Rules of the Game by margot_llama
Past Featured StorySummary: AU. Harry, on the night the first letter came, was dumped by the Dursley's in London. Now, three months later, he is found and expected to lead a normal life at Hogwarts. But, where Harry Potter is concerned, can anything be normal? Mild abuse, neglect.
Categories: Teacher Snape > Trusted Mentor Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required)
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Drama
Media Type: None
Tags: Alternate Universe
Takes Place: 1st summer before Hogwarts, 1st Year
Warnings: Alcohol Use
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 35 Completed: No Word count: 95472 Read: 197426 Published: 22 Sep 2006 Updated: 29 Jan 2007
Chapter 23: Down The Rabbit Hole Again by margot_llama

Neville and Harry had whispered furiously for a few minutes, then Harry scribbled a note onto a piece of ratty old parchment, wadded the parchment into a ball, and thrown it at Hermione, who was sitting two rows ahead of them and listening dilligently. She shot the two a glare as she uncrumpled the paper, then a concerned look.

‘Have you ever heard of a basilisk?’ the note asked, and Hermione threw her hand in the air.

“I need to go to the bathroom!” she yelled, and Professor Binns blinked slowly at her and nodded.

“Yes, then, Miss, erm—Grinnock. In these uncertain times, though—“ He scanned the room and, purely by luck, caught sight of Harry and Neville. “Mr. Lidgetop and Mr, hum, Mr. Peddy will escort you.”

The three tore from the room and Hermione led them, running, to the library.

“I know I passed it in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, but it says that their gaze kills so I didn’t pay much attention. Oh, hurry!”

The three ran even faster, Neville in the lead now, and he tripped unceremoniously on something and sprawled forward. “Oof—oh, no.”

There, frozen solid in the middle of the corridor, was the Ravenclaw Prefect, Penelope Clearwater. She had been frozen, it seemed, in the act of checking her make up. Kneeling next to her body, holding her hand, was an inconsolable red-head by the name of Percy Weasley.

“Oh, no,” Neville said again, and Percy looked up at all of them with red rimmed eyes.

“Percy, are you all right?” Hermione asked worriedly, and the boy nodded mechanically.

“I—yes, I’m fine it’s just a bit of a shock—I—oh, God, Penny—“

“Percy, what happened?” More people had arrived on the scene, one of them the other Ravenclaw Prefect, Adam Kabbalah. “Percy, what’s wrong with Penny?”

“She—I was just headed up to the Infirmary, to visit Ron—my brother, he’s got some magical flu—and she just—Penny,” Percy whispered, and he dropped his head.

Harry tentatively advanced and placed a small, hesitant hand on Percy’s shoulder. The boy reached up with his free hand and latched on in a tough, tight grip.

“Perce,” Harry said gently. “Come on, we have to get Madam.”

“I’m not leaving her.”

“Percy—please, come with us to get Madam, she’ll need to take Penny to the Infirmary. You—you can see Ron.” Harry realized that he was still clutching in one hand the black journal, but he couldn’t move it until Percy let his hand go.

“Please, Percy, it’s not safe for us to go alone,” Neville said.

Adam stepped forward. “We’ll—I mean, me and the other prefects, we’ll watch out for her, Percy, never fear. You go get Madam Pomfrey.”

Percy stood, mechanically, taking his hand off of Penny’s as he started to walk toward the Infirmary. Harry still held his hand, and Hermione ran up and slipped her hand in his, giving him a bit of a squeeze. Neville, seeing the lack of available hands, carried Percy’s school bag.

When they arrived at the Infirmary, the first thing they noticed was a pale Ron Weasley, steam pouring out of his ears. He looked miserable, but soon his face was painted with anger and fear as he saw Harry clutching the diary.

“G-give me that,” Ron snarled, and he launched out of the bed (still in his pajamas) and snatched it out of Harry’s hand. “What—what did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Harry said, slightly startled.

“You—you can’t, he’ll kill me—and Ginny, he said he’d kill Ginny—Percy!” Ron said as he saw his brother. “Wh-what happened?”

“Penny,” Percy said sadly. “Penny’s been Petrified.”

