Madness of Ravens (HP SI)
- Thread starter darienqmk
- Start date
- Location
- Planet Earth
sigh... MC(Lyra) had better sort out that horcrux soon. The WORST thing for stories with "smart" MC's. Or MC's with foreknowledge. Is when they procrastinate or are stupidly, unrealistically, forgetful. Like not realizing that playing with a horcrux is dangerous. Or more importantly, that the person who wanted to test a horcrux, acting cagey, violent, aggressive, or having bad dreams... Is a BAD SIGN
I don't think you're really following along with the story here, Mastersgt. They're not procrastinating. Or being forgetful. There's no need for them to go destroy all the Horcruxes in this point of the story. Wraith Voldemort isn't a concern. They dealt with Pettigrew, which means Voldemort never resurrects. You left another comment earlier how all their problems would be solved if they stopped procrastinating — but what problems, exactly?
The argument is laid out clearly in the fic itself. They've dealt with Pettigrew, which means no resurrection, which means no Voldemort to worry about. Hunting down Horcruxes isn't important to the characters. Voldemort is already done. In canon, he himself says how he needed to have a constant willpower to stay alive, and how he almost gave up before Pettigrew showed up — so no Pettigrew = Voldemort gives up and probably fades into utter impotence.
And to respond to another commenter, we haven't read too many bad fanfics regarding Dumbledore. We both love Dumbledore. But he has his history with Grindelwald and Lyra is wary of him due to it. They aren't telling him about the Horcruxes because Voldemort is dealt with and telling Dumbledore only invites a ton of uncomfortable questions that may interfere with Lyra's plans.
Anyway, thank y'all for your comments anyway. Greatly appreciate them <3
The argument is laid out clearly in the fic itself. They've dealt with Pettigrew, which means no resurrection, which means no Voldemort to worry about. Hunting down Horcruxes isn't important to the characters. Voldemort is already done. In canon, he himself says how he needed to have a constant willpower to stay alive, and how he almost gave up before Pettigrew showed up — so no Pettigrew = Voldemort gives up and probably fades into utter impotence.
And to respond to another commenter, we haven't read too many bad fanfics regarding Dumbledore. We both love Dumbledore. But he has his history with Grindelwald and Lyra is wary of him due to it. They aren't telling him about the Horcruxes because Voldemort is dealt with and telling Dumbledore only invites a ton of uncomfortable questions that may interfere with Lyra's plans.
Anyway, thank y'all for your comments anyway. Greatly appreciate them <3
RichardWhereat
Feanor did nothing wrong.
- Location
- Australia
No, it just means Tom needs to find an alternate method of rezzing.
No, it doesn't. Voldemort had no one beside Pettigrew. He says this himself. He says in the graveyard that he expected he would never regain his powers without Pettigrew, and that Pettigrew was his "last hope for regeneration."
Moreover, even if there was another way, there's another factor to it. Voldemort says he had to endlessly force himself to stay alive. And if he goes even one more year (or even a few more weeks) than he did in canon as a wraith, he would have given up hope and this might've led to him actually dying. Voldemort also says this in the graveyard scene, that he had to force himself to "sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist." (Page 653, Goblet of Fire)
And Lyra, being me, would know all this. And would know Voldemort without Pettigrew was most certainly done for.
RichardWhereat
Feanor did nothing wrong.
- Location
- Australia
Why would you give spoilers like this?
...Seriously?
They aren't spoilers. It's not spoiling to remind you of canon and basic common sense. Lyra literally says in Chapter 1 that no resurrection will happen due to Pettigrew being turned in. It's not spoilers, it's literally in the damn fic already.
RichardWhereat
Feanor did nothing wrong.
- Location
- Australia
It's a spoiler when the author comes out and says it, instead of leaving it ambiguous.
There's a difference between characters saying something, and an author saying something. Characters aren't omniscient.
There's nothing ambiguous here. Lord Voldemort doesn't resurrect without Pettigrew. This is made fairly clear in canon. I'm not going to apologize for pointing out canon to you.
As it is, it still isn't a spoiler. I'm pointing out Lyra's thoughts. I'm not saying Tom Riddle is not a threat or won't ever show up in the story. But at that point in the story, Lyra believes that he is not important anymore. So there's no reason, from their perspective, to care much about hunting Horcruxes.
Silveraith
Argent Phantasm
- Location
- Terra Atlantus
I'm curious now... beyond the day to day struggles who or what is the antagonist of the story then?
Silveraith
Argent Phantasm
- Location
- Terra Atlantus
Okay good, I just want to make sure there is one, that there is a plan for this story because if it was going to be nothing but slice of life I'd honestly reconsider reading. I don't care if Voldemort is the antagonist are not just that the protagonist has a force to struggle against that's more then daily living.Now that would be spoiling
Writings on the Wall
James resisted the urge to slam his head against the desk.
The desk in question was probably the nicest one of its kind that the Room of Requirement could offer. Upon it sat several tomes that had been summoned from the Hogwarts library.
Lyra preferred to sneak into the Restricted Section; James preferred to stay in the comfort of the Come and Go Room to avoid Pince, the old crone, even if it meant he didn't have access to the Restricted Section's catalogue. He dropped his most recent tome, a dusty old thing, on the desk with a thump. Useless.
He dug his fingernails into his scalp, wishing the headache would leave. He could feel his head throb in synchronicity with his heartbeats, the rushing of blood through his ears. He'd tried both magical and muggle painkillers, but nothing seemed to get it to stop.
He idly took another book, then put it back down, rubbing the dust between his fingers and thumb. He waved in the general direction of the book, using a weak Banishing Charm to send the decades-old dust flying off it.
After a halfhearted inspection of the abstract, he replaced the book on the pile and sighed. Elbows on the table and his head cradled in his hands, he dearly wished for this damnable headache to abate. In his moment of suffering, a soft pop echoed through the room.
"Does Master Stark be wanting somethings else?" asked Dobby, placing an ice-pack wrapped in a tea-towel on the desk.
Rather than some ragged pillowcase, Dobby was dressed in a sharp outfit that Lyra had tailored specifically for him. He looked a little like a concierge in a high-end hotel. It had taken some prompting for him to accept it; only after Lyra insisted that the uniform was being lent to him, rather than freely given.
"Thank you," James murmured. "A glass of water, if you would."
"Right away, Master Stark."
Dobby disappeared and reappeared in a heartbeat, returning with a glass of water. James murmured his thanks as the House-Elf disappeared once more, mentally thanking Lyra for access to one. While he usually made a habit of taking care of himself and his own belongings, Dobby was a godsend in times like these.
James leaned back in the solid oak chair, taking a sip of the water. It was chilled but not ice-cold, refreshing but not enough to give him brain-freeze. He pressed the ice-pack to his forehead and closed his eyes, a soft sigh of relief escaping his lips.
As he sunk down into the chair, surprisingly comfortable despite the lack of padding, his mind turned to the topic of the little, seemingly innocuous black book sitting on the corner of the table in front of him. It was leatherbound, the slightly browned pages stitched together, still solid despite the years it had seen. On the inside, there was a faint transcription that read 'T.M. Riddle.'
That thing had to go.
They were nearing the end of the year now. The Scotland climate had gotten warm enough that students began swapping out their winter robes for the thinner and lighter summer ones, and the end of school was in sight. People chatted excitedly about their plans over the summer holidays, while O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students worried about their upcoming exams.
And since Christmas, complaints about James' behavior had been flooding in. At first he dismissed them, thinking he was in the right. Then, he realized, that was exactly what Tom wanted him to think.
To be affected to this degree was unacceptable. According to his own journal, James had not made any suspicious movements, nor did he have lapses in his memory. Despite that, he was clearly being affected — more like Ron under the influence of the Locket, rather than the Diary in canon, but it was clearly there.
He had been lying to Lyra, too. She was under the impression that he had barely touched the Diary. Part of him was annoyed that she hadn't figured out the lie; wasn't it obvious? Maybe not. Ginny hadn't shown this change of mood. There were no attacks. She had zero reason to believe the Diary was affecting him like this.
She had confronted him about his attitude some months ago, but he had simply told her that the loss of his original family was getting to him, that he was having difficulty advancing in some of his studies, and that he was having a bit of an existential crisis. She dealt with that anxiety too, after all; being tossed into a fictional world was utterly surreal, and the both of them still wondered at times if any of it was real.
The sensation of having his skull railway spiked startled him out of his thoughts, spilling half of his water onto his shirt in the process. He ground his teeth and clutched his head in one hand while peeling the soggy surface of his shirt from his skin with the other.
He didn't restrain himself this time, and slammed his head against the desk. When that didn't work, he did it again, but he barely felt the minor pain, so great was that headache. It had spread from behind his eyes to all over his skull, and it felt like it was leaking into his spine and into his body. Just as he thought that, his left arm jerked violently; the crunch that followed barely registered until he noticed the slight, fiery pain in his hand.
He slowly opened his eyes. His blood, diluted with cold water, rolled off the edge of the desk and dripped soundlessly to the floor. The glass had shattered, some larger pieces and some smaller. James sighed, full of annoyance and frustration, and hurled the ice-pack to some uncharted corner of the Room of Requirement with whatever force he could muster while still sitting. He used his free hand to pick out the glass embedded in his hand even as the headache returned with full force. Then he grabbed his wand angrily and vanished the damn shards.
He shouldn't have thrown that fucking ice-pack. He raised his hand, and the object of his attention flew eagerly back to him.
James faltered, then gasped —
The ice-pack missed where James' hand used to be, forgotten on its course. James clutched his head in his hands, one side smeared with blood, as he tried to regain his breath. He felt as if he'd received a powerful blow to his gut which knocked the air from his lungs. He shakily stood up, only for the world to swim around him, and he felt an irrational desire to throw up; he hadn't eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours.
He grasped the corner of the desk, glaring hatefully at the Diary.
"You," he hissed with barely-concealed rage, rage that James had never felt before in either of his lives, and with a roar, hurled the black-bound book at the wall. The pain redoubled and James fell to his knees, the fabric of his trousers scraping against the unyielding stone.
I have to destroy it, came his thoughts, unbidden. The Killing Curse? No, I've never tried that spell before; there's no guarantee it would work.
That left only one choice.
Basilisk venom.
A small part of his mind pleaded with the greater whole to stop this madness; he was in no condition to destroy a full-grown basilisk. It would be a challenge to a team of specially trained adults, so why would James, a single student, stand a chance?
He ruthlessly crushed the mental resistance and Summoned the Diary back into his hand. His blood dripped onto the Diary and was promptly absorbed, leaving the diary perfectly dry. He strode out of the Room of Requirement, the shock of every step making the pain flare through his skull.
He needed to go to Myrtle's bathroom. If he remembered correctly, that would be on the third floor. The entrance, however, would be sealed; James didn't speak Parseltongue. He would… he would need to find someone who did. And wasn't that convenient? There was one person he knew — one person everyone seemed to know — that could speak Parseltongue. The protagonist of this story.
Even as he marched to Gryffindor tower, an irrational hatred for the protagonist began to bubble up through his mind. It was all his fault, wasn't it? He was the reason James was stuck on this — Hell, for what else could it be? The reason James had been torn from all those he loved and the world that he found familiar, thrown into the past and into the other side of the world, with a pair of parents that conceived him on accident and were, accordingly, distant. If not for discovering his first bouts of accidental magic when he was four, he might have very well gone through with that plan of hanging himself in his room, with weights attached to his ankles so that it'd go all the more smoothly.
Harry Potter.
The Boy-Who-Lived.
His fault.
James snarled in a way that caused disgust at himself to rise up. And even if Harry had no hand in James' sudden reincarnation, James himself was a fraud, wasn't he? Masquerading as a genius when, in truth, he had merely experienced everything before. He'd not even been particularly exceptional the last time around, so he'd sought to soothe his ego by pretending. Hatred for Harry. Hatred for himself. Raw, undiluted hatred for whatever being that dropped him into this world.
And Lyra. She had known immediately where she was, having been born into the Malfoy family. She didn't understand. She herself wanted to be the damn protagonist, what with her plans of taking over the world... always so insecure with the idea of being something insignificant. If they had just gone to Dumbledore in the first place, he wouldn't be in this mess. But no, she had to have it her way.
