Hogwarts was… Alright. Better than the Dursleys, at least, but there were few places worse than that. At the school for Witchcraft and Wizardry, he was still bullied, he was still hurt, he was still lonely no matter how many people he was surrounded by- and wasn't that a paradox?

It made sense, in a way. These people wanted the Boy-Who-Lived that was in the books they grew up with; a boy who fought Dark Lords on his vacations, tamed dragons, destroyed the forces of evil at every turn with the power of friendship. Instead, they got Harry Potter; a scrawny boy with too-big glasses who didn't know the first thing about the Wizarding World. Once they realized the difference, public opinion shifted. He was scorned for being a normal boy, slandered for not living up to the myth.

Finding out he was a Parselmouth only made things worse. After all, how dare he, the paragon of the Light, have such a Dark ability as Parseltongue? Ronald Weasley declared him a Dark Wizard in the making. Hermione Granger went with the flow, and became fearful of him. They seemed to conveniently forget the fact that Harry had fought against Voldemort, the Dark Lord considered the strongest in history, just last year. He'd tried reminding them, but…

"Well, of course you're gonna fight Voldemort- since when have Dark Lords played nice with each other?"

Ron had said that, before promptly ganging up on Harry with the other Gryffindor boys in their dorm room and kicking the emerald-eyed boy out, jeering at the supposed Heir of Slytherin. Neville Longbottom had stayed out of it, but Harry couldn't help but notice how the chubby boy had trembled whenever the two made eye contact. Harry ended up sleeping on the couch in the Common Room, waiting until the other boys left to rush to the bathroom in the room. As a result, he'd nearly missed breakfast on several occasions. Still, he was at least able to grab a piece of toast from the Great Hall, which he nibbled on during his trek to his first class. Having dealt with near-starvation for many years, he was used to the pains in his stomach. Besides, lunch wasn't that long after breakfast. He managed.

Quidditch was awkward, to say the least. Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet were rather disgusted by his new position as the Heir of Slytherin, and therefore disgusted by him. They put pressure on Katie Bell, who was quite nice, but eventually caved and stayed away from him. They also had Fred and George by the balls, so the Weasley twins had to be careful about interacting with him in public.
Oliver Wood pretended not to care about the rumors, but anyone could tell the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team was rather unnerved in Harry's presence. In the end, Harry resigned from the team. His official reason was that a person who caused tension with their mere presence was ill-suited for the team, and that they should find a Seeker they had better synergy with. Goodbyes were said, with barely-concealed venom in two certain cases, and his broom was stored away in his trunk, to stay there until kingdom come. As for his actual reason for quitting?

He just didn't want them to find him crying in the locker rooms later on.

Draco Malfoy was having the time of his life, it seemed, constantly insulting Harry, and taking delight in the lack of responses- any Gryffindor fire in the boy had been extinguished when they'd made it clear he wasn't one of them.

"Aw, is little Potty going to cry to his mummy? Oh, wait- she's dead! Ha!"

"What, Potter, so pathetic even a Mudblood and a Blood Traitor won't hang out with you? Looks like they've finally stumbled upon a bit of intelligence!"

"Did Wood finally wise up to what a faker you are? It's a wonder you made the Quidditch Team with your atrocious flying skills!"

"How could anyone think you're the Heir of Slytherin? You're about as powerful as that Squib janitor, but at least he can intimidate someone!"

Apparently, Malfoy had no brain-to-mouth filter, since he was just about always spewing insults whenever Harry was around. It was slightly flattering, in a way, to know that Malfoy was constantly thinking about him. The thought almost made Harry smile. Almost.

He hadn't smiled in quite a while.

The only reason Harry didn't request to be removed from Hogwarts was because of the magic. Even the Dursleys would have been better than the amount of hatred he was exposed to here, regardless of the fact that they'd likely kill him at some point. It was splendid, and for a boy with precious little, became his everything. Between his books and his wand, little else mattered. Soon, the world began to fade into white noise.

Fred and George Weasley were kind, though that was more because they were simply nice people- if a bit rambunctious- more than any sympathy for Harry. At least, that's what the boy thought. Still, they seemed to understand that he'd much prefer isolation to constant ridicule, and pulled him aside after lunch one day to give him a bit of advice.

"If you'll follow us, ickle Harry?"

"We've something to show you, mate."

The twins had done nothing to hurt Harry, said nothing against him, so he followed. Even if they weren't friends, at the very least, he trusted the older Weasley's to not attack him. And if they did? Well, he wasn't exactly a stranger to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey had even put a plaque on one of the beds declaring it Harry's, though she'd taken it down after seeing his grimace, both silently agreeing it was a joke made in poor taste.

"Right, see this here painting, Harry?"

"We want you, to tickle the pear."

Harry blinked, unsure if this was another prank or not. It didn't help that Fred and George were gesturing grandly to the green fruit, arms spread wide and kneeling in front of it. So, Harry did as they suggested; he tickled the pear.

