfoy while he left.

It suddenly occurred to Harry what Dobby meant. Quickly taking off his sock, he put it in the diary, half of it sticking out. Rushing out, he ran until he was near Malfoy.

"Mr. Malfoy! You've forgotten this," Harry said as he pushed the diary into the elder Malfoy's hands. He then took a few steps backwards.

"What the-," Malfoy exclaimed, ripping out the sock and throwing it over his shoulder. He examined the diary for a second before his eyes widened, and he glared at Harry as he threw the diary back towards him. The diary slid across the floor between the two.

"You'll soon meet the same sticky end as your parents, Potter," Malfoy quietly said, rage barely contained in his voice. He turned once more.

"Dobby, let's go!" When the house-elf made no signs of moving, Lucius snarled. "I said, let's go!" He looked to his side to look at his disobedient house-elf, only to see the elf admiring a sock in his hands. He connected the two quickly and yelled out loud.

"You've lost me my servant, boy!" Lucius Malfoy was quick to whip out his wand, but Dobby was quicker, and a snap of the latter's fingers saw Malfoy fly across the corridor.

"You shall not harm Harry Potter. You shall go now," Dobby said resolutely, standing between the second-year and Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy glared at the pair one last time, then stood up, swung his cloak back on and left without another word.

"Where will you go now, Dobby?" Harry asked, looking at the newly freed elf.

"Dobby will find a place to stay. Thank you, Harry Potter! Farewell!" Dobby cheerfully replied. He then disappeared with a loud crack. Harry slowly shook his head, gathered the diary and put his sock back on, and headed back towards McGonagall's office, where Dumbledore stood just outside with a smile on his face.

"That was some very quick thinking, Harry," Dumbledore complimented. Harry smiled at the aged professor and followed Dumbledore's lead as the headmaster led him towards his office. The journey was not very long, and soon, they stood before a gargoyle statue.

"Sherbet lemon," Dumbledore said clearly, and the gargoyle shifted out of the way to reveal a spiral staircase. "After you," Dumbledore said to Harry, gesturing up the stairs. Harry stepped forward, making his way up the staircase. At the top, he saw a heavy oak door, which Dumbledore, from over Harry's head, opened, revealing a large circular room.

Frankly, it was beautiful. It was full of noises, mostly from several curious silver instruments that emitted puffs of smoke every now and then on Dumbledore's desk. Portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, many of them snoozing, lined the wall behind the large desk. It was just like when he had visited earlier in the school year, except now Harry's spirits were in far better shape.

Then he looked at one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk and saw Tom Riddle sitting in one, still dressed in her Slytherin robes, her eyes glaring at him. The atmosphere chilled considerably, even with the warm cheeriness of Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore gestured for Harry to sit, and he acquiesced, gingerly sitting down beside Riddle. Despite the hate-filled glare, she sat still in her chair, hands crossed over her lap and her posture impeccable. Dumbledore went around to his own chair.

"Sherbet lemon?" he offered, looking at both Harry and Riddle. The former shook his head, and the latter simply stared at the bowl as if to catch it on fire. Dumbledore shrugged, peeled the wrapper off one, and popped it into his mouth, a smile of delight appearing on his face when he tasted the sweet.

"Uh, professor, what is Riddle doing here?" Harry warily asked. Dumbledore sucked on his sweet for a few more seconds before responding.

"I'm glad you asked, Harry. I gave Tom an ultimatum, one she, shall I say, ultimately agreed with. Tom here has agreed to an Unbreakable Vow with me – an Unbreakable Vow is simply that – unbreakable – and to break it means death. Now, she cannot harm either of us or anyone else I've set. I will personally be dealing with her on this issue, so you need not worry about it." Harry, with wide eyes, glanced at Riddle, who had a look of annoyance as she turned to examine one of the portraits on the wall.

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore continued, "could you please hand over the diary?" Harry quickly nodded, and brought up the diary from his pocket, handing it to the headmaster. He examined it and closed his eyes solemnly for a few seconds.

"Professor?" Harry cautiously asked.

"I must explain some of this to you, though not all – you are still too young for the specifics. Needless to say, Tom here, in her youthful foolishness," this earned a glare from Riddle, "split her soul in twain, leaving part of it to inhabit this diary. That is how she is here now, in this form. Her plan was to use Miss Weasley's magical core to bring this soul piece into corporeal existence, thereby effectively creating a second Tom Riddle in this world."