Then he shook his head. He needed Lyra. He was too frightened to go to Dumbledore, but Lyra could help — she'd know what to do. Or the Diary might take control of her, too. Maybe she'd go to Dumbledore; maybe he'd be expelled.
What the fuck did she know anyway? She hadn't learned much wandless magic, like he had; she wasn't an Animagus; she'd only this year mastered the Patronus; and she couldn't even figure out how to use the stupid Stone she had stolen.
And what kind of friend was she? She didn't even care enough to pay attention to him, to see he was hurting.
James stopped, walked to the wall, and bashed his skull against it.
"Fuck you," he hissed, to the Riddle in his head.
These were not his thoughts. These were not his thoughts. He needed this truth, he needed to hold onto this truth, and if he did, Riddle wouldn't be able to touch him.
But that's not the truth, is it? asked his own voice, in his mind. You are a fraud. Following in Lockhart's footsteps, pretending to be better than you are.
"Fuck you!"
"Excuse me?" said the Fat Lady, glaring with disapproval.
"Not talking to you," James said with a snarl that made the two-dimensional woman flinch. "Open the door. I need someone inside."
"You're not a Gryffindor," she said, as if offended.
James smiled sharply. "But I'm looking for a Gryffindor, you see. I'd greatly appreciate if you could open this door."
"You look like you're here to cause trouble," the Fat Lady said warily, and with a small hint of fear.
The wariness in her tone stoked James' irritation like oil on flame, while the hint of fear created a spark of jubilation that rapidly grew, threatening to eat away all his frustration. He grinned, which really didn't help the Fat Lady regain her composure.
James knew he wasn't like this. No matter his many flaws, sadism wasn't one of them.
He slammed his Occlumency shields into place, and was rewarded with a sensation like liquid nitrogen flowing over his skin. He gasped at the sudden transition in his mental state, but his headache intensified to the point he could barely keep the shield up.
"Please," he asked again, this time in ragged desperation. "I need help."
"I'm fetching a professor," the Fat Lady said, and hurried out of the portrait. James' already stretched Occlumency barrier cracked, and he punched the portrait as hard as he could.
I'll do it myself. I'll let Riddle take over, and —
No! That was insanity. That way lay death and suffering, all it was —
Inaction gets me nowhere; I may as well sign away my soul to Riddle. He's the most powerful Legilimens in the world. Even as a teenager, he'd eventually subsume my mind if I didn't destroy the Diary.
So I should let him willingly compromise me instead?
I might have a chance this way. If I do nothing… my destruction is certain.
That made chills run down his spine. His previous death — whatever that might have been — had led to reincarnation. But this… this fate was worse than death. To be a spectator in one's own body, to see it twisted and mangled beyond repair, stitched together by dark magic and razor wire, to see the parasite indulge in self-destructive behavior in pursuit of perfection, in pursuit of godhood.
Terminus.
James ran.
His vision swam, and more than once he stumbled, but he needed to get that damn basilisk venom. He needed to get rid of that damnable Diary before it consumed him. He couldn't get rid of it any other way — it would return to him otherwise, there was no doubt. Despite his wishes, he and the Diary were conjoined now by fate.
He had been an idiot. A gigantic, colossal, absolute fucking idiot. He should've never written in the thing. He had, and now Riddle was actively hammering at his shields, trying to take the reins, knowing that if he didn't take over James now, he would be destroyed. And if James didn't succeed in this mission, he would end. He would become a footnote in his own mind as Riddle tore his consciousness into pieces like some savage beast tearing at their prey. His knowledge, his memories, his fears and desires, all of it would be consumed, and James Stark would, simply put, cease to exist.
He needed to think quickly. What were the weaknesses of the basilisk—?
Nothing I can reach in time, he thought. Nothing in the school that can harm a basilisk.
Within his mind, he saw a fleeting glance of a giant, man-shaped silhouette. Being in pain as he was, and the fear of extinction echoing endlessly, he dismissed the thought and instead rushed to his destination.
"Who're you?" said a familiar feminine voice.
Familiar?
James ignored them and grabbed the edges of the sink, staring into the almost hypnotic snake-shaped tap.
"I don't get many visitors," the voice continued. "Nobody wants to visit poor little —"
"Leave!" roared James, sending an indiscriminate Banishing Charm in their general direction. The owner of the voice squeaked in fright as abandoned stalls shuddered and creaked. The voice did not bother him anymore, and James glared at the little ornamental snake.
"Open," he muttered, and to his shock, the ornament twisted.
A portal opened to what he could only describe as Tartarus.
How did the entrance open? James didn't speak Parseltongue. He'd had staring contests with snakes in zoos for hours when he learned of his identity as a wizard, wondering if he had some exotic ancestry, all to no avail. So how did —?
As the edges of his vision darkened, as dark as the Entrance to the Underworld before him, beginning to trap James in his own mind, he realized he had never been in control this whole time.
Fuck you, James spat at Riddle, and he hated how afraid his own voice, within his own mind, sounded.
James awoke.
He groaned and clutched his head. While the headache from before was gone, it still hurt like hell, and he could feel a bump on the side of his head, like he'd hit something — or like he'd fallen. He flexed his hands; one responded with a sharp pain, and he opened his eyes fractionally to examine it. It was covered in blood.
His shirt was almost white from the amount of dust he was covered in. And there was a strange sound, one he thought was his imagination until now. He massaged his temple... It definitely wasn't a hallucination. Like a thousand rusty chains scraping against the floor, it made his hairs stand on end. He slowly opened his eyes again, feeling the sting in his brain as light, faint as it was, struck his retinas.
Then he closed his eyes again as tightly as he could, blood draining from his face.
"Oh," he said numbly, as a fifty-foot serpent slithered in the dark in front of him.
He splayed the fingers of his right hand, and after an agonizingly long moment, his wand burst from one of the pools in the Chamber of Secrets and smacked into his palm, the warm buzz of magic providing some small comfort in the face of reality.
Riddle.
Tom Riddle, for all of James' precautions, had taken over him.
James swallowed through his constricted throat, keeping his eyes closed.
Don't look.
He couldn't die here. If he died here, he'd inflict Tom Riddle on the wizarding world. Tom Riddle, who would eventually be spoken in hushed whispers, his name forever tabooed under pain of death or torture.
James couldn't give up. No, James Stark would kill the beast, and turn its deadly venom onto its own master. Tom Riddle would die by his hand —
No.
The Diary was in none of James' pockets. He double-checked — triple-checked.
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no. This can't be happening."
He briefly wondered if snakes could feel fear. He sincerely hoped not.
James slid into a dueling stance anyway, and prepared to face death itself.
Luna was sitting quietly doing her homework when the door to the Ravenclaw tower burst open. A first year that had been leaving was flung to the ground. Lyra Malfoy leapt through the entrance, a look of fear upon her face. Luna sat straight up; she had never seen Lyra scared before — never.
What Lyra had done didn't even seem to register to her, looks of annoyance and outrage missing her notice entirely. She sprinted toward the dorm tower, shoving past Roger Davies just as he opened his mouth, leaving him gaping stupidly.
Luna collected her homework and books and put them carefully but quickly into her bag, flung it around her shoulder, and followed Lyra up the stairs, wondering what could have put her in such a state. As she made her way steadily up the stairs, she could hear Victoria Clearwater yelling about something. She gently shouldered the door to the fourth years' dorm open and peeked inside.
"Malfoy, I said, what are you —"
"Will you just fuck off?" hissed Lyra with a fury in her voice Luna didn't think was possible. Luna almost hesitated in entering, wondering if that rage would be directed at her too.
"I was here first, you bitch!" snapped Victoria, her face turning pink. "All I was doing was minding my own business and now you have to make a mess of everything and yell at me for it? You know, I'm up to here with your —"
But that was as far as she got before she was wandlessly flung to the other side of the dorm, slamming into the wall and sliding down, Silenced and bound in bed curtains that had come alive to ensnare her. She writhed in them, livid and looking as though she was screaming terrible things, though nothing could be heard.
Lyra turned back around to her trunk, ignoring her, and Luna slunk into the room.
"Lyra?" she said quietly, and Victoria stopped her struggling to look at her, eyes wide as if to ask for help. Luna ignored her too. "Are you okay?"
Lyra didn't stop throwing things out of her trunk, cursing under her breath as she searched for something. Then she let out a breath of relief as she reached so deep within that her feet momentarily lifted off the ground. Pulling her upper half out of the trunk, she raised a little black book.
"Finally," breathed Lyra, falling to the ground as she opened it.
"What's that?" asked Luna, peering over the older girl's shoulder, but Lyra ignored her.
Instead, she took a quill from the ground and opened the first page. Then, Summoning an inkpot to her side, she wrote something in it and waited. Luna wasn't sure what Lyra had been expecting, or what she herself was expecting, but it wasn't Lyra paling.
"All of this for a bloody diary?" Victoria asked, the Silencing Charm cancelled. Luna glanced at her. She had her wand in her hand, her face slightly red from her recent humiliation, and while the wand remained pointed at the ground, she was tense like a coiled spring, almost daring Lyra to attack her again. "Hey, Malfoy, I —"
"Put that wand down, you silly girl," whispered Lyra, staring down at the journal still. "Don't make me hurt you."
Victoria's lips thinned. "One day," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "One day you're not going to be able to just — just do whatever you want."
Lyra remained silent as Victoria stormed out of the room, slamming the door on the way.
"What's wrong with it?" said Luna.
Lyra only sat there, shaking her head as if in denial.
"It's a fake," she said faintly. As if other horrible realizations were coming to her, she paled further — which was something, considering Lyra had always been paler than most, no matter how much time she spent in the sun.
Before Luna could ask any more questions, she leapt to her feet and was out the door. Luna attempted to follow her, but couldn't figure out which way she had gone. She went down to the common room to ask someone if Lyra had passed through, but before she could even do that, Lyra came sprinting down the stairs leading up to the boys' dormitory. Her cheeks were red from exertion, but it was clear from her wide eyes that she was still terrified of something.
"Lyra —" began Luna, but was cut off as Lyra held her wand up and conjured some wordless spell. She looked around the common room, as if expecting something to leap into her hand. Then she was running out the room, dragging Luna with her.
"Luna, listen very carefully," she said quietly but with intensity as they moved into the empty hallway. "That black book is a very important artifact — very important and very dangerous. If you ever see anyone with anything like it, you need to tell me immediately — but do not try to pick it up yourself."
"What does it do?" Luna asked with some trepidation.
Lyra got down on one knee in front of her and held her shoulders. "It contains the soul of something evil. If you ever come across it..." She ran her hands down to Luna's own and clasped them. "Do not write in it. Do not touch it. You come find me immediately. Do you understand?"
Luna stared into Lyra's ice-blue eyes, and then nodded.
"Good girl," said Lyra, smiling — though it was clear it was forced. "There's something I need to do now."
"Is it dangerous?" Luna asked as Lyra stood. "Let me help."
Lyra looked down at her, and for a moment she seemed taller somehow, as if a glimpse of the might of her future self was present. Luna blinked.
"Go grab your dragon-hide gloves," said Lyra, "and then wait by Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."
Luna didn't wait. She rushed to her room, ignoring the whispers aimed her way by her roommates, and retrieved her gloves.
"What are those for, Looney?" said Jessica. "Did you need remedial Herbology lessons?"
"Something like that," said Luna, not looking her way as she walked back toward the door. "Only, Lyra is teaching me. Would you like me to tell her you're interested too?"
Luna didn't stop to see Jessica's reaction. She made her way down to the second floor, perhaps a little quicker than she'd normally walk. A few of the hungrier students were going down for supper, but for the most part, the corridor was empty and quiet. And five minutes later, Lyra appeared, dragging Harry Potter behind her.
"Into the bathroom," she said.
"Wait," Harry said. "That's a girls' bathroom."
But Lyra shoved him in anyway. "It's abandoned, relax."
The bathroom was indeed abandoned. A thin layer of dust was present on the porcelain sinks and the mirrors were quite grimy. Lyra began inspecting the taps — until she paused.