The painting swung open, and Harry was treated to something he never imagined he'd see. Small, humanoid creatures with floppy ears, wrinkled gray skin, and ragged clothes were rushing around, doing all manner of activities- too many for Harry to properly focus on any single one. There were wood tables, shelves of pots and pans, cupboards lining every bit of free space. Ovens and stoves dotted the massive room, and a bunch of sinks sat in the far corner, filled to the brim with dirty dishes.

"This here is the kitchen."

"We noticed you looked a bit uncomfortable in the Great Hall."

"And these here are the House Elves."

"They'll do near-to anythin' for ya."

"Ever find yourself in need of a midnight snack?"

"Just make your way down to Hogwarts' kitchen, and these little buggers'll fix ya right up!"

A crowd of the tiny creatures ran up to the trio, bowing profusely and chattering wildly. One pushed its way to the front, seemingly the spokesperson for the other House Elves.

"We is welcoming you back, Messrs Gred and Forge! We is wondering, though, who is the new one?"

"Glad you asked, Pitts, old chap!"

"This here is the marvelous!"

"The stunningly handsome!"

"The absolutely fantastic!"

"Harry Potter!" they finished in unison, sweeping into a low bow.

The elves, at least, did not care about him being the Boy-Who-Lived, since they seemed to treat him the same as the twins. After many greetings, avoided offers for food, and the promise to come back if he was ever feeling even the slightest bit peckish, Harry and the Weasley twins walked back through the portrait of the fruit bowl, and went their separate ways.

That night, during dinner, Harry went to the kitchens rather than the Great Hall. Tickle the pear, avoid the swinging painting, smile and wave to the elves… It felt like he'd been doing this all his life. The boy sat down at one of the wooden tables after being directed there by a House Elf, and jumped when a plate of food suddenly appeared in front him. He recovered quickly, however, smiled at Pitts- the designated student-handler- and tucked in.

Even after all this time, Harry couldn't quite get over how good the food at Hogwarts tasted. Or maybe it was just the surprise at being able to eat at all, especially so consistently. Whatever it was, Harry didn't let it stop him from polishing off his plate. He was a growing boy, after all.

Afterwards, he was left in a pleasant daze, with a full stomach and a sleepy head. He was about to go back to the Gryffindor dorms to turn in early, when he realized that wasn't a good idea. The memory of being thrown out hit him like a bucket of ice-cold water, blowing away the cloud of exhaustion lurking in his skull.

"...Hey, Pitts? Do you know anywhere I can go to be alone?"

The Come-and-Go room. Or, the Room of Requirement. Personally, Harry liked the second name. It seemed a bit more magical, which was fitting for this part of the castle. A room which could transform into nearly anything? It was the pinnacle of spellwork, or whatever branch of magic was used to create it, and Harry highly doubted he'd ever see anything that matched it.

The Room of Requirement was absolutely perfect. It could transform into a bedroom for him to sleep in, so he wouldn't have to crash on the couches in the Common Room. It could transform into a shower, with soaps and shampoos and toiletries, so he didn't have to share with anyone else. It could even become completely empty, the perfect place for Harry to practice some of the more destructive spells he would no doubt eventually come across.

Pitts, bless his not-quite-human soul, had sweetened the deal. He'd brought Harry's trunk to the Room, effectively allowing him to move in without any hassle. And then, he informed Harry on how to contact House Elves; simply call out their name. By doing so, he could get Pitts to bring him meals whenever he desired, meaning less time wasted running around to the kitchen, and more time to practice magic. Plus, the House Elves seemed to love doing work, so they encouraged Harry to call upon them often. It was an all around win, and Harry's mood improved slightly, starting the long climb out of the emotional pit it had fallen into.

Classes were still bad. Snide comments reached his ears frequently, though the teachers often kept the students in check, so it didn't escalate. Snape, of course, was still a prat, usually worse than Malfoy with his crude comments. However, Harry learned to simply drown the man out, and was able to complete his potions. Didn't stop Snape from finding some imaginary reason to Vanish the contents of his cauldron.

History was skipped. There was no point going there, and Harry didn't quite fancy learning about yet another Goblin Rebellion/War/Conflict, when he could just as easily be practicing in the Room of Requirement. Binns didn't even take attendance, so it was simply a matter of not showing up. He could cram at the end of the year and probably still pass. He was tempted to do the same with Snape's class, if not for the fear that Snape would complain to Dumbledore, and that would escalate into a messy situation rather quickly.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a disaster, and the less said about Gilderoy Lockhart, who was constantly trying to butter up Harry, the better.

In everything else, Harry kept up with his peers, but didn't waste energy trying to rise to the top like Hermione. He was content at his position in the middle of the pack, and so long as he was learning the theory well enough to pass, then things were fine. He practiced spellwork in the Room, along with things much more advanced.

For some reason, wandwork came easily to Harry. He read the description of the spell's effects, studied the casting requirements, then simply did it. Usually, by the second try, he'd gotten something at least similar to what the book described. He practiced the spell for an hour or so to commit it to memory, then moved on. He didn't waste time on theory, beyond what was needed for class. Honestly, why would he, when he could see the effects of the spell firsthand?