Ron’s face was a mask of horror. “But—I’ve been here,” he said softly, and he looked at the book in terror, then up at the four new arrivals to the Infirmary. Then, quick as a rabbit, he bolted out the door and out of sight.

“Blast!” Neville yelled, and the three immediately took off after him, but had quickly lost him in the winding corridors of Hogwarts.

“We—we need a professor,” Hermione said, trying to catch her breath. “Lockhart—“

“No!” Harry said fiercely. “He’s a bloody idiot!”

“But he’s right here!”

“But he’s a moron! Come on, let’s get Snape, or McGonagall,” Nevillle said, and he then charged down several hallways until he stopped and moaned again. “Oh, no!”

There, the paint still wet and glittering, was painted another message.

HIS BODY WILL LIE IN THE CHAMBER FOREVER.

“Oh, no,” Neville said again.

“But how—where’s the chamber?” Harry yelled, and he kicked the wall. “Where is it?”

He heard then a voice, not the big, mean one of his nightmares but a small, silkier one, like one of the Professor’s snakes.

‘The little massster wissshesss to find the home of our King…’

‘Be quiet, he ssshall hear you…’

Harry lunged into a corner and pulled the out—two small, shiny green snakes.

“Tell me how to get to the chamber,” he hissed, and he heard Hermione gasp. He had told them, of course, but they hadn’t asked for a demonstration. “Tell me now.”

‘He ssspeaksss like a brother…doesss the little massster wish to pay homage to our great King?’

Harry nodded vigorously. “Tell me.”

‘Sssimply talk to our brother sssnake in there,’ the other snake said, jabbing it’s tail towards the girls bathroom. ‘Put usss down, brother.’

Harry dropped the snakes. “The entrance is in the bathroom,” he said, and he threw open the door.

It called to him. That first moment, all he could do was stare at the vastness of places to hide an entranceway. He had hissed, an angry hiss, and there was a reply. A hiss back.

It was on one of the taps. Carved there, a little snake like the ones he had confronted in the corridor. ‘Open,’ he hissed, and there was an awful grinding noise and suddenly there it was. The Chamber of Secrets.

“Why is it that we’re always jumping into dark holes?” Neville asked with a sigh.

Again, they all gripped hands and jumped.

000000000000000000000000000000

They made their way carefully along the camber, their feet slipping in god knows what, and Hermione kept whispering to them everything she could remember about the basilisk—which, since she was Hermione, was quite a lot.

“The first one was made by this Greek named Herpo the Foul—he hatched a chicken egg under a toad and it made a basilisk. They can grow to be fifty feet—don’t do that, Neville, they’ll hear us! The, uhm, they have venemous fangs and—oh, don’t look at it in the eyes, it’ll kill you. It’s a forerunner of Medusa, in that. If you look into it’s eyes indirectly than it’ll Petrify you—that’s why nobody’s died, you see? Colin did it through his camera—“

“That little Moon girl, didn’t they find her with a magnifying glass? Remember, Gina was so upset, she thought her little sister’d been poking into something and that’s why it happened—“

“And Justin, Justin saw it through Nick! And Nick, well, he’s dead, but he was all ready dead!”

“Mrs. Norris she saw it—in the water! Myrtle had a crying fit that night and flooded all the taps! Oh, it’s all making sense!”

Unfortunately, Neville had thumped the wall on his latest revelation, and there was an ominous rumbling.

“Rock slide,” Hermione whispered, and they all dove for various forms of cover.

When the rock slide stopped, Harry looked up to see a towering mound of rocks separate him from Hermione and Neville.

“Hermione! Neville!” he yelled, throwing himself at the pile, and his throat closed up with fear. What if they weren’t on the other side of the wall? What if they were buried in there?

“NEVILLE! HERMIONE!” Harry yelled, and he heard a yell back.

“Harry? Harry, are you all right?”

Harry almost cried with relief. “I’m all right, are you?”

“We’re fine. Neville’s banged his arm up, but we’re fine. Go—go get Ron! Don’t look in it’s eyes, remember!”

“Harry! Harry, you can do it! We’ll—Hermione and I will unblock the passage, no fear!”

“All right! I’ll—I’ll try!”

Harry ran forward then, his wand outstretched, and didn’t stop until he was in a tall, dark, terrifying room.