"Harry, come here," she said. "Tell this sink to open."
"Uh —"
"Just, please, tell it to open," said Lyra. "It needs a Parselmouth — someone who can speak to snakes. This is Salazar Slytherin's secret, and I know you can talk to them."
Harry frowned. "How did you know—?"
"Because I saw you talk to that snake at the zoo with your relatives," snapped Lyra. Then she closed her eyes and sighed. "Harry, please."
"You were there?" said Harry, blinking in surprise. Then, when Lyra glared and gestured wildly toward the sink, he said, "Okay, okay..."
He awkwardly bent over the silver snake and hissed. It was a grotesque sound that had Luna wincing. However, Harry's words triggered some sort of magic that peeled away the porcelain and dirty mirrors and revealed a dark hole.
"I didn't bring a broom for you, Luna," said Lyra. "I guess you'll be riding piggyback on me."
"Okay," Luna said easily.
Lyra and Harry unshrunk their brooms, and Luna climbed onto the back of Lyra's, wrapping her arms around her midsection. Lyra kicked off the ground and descended into the darkness.
The journey felt like it stretched to eternity.
When they finally reached the bottom of the pipe, Luna could hear rushing water in the far distance. Perhaps it might have been the noise from the drainage system, but it could also very well be the Black Lake itself, if they were underneath it.
The Lake was supposed to be deep, deep enough that at its lowest points no light reached the bottom. Considering how long this journey took, it wouldn't have surprised her if they were below the Lake anyway.
"Is — what'd you call it, Parselmouthing?" said Harry. "Is it rare?"
"You're a Parselmouth, and what you do is speak Parseltongue," said Lyra. "And yes, it's rare. And isn't viewed in the best light, so I'd keep that particular ability to yourself. Ask Dumbledore about it if you want."
Then they came upon a massive door, carved from dark stone that seemed to drink up the light that left their wand-tips. On it were intertwining snakes, arranged in geometric patterns far too complex to have been created by any sane mind; snakes eating snakes eating snakes, all the way to infinity, and it made Luna's head hurt just staring at it. Their eyes, their red garnet eyes, glittered with malevolent promise.
Luna shivered, and it wasn't because of the cold.
Harry hissed again, and the snakes unraveled soundlessly. Even as Luna expected to hear the dull grinding of stone against stone, all she heard was the continuous dripping of water from long-forgotten copper pipes onto weathered stone tiles.
The last snake slid out of their path, and the door opened. Lyra grabbed both her and Harry and pushed them to the wall.
"Close your eyes and stay here," she said, and her tone beckoned zero argument. Before Harry could protest, she disappeared into whatever lay beyond the door.
There was a worrying silence that lasted far too long for Luna's comfort.
"You can come now," came Lyra's distant voice.
Through the doorway was a great chamber, with many tall pillars and a ceiling so high that Luna couldn't see the top, even with Lyra's floating balls of light illuminating a path to her. And beyond Lyra's form was the corpse of the largest snake Luna had ever seen.
From snout to tail, it was probably longer than most dragons. She couldn't see its tail, as Lyra's lights seemed to struggle against the darkness of the chamber.
"What is this place?" said Harry weakly.
"The Chamber of Secrets," said Lyra grimly, her back to them as she stared at the serpent. "I'm sure Hermione will tell you all about it."
Luna approached the carcass in wonder. The light reflected against the scales: black and glossy like obsidian, with an emerald hue derived from what looked like thousands of glittering green galaxies embedded in the volcanic glass.
"Is this why James is in the hospital wing?" Harry said, following Luna's lead.
"Yeah," said Lyra, stepping up to the serpent's gaping maw. "It's a basilisk. It's a miracle James even managed to kill it."
"What's a —?"
"Ask Hermione."
Lyra knelt and pulled a small object from her pocket, and tapped it with a wand, restoring it to its original size. It was a wooden box with patterns decorated in gold thread; when opened, it revealed the inside to be made entirely of what looked like pure gold. Lyra noticed Luna staring.
"Gold is one of the few materials in the world that is resistant to basilisk venom," she said, answering their unspoken question.
"You want to harvest the venom from this thing?" Harry said as Lyra pulled out some test tubes, the inside also inlaid with gold.
"Basilisk venom is incredibly destructive," said Lyra, and then she pulled out a small, ornamental silver dagger from a pocket and unsheathed it. "It can render things beyond magical repair, something rather rare."
Luna hesitantly approached, not getting too close in fear of the deadly venom. She saw the serpent's eyes had been utterly destroyed, and the inside of its mouth was torn to shreds as well.
Lyra placed the dagger underneath one of the basilisk's fangs, which were at least as long as Luna's forearm, wickedly sharp. The venom quite literally sizzled along the blade. But as far as Luna could tell, the dagger was undamaged.
"Is that goblin-silver?" Luna asked.
"Yes," said Lyra, slowly placing the dagger back into its sheath. "Goblin-wrought silver takes in what makes it stronger... So this dagger can now kill someone with just a nick, within minutes." Then Lyra held it out to Harry. "Take it."
"What?" said Harry, startled. "No — you just said it could kill with a small cut —"
"So keep it in its sheath," said Lyra. "Listen, this dagger is beyond value now. Basilisks aren't common. The last one seen in Britain was hundreds of years ago. And you, Harry, have the most evil and powerful dark wizard of all time after you." She got up and grabbed Harry's hand, placing the dagger into it, and looked into his eyes. "It's just in case."
"I'm putting it in my trunk," said Harry immediately.
"Okay."
"Deep down at the bottom."
A smile broke through Lyra's tense face.
"As you should, Harry," she said, "as you should." Then she pulled out two other daggers and repeated the process. "One for me, and one for James — though he'll probably accidentally kill himself with it..." After the daggers were imbued with the venom, she snapped off a fang and let the venom fall into the golden vials, Luna holding them steady with her dragon-hide gloves. "I'll probably accidentally kill myself one day too," she murmured. "All the more reason for you to have a back up, Harry."
Luna was glad she wasn't offered one. She didn't want to hold onto a dangerous thing like that. Even holding the vials was nerve-racking. Her parents had also mentioned that such casual displays of wealth should be punishable by cannibalism. Or something like that.
"Right," said Lyra as she finished and closed the box. "That's that."
"Why were you so desperate to get all this?" said Harry, frowning.
Lyra looked at him, then around at the darkness. "I was hoping to find something else down here too." She handed the wooden box to Luna and pulled out the black book from earlier. "See this?" she said to Harry. "This is a duplicated fake of a very real and very dark artifact. It's what got James into this mess." She tossed it at him. "Show it to Hermione and Ron, so they know what it looks like, and then keep an eye out for it. It's missing, and —"
"And...?" said Harry, opening the journal and looking through its blank pages.
"It's something that belonged to sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle," said Lyra finally. "Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort's real name."
Harry looked up sharply.
"His diary — the real one?" she continued. "It's capable of possessing people. I thought — I thought James had been using it sparingly, but I didn't think —" She sighed. "Basilisk venom — and now these daggers — they're capable of destroying such things like that. Not much else can."
"Why would James do that?" said Harry harshly. "Did he know what it was?"
Lyra grimaced. "Riddle... Riddle has a lot of knowledge, Harry. And you know he's still out there. I think the mess with Quirrell spooked him and he wanted to find out more... just in case."
Harry touched where he had put his dagger in his robes. "Just in case..."
"And now the diary is missing?" said Luna, worried.
"I've tried Summoning it," said Lyra, throwing a frustrated arm up. "In my dorm, in his, down here — it's not popping up. If anyone else has it..."
"They'll be possessed," said Harry.
"If they write in it enough." Lyra ran her fingers through her hair. "So keep an eye out for it. If you notice anyone acting odd, more emotional than usual, looking like they didn't get enough sleep — whatever — then come tell me. Okay, you two?"
Harry and Luna both nodded.
"Harry, repeat what I just told you to Hermione and Ron. And I'll have to let my brother know as well," she said. "All right, let's get out of here. I'm starting to feel cold."
As they walked back out in the direction they came from, Luna gave one last look at the basilisk. Slowly, the serpent became swallowed in darkness once more, and as it did, Luna could not help but find the awe-inspiring sight a mere mockery of what it had been before. Once they walked far enough, the basilisk disappeared entirely, to be forgotten until another lucky Parselmouth stumbled upon this location. It was somewhat depressing to think that even a monarch as mighty as this would be long-forgotten in their death.
"You two can head on back after we get back up," said Lyra as she pulled out her broom again. "I need to go do some other things too."
"Like what?" said Luna curiously.
Lyra threw a leg over her broom and helped Luna on.
"You know, destroy an ancient heirloom of immense cultural significance, threaten a world-famous adventurer into retirement, and make sure James doesn't get me thrown in Azkaban."
James' eyes snapped open.
He felt… good. Better than he'd ever been. More than if he took a fourteen-hour nap, he felt refreshed.
Unfortunately, his ribs hurt like hell, and he winced as he tried to sit up.
"You may wish to lay back down," said a voice. "It was deemed easier to regrow your bones than heal them. Poppy mentioned your bones wouldn't be fully reconstructed until morning."
James looked to his side, where the Headmaster was sitting in a high-backed armchair with a frankly ugly tartan print on it. He glanced down at himself. He'd never had to stay overnight in the Hospital Wing before.
"Should you even be here?"
"Poppy is asleep, and so is everyone else in the wing," Dumbledore said mildly. "I've cast a Muffling Charm around us to keep quiet. Now, how are you feeling, James?"
"Good," James said honestly. "Much better than I have any right to be."
"Indeed. That is likely to do with Fawkes."
The phoenix trilled from the bedside table, and James whipped his head around to look at him. The bird in question hopped over to his side, and James felt a nearly tangible warmth flow over him.
"Thank you, Fawkes," said James, lying his head back down.
Dumbledore hummed.
"Could I trouble you for some water, sir?" James asked.
Wordlessly, Dumbledore conjured a tall glass from nothing, and water flowed from the tip of his wand into the hovering glass. Then it floated lazily towards James, who took it from the air and drank in small sips.
James felt awkward as the old man simply stared at him, his chin on his interlocked fingers. While he loved Dumbledore like a favored grandfather, right now he exuded little of the familiarity and warmth that made him approachable. He was currently detached, almost clinical in his expression, and that frightened James more than anything else he could imagine.
"I suppose you want to talk to me about what happened, sir," said James finally.
"I would."
"Are you angry at me?" said James before he could stop himself. He felt his face burn and turned his eyes away from Dumbledore.
"I try not to be," he said, "until I have heard the full story."
James fidgeted with the sheets, twisting it around his fingers.
"I was told of a diary," said Dumbledore.
"Right..." said James. "Tom Riddle's diary."
Dumbledore's eyes were piercing. "Where did you acquire it?"
"Lyra did. From her dad," James said quietly. "He tried to give it to Ginny Weasley, so Lyra took it from her... We weren't sure what it was at first, but Lyra doesn't trust her dad. I took it from Lyra to study it."
"Look at me, please," said Dumbledore. James had to force himself to meet Dumbledore's eyes. "Did you know its significance before you wrote in it?"
James quickly turned away. "Are you reading my mind, Professor?"
"I don't need to read anyone's mind, James. I've dealt with problematic students for much of my life."
James winced at being called problematic. Still unable to meet his eyes, James spoke. "Yes."
"You knew of its significance before you wrote in it."
"The Diary told me," said James quietly, bending the truth a little. "It told me immediately it was Tom Riddle."
Dumbledore sighed out of his nose and leaned back into his chair. James felt his eyes sting, his face burn, his throat constrict.
"I took precautions," he forced himself to say. "I practiced Occlumency over the summer. I made sure my movements were logged. I'm still not sure how it even happened."
"I've heard as much from Miss Malfoy," Dumbledore said. "But it was still exceedingly foolish of you. I suspect you know what Tom Riddle would eventually become, what he was capable of."
James couldn't answer, only grasped his sheets with a white-knuckled grip.
"What prompted you to do this, James?" said Dumbledore, his tone gentle but nonetheless disappointed.
James could not answer. He sat rigidly, in uncomfortable silence, hoping that the tears wouldn't fall. Dumbledore waited. After a minute or two of silence, he sighed and made to stand up.