Whenever he'd gone through the spells in one book- which he wrote down in a list so he wouldn't have to find it again in case he forgot- he returned to the library, and switched it for another. At the moment, his list of compiled spells stretched at least five sheets of parchment, and contained a combination of jinxes, hexes, charms, and the occasional curse, along with the counters for everything that had one. Besides the name, the incantation and wand motion were written down, but that was about it.

What Harry was currently focused on the most was the combat-oriented spells, but he noted the usefulness of simply jinxes in a fight. A person standing on Jelly Legs couldn't exactly dodge, right? Well, they couldn't exactly stand, either, but that was besides the point.

His interest in fighting and dueling was spontaneous. He'd seen a book in the Library titled Dueling For Beginners, took a look, and was immediately hooked. He'd practically thrown the book at Madam Pince to get it checked out, earning himself a stink-eye, but he ran out of there so fast he didn't even register it. According to the book, simple charms could be used in flurries, allowing the combatant to distract their opponent, then throw a heavy curse while the foe was unbalanced. Harry's eyes sparkled at the thought.

I wish I could have a go at that, he thought. And, since he'd forgotten exactly where he was, he was surprised when a wooden figure, with a humanoid shape, was standing in front of him. Harry leapt to his feet from the chair he was sitting in, banging his knee against the table he'd been reading at. He cursed, but ignored that in favor of watching the doll. It brandished a stick at him- a wand, the boy realized. He grinned. He quickly stuffed everything into his bag, then willed the Room of Requirement to shift into an empty space. His bag disappeared, but it would simply remain in that pocket dimension until he needed it again.

Pulling his wand from his pocket- his book recommended getting a holster for faster draws- Harry settled into a stance that felt natural. Knees bent, feet shoulder width apart, dominant leg in front with the other behind. Wand chest level, held in a firm grip, but with a mostly-loose wrist. Free hand hanging at his side, ready to be used as a ballast, for better balance while moving.

At some unknown signal, boy and walking tree whipped their wands at each other, a single spell flying from each wand. Harry sidestepped to dodge, tripped over his feet, fell to the ground, and was hit with a Stunner. The world went black.

Harry woke up a few minutes later to find the wooden doll standing in the same battle stance as before, not having moved an inch. With a sigh, he dismissed the artificial opponent, and climbed to his feet. How could he duel if he couldn't even move?

With that in mind, Harry settled into his stance once more, and began shuffling side to side. It was a bit embarrassing, almost like he was dancing, and the boy had to constantly remind himself that nobody was watching. Every hour or so, he'd summon the dummy, testing his progress on his footwork. It improved, a little bit. He dodged three whole spells on his final run for the night, and the best part was, he'd done it without staring at his legs the whole time. Of course, he tripped on his shoes on his next sidestep, but still.

Harry noticed two more things he was struggling with. First, his accuracy. Whenever he tossed a spell, it tended to go wide, usually missing by a foot or so- a large enough margin that the dummy didn't even have to move to dodge. And that was if his spells reached. The second thing; his spells occasionally fizzled out halfway to his opponent. This usually happened on the spells he used while trying to dodge, likely meaning he wasn't concentrating on how much power he put into those spells. Launching them haphazardly was apparently not a good idea.

Harry sighed, commanding the Room to summon a bed and shower. After rinsing the sweat off his skin, Harry dropped bonelessly onto the plush mattress, falling asleep almost instantly. He had a lot to work on.

Colin Creevey had been petrified by something, and all eyes were on Harry Potter once more. The boy had nearly faded into obscurity, between his lack of presence and total silence when he was seen, but now he had been forcefully tossed back into the limelight. He'd almost forgotten how much he hated attention.

First Years screamed when they saw him, Second Years avoided being too close, and even the upper years edged away from him in the hallways. If they didn't brandish their wands at him, of course. If it was meant to be a warning, then it was a damned good one. Harry took extra care to memorize those people's faces, and stay out of their way. He didn't fancy getting hexed by a jumpy Seventh Year, since they would likely make it hurt, and there was no way Harry could take them on. He'd only recently gotten up to a minute and a half against the dummy, though that was more through continuous dodging. His spellcasting was still atrocious.

Along with all the attention came unbridled vitriol from nearly everyone he saw. The Gryffindors, incensed by the attack against one of their own, cornered Harry several times, cursing him into unconsciousness. The Slytherins did it on principle, and even a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws joined in when they saw an opportunity. He spent a fair bit of time in the Infirmary these days, which cut into his training time. However, what training time he did have, he put to good use.

In a way, all these attacks on him were a good thing, since they pushed Harry to improve even faster. By the time Christmas hols rolled around, Harry decided that he had gotten good enough at dodging to put further specialised practice on hold for the moment. He was able to last two minutes against two dummies, avoiding nearly everything that came his way until he, inevitably, made a mistake. Hopefully, over the break, when classes were out, he'd be able to work on his offensive ability. That way, he'd be able to end a fight on his terms, rather than wait for the opponents to get lucky. He didn't leave the Room of Requirement at all, practicing feverishly.