Dumbledore paused, letting the enormity of that statement sink into the room's occupants. For better or for worse, the great game that Dumbledore was waging against the dark forces surrounding Britain had irrevocably changed, and both Harry and the new Tom Riddle knew that they would undoubtedly play instrumental roles in whatever upcoming conflict would occur.

"Now, seeing as how Miss Weasley is not dead, a second set of events must have occurred. On the night of Voldemort's attack, eleven years ago, she fired a killing curse at you. We all know that it failed and rebounded, but I hypothesize that in addition to the rebound, a fragment of her soul went into you."

At this, Harry looked startled. A piece of Voldemort inhabited him? Did that mean he was being possessed?

"To allay your fears," the old headmaster continued, seemingly able to read Harry's mind, "it seems that you overpowered this inadvertently created soul fragment of Voldemort's, and thus it remained dormant. That is, until today. Did you, by any chance, magically connect or physically touch in the Chamber?"

Harry thought about it, before remembering his lunge for the diary and the blue aura that followed.

"Yes, professor. I jumped at Riddle, and when we connected, we were surrounded by a blue aura that blew us apart from each other," Harry replied.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in the candlelight of his office.

"That must've been it, then. The soul fragment in you must've been awoken and moved to merge with the one in the diary. Using Miss Weasley as the conduit may also, if I may postulate, explain why Tom is so young compared to when she originally created the soul fragment – some magical mixing, so to speak."

Dumbledore pulled out a pocket watch and glanced at it. "Oh my, it is getting late. You should clean up and head down to the feast, Harry. I will be there momentarily." Harry nodded, stood up, and with a single glance again to the sitting Riddle and the headmaster, left the circular office.

"Tom," the headmaster began, a tiredness creeping into his voice that he did not show in front of Harry, "you know I value second chances, and this may very well be your only opportunity. More than just your soul fragments merging, given that Miss Weasley's magical core has been nearly completely depleted, parts of her soul could have very well been imprinted on yours." Finally, Riddle spoke.

"What do you mean, imprinted?"

"In the same way your soul fragment's age has been affected as it has mixed with Miss Weasley's younger magic. Things like emotions, feelings, and other characteristics might have been transferred, and although none of it is likely to override your own, they may change the way you react to events." Riddle looked a bit perturbed at the thought of her personality changing as a result of resurrection.

"This is why I say this may be your only second chance. You have the opportunity to start fresh, and Miss Weasley's moral guidance may work to your benefit here." Riddle huffed. "Now, I must be getting to the feast, so if you will?" Riddle stood up, and the two walked to one of the larger portraits in the office.

"Haven," Dumbledore said, and the portrait slid open to reveal a relatively spacious room. It had a bed, a desk, and some books of academic interest, as well as an adjacent bathroom – there was also a window with a nice enough view, but it could not be opened.

"I implore you to think about what I've said," Dumbledore said, as Riddle climbed through. "Take some time for thinking, and you may even find remorse." The portrait slid closed, and Riddle was alone.

She let out a breath of air that she had been holding and glanced around. Not tired just yet, she walked over to the window, and pulled a chair to sit in front of it. The view was rather nice from this high up. She could see the lake, and the hills beyond it. Hogwarts was still very much like a home to the sixteen-year-old-but-younger orphan, and she treasured it in a way that most could not hope to understand.

Just weeks before, she had felt nothing but pure elation and joy at the prospect of sucking Ginny Weasley's magic like a vampire did a human's blood to regain her body and power. Now, after she had taken the better part of the girl's magic, everything had changed. Her freedom was gone, no better than when she was but a memory, and perhaps it was even worse now that Dumbledore could force her to act against herself. On top of that, a feeling that Tom Riddle hated with every fiber of her being surged throughout her body, causing her to quake and tremble.

Uncertainty.

She was uncertain about what lay in her future now, and that scared Tom Riddle to her very core.

A/N: For new readers, welcome! For old readers that have already read this chapter, welcome back! I have taken some time to restructure this fic and have decided to begin by revamping the first few chapters into five prologue chapters - each one sets up divergences and where the characters are going, ensuring that when we get to the first chapter past the prologues, it'll make sense how we got there.

I'll try to keep with a weekly or bi-weekly (every other week, not twice a week - that would end me haha) update schedule, but I may fall behind considering schoolwork and my other fanfictions - hopefully I haven't bitten off more than I can chew, though it's very likely that I have. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!