"I should like to speak to you in my office once you have healed," he said. "We can discuss your punishment then."
"I just wanted to know more about magic," said James, and Dumbledore stopped in his tracks.
"You wanted to know more about the kind of magic Tom specialized in?" Dumbledore asked.
James shrugged uncomfortably. "Sure, but I also wanted to learn more about other dimensions, I guess. Magic can do almost anything, as far as I know. But I've never heard much about alternate universes, or the afterlife, reincarnation..."
"If you wanted research on the topic, you could have easily visited the Hogwarts library, one of the largest archives of magical knowledge in Europe. If you'd come to me and explained what you wanted, I'd have been willing to give you a pass for the Restricted Section, not that the lack of one would have stopped you."
"I did visit the library," James said quietly. "This topic was one of the first things I looked up. Including in the Restricted Section. There wasn't much on it besides theories."
"I see," Dumbledore said. "Why does this topic fascinate you so?"
James didn't answer — couldn't answer. The moment stretched, until at last Dumbledore sighed and nodded.
"I understand," he said, and James glanced at him, slightly alarmed. "It is never easy, losing someone you love. It is, unfortunately, something I have dealt with far too often in my long life. Even now, each loss is a blow to the heart. Such tragedy at your age — it is world-shattering."
Dumbledore bent down and put his weathered hand on James' own, and squeezed.
"I am sorry, James," he said, rising back up.
"It doesn't matter what my reasons were," James said numbly. "I probably released a younger Voldemort into the wild. I kept dreaming about students getting subsumed by Riddle, and even after I defeated Riddle's avatar, I'd dream about their parents clutching their catatonic child in their arms…" He took a shuddering breath. "I thought I was experiencing something worse than death, when Riddle took over me. I couldn't wish that on anyone."
Dumbledore was silent, considering, before he spoke.
"You will not go without punishment," he said. "And I think I have the right one for you. I hope that you will rise to the task and learn something of it."
"Yes, sir," James said.
Dumbledore turned and took a few steps to the door, but then he stopped and looked over his shoulder.
"Do not let your guilt consume you," he said. "You are not, after all, the first to let loose something like a Dark Lord."
James hesitated before answering. "Grindelwald."
"I knew him," said Dumbledore quietly, "before all the death and destruction. I could have stopped him then, I think... but I did not. The consequences haunt me to this day."
"Oh," said James.
Dumbledore gave him a small smile, which didn't reach his eyes but was nonetheless meant to comfort. "Tom Riddle is not yet the man known as Voldemort. He is not as knowledgeable nor as experienced. My mistake was far greater than yours could ever hope to be, James. However..." His gaze intensified. "It is crucial that you let me know of anything that could be relevant to this matter. I will look into the Diary's location myself, but if you find out anything, anything at all..."
"I will, sir."
"Good to hear," said Dumbledore, seeming to relax a little. "Now, I think it best you return to sleep. I hope that you will soon feel better."
"Thank you, Professor," James said, shuffling under the sheets.
"Albus," he said, and smiled. "Remember, James, my door is always open to you, should you need someone to talk to."
James smiled back, albeit weakly. Fawkes bumped his head into James' hand like a particularly feathery cat and hopped onto Dumbledore's shoulder as he left. After a minute, he shuffled back into his sheets to try to sleep.
He was startled out of his dreams when Lyra scurried into the Hospital Wing, looking like a disgruntled ferret. She briefly looked around to check nobody else was awake, then sat down on the same stool Dumbledore had previously Transfigured into his armchair. After about three different privacy charms, she turned her tired but satisfied eyes toward him.
"Why are you here?" James asked.
"What, I can't check in to see if my friend's doing well?" she said.
"You usually have an ulterior motive."
Lyra frowned. "I'm not sure if I should be concerned with your lack of faith in me or with my inclination to come off as some kind of unfeeling sociopath."
"The last time I was in the hospitalized, you came to tell me — gleefully — about how you knocked Davies off his broom from thirty feet up with a stray bludger. Before that, you came to tell me that the girl bullying Luna had an 'unfortunate accident' with a faulty Cure for Boils Potion in her shampoo."
"I think the real take-away here is how often you end up in the hospital wing."
"It's only my fault sometimes," James emphasized.
"Yeah?" said Lyra. "How come I've never been in here?"
"Because you push me in front of spells aimed at you, you little shit."
Lyra laughed, then went to lean back in her chair, only to realize too late it was a stool and she desperately flailed her limbs to keep her balance.
"Anyway," James said slowly, carefully not betraying his amusement, "I've apparently been out for some time. What's been going on?"
"Not much," said Lyra, Transfiguring her stool into a chair. "Freaked out a bit when I heard about you. Went to check on the diary in my trunk, saw the fake diary, freaked out some more. Realized Riddle might be out there, kept freaking out." She tucked her lips in and nodded. "I freaked out, okay?"
"What'd you do?" said James warily.
Lyra shrugged. "Took Harry and Luna down to the Chamber — not sure why I brought her — like I said, I was —"
"Freaking out, yeah."
"I got a bunch of venom — three daggers, one for me, you, and Harry. Then I went to find the Ravenclaw diadem — you know, in case Riddle knew we knew and went after it." Lyra trailed off, in thought.
"And?" said James, impatiently. "Did you find it?"
"Hm?" she said. "Oh, yeah. Tried to destroy it."
"Tried?" said James.
Lyra threw her arms out in disbelief. "Damn thing's made out of goblin-silver!"
He snorted, then saw that Lyra's expression remained unchanged.
"That's bullshit."
Lyra shook her head. "Goblin-wrought silver takes in what makes it stronger. Can you believe how lucky Harry and them got? If it hadn't been for the Fiendfyre..."
"We'll have to get Dumbledore to destroy it, then," said James. "I don't trust myself to cast Fiendfyre. Well, not yet, anyway."
Lyra fidgeted and wouldn't look him in the eyes.
"Do we have to get Dumbledore?" she said.
"How else do you plan to remove the icky soul bit?" James asked. "Or have you learned nothing from what I did?"
Lyra held up a hand in defense. "I know, it's incredibly stupid, especially after this — but do you know how awesome it would be to get to use that thing properly, with no soul in it, if it really does make you wiser?"
"Who knows, you might graduate high school this time around."
"I'm thinking I'll just figure out how to remove the bit of soul from it," said Lyra, ignoring him. "Will probably need to find the real Voldemort in Albania and do it there..."
"Just destroy the fucking soul-piece, Lyra, it's not hard to understand."
Lyra held up both her hands in defense this time. "Hey, I was only joking. I just don't know how to explain to Dumbledore, you know, everything. Dunno how else to destroy it either."
"See if you can find a way to transfer the soul-shard into something else. Maybe you can stick his soul into a piece of lingerie before you destroy it. Then, when we record all of this in a book, we can claim Tom Riddle was a deviant."
Giving a low laugh, Lyra tilted her head in consideration.
"Speaking of books," she said idly as they sat in their contentment. "Lockhart's officially retiring."
James frowned. "The Curse strikes again, I see. How'd it happen?"
Lyra smirked. "I am the Curse."
"Oh no."
Her smile grew wider. "I told him I knew his secret, and that if he ever Obliviates another person again — or writes another book, I'll tell the whole world. He tried to Obliviate me, the bastard."
"What'd you do?" said James, sitting up in interest.
"Disarmed him," said Lyra, shrugging. "Didn't even need my wand. You were right, learning wandless magic was a great idea. He now believes five different people know his secret, and if any of us become suddenly forgetful, we all go to the Daily Prophet and he gets thrown into Azkaban."
"Please, nobody's going to believe us. The man's still beloved by everyone not in Hogwarts."
"I actually got the dipshit to blurt out the name of three people he's Obliviated," said Lyra. "Told him I knew one of them, and he just began throwing out names." She shook her head. "Amazing, that man."
"So no more books? You sure he can live without constantly begging everyone for attention?"
"Oh, he can still be famous. I'd prefer it. His support would be invaluable in the future."
James laid his head back down on the pillow. "I can see it. Charity fundraiser hosted by Lyra Malfoy, with guest appearance Gilderoy Lockhart. That'd draw in a crowd."
"Exactly. And you need someone to write the foreword for your adventure novels, too, right?"
"He'd make it all about himself," James groused. "Fuck him. I'll get Old Man Dumbles to write my forewords. Or Harry Potter, depending on how famous he is after all this."
Lyra hummed. "If things go right, there'll be no reason for Harry to be as famous a second time. Anyway, I should let you get some sleep."
"Not gonna yell at me for my idiotic actions?"
"Like nothing I've done could've gone horribly wrong?" James levelled a look at her. "Okay, maybe not that horribly wrong, but I shouldn't have let you use the Diary at all; I just figured, with how many headaches I gave you over the Stone thing... Anyway, I've spent the whole day panicking as it is. I'm just tired now." She sighed. "I'm assuming the Diary is god-knows-where, right? I tried to Summon it from all over the castle, including in the Chamber."
James closed his eyes. "I don't know where it is. Riddle's wiped my memory during… whatever he was doing with me."
Lyra stared at him for a long moment, all humor gone from her eyes.
"So anyone could have it?" she said. "Presumably he didn't just toss it somewhere. He probably picked someone he felt he could take over — probably over the summer."
"I agree. I haven't had much time to think on it because, you know," he said, gesturing to his bed. "But that sounds reasonable. Summer holidays is long enough that he could consolidate control over whomever he's chosen to be his sacrifice."
James wondered what unlucky sod would have to face the most feared wizard in modern history. He swallowed heavily and turned back to Lyra, exhibiting no sign of his inner turmoil.
"We'll need to keep an eye out," she said seriously, maybe more serious than he had ever seen her. "After I leave here, I'm going to visit all the dorms I can. Couldn't find it in Ravenclaw tower, so I'll get Harry, Hermione, or a Weasley to let me into the Gryffindor tower; Cedric for Hufflepuff; and Draco for Slytherin. I've already put Dobby on the search. Luna and Harry know about it, so they'll be on the lookout; and Harry's friends probably will too. I might tell Draco as well."
"He's probably planned for it," said James quietly.
Again, Lyra observed him with that sharp look in her eyes. "Just how much did he see in your mind, James?"
"He didn't have to see anything to —"
"That's not what I mean," she said, cutting him off. "I know he's smart enough to put the Diary somewhere I can't get it, no doubt some trunk with an Anti-Summoning Charm on it. How much did he see, James?"
"I don't know," said James, slumping. "I don't know what he took from me. He might have erased or altered my most prized memories and I wouldn't know it. I want to think he hasn't had enough time to look through everything I remember, but… again, I wouldn't know."
"So, he could know everything, then," said Lyra. "There's a Riddle out there possibly with the knowledge of it all: everything about you, everything you know about me, all our future knowledge, the Horcruxes, Harry — everything."
"I know what I did," James said, exhausted. "I'm sorry."
Lyra pursed her lips. "At least your memory of the books is shit." Then she shook her head again, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead with three fingers. "I gotta go," she said, standing up. "I need to check the houses. Don't — don't sweat it too much, James."
With another sigh, she stood and made her way out of the room, her arms crossed and head lowered. She had said not to sweat it too much, as if it wasn't that big of a deal, but her hesitation spoke for itself.
Since arriving in the Wizarding World, James had felt many different ways about it. This, however, might have been the first time that he felt raw, undiluted hatred. All he wanted was a way home and he ended up possibly freeing Voldemort from his chains, and now hundreds of people might end up dead, or worse.
The door shutting on Lyra's way out felt like a blow to his heart.
The desk in question was probably the nicest one of its kind that the Room of Requirement could offer. Upon it sat several tomes that had been summoned from the Hogwarts library.
Lyra preferred to sneak into the Restricted Section; James preferred to stay in the comfort of the Come and Go Room to avoid Pince, the old crone, even if it meant he didn't have access to the Restricted Section's catalogue. He dropped his most recent tome, a dusty old thing, on the desk with a thump. Useless.
He dug his fingernails into his scalp, wishing the headache would leave. He could feel his head throb in synchronicity with his heartbeats, the rushing of blood through his ears. He'd tried both magical and muggle painkillers, but nothing seemed to get it to stop.