In times when he was magically exhausted, he summoned three wooden dolls, and ordered them to shoot Stinging hexes at him while waiting to recover. He learned it was impractical to work with Stunners, since every time he failed- which was often- he lost precious minutes due to being unconscious. This way, he'd be able to keep going, even if he did get hit, which he did.

Pitts popped in one day to tell Harry that classes were back in session, and by then the boy was a bit more confident in his dueling ability. He wasn't going to win against anybody anytime soon, but at least he could make a good showing of it.

There were two more victims, but only one really counted. Justin Finch-Fletchley had been petrified, but right in front of the boy had been an equally-frozen Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. Somehow, the ghost had been petrified, which confused Harry a great deal. After all, what magic could affect a ghost?

The student body ignored the fact that a mere Second Year, one who wasn't even doing all that great in his classes, could not have possibly petrified Justin and Nearly-Headless Nick. Instead, an increased volume of slurs were thrown at Harry, and attacks on the supposed Heir of Slytherin doubled. This time, the Badgers joined in with a higher frequency, showcasing their loyalty by hexing the bits off the emerald-eyed boy at nearly every turn.

Despite the amount of pain he was constantly in, Harry used this as an opportunity to gain some experience. He no longer did his best to just dodge everything. This time, he was throwing up shields, casting charms and jinxes with the best of them. He even won a few fights, though only against a handful of Third and Fourth Years. They ran for reinforcements after a few thrashings, and the Seventh Years started to come out to play. Still, Harry fought, even if he ended up with more bruises than if he just rolled over.

There was another case of dual-victims. This time, Hermione Granger and Penelope Clearwater ended up in the Hospital Wing, with no indication of how long their condition would last. Clearwater was a Ravenclaw, and her petrification turned the rest of the not-quite-neutral House against him. Gryffindor managed to become even more vicious, being less cautious with the spells they used, and Harry would frequently end up a bloody mess. He was beginning to lose time in class, since he had to constantly go to Madam Pomfrey for healing. Maybe he should look into learning some Healing Spells?

Harry had long since given up trying to tell people he wasn't the Heir of Slytherin, that there was no way for it to even be possible. At some point, he simply accepted the grim reality, and just polished his dueling skills with greater ferocity, both in the Room of Requirement and in the hallways. Fourth Years no longer stood a chance, and even a few Fifth Years were starting to go down. Unfortunately, there wasn't much Harry could do about the squads of Six and Seventh Years that snapped at his heels like a pack of hounds. He couldn't even use his Invisibility Cloak- he had nowhere to put it when it wasn't needed, since his bag was full and his pockets were tiny. He also didn't want to risk Ron or Hermione remembering the existence of the cloak, and trying to rally people to take it away from him. It was a family Heirloom, the only thing he had that was his father's- the only thing he had from either of his parents, and he'd be damned if he was going to let it be snatched.

Instead, Harry wandered the halls freely, wand practically glued to his palm, magic ready to go flying at any moment.

HER SKELETON SHALL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER

Harry stared at the red letters for a long while, idly noting their position beneath the message which kicked this whole thing off. They were fresh, still dripping down the wall and onto the granite floor. He wondered if this had anything to do with Ginevra Weasley being covered in a crimson liquid, and entering the Second Floor girl's bathroom, which was notoriously haunted. As such, nobody used it. Except for Ginny, apparently. She was also carrying a small, tattered black book, but that probably wasn't important.

I'm about to do something incredibly dumb, aren't I? Harry asked himself wryly. Then, with a nod, he spun on his heels, heading inside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. There was no use contacting the teachers, since they were probably just as wary of him as the students, and therefore less likely to believe him. If anything, they might take it as an admission of guilt. Besides, Harry couldn't help but think that nobody would miss him terribly if he did die, so why not? Nothing to lose, and all that. Besides, it's not like there was anything better to do these days.

Moaning Myrtle was a bit of a shock. She was rather enthusiastic about her desire for Harry to die and spend the rest of his afterlife in this toilet with her, but he ignored that, focused more on his task.

According to Myrtle, she'd seen Ginny hiss at the sinks, and then the wall opened up. The Weasley girl had walked down the set of steps, and a few moments later, the tiles closed behind her. Hissing meant Parseltongue, but Harry didn't actually know how to consciously activate that skill. So, he spoke to the general area of the sinks, hoping for the best.

"Open."

Thankfully, his incredible luck held true, and the tiles jumped out of the way, revealing the very set of stairs Myrtle had described, damp and covered with moss. With a jaunty wave at the ghost, who squealed in delight and flew back into her toilet, he descended into the Chamber of Secrets.

For some reason, Harry had expected the Chamber of Secrets to be a bit more chamber-y and a bit less hallway-y. Of course, you couldn't always get your way, so the boy resigned himself to walking. He did his best to ignore the massive things which looked suspiciously like shed snake skins, if the layered scales were any indication. It was definitely not the smartest idea, which he freely acknowledged, but couldn't quite bring himself to care. He'd examine them later. If he survived, of course.