In the front of it was Ron Weasley.

He was laying there, weak, and a few fet from him was the diary. His face was contorted in pain, but a quick scan showed that he was breathing—if only slightly.

“Ron! Oh, Ron, wake up!” Harry said, and he fell to his knees and grabbed Ron by the shoulders. “Wake up, you big prat!”

“It’s no use. He won’t wake up.”

Harry froze, and he got up slowly, his wand out. He had heard that voice before. He hadn’t—it hadn’t sounded like that, but he’d heard those words before, and that particularly manerism, the stress on ‘won’t’.

Where had he heard it before?

“Who are you?”

A boy stepped out of the shadows. He was older—probably sixteen or seventeen, and he was wearing funny robes, older ones, and the kind of tie he had seen in a Gryffindor class picture in the common room from the forties. His hair was parted that way too, old fashioned, and he looked flickery—like an old sort of projection. This boy was not from his time, Harry could tell.

“I am Tom Riddle. Slytherin prefect.” He swept into a bow. “And you are Harry Potter.”

No—that wasn’t right either. The Slytherin prefects were Montague and a girl with thick eyebrows. They had tried to give him detention once, for bothering Malfoy. And—Riddle, he had seen that name somewhere before—

He looked down and saw the journal, then looked up again.

“No, you’re not,” Harry said. “What—who are you?”

The boy smirked and took a step forward. “Tom Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle, if you would want the specifics. Notice that I still know who you are.”

“Why won’t Ron wake up?”

“Because it’s too late.”

“No, it’s not—“

“It’s too late, Potter. He won’t wake up.”

Harry’s head snapped forward, and he knew who it was all of a sudden. He had heard that voice and those words last year, when he’d shaken Professor Snape in front of the mirror. “Voldemort. You’re Voldemort.”

The boy laughed, a high pitched, nasty giggle, and he clapped his hands mockingly. “Oh, well done, Potter, very well done. You’re not nearly as clever as that irritating Mudblood chit, but you do alright for yourself, don’t you?” He took a step forward and thrust out a hand. “Expelliarmus!”

His wand tried to tear itself out of his hand, but Harry gripped it with both his hands. “No!”

The boy stopped laughing. “Look here, Potter. You know who I am. I know who you are. Your little friend—“ here he gestured to Ron, who moaned and spasmed, “—told me everything.”

Harry felt a deep stab of betrayal. He and Ron had never been close, but to work with Voldemort—

Then he remembered Ron’s fear, his increasing paleness. “You tricked him,” Harry said angrily.

“Not at the beginning, no. He was so jealous—jealousy is an ugly thing, Potter, remember that—of you. Mr. Harry Potter and his famous scar, how you stole his brothers love from him. You were rich and powerful and everything the little brat wanted, of course he would be jealous. I worked that, I twisted it—I’m quite good at knowing what to say. To be friendly. I was his only friend, Potter, because of you.

“He went along quite willingly, poured his soul to me, and as soon as I had enough power I repaid the favor. I poured my soul into him and let loose the monster of the chamber.

“The next morning he tried to throw me away. A Weasley, trying to throw away me, who carries Slytherin’s blood within him! That’s when I told him. The basilisk loves the mudbloods, of course, but after fifty years, anything is amenable.” The boy snapped his fingers and Harry’s wand made another desperate wrench. “That still holds true, Potter. You don’t weild the power I do over serpents.”

He’s a Parselmouth too, Harry thought, and he doesn’t know that I’m one.

A secret weapon.

“Accio!” Riddle yelled, and his wand tore itself out of his hand and landed, with a smack, in Riddle’s hand.

The boy started to laugh and aimed the wand at Harry. “Say goodbye, Potter. But before you go—tell me. How did you defeat the most powerful wizard in all the ages?”

“That’s not you,” Harry spat, and he threw himself at the boy’s knees. With an oof, the boy fell, and Harry stomped on the boys wrist twice, prying his wand out of the boys hand.

“Who else? I am Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard in centuries, since Slytherin himself!”

“No!” Harry yelled, and he tried to remember all the street fighting he’d seen. “Dumbledore! Dumbledore’s better than you!” And it was true. Much as Harry feared the man, he was good, and more powerful then Riddle. But saying this made Harry wish Professor Snape was there.