He idly took another book, then put it back down, rubbing the dust between his fingers and thumb. He waved in the general direction of the book, using a weak Banishing Charm to send the decades-old dust flying off it.
After a halfhearted inspection of the abstract, he replaced the book on the pile and sighed. Elbows on the table and his head cradled in his hands, he dearly wished for this damnable headache to abate. In his moment of suffering, a soft pop echoed through the room.
"Does Master Stark be wanting somethings else?" asked Dobby, placing an ice-pack wrapped in a tea-towel on the desk.
Rather than some ragged pillowcase, Dobby was dressed in a sharp outfit that Lyra had tailored specifically for him. He looked a little like a concierge in a high-end hotel. It had taken some prompting for him to accept it; only after Lyra insisted that the uniform was being lent to him, rather than freely given.
"Thank you," James murmured. "A glass of water, if you would."
"Right away, Master Stark."
Dobby disappeared and reappeared in a heartbeat, returning with a glass of water. James murmured his thanks as the House-Elf disappeared once more, mentally thanking Lyra for access to one. While he usually made a habit of taking care of himself and his own belongings, Dobby was a godsend in times like these.
James leaned back in the solid oak chair, taking a sip of the water. It was chilled but not ice-cold, refreshing but not enough to give him brain-freeze. He pressed the ice-pack to his forehead and closed his eyes, a soft sigh of relief escaping his lips.
As he sunk down into the chair, surprisingly comfortable despite the lack of padding, his mind turned to the topic of the little, seemingly innocuous black book sitting on the corner of the table in front of him. It was leatherbound, the slightly browned pages stitched together, still solid despite the years it had seen. On the inside, there was a faint transcription that read 'T.M. Riddle.'
That thing had to go.
They were nearing the end of the year now. The Scotland climate had gotten warm enough that students began swapping out their winter robes for the thinner and lighter summer ones, and the end of school was in sight. People chatted excitedly about their plans over the summer holidays, while O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students worried about their upcoming exams.
And since Christmas, complaints about James' behavior had been flooding in. At first he dismissed them, thinking he was in the right. Then, he realized, that was exactly what Tom wanted him to think.
To be affected to this degree was unacceptable. According to his own journal, James had not made any suspicious movements, nor did he have lapses in his memory. Despite that, he was clearly being affected — more like Ron under the influence of the Locket, rather than the Diary in canon, but it was clearly there.
He had been lying to Lyra, too. She was under the impression that he had barely touched the Diary. Part of him was annoyed that she hadn't figured out the lie; wasn't it obvious? Maybe not. Ginny hadn't shown this change of mood. There were no attacks. She had zero reason to believe the Diary was affecting him like this.
She had confronted him about his attitude some months ago, but he had simply told her that the loss of his original family was getting to him, that he was having difficulty advancing in some of his studies, and that he was having a bit of an existential crisis. She dealt with that anxiety too, after all; being tossed into a fictional world was utterly surreal, and the both of them still wondered at times if any of it was real.
The sensation of having his skull railway spiked startled him out of his thoughts, spilling half of his water onto his shirt in the process. He ground his teeth and clutched his head in one hand while peeling the soggy surface of his shirt from his skin with the other.
He didn't restrain himself this time, and slammed his head against the desk. When that didn't work, he did it again, but he barely felt the minor pain, so great was that headache. It had spread from behind his eyes to all over his skull, and it felt like it was leaking into his spine and into his body. Just as he thought that, his left arm jerked violently; the crunch that followed barely registered until he noticed the slight, fiery pain in his hand.
He slowly opened his eyes. His blood, diluted with cold water, rolled off the edge of the desk and dripped soundlessly to the floor. The glass had shattered, some larger pieces and some smaller. James sighed, full of annoyance and frustration, and hurled the ice-pack to some uncharted corner of the Room of Requirement with whatever force he could muster while still sitting. He used his free hand to pick out the glass embedded in his hand even as the headache returned with full force. Then he grabbed his wand angrily and vanished the damn shards.
He shouldn't have thrown that fucking ice-pack. He raised his hand, and the object of his attention flew eagerly back to him.
James faltered, then gasped —
The ice-pack missed where James' hand used to be, forgotten on its course. James clutched his head in his hands, one side smeared with blood, as he tried to regain his breath. He felt as if he'd received a powerful blow to his gut which knocked the air from his lungs. He shakily stood up, only for the world to swim around him, and he felt an irrational desire to throw up; he hadn't eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours.
He grasped the corner of the desk, glaring hatefully at the Diary.
"You," he hissed with barely-concealed rage, rage that James had never felt before in either of his lives, and with a roar, hurled the black-bound book at the wall. The pain redoubled and James fell to his knees, the fabric of his trousers scraping against the unyielding stone.
I have to destroy it, came his thoughts, unbidden. The Killing Curse? No, I've never tried that spell before; there's no guarantee it would work.
That left only one choice.
Basilisk venom.
A small part of his mind pleaded with the greater whole to stop this madness; he was in no condition to destroy a full-grown basilisk. It would be a challenge to a team of specially trained adults, so why would James, a single student, stand a chance?
He ruthlessly crushed the mental resistance and Summoned the Diary back into his hand. His blood dripped onto the Diary and was promptly absorbed, leaving the diary perfectly dry. He strode out of the Room of Requirement, the shock of every step making the pain flare through his skull.
He needed to go to Myrtle's bathroom. If he remembered correctly, that would be on the third floor. The entrance, however, would be sealed; James didn't speak Parseltongue. He would… he would need to find someone who did. And wasn't that convenient? There was one person he knew — one person everyone seemed to know — that could speak Parseltongue. The protagonist of this story.
Even as he marched to Gryffindor tower, an irrational hatred for the protagonist began to bubble up through his mind. It was all his fault, wasn't it? He was the reason James was stuck on this — Hell, for what else could it be? The reason James had been torn from all those he loved and the world that he found familiar, thrown into the past and into the other side of the world, with a pair of parents that conceived him on accident and were, accordingly, distant. If not for discovering his first bouts of accidental magic when he was four, he might have very well gone through with that plan of hanging himself in his room, with weights attached to his ankles so that it'd go all the more smoothly.
Harry Potter.
The Boy-Who-Lived.
His fault.
James snarled in a way that caused disgust at himself to rise up. And even if Harry had no hand in James' sudden reincarnation, James himself was a fraud, wasn't he? Masquerading as a genius when, in truth, he had merely experienced everything before. He'd not even been particularly exceptional the last time around, so he'd sought to soothe his ego by pretending. Hatred for Harry. Hatred for himself. Raw, undiluted hatred for whatever being that dropped him into this world.
And Lyra. She had known immediately where she was, having been born into the Malfoy family. She didn't understand. She herself wanted to be the damn protagonist, what with her plans of taking over the world... always so insecure with the idea of being something insignificant. If they had just gone to Dumbledore in the first place, he wouldn't be in this mess. But no, she had to have it her way.
Then he shook his head. He needed Lyra. He was too frightened to go to Dumbledore, but Lyra could help — she'd know what to do. Or the Diary might take control of her, too. Maybe she'd go to Dumbledore; maybe he'd be expelled.
What the fuck did she know anyway? She hadn't learned much wandless magic, like he had; she wasn't an Animagus; she'd only this year mastered the Patronus; and she couldn't even figure out how to use the stupid Stone she had stolen.
And what kind of friend was she? She didn't even care enough to pay attention to him, to see he was hurting.
James stopped, walked to the wall, and bashed his skull against it.
"Fuck you," he hissed, to the Riddle in his head.
These were not his thoughts. These were not his thoughts. He needed this truth, he needed to hold onto this truth, and if he did, Riddle wouldn't be able to touch him.
But that's not the truth, is it? asked his own voice, in his mind. You are a fraud. Following in Lockhart's footsteps, pretending to be better than you are.
"Fuck you!"
"Excuse me?" said the Fat Lady, glaring with disapproval.
"Not talking to you," James said with a snarl that made the two-dimensional woman flinch. "Open the door. I need someone inside."
"You're not a Gryffindor," she said, as if offended.
James smiled sharply. "But I'm looking for a Gryffindor, you see. I'd greatly appreciate if you could open this door."
"You look like you're here to cause trouble," the Fat Lady said warily, and with a small hint of fear.
The wariness in her tone stoked James' irritation like oil on flame, while the hint of fear created a spark of jubilation that rapidly grew, threatening to eat away all his frustration. He grinned, which really didn't help the Fat Lady regain her composure.
James knew he wasn't like this. No matter his many flaws, sadism wasn't one of them.
He slammed his Occlumency shields into place, and was rewarded with a sensation like liquid nitrogen flowing over his skin. He gasped at the sudden transition in his mental state, but his headache intensified to the point he could barely keep the shield up.
"Please," he asked again, this time in ragged desperation. "I need help."
"I'm fetching a professor," the Fat Lady said, and hurried out of the portrait. James' already stretched Occlumency barrier cracked, and he punched the portrait as hard as he could.
I'll do it myself. I'll let Riddle take over, and —
No! That was insanity. That way lay death and suffering, all it was —
Inaction gets me nowhere; I may as well sign away my soul to Riddle. He's the most powerful Legilimens in the world. Even as a teenager, he'd eventually subsume my mind if I didn't destroy the Diary.
So I should let him willingly compromise me instead?
I might have a chance this way. If I do nothing… my destruction is certain.
That made chills run down his spine. His previous death — whatever that might have been — had led to reincarnation. But this… this fate was worse than death. To be a spectator in one's own body, to see it twisted and mangled beyond repair, stitched together by dark magic and razor wire, to see the parasite indulge in self-destructive behavior in pursuit of perfection, in pursuit of godhood.
Terminus.
James ran.
His vision swam, and more than once he stumbled, but he needed to get that damn basilisk venom. He needed to get rid of that damnable Diary before it consumed him. He couldn't get rid of it any other way — it would return to him otherwise, there was no doubt. Despite his wishes, he and the Diary were conjoined now by fate.
He had been an idiot. A gigantic, colossal, absolute fucking idiot. He should've never written in the thing. He had, and now Riddle was actively hammering at his shields, trying to take the reins, knowing that if he didn't take over James now, he would be destroyed. And if James didn't succeed in this mission, he would end. He would become a footnote in his own mind as Riddle tore his consciousness into pieces like some savage beast tearing at their prey. His knowledge, his memories, his fears and desires, all of it would be consumed, and James Stark would, simply put, cease to exist.
He needed to think quickly. What were the weaknesses of the basilisk—?
Nothing I can reach in time, he thought. Nothing in the school that can harm a basilisk.
Within his mind, he saw a fleeting glance of a giant, man-shaped silhouette. Being in pain as he was, and the fear of extinction echoing endlessly, he dismissed the thought and instead rushed to his destination.
"Who're you?" said a familiar feminine voice.
Familiar?
James ignored them and grabbed the edges of the sink, staring into the almost hypnotic snake-shaped tap.
"I don't get many visitors," the voice continued. "Nobody wants to visit poor little —"
"Leave!" roared James, sending an indiscriminate Banishing Charm in their general direction. The owner of the voice squeaked in fright as abandoned stalls shuddered and creaked. The voice did not bother him anymore, and James glared at the little ornamental snake.
"Open," he muttered, and to his shock, the ornament twisted.
A portal opened to what he could only describe as Tartarus.
How did the entrance open? James didn't speak Parseltongue. He'd had staring contests with snakes in zoos for hours when he learned of his identity as a wizard, wondering if he had some exotic ancestry, all to no avail. So how did —?
As the edges of his vision darkened, as dark as the Entrance to the Underworld before him, beginning to trap James in his own mind, he realized he had never been in control this whole time.
Fuck you, James spat at Riddle, and he hated how afraid his own voice, within his own mind, sounded.
~~~~~
James awoke.
He groaned and clutched his head. While the headache from before was gone, it still hurt like hell, and he could feel a bump on the side of his head, like he'd hit something — or like he'd fallen. He flexed his hands; one responded with a sharp pain, and he opened his eyes fractionally to examine it. It was covered in blood.