The torch-lit corridor finally ended, after what felt like years, with a wall. There were two snakes engraved into it. Each was contorted in the shape of an S, though one was backward so they could mirror the other. The midsection of the snakes were intertwined. With no other bright ideas, Harry hissed at the wall.

"Open."

The bricks split open, separating the carved serpents, and were flung inwards by an invisible force. And revealed…

What do ya know? Another bloody corridor. Honestly, if I ever meet Salazar Slytherin…

This hallway was different, however. The sides were lined with stone statues of snake heads, the mouths wide open, fangs on display. He could also see the end of the path this time, where it opened into a slightly wider area- probably the actual Chamber. A massive statue stood at the end, towering well over the height of the Great Hall. Considering who created the Chamber, it was probably safe to bet that the stone giant was a depiction of Salazar Slytherin. Pillars dotted the Chamber, replacing the snakeheads in the hallway. They reached up to the ceiling of the room, higher than even Slytherin's statue. Stone snakes wound around the base of the pillars.

A much shorter walk later, Harry found Ginny Weasley, lying on the floor at the feet of the statue. She was unconscious, skin pale, red hair a frizzy mess. Her breath was rattling in her chest, making Harry wince. He rushed over, checking for a pulse, despite the fact that he could hear her breathing. The girl's heartbeat was weak, though still present, and Harry sighed in slight relief. He gathered the redhead up in his arms and stood, but immediately dropped her. He cringed at the sound of her head bouncing on the polished marble, then focused more on the person in front of him.

It was a sharp-jawed, red-eyed boy with brown hair. He was smirking at Harry, but the emerald-eyed boy was more focused on the fact that this newcomer was partially transparent.

"Are you a ghost?" Harry asked, wand in his hand. He didn't think any of his spells could affect spirits, but it couldn't hurt to try.

The boy smiled. "Not quite. I suppose it would be more accurate to call me an echo… A memory."

Harry blinked. Then tossed a Stunner at the transparent boy, only for it to pass right through. Harry swore loudly, stowing his wand away. It wouldn't help here. The ghost raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused.

"Alright, so, since you're the only one here, I'm guessing you did this?" Harry asked, gesturing to the girl at his feet.

"You could say that."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Who are you, anyways?"

"I am Tom Marvolo Riddle. And you must be Harry Potter- young Ginevra has told me so much about you."

At the look of confusion on Harry's face, Tom pointed to something behind Harry. The emerald-eyed boy debated whether it was a good idea or not, but eventually turned. It wasn't as if a ghost could actually hurt him, right?

On the ground, next to where Ginny had been laying, was the black book she'd been carrying when he saw her earlier. He glanced back at Tom, who was still smiling genially, and walked over.

He grabbed the book, ignoring the way it heated up in his palms, and opened it. He found what looked like diary entries. They were fairly typical, what you'd expect to find in the journal of a pre-teen girl. A bit of talk about feelings, what issues she was having with what people, flowery handwriting, and talk of Harry Potter. Lots of talk about Harry Potter. It was a bit disturbing, actually, but he couldn't exactly blame the girl. From what Ron had told him, back when they were still friends, Ginny had grown up with the falsified books about the Boy-Who-Lived, and fell in love with that myth. He wasn't particularly happy about it, but so long as she didn't push her stupid ideals on him, then they wouldn't have any issues.

Still, did she have to sign off on her diary entries as Mrs. Ginevra Potter?

What threw Harry the most were the words printed in different handwriting than Ginny's. They were written as responses to Ginny's later entries, and the worst part was, Ginny wrote back. They had entire conversations, mostly about ways to secure Harry Potter's affections. Then, he remembered what Tom had said. He brandished the diary at the ghost.

"Are you saying this is you?"

"Indeed. It was quite annoying to have to deal with the fickle emotions of a young girl, but in the end, everything worked out. She gets your attention, and I get a body."

Body? Well, Tom was a ghost, and from what Harry had seen on the Muggle telly the few times he was allowed to watch it…

"...You're trying to possess her?" Harry asked, failing to hide the shivers that racked his body at the thought. The mere notion disgusted him.

Tom's smirk evolved into a grin, showing his perfectly white teeth. "But of course- did you expect me to stay locked up in that dingy diary for the rest of time?"

Harry didn't respond, staring at the black cover of the journal. It was becoming uncomfortably warm, and his fingers began to tingle. The feeling spread up his arm, bringing with it a hazy numbness. It continued moving, growing in intensity with every inch it covered. Tom was speaking, in an increasingly alarmed tone, but Harry was a million miles away, more focused on the book.

Once the sensation reached his shoulder, it exploded outward with incredible speed, covering him entirely within moments. That was all forgotten, however, when the tingle reached his forehead- reached his scar.

His skin burned. The pleasant heat became tongues of hellfire, searing his flesh, penetrating deeply to incinerate his skull and cook his brain. Harry fell to his knees, and keeled over, unable to focus on anything except the absolute agony. His fingers became iron clamps, refusing to let go of the diary.