Then the tables turned. Sure, Harry was scrappy and gutsy, but Riddle was a tall sixteen year old. He pinned Harry, his hair mussed, looking enraged.

“You—you dare—“ he spluttered, and he fought with Harry for the wand before pulling away, laughing crazily. “I don’t need a wand, Potter. I have all the things I need.” He turned, then, to a carved face that reminded Harry of an evil magician on one of Dudley’s television shows. “Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four.”

Harry heard it then, a dangerous, sibilant hiss that was winding its way closer and closer to Harry and Tom. Harry shut his eyes and backed into a wall.

“That won’t help you, Potter. He can smell you. And he listens only to me.” The boy suddenly started to hiss. “Attack the boy.”

Harry clenched his eyes tightly shut. ‘Please,’ he thought, trying to shrink into the wall. ‘Don’t let him find me.’

Suddenly he heard a song, so pure and beautiful that it made Harry feel like Snape was right there next to him. He even thought that under the song, he could hear Snape: I’m proud of you. I’m proud of you.

An enormous bird with wings blazing like fire swooped down and landed on his shoulder, his claws gripping his shoulder in a way that felt like Snape was gripping his shoulder. On his head, dropping over his eyes, was the Sorting Hat.

“I thought I told you to have some fun,” the hat sighed into his ear. “Watch out, now, this will sting—“

And something fell from the hat and landed on his head.

“So this is your great weapons? A bird and an old hat. Pathetic, Potter. You—“ he said to the bird, “Shut up!”

Harry took that moment and yanked the hat off his head, revealing a handle of something. He tugged on it, twice, and suddenly there was a glimmering sword in his hand. He heard that hiss again and, shutting his eyes, braced himself for an attack.

“Two steps forward!” he heard someone yell. Hermione! She and Neville must have gotten through the rubble. He took two cautious steps forward.

“Stab it forward!” he heard Neville cry out. “Hermione, help me get Ron—“

“Get the other children!” he heard Tom hiss, and he shoved the sword forward with all his might.

“Don’t!” he hissed, and he felt the sword pierce something. The being in front of him screamed and snapped at him. He narrowly missed it’s teeth, hearing Hermione’s shrieked ‘Duck!’

“You got one of the eyes, Harry! Try and hit the same spot on the left!” Neville yelled. “Argh—Hermione, help!”

“Don’t touch him! Expelliarmus!”

Harry pulled the sword back and shoved forward again.

“You got it, you got it! Harry, hurry—“

The beast snapped again and Harry opened his eyes. It was blinded, Harry’s sword lined up perfectly—he shoved again, and the beast let out one last scream and thrashed out. Harry felt a terrible pain, worse than anything he’d ever felt before, tearing through his arm, and the bird on his shoulder screamed out once, a terrible scream.

“See, Potter? Your little friends and that stupid bird, none of it did any good. You’re dying, Potter. You killed my basilisk, but it killed you.” The boy started to laugh, and Harry staggered over to where Hermione and Neville stood.

“No!” Neville yelled, and he pulled his wand and aimed it at the boy. He just started laughing harder.

“I’m a memory, Longbottom. A memory of a boy four years older and stronger, a memory of the strongest wizard in the world. What spells can hurt me?” the boy kept laughing, and Neville looked at the open book.

“Perfora!” he yelled, and an angry black line slashed through the page, and the boy stopped laughing.

“Stop that!”

“Perfora!” Hermione yelled, and another line crossed that.

“P-perfora!” Harry stammered out, raising his wand in his good hand.

“STOP!” the boy howled, and he fell to his knees. Black lines were crossing himself out, and Neville looked at the other two.

“On three! One—two—“

“STOP! I FORBID YOU!”

“THREE!” Neville yelled, and all three pointed their wands forward.

“PERFORA!”

The book broke into pieces and, with an agonizing scream and a vacuum sound, Tom Riddle disappeared into thin air.

Neville and Hermione ran to Harry, and he fell to the ground. The bird swooped over him, keening.

“No—Harry, don’t, you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay,” he heard Neville say, and he felt frantic hands