His shirt was almost white from the amount of dust he was covered in. And there was a strange sound, one he thought was his imagination until now. He massaged his temple... It definitely wasn't a hallucination. Like a thousand rusty chains scraping against the floor, it made his hairs stand on end. He slowly opened his eyes again, feeling the sting in his brain as light, faint as it was, struck his retinas.
Then he closed his eyes again as tightly as he could, blood draining from his face.
"Oh," he said numbly, as a fifty-foot serpent slithered in the dark in front of him.
He splayed the fingers of his right hand, and after an agonizingly long moment, his wand burst from one of the pools in the Chamber of Secrets and smacked into his palm, the warm buzz of magic providing some small comfort in the face of reality.
Riddle.
Tom Riddle, for all of James' precautions, had taken over him.
James swallowed through his constricted throat, keeping his eyes closed.
Don't look.
He couldn't die here. If he died here, he'd inflict Tom Riddle on the wizarding world. Tom Riddle, who would eventually be spoken in hushed whispers, his name forever tabooed under pain of death or torture.
James couldn't give up. No, James Stark would kill the beast, and turn its deadly venom onto its own master. Tom Riddle would die by his hand —
No.
The Diary was in none of James' pockets. He double-checked — triple-checked.
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no. This can't be happening."
He briefly wondered if snakes could feel fear. He sincerely hoped not.
James slid into a dueling stance anyway, and prepared to face death itself.
~~~~~
Luna was sitting quietly doing her homework when the door to the Ravenclaw tower burst open. A first year that had been leaving was flung to the ground. Lyra Malfoy leapt through the entrance, a look of fear upon her face. Luna sat straight up; she had never seen Lyra scared before — never.
What Lyra had done didn't even seem to register to her, looks of annoyance and outrage missing her notice entirely. She sprinted toward the dorm tower, shoving past Roger Davies just as he opened his mouth, leaving him gaping stupidly.
Luna collected her homework and books and put them carefully but quickly into her bag, flung it around her shoulder, and followed Lyra up the stairs, wondering what could have put her in such a state. As she made her way steadily up the stairs, she could hear Victoria Clearwater yelling about something. She gently shouldered the door to the fourth years' dorm open and peeked inside.
"Malfoy, I said, what are you —"
"Will you just fuck off?" hissed Lyra with a fury in her voice Luna didn't think was possible. Luna almost hesitated in entering, wondering if that rage would be directed at her too.
"I was here first, you bitch!" snapped Victoria, her face turning pink. "All I was doing was minding my own business and now you have to make a mess of everything and yell at me for it? You know, I'm up to here with your —"
But that was as far as she got before she was wandlessly flung to the other side of the dorm, slamming into the wall and sliding down, Silenced and bound in bed curtains that had come alive to ensnare her. She writhed in them, livid and looking as though she was screaming terrible things, though nothing could be heard.
Lyra turned back around to her trunk, ignoring her, and Luna slunk into the room.
"Lyra?" she said quietly, and Victoria stopped her struggling to look at her, eyes wide as if to ask for help. Luna ignored her too. "Are you okay?"
Lyra didn't stop throwing things out of her trunk, cursing under her breath as she searched for something. Then she let out a breath of relief as she reached so deep within that her feet momentarily lifted off the ground. Pulling her upper half out of the trunk, she raised a little black book.
"Finally," breathed Lyra, falling to the ground as she opened it.
"What's that?" asked Luna, peering over the older girl's shoulder, but Lyra ignored her.
Instead, she took a quill from the ground and opened the first page. Then, Summoning an inkpot to her side, she wrote something in it and waited. Luna wasn't sure what Lyra had been expecting, or what she herself was expecting, but it wasn't Lyra paling.
"All of this for a bloody diary?" Victoria asked, the Silencing Charm cancelled. Luna glanced at her. She had her wand in her hand, her face slightly red from her recent humiliation, and while the wand remained pointed at the ground, she was tense like a coiled spring, almost daring Lyra to attack her again. "Hey, Malfoy, I —"
"Put that wand down, you silly girl," whispered Lyra, staring down at the journal still. "Don't make me hurt you."
Victoria's lips thinned. "One day," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "One day you're not going to be able to just — just do whatever you want."
Lyra remained silent as Victoria stormed out of the room, slamming the door on the way.
"What's wrong with it?" said Luna.
Lyra only sat there, shaking her head as if in denial.
"It's a fake," she said faintly. As if other horrible realizations were coming to her, she paled further — which was something, considering Lyra had always been paler than most, no matter how much time she spent in the sun.
Before Luna could ask any more questions, she leapt to her feet and was out the door. Luna attempted to follow her, but couldn't figure out which way she had gone. She went down to the common room to ask someone if Lyra had passed through, but before she could even do that, Lyra came sprinting down the stairs leading up to the boys' dormitory. Her cheeks were red from exertion, but it was clear from her wide eyes that she was still terrified of something.
"Lyra —" began Luna, but was cut off as Lyra held her wand up and conjured some wordless spell. She looked around the common room, as if expecting something to leap into her hand. Then she was running out the room, dragging Luna with her.
"Luna, listen very carefully," she said quietly but with intensity as they moved into the empty hallway. "That black book is a very important artifact — very important and very dangerous. If you ever see anyone with anything like it, you need to tell me immediately — but do not try to pick it up yourself."
"What does it do?" Luna asked with some trepidation.
Lyra got down on one knee in front of her and held her shoulders. "It contains the soul of something evil. If you ever come across it..." She ran her hands down to Luna's own and clasped them. "Do not write in it. Do not touch it. You come find me immediately. Do you understand?"
Luna stared into Lyra's ice-blue eyes, and then nodded.
"Good girl," said Lyra, smiling — though it was clear it was forced. "There's something I need to do now."
"Is it dangerous?" Luna asked as Lyra stood. "Let me help."
Lyra looked down at her, and for a moment she seemed taller somehow, as if a glimpse of the might of her future self was present. Luna blinked.
"Go grab your dragon-hide gloves," said Lyra, "and then wait by Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."
Luna didn't wait. She rushed to her room, ignoring the whispers aimed her way by her roommates, and retrieved her gloves.
"What are those for, Looney?" said Jessica. "Did you need remedial Herbology lessons?"
"Something like that," said Luna, not looking her way as she walked back toward the door. "Only, Lyra is teaching me. Would you like me to tell her you're interested too?"
Luna didn't stop to see Jessica's reaction. She made her way down to the second floor, perhaps a little quicker than she'd normally walk. A few of the hungrier students were going down for supper, but for the most part, the corridor was empty and quiet. And five minutes later, Lyra appeared, dragging Harry Potter behind her.
"Into the bathroom," she said.
"Wait," Harry said. "That's a girls' bathroom."
But Lyra shoved him in anyway. "It's abandoned, relax."
The bathroom was indeed abandoned. A thin layer of dust was present on the porcelain sinks and the mirrors were quite grimy. Lyra began inspecting the taps — until she paused.
"Harry, come here," she said. "Tell this sink to open."
"Uh —"
"Just, please, tell it to open," said Lyra. "It needs a Parselmouth — someone who can speak to snakes. This is Salazar Slytherin's secret, and I know you can talk to them."
Harry frowned. "How did you know—?"
"Because I saw you talk to that snake at the zoo with your relatives," snapped Lyra. Then she closed her eyes and sighed. "Harry, please."
"You were there?" said Harry, blinking in surprise. Then, when Lyra glared and gestured wildly toward the sink, he said, "Okay, okay..."
He awkwardly bent over the silver snake and hissed. It was a grotesque sound that had Luna wincing. However, Harry's words triggered some sort of magic that peeled away the porcelain and dirty mirrors and revealed a dark hole.
"I didn't bring a broom for you, Luna," said Lyra. "I guess you'll be riding piggyback on me."
"Okay," Luna said easily.
Lyra and Harry unshrunk their brooms, and Luna climbed onto the back of Lyra's, wrapping her arms around her midsection. Lyra kicked off the ground and descended into the darkness.
The journey felt like it stretched to eternity.
When they finally reached the bottom of the pipe, Luna could hear rushing water in the far distance. Perhaps it might have been the noise from the drainage system, but it could also very well be the Black Lake itself, if they were underneath it.
The Lake was supposed to be deep, deep enough that at its lowest points no light reached the bottom. Considering how long this journey took, it wouldn't have surprised her if they were below the Lake anyway.
"Is — what'd you call it, Parselmouthing?" said Harry. "Is it rare?"
"You're a Parselmouth, and what you do is speak Parseltongue," said Lyra. "And yes, it's rare. And isn't viewed in the best light, so I'd keep that particular ability to yourself. Ask Dumbledore about it if you want."
Then they came upon a massive door, carved from dark stone that seemed to drink up the light that left their wand-tips. On it were intertwining snakes, arranged in geometric patterns far too complex to have been created by any sane mind; snakes eating snakes eating snakes, all the way to infinity, and it made Luna's head hurt just staring at it. Their eyes, their red garnet eyes, glittered with malevolent promise.
Luna shivered, and it wasn't because of the cold.
Harry hissed again, and the snakes unraveled soundlessly. Even as Luna expected to hear the dull grinding of stone against stone, all she heard was the continuous dripping of water from long-forgotten copper pipes onto weathered stone tiles.
The last snake slid out of their path, and the door opened. Lyra grabbed both her and Harry and pushed them to the wall.
"Close your eyes and stay here," she said, and her tone beckoned zero argument. Before Harry could protest, she disappeared into whatever lay beyond the door.
There was a worrying silence that lasted far too long for Luna's comfort.
"You can come now," came Lyra's distant voice.
Through the doorway was a great chamber, with many tall pillars and a ceiling so high that Luna couldn't see the top, even with Lyra's floating balls of light illuminating a path to her. And beyond Lyra's form was the corpse of the largest snake Luna had ever seen.
From snout to tail, it was probably longer than most dragons. She couldn't see its tail, as Lyra's lights seemed to struggle against the darkness of the chamber.
"What is this place?" said Harry weakly.
"The Chamber of Secrets," said Lyra grimly, her back to them as she stared at the serpent. "I'm sure Hermione will tell you all about it."
Luna approached the carcass in wonder. The light reflected against the scales: black and glossy like obsidian, with an emerald hue derived from what looked like thousands of glittering green galaxies embedded in the volcanic glass.
"Is this why James is in the hospital wing?" Harry said, following Luna's lead.
"Yeah," said Lyra, stepping up to the serpent's gaping maw. "It's a basilisk. It's a miracle James even managed to kill it."
"What's a —?"
"Ask Hermione."
Lyra knelt and pulled a small object from her pocket, and tapped it with a wand, restoring it to its original size. It was a wooden box with patterns decorated in gold thread; when opened, it revealed the inside to be made entirely of what looked like pure gold. Lyra noticed Luna staring.
"Gold is one of the few materials in the world that is resistant to basilisk venom," she said, answering their unspoken question.
"You want to harvest the venom from this thing?" Harry said as Lyra pulled out some test tubes, the inside also inlaid with gold.
"Basilisk venom is incredibly destructive," said Lyra, and then she pulled out a small, ornamental silver dagger from a pocket and unsheathed it. "It can render things beyond magical repair, something rather rare."
Luna hesitantly approached, not getting too close in fear of the deadly venom. She saw the serpent's eyes had been utterly destroyed, and the inside of its mouth was torn to shreds as well.
Lyra placed the dagger underneath one of the basilisk's fangs, which were at least as long as Luna's forearm, wickedly sharp. The venom quite literally sizzled along the blade. But as far as Luna could tell, the dagger was undamaged.
"Is that goblin-silver?" Luna asked.
"Yes," said Lyra, slowly placing the dagger back into its sheath. "Goblin-wrought silver takes in what makes it stronger... So this dagger can now kill someone with just a nick, within minutes." Then Lyra held it out to Harry. "Take it."
"What?" said Harry, startled. "No — you just said it could kill with a small cut —"
"So keep it in its sheath," said Lyra. "Listen, this dagger is beyond value now. Basilisks aren't common. The last one seen in Britain was hundreds of years ago. And you, Harry, have the most evil and powerful dark wizard of all time after you." She got up and grabbed Harry's hand, placing the dagger into it, and looked into his eyes. "It's just in case."