Everything was blocked out by the pain. The way his head slammed into the concrete as he began to spasm and twitch, the near-corpse of Ginevra Weasley laying next to him, the raucous shouts of Tom Marvolo Riddle… Even the existence of Harry Potter began to fade from his mind, replaced by memories of eternal pain, infinite suffering. Nothing else mattered- nothing else could matter, not in the face of this torture, which forced all thoughts, both conscious and subconscious, into oblivion. Soon, he would follow, swallowed by the void, his soul rent from his body by these ethereal claws which tore at him.

Then, it stopped, and he could think. Not that he did, still focused on the anguish which had consumed him mere moments ago, but it was possible. The Chamber of Secrets was silent, and Harry slowly crawled to his feet. He stumbled more than a few times, taking a good few minutes to do something as simple as stand upright.

When he did manage to rise, he had to fight another battle to not immediately keel over once more. His vision swam, blackening sporadically. He stumbled drunkenly, accidentally kicking Ginny on more than one occasion. Eventually, though, he did find his balance. With a deep breath, Harry opened his eyes.

And found himself staring into the yellow, slit-pupiled eyes of a massive snake. He reeled backwards, shrieking in a high-pitched tone which he would never own up to. The serpent's long tongue flickered out, tasting the air, before retreating back into its cavernous mouth just as quickly. However, it made no other move.

Wait, it's a snake. That means I can probably talk to it in Parseltongue, right?

"Uh, hi?" Harry said hesitantly. He had to repeat himself, since his voice came out pathetically quiet the first time. He cleared his throat, then spoke again, sounding much stronger, even if he didn't quite feel it.

The snake hissed wordlessly, the sound bouncing through the Chamber, and slithered forward slowly. Harry took a step back, nearly tripping when he bumped into Ginny. He had completely forgotten about the girl. He had to get her out of here, but there was no way he'd be able to run and carry the girl at the same time. He doubted he'd even be able to outrun the snake in the first place, since it could probably cover the twenty or so yards between them with a single lunge. Still, he had to try.

Yanking his wand from his pocket, he pointed it at Ginny, muttering "Locomotor." The redhead lifted a few inches off the ground. He had enough power to sustain this spell for quite some time, so there was a bit less to worry about on that front. Of course, there was still a demon inching towards them. Harry turned on his heels and sprinted down the hall he came from, diary still in his hand and Ginny levitating right in front of him.

The monster hissed louder, menacingly, and the scraping of scales against stone became frantic. In his panic, Harry pumped more magic into his spell, sending Ginny flying down the hall far faster than him. He ignored the way she tumbled a few times when he suddenly cut it, since she didn't slam into anything.

Turning back around, Harry almost froze upon seeing the gaping maw hovering above him, ready to swallow him whole. Thankfully, after so much practice against the students of Hogwarts, Harry didn't lock up in the face of an enemy, even if it seemed like he would die. His wand whipped up, and he cast the first spell he could think of.

"Reducto!"

In his panic, he'd pushed an enormous amount of magic into the curse. It collided with the roof of the snake's mouth, exploding with enough concussive force that Harry was staggered by a shockwave. The serpent reared back, hissing loudly, blood and viscera pouring out between its massive fangs.

A sharp cry sounded in the air, though it didn't seem to originate from the monster's crimson-stained mouth. Instead, it came from far above the two. Looking up, Harry watched as a fireball popped into existence. Thankfully, the beast was distracted by the noise as well, or it would have taken the chance to snap the boy up.

From the flames emerged a fiery chicken- Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes. It dropped whatever it was carrying with its feet, then shot down to harass the monster, clawing at its eyes.

While the two mythical creatures- because there was no way the snake wasn't a magical beast- fought, Harry grabbed the cloth which fluttered down to him. Upon further examination- made a mite more difficult by the insufficient light of the torches- Harry recognized the tattered fabric of the Sorting Hat.

"Quick, boy, take this!" the hat cried, flap moving like a mouth, shouting to be heard over the squawks and shrieks of the nearby battle. From the opening at the bottom of the Hat, which was placed on the heads of those being Sorted, the hilt of a sword emerged. It was made of gold, with many inscriptions which Harry did not have the time to examine. He also noted the rubies dotting the bottom of the hilt, and the ends of the crossguard. Grabbing the hilt, he pulled, and a gleaming silver blade emerged from the depths of the Sorting Hat.

Harry tossed the Sorting Hat to the ground, yanked out his wand, and charged the massive flailing snake. Blood was pouring from its closed eyelids like a river, meaning that Fawkes had likely destroyed its eyes. The phoenix was still flapping around, but its claws couldn't even scratch the scales, so it retreated for the moment.

Harry launched a flurry of jinxes and charms at the serpent, only for most of them to splash harmlessly against its scales. The spells did catch the beast's attention, and it turned to the boy once more, mouth opened in a roar.

"Reducto!"

This time, the Reductor Curse flew down the snake's gullet, exploding towards the back of its throat. Unlike before, however, the monster ignored the pain, continuing its flight towards Harry, mouth wide open. He fired off a few more curses, but his terror was working against him now. His spell power was drastically fluctuating, sometimes fizzing out before they even reached the rapidly-approaching pink mass.

Harry made a split-second decision, and lowered his wand. Instead, he raised the silver sword in his other hand, and braced himself.

A weight descended on him, threatening to crush him, and pain exploded in his sword arm. A guttural screech emerged from the snake's throat, but the noise died out quickly, and the beast went limp. Unfortunately, Harry was still underneath it, so he was nearly flattened. Something was piercing his upper arm, digging further in with the weight of the creature's head, and Harry cried out in pain. Hot tears streamed down his face, and he struggled futilely against the pressure forcing him down. His grunts and cries were the only sound in the Chamber for a long moment, before Fawkes cawed.

The phoenix swooped down, alighting on the stone floor next to Harry. It put a clawed foot against the boy's right shoulder, which was not being mauled, and covered both of them in flames. They reappeared a few feet away, but Harry hardly noticed, instead using this as an opportunity to find out what was causing him pain. He gagged, nearly throwing up everything in his stomach, and probably his stomach itself as well.

Stabbed into his left arm was a massive fang, about as long as the blade of the sword, which he was miraculously still holding, and thick as a log at the base. The part in Harry's arm was just barely skinny enough to avoid cutting the limb into two pieces, but it was a close thing. If the ground had not stopped the tooth from going any deeper when the snake's head fell against Harry, his arm would have been torn apart by the sheer size alone.

Fawkes rose into the air once more, this time wrapping his claws around the base of the fang. The bird began flapping its wings, pulling at the bone, slowly dragging it out of Harry's arm. The whole time, the emerald-eyed boy was screaming and cursing, until his cries devolved into unintelligible, animalistic roars. Finally, however, the fang was out, and the phoenix tossed it aside.

Fawkes plummeted to the ground, landing next to Harry's injured arm, and leaned over the wound. A stream of liquid poured from its beady black eyes, dripping down its beak and onto the edge of the gaping hole. The tears trickled into the wound, and with a hiss of steam, the cavity began to fill in.

Relief flooded Harry's weary body, and he stopped thrashing. The pain in his arm quickly vanished, and even his throat, sore from the abuse of his vocal chords, was soothed. With a sigh, he went limp against the floor, head lolling to the side. He pressed his cheek against the cold stone, reveling in the way it cooled down his overheated body. Harry laid like that for a long while, simply breathing, and trying to organize the whole ordeal in his mind.

So Ginny was being possessed by a diary, owned by Tom Marvolo Riddle, and was about to die. Probably. If the red stains covering the girl were any indication, then she was the one writing the bloody messages near the entrance to Myrtle's bathroom- hopefully against her will- which meant the possession had been going on for a while. This event was probably a bid for complete control, rather than the short periods it had been before. Which means, Tom Marvolo Riddle was the Heir of Slytherin. Someone like that would probably be dangerous.

Then again, the diary had been a memory, so it was possible the actual person wasn't alive anymore. Whoever they were, they had to be a Parselmouth to open the Chamber of Secrets, but that didn't really mean much. Ever since Voldemort's rise to power, and the subsequent stigmatisation of Parseltongue, anyone with the ability probably hid it, so there'd be no records. That was a dead end.

Did they have any connection with that monster? Considering how it hadn't attacked them, perhaps. Then again, Harry had no clue how often Tom brought Ginny down to the Chamber, so there was no way of knowing if they'd ever had a run-in with the beast. Speaking of which, wasn't that supposed to be Slytherin's Monster? Harry remembered some of his classmates speaking about how there was apparently an ungodly beast down in the Chamber, which would one day emerge and kill everything. They also claimed Slytherin's Monster was the means by which the Heir of Slytherin attacked, so did that mean the massive snake was behind the petrifications? If that was the case, then why was Harry still able to move? And would the students in the Hospital Wing be free now, or did they still need to wait for an antidote?

Alright, so, possession by the Heir of Slytherin, Tom Marvolo Riddle, who ordered the snake to petrify people. That seemed to be the short of it, and Harry wasn't going to waste anymore time thinking about it.

Pushing himself to his feet, Harry staggered around the Chamber, picking up the things scattered around him. The diary went into his robe pocket, the Sorting Hat- disgruntled about being tossed aside like yesterday's trash- went on his head, and he held the silver sword in his once-injured left hand. Using his wand, he cast the Locomotion Charm to pull Ginny towards him. Once she was close enough, Harry stowed his wand in his pant pocket. He wrapped an arm around the redheads waist, hefting her over his shoulder. He swayed a bit under the new burden, but managed to stay on his feet.

When Harry was stable on his feet, Fawkes landed on his free shoulder, and they were surrounded in orange flames.

Dumbledore was not alone in the Headmaster's Office. Standing in front of his desk, raging wildly, was Molly Weasley. She was shouting, pacing, waving her hands about, and generally making a nuisance of herself. A fair bit behind her stood Arthur Weasley, arms crossed, jaw locked, and steel glinting in his normally-kind eyes. McGonagall stood off to the side, lips pursed, looking like she either wanted to agree with Molly or cut the redhead off.