"I'm putting it in my trunk," said Harry immediately.
"Okay."
"Deep down at the bottom."
A smile broke through Lyra's tense face.
"As you should, Harry," she said, "as you should." Then she pulled out two other daggers and repeated the process. "One for me, and one for James — though he'll probably accidentally kill himself with it..." After the daggers were imbued with the venom, she snapped off a fang and let the venom fall into the golden vials, Luna holding them steady with her dragon-hide gloves. "I'll probably accidentally kill myself one day too," she murmured. "All the more reason for you to have a back up, Harry."
Luna was glad she wasn't offered one. She didn't want to hold onto a dangerous thing like that. Even holding the vials was nerve-racking. Her parents had also mentioned that such casual displays of wealth should be punishable by cannibalism. Or something like that.
"Right," said Lyra as she finished and closed the box. "That's that."
"Why were you so desperate to get all this?" said Harry, frowning.
Lyra looked at him, then around at the darkness. "I was hoping to find something else down here too." She handed the wooden box to Luna and pulled out the black book from earlier. "See this?" she said to Harry. "This is a duplicated fake of a very real and very dark artifact. It's what got James into this mess." She tossed it at him. "Show it to Hermione and Ron, so they know what it looks like, and then keep an eye out for it. It's missing, and —"
"And...?" said Harry, opening the journal and looking through its blank pages.
"It's something that belonged to sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle," said Lyra finally. "Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort's real name."
Harry looked up sharply.
"His diary — the real one?" she continued. "It's capable of possessing people. I thought — I thought James had been using it sparingly, but I didn't think —" She sighed. "Basilisk venom — and now these daggers — they're capable of destroying such things like that. Not much else can."
"Why would James do that?" said Harry harshly. "Did he know what it was?"
Lyra grimaced. "Riddle... Riddle has a lot of knowledge, Harry. And you know he's still out there. I think the mess with Quirrell spooked him and he wanted to find out more... just in case."
Harry touched where he had put his dagger in his robes. "Just in case..."
"And now the diary is missing?" said Luna, worried.
"I've tried Summoning it," said Lyra, throwing a frustrated arm up. "In my dorm, in his, down here — it's not popping up. If anyone else has it..."
"They'll be possessed," said Harry.
"If they write in it enough." Lyra ran her fingers through her hair. "So keep an eye out for it. If you notice anyone acting odd, more emotional than usual, looking like they didn't get enough sleep — whatever — then come tell me. Okay, you two?"
Harry and Luna both nodded.
"Harry, repeat what I just told you to Hermione and Ron. And I'll have to let my brother know as well," she said. "All right, let's get out of here. I'm starting to feel cold."
As they walked back out in the direction they came from, Luna gave one last look at the basilisk. Slowly, the serpent became swallowed in darkness once more, and as it did, Luna could not help but find the awe-inspiring sight a mere mockery of what it had been before. Once they walked far enough, the basilisk disappeared entirely, to be forgotten until another lucky Parselmouth stumbled upon this location. It was somewhat depressing to think that even a monarch as mighty as this would be long-forgotten in their death.
"You two can head on back after we get back up," said Lyra as she pulled out her broom again. "I need to go do some other things too."
"Like what?" said Luna curiously.
Lyra threw a leg over her broom and helped Luna on.
"You know, destroy an ancient heirloom of immense cultural significance, threaten a world-famous adventurer into retirement, and make sure James doesn't get me thrown in Azkaban."
~~~~~
James' eyes snapped open.
He felt… good. Better than he'd ever been. More than if he took a fourteen-hour nap, he felt refreshed.
Unfortunately, his ribs hurt like hell, and he winced as he tried to sit up.
"You may wish to lay back down," said a voice. "It was deemed easier to regrow your bones than heal them. Poppy mentioned your bones wouldn't be fully reconstructed until morning."
James looked to his side, where the Headmaster was sitting in a high-backed armchair with a frankly ugly tartan print on it. He glanced down at himself. He'd never had to stay overnight in the Hospital Wing before.
"Should you even be here?"
"Poppy is asleep, and so is everyone else in the wing," Dumbledore said mildly. "I've cast a Muffling Charm around us to keep quiet. Now, how are you feeling, James?"
"Good," James said honestly. "Much better than I have any right to be."
"Indeed. That is likely to do with Fawkes."
The phoenix trilled from the bedside table, and James whipped his head around to look at him. The bird in question hopped over to his side, and James felt a nearly tangible warmth flow over him.
"Thank you, Fawkes," said James, lying his head back down.
Dumbledore hummed.
"Could I trouble you for some water, sir?" James asked.
Wordlessly, Dumbledore conjured a tall glass from nothing, and water flowed from the tip of his wand into the hovering glass. Then it floated lazily towards James, who took it from the air and drank in small sips.
James felt awkward as the old man simply stared at him, his chin on his interlocked fingers. While he loved Dumbledore like a favored grandfather, right now he exuded little of the familiarity and warmth that made him approachable. He was currently detached, almost clinical in his expression, and that frightened James more than anything else he could imagine.
"I suppose you want to talk to me about what happened, sir," said James finally.
"I would."
"Are you angry at me?" said James before he could stop himself. He felt his face burn and turned his eyes away from Dumbledore.
"I try not to be," he said, "until I have heard the full story."
James fidgeted with the sheets, twisting it around his fingers.
"I was told of a diary," said Dumbledore.
"Right..." said James. "Tom Riddle's diary."
Dumbledore's eyes were piercing. "Where did you acquire it?"
"Lyra did. From her dad," James said quietly. "He tried to give it to Ginny Weasley, so Lyra took it from her... We weren't sure what it was at first, but Lyra doesn't trust her dad. I took it from Lyra to study it."
"Look at me, please," said Dumbledore. James had to force himself to meet Dumbledore's eyes. "Did you know its significance before you wrote in it?"
James quickly turned away. "Are you reading my mind, Professor?"
"I don't need to read anyone's mind, James. I've dealt with problematic students for much of my life."
James winced at being called problematic. Still unable to meet his eyes, James spoke. "Yes."
"You knew of its significance before you wrote in it."
"The Diary told me," said James quietly, bending the truth a little. "It told me immediately it was Tom Riddle."
Dumbledore sighed out of his nose and leaned back into his chair. James felt his eyes sting, his face burn, his throat constrict.
"I took precautions," he forced himself to say. "I practiced Occlumency over the summer. I made sure my movements were logged. I'm still not sure how it even happened."
"I've heard as much from Miss Malfoy," Dumbledore said. "But it was still exceedingly foolish of you. I suspect you know what Tom Riddle would eventually become, what he was capable of."
James couldn't answer, only grasped his sheets with a white-knuckled grip.
"What prompted you to do this, James?" said Dumbledore, his tone gentle but nonetheless disappointed.
James could not answer. He sat rigidly, in uncomfortable silence, hoping that the tears wouldn't fall. Dumbledore waited. After a minute or two of silence, he sighed and made to stand up.
"I should like to speak to you in my office once you have healed," he said. "We can discuss your punishment then."
"I just wanted to know more about magic," said James, and Dumbledore stopped in his tracks.
"You wanted to know more about the kind of magic Tom specialized in?" Dumbledore asked.
James shrugged uncomfortably. "Sure, but I also wanted to learn more about other dimensions, I guess. Magic can do almost anything, as far as I know. But I've never heard much about alternate universes, or the afterlife, reincarnation..."
"If you wanted research on the topic, you could have easily visited the Hogwarts library, one of the largest archives of magical knowledge in Europe. If you'd come to me and explained what you wanted, I'd have been willing to give you a pass for the Restricted Section, not that the lack of one would have stopped you."
"I did visit the library," James said quietly. "This topic was one of the first things I looked up. Including in the Restricted Section. There wasn't much on it besides theories."
"I see," Dumbledore said. "Why does this topic fascinate you so?"
James didn't answer — couldn't answer. The moment stretched, until at last Dumbledore sighed and nodded.
"I understand," he said, and James glanced at him, slightly alarmed. "It is never easy, losing someone you love. It is, unfortunately, something I have dealt with far too often in my long life. Even now, each loss is a blow to the heart. Such tragedy at your age — it is world-shattering."
Dumbledore bent down and put his weathered hand on James' own, and squeezed.
"I am sorry, James," he said, rising back up.
"It doesn't matter what my reasons were," James said numbly. "I probably released a younger Voldemort into the wild. I kept dreaming about students getting subsumed by Riddle, and even after I defeated Riddle's avatar, I'd dream about their parents clutching their catatonic child in their arms…" He took a shuddering breath. "I thought I was experiencing something worse than death, when Riddle took over me. I couldn't wish that on anyone."
Dumbledore was silent, considering, before he spoke.
"You will not go without punishment," he said. "And I think I have the right one for you. I hope that you will rise to the task and learn something of it."
"Yes, sir," James said.
Dumbledore turned and took a few steps to the door, but then he stopped and looked over his shoulder.
"Do not let your guilt consume you," he said. "You are not, after all, the first to let loose something like a Dark Lord."
James hesitated before answering. "Grindelwald."
"I knew him," said Dumbledore quietly, "before all the death and destruction. I could have stopped him then, I think... but I did not. The consequences haunt me to this day."
"Oh," said James.
Dumbledore gave him a small smile, which didn't reach his eyes but was nonetheless meant to comfort. "Tom Riddle is not yet the man known as Voldemort. He is not as knowledgeable nor as experienced. My mistake was far greater than yours could ever hope to be, James. However..." His gaze intensified. "It is crucial that you let me know of anything that could be relevant to this matter. I will look into the Diary's location myself, but if you find out anything, anything at all..."
"I will, sir."
"Good to hear," said Dumbledore, seeming to relax a little. "Now, I think it best you return to sleep. I hope that you will soon feel better."
"Thank you, Professor," James said, shuffling under the sheets.
"Albus," he said, and smiled. "Remember, James, my door is always open to you, should you need someone to talk to."
James smiled back, albeit weakly. Fawkes bumped his head into James' hand like a particularly feathery cat and hopped onto Dumbledore's shoulder as he left. After a minute, he shuffled back into his sheets to try to sleep.
He was startled out of his dreams when Lyra scurried into the Hospital Wing, looking like a disgruntled ferret. She briefly looked around to check nobody else was awake, then sat down on the same stool Dumbledore had previously Transfigured into his armchair. After about three different privacy charms, she turned her tired but satisfied eyes toward him.
"Why are you here?" James asked.
"What, I can't check in to see if my friend's doing well?" she said.
"You usually have an ulterior motive."
Lyra frowned. "I'm not sure if I should be concerned with your lack of faith in me or with my inclination to come off as some kind of unfeeling sociopath."
"The last time I was in the hospitalized, you came to tell me — gleefully — about how you knocked Davies off his broom from thirty feet up with a stray bludger. Before that, you came to tell me that the girl bullying Luna had an 'unfortunate accident' with a faulty Cure for Boils Potion in her shampoo."
"I think the real take-away here is how often you end up in the hospital wing."
"It's only my fault sometimes," James emphasized.
"Yeah?" said Lyra. "How come I've never been in here?"
"Because you push me in front of spells aimed at you, you little shit."
Lyra laughed, then went to lean back in her chair, only to realize too late it was a stool and she desperately flailed her limbs to keep her balance.
"Anyway," James said slowly, carefully not betraying his amusement, "I've apparently been out for some time. What's been going on?"
"Not much," said Lyra, Transfiguring her stool into a chair. "Freaked out a bit when I heard about you. Went to check on the diary in my trunk, saw the fake diary, freaked out some more. Realized Riddle might be out there, kept freaking out." She tucked her lips in and nodded. "I freaked out, okay?"
"What'd you do?" said James warily.
Lyra shrugged. "Took Harry and Luna down to the Chamber — not sure why I brought her — like I said, I was —"
"Freaking out, yeah."
"I got a bunch of venom — three daggers, one for me, you, and Harry. Then I went to find the Ravenclaw diadem — you know, in case Riddle knew we knew and went after it." Lyra trailed off, in thought.
"And?" said James, impatiently. "Did you find it?"
"Hm?" she said. "Oh, yeah. Tried to destroy it."