Dumbledore was not looking like the genial old man he portrayed himself as. His eyes were narrowed, fingers steepled on his desk. Behind his hands and beard, his lips were pressed together into a thin line. The ever-present sparkle in his eyes was missing, Harry noted idly.

The burning of flames and the subsequent flash of light alerted everyone to his sudden presence. Molly's rant cut off abruptly as she, along with everyone else, whipped around to stare at him.

"GINNY!" Molly shouted, launching herself forward and grabbing the girl off Harry's shoulder. She cradled her daughter, wiping her mucked-up hair out of her equally-dirty face. Rolling around in the centuries-old Chamber of Secrets was not good for one's hygiene.

Arthur came forward as well, but at a more sedated pace. The two worried parents crowded around the unconscious girl, poking and prodding. Molly even cast a few diagnostic charms, which Harry only recognized due to his many visits to the Infirmary. A few lights flashed red, and Molly cried out in fear.

"Albus! My baby! We have to get to the Hospital Wing!"

Dumbledore did not seem quite as worried as the situation warranted. Instead, he was staring intently at Harry. "Professor McGonagall, please escort Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to the Hospital Wing. I must have a talk with young Mr. Potter."

The parents and Transfiguration professor left with due haste, Arthur hoisting Ginny in his arms. Student and Headmaster watched them rush out, then turned to each other, emerald green meeting electric blue. It felt like a conversation passed between them as they stared at each other, but nothing was said.

"So, Mr. Potter… Would you care to explain the situation?

Dumbledore leaned back heavily in his chair, stroking his silver beard. On his desk was the diary of Tom Riddle, which he stared at, exhaustion evident in his drooping features.

"This… Is most distressing, Mr. Potter."

"What are you going to do about the Chamber, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore ran his fingers through his mane for a few more moments. "I believe that I must investigate, to ensure there are no more threats to the school. We only narrowly avoided closing Hogwarts for good- it simply would not do for this situation to repeat itself anytime in the near future. And for that, I will need your help."

"Because I'm a Parselmouth?"

"Yes, and I would also like some company. I would call in the Aurors, but if they saw anything like what you've described, I fear they may shut the school down, regardless of the fact that the threat has been eliminated."

"...Alright. I don't know how I feel about going back down there, but I'll do it if it helps. Besides that, can I keep the sword?"

Dumbledore's smile faltered a bit at the suddenness of the question. He glanced at the sword, taking in the ruby-encrusted gold hilt and silver blade, before simply shrugging.

"Well, I don't see why not. If the Sorting Hat gave it to you, then I don't believe I am in any position to contest that decision. Obviously, that does not mean you can swing it about as you please." He gave the boy a playfully-stern glare, and the corner of Harry's lip twitched up in something that was almost a smirk.

"I do believe that concludes our business for the day, so you may return to your quarters, Mr. Potter. I'm sure you are exhausted after that ordeal. Also, you may rest easy, since the end-of-year exams have been cancelled due to the emotional distress of the student body as a whole. A good day, my boy."

Dumbledore walked out of the office, leaving a slightly dazed Harry behind. The emerald-eyed boy smiled a bit once he registered that there were no exams, meaning more time to train. Also, to figure out how to actually use the sword he now owned, which was apparently the Sword of Gryffindor, according to the Headmaster.

The Sorting Hat went back on one of the shelves, Fawkes hopped onto his perch, and Harry stumbled his way out of the Headmaster's Office. In the Room of Requirement, Harry managed to struggle through a shower, changed into his sleepwear, and fell heavily into the Room-conjured bed. Darkness encased him like a coffin, and he was unconscious in an instant.

That night, he had a dream.

He was holding a quill, the tip of which was primed with ink from the nearby well. In front of him sat a book. The blank black cover seemed quite familiar. He flipped the book open to the first page, and began writing.

After a few moments of scratching away at the parchment, the hand lifted itself to reveal what was written. A name; Tom Marvolo Riddle. He spent a long while looking at each letter, pointing occasionally, and dragging his finger around on the page idly while he concentrated. Numbers were written down under each letter, sometimes scribbled out and replaced. Finally, once the numbering was complete, he rewrote the letters in order, starting with the one labeled '1'.

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Dobby didn't warn Harry about anything. That's why the first time he saw House Elves was in the kitchen.

Basilisk stare didn't kill him because Parselmouth magic protected him. Complete BS, yeah, but that's just how I'm doing it. He didn't have Hermione to research the beast, nor did he have a vested interest in the going-ons of the school. As such, he had no clue that Slytherin's Monster was a Basilisk, and it would've made for a very quick end if he was able to be petrified just like that.

I never understood why nobody let Harry keep the Sword of Gryffindor in many fanfics. It seems like something useful to have.

Yes, this'll be a Harry-absorbs-Horcruxes thing, but he won't be getting many memories. Just a boost to his power, and the occasional memory-dream, like the one at the end of this.