"Tried?" said James.
Lyra threw her arms out in disbelief. "Damn thing's made out of goblin-silver!"
He snorted, then saw that Lyra's expression remained unchanged.
"That's bullshit."
Lyra shook her head. "Goblin-wrought silver takes in what makes it stronger. Can you believe how lucky Harry and them got? If it hadn't been for the Fiendfyre..."
"We'll have to get Dumbledore to destroy it, then," said James. "I don't trust myself to cast Fiendfyre. Well, not yet, anyway."
Lyra fidgeted and wouldn't look him in the eyes.
"Do we have to get Dumbledore?" she said.
"How else do you plan to remove the icky soul bit?" James asked. "Or have you learned nothing from what I did?"
Lyra held up a hand in defense. "I know, it's incredibly stupid, especially after this — but do you know how awesome it would be to get to use that thing properly, with no soul in it, if it really does make you wiser?"
"Who knows, you might graduate high school this time around."
"I'm thinking I'll just figure out how to remove the bit of soul from it," said Lyra, ignoring him. "Will probably need to find the real Voldemort in Albania and do it there..."
"Just destroy the fucking soul-piece, Lyra, it's not hard to understand."
Lyra held up both her hands in defense this time. "Hey, I was only joking. I just don't know how to explain to Dumbledore, you know, everything. Dunno how else to destroy it either."
"See if you can find a way to transfer the soul-shard into something else. Maybe you can stick his soul into a piece of lingerie before you destroy it. Then, when we record all of this in a book, we can claim Tom Riddle was a deviant."
Giving a low laugh, Lyra tilted her head in consideration.
"Speaking of books," she said idly as they sat in their contentment. "Lockhart's officially retiring."
James frowned. "The Curse strikes again, I see. How'd it happen?"
Lyra smirked. "I am the Curse."
"Oh no."
Her smile grew wider. "I told him I knew his secret, and that if he ever Obliviates another person again — or writes another book, I'll tell the whole world. He tried to Obliviate me, the bastard."
"What'd you do?" said James, sitting up in interest.
"Disarmed him," said Lyra, shrugging. "Didn't even need my wand. You were right, learning wandless magic was a great idea. He now believes five different people know his secret, and if any of us become suddenly forgetful, we all go to the Daily Prophet and he gets thrown into Azkaban."
"Please, nobody's going to believe us. The man's still beloved by everyone not in Hogwarts."
"I actually got the dipshit to blurt out the name of three people he's Obliviated," said Lyra. "Told him I knew one of them, and he just began throwing out names." She shook her head. "Amazing, that man."
"So no more books? You sure he can live without constantly begging everyone for attention?"
"Oh, he can still be famous. I'd prefer it. His support would be invaluable in the future."
James laid his head back down on the pillow. "I can see it. Charity fundraiser hosted by Lyra Malfoy, with guest appearance Gilderoy Lockhart. That'd draw in a crowd."
"Exactly. And you need someone to write the foreword for your adventure novels, too, right?"
"He'd make it all about himself," James groused. "Fuck him. I'll get Old Man Dumbles to write my forewords. Or Harry Potter, depending on how famous he is after all this."
Lyra hummed. "If things go right, there'll be no reason for Harry to be as famous a second time. Anyway, I should let you get some sleep."
"Not gonna yell at me for my idiotic actions?"
"Like nothing I've done could've gone horribly wrong?" James levelled a look at her. "Okay, maybe not that horribly wrong, but I shouldn't have let you use the Diary at all; I just figured, with how many headaches I gave you over the Stone thing... Anyway, I've spent the whole day panicking as it is. I'm just tired now." She sighed. "I'm assuming the Diary is god-knows-where, right? I tried to Summon it from all over the castle, including in the Chamber."
James closed his eyes. "I don't know where it is. Riddle's wiped my memory during… whatever he was doing with me."
Lyra stared at him for a long moment, all humor gone from her eyes.
"So anyone could have it?" she said. "Presumably he didn't just toss it somewhere. He probably picked someone he felt he could take over — probably over the summer."
"I agree. I haven't had much time to think on it because, you know," he said, gesturing to his bed. "But that sounds reasonable. Summer holidays is long enough that he could consolidate control over whomever he's chosen to be his sacrifice."
James wondered what unlucky sod would have to face the most feared wizard in modern history. He swallowed heavily and turned back to Lyra, exhibiting no sign of his inner turmoil.
"We'll need to keep an eye out," she said seriously, maybe more serious than he had ever seen her. "After I leave here, I'm going to visit all the dorms I can. Couldn't find it in Ravenclaw tower, so I'll get Harry, Hermione, or a Weasley to let me into the Gryffindor tower; Cedric for Hufflepuff; and Draco for Slytherin. I've already put Dobby on the search. Luna and Harry know about it, so they'll be on the lookout; and Harry's friends probably will too. I might tell Draco as well."
"He's probably planned for it," said James quietly.
Again, Lyra observed him with that sharp look in her eyes. "Just how much did he see in your mind, James?"
"He didn't have to see anything to —"
"That's not what I mean," she said, cutting him off. "I know he's smart enough to put the Diary somewhere I can't get it, no doubt some trunk with an Anti-Summoning Charm on it. How much did he see, James?"
"I don't know," said James, slumping. "I don't know what he took from me. He might have erased or altered my most prized memories and I wouldn't know it. I want to think he hasn't had enough time to look through everything I remember, but… again, I wouldn't know."
"So, he could know everything, then," said Lyra. "There's a Riddle out there possibly with the knowledge of it all: everything about you, everything you know about me, all our future knowledge, the Horcruxes, Harry — everything."
"I know what I did," James said, exhausted. "I'm sorry."
Lyra pursed her lips. "At least your memory of the books is shit." Then she shook her head again, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead with three fingers. "I gotta go," she said, standing up. "I need to check the houses. Don't — don't sweat it too much, James."
With another sigh, she stood and made her way out of the room, her arms crossed and head lowered. She had said not to sweat it too much, as if it wasn't that big of a deal, but her hesitation spoke for itself.
Since arriving in the Wizarding World, James had felt many different ways about it. This, however, might have been the first time that he felt raw, undiluted hatred. All he wanted was a way home and he ended up possibly freeing Voldemort from his chains, and now hundreds of people might end up dead, or worse.
The door shutting on Lyra's way out felt like a blow to his heart.
- Location
- Elsewhere
George should give himself more credit.
I'm sure he could laugh at Fred on his own merits.
So here's the question.
If Tom Riddle handed James a complex magical ritual and claimed it would restore him to his previous world/life, would he use it?
Keep in mind that by definition, he wouldn't have access to any second opinions or supporting documentation.
"After all, you end up in the hospital almost as much as I hurt people!"
He likely would, assuming the requirements weren't too high or strongly against his moral code. As fun as magic is, Self-Inserts - especially the reincarnation kind - seem to gloss over on the terrible sensation of losing not just one or two loved ones, but literally everyone you know. Then you're reborn, fully articulated and unable to make friends with other kids your age because they're still sniffing glue or eating crayons...
There's also probably the existential crisis of waking up in what you know, for a fact, is a fictional world. I've never woken up in a fictional world so I'm not sure if James' reaction is accurate, but I tried my best.
- Location
- Elsewhere
That's not the point.
Why would he trust Tom Riddle?
He could complete the ritual, only to find out the ritual actually destroys his soul and hands over his body to Tom.
There's no way to check the ritual because there aren't any other sources.
Why would he assume Tom knows what he wants, or is remotely trustworthy?
Even if Tom showed "proof," why would he trust him with his life?
Out of every character in the setting, Tom is pretty much guaranteed to try to screw him over.
It's good to show how desperate he was for a way home, but that's really desperate.
- Location
- No
It's like expecting a scorpion to not sting you. This could've been a good story but these two lack even a shred of common fucking sense. Ciao
I like to think James would know enough to not trust anything at first glance. I know you mentioned no second opinions or supporting info, but if rituals like that do exist and they do work, then there's probably info on other rituals. HP magic has very few rules, true, but they do have some, like how only the Philosopher's Stone can conjure gold, so he'd just use his judgment on whether it seemed reliable. Plus, once James learned all he wanted from Tom, he'd definitely destroy the diary before he proceeded.
Also, as for James' personality - it's not just desperation, but also suicidal recklessness, putting very little value in his own life and wanting to be a martyr. I've had a history of depression and other such things; I just dialed it up to eleven for James, for reasons mentioned earlier. All in all, not a very healthy mindset, but you already knew the MCs weren't perfect little angels like a lot of other SI fics make them.
- Location
- Planet Earth
you asked how I could think the MC's are procrastinating or forgetful. This chapter makes it plain. They procrastinate by not dealing with the Horcruxes immediately. OR as soon as they can. Their forgetful in that they clearly either ignored or forgot the danger Horcruxes and voldie could be. What with not taking action immediately when James was having nightmares and such.
You said there is no danger since Pettigrew is dealt with. What about crouch jr., or now, voldie junior. I mean, it is not needed to maintain canon. Or canon enemies. just off voldie and have the story be driven by their life experiences and how they change the world.
I'm still reading/following the story. My comments are not to say I dislike the story. Just that, if I were in the position of either MC, I could not logically see myself making those choices/mistakes. They do not make sense to me, so I point them out with a raised finger shouting WHY!?
You said there is no danger since Pettigrew is dealt with. What about crouch jr., or now, voldie junior. I mean, it is not needed to maintain canon. Or canon enemies. just off voldie and have the story be driven by their life experiences and how they change the world.
I'm still reading/following the story. My comments are not to say I dislike the story. Just that, if I were in the position of either MC, I could not logically see myself making those choices/mistakes. They do not make sense to me, so I point them out with a raised finger shouting WHY!?
KleverKil'Vanya
Ortillery Operator
I would like to enjoy this story, but I keep coming back to one singular point of concern, you have made your characters too flawed to be believable. You claim to have knowledge of the books, but immediately fall into traps that just being aware of should have rendered void. Making your characters have amplified flaws to the point where they are actively a negative to the story and themselves. It just comes off as one of those 'dark and realistic' SIs that repeatedly just make shit decisions to show how not mary sue, OP, or perfect they are.
I think this is far better than average for HP fan fiction, however it's fallen into the mistake of having dumb main characters. The occasional mistake is important, ideally it should seem to the reader like a good idea at the time, but for the occasional dumb mistake being stressed, tired, drunk, angry, etc is fine.
The issue here is they are acting on known problems with months of prep time. Given prep everyone even unimportant characters should display basic competence. If you want the character to get possessed do it by over weeks and have riddle make a fake diary etc. Realizing he lost it months ago would have been devastating, this just kind of falls flat.
I am not saying they need to be competent. Just think through how they can fail without making the plot feel like it's on rails.
Again though it's otherwise a very solid story.
The issue here is they are acting on known problems with months of prep time. Given prep everyone even unimportant characters should display basic competence. If you want the character to get possessed do it by over weeks and have riddle make a fake diary etc. Realizing he lost it months ago would have been devastating, this just kind of falls flat.
I am not saying they need to be competent. Just think through how they can fail without making the plot feel like it's on rails.
Again though it's otherwise a very solid story.
Silveraith
Argent Phantasm
- Location
- Terra Atlantus
I'm going to cut against the grain here and say I like the story so far and hope to see more. I agree with some of the points of criticism so far but it's keeping me interested. I also like how Voldemort is still the antagonist.
Crouch Jr. only became a threat because of Pettigrew. In canon, he only escapes his Imperius because Pettigrew brings Voldemort to his house.
The rest of your comment is explained in Ch 1. Lyra has bigger plans and does not necessarily trust Dumbledore to allow her to make those plans. Telling Dumbledore of everything risks revealing everything else. Given that Voldemort (or Crouch Jr) are not a threat, not telling him honestly doesn't really risk much. Not going after the Horcruxes, from the perspective of those earlier chapters, does not pose a serious risk. Dumbledore himself in canon says that Voldemort may never return to power if he is defeated/delayed once more.
Maybe I'm misunderstanding, but this is what happened. It happens over months, without James even realizing how bad it's gotten, without Lyra realizing because Riddle did make a fake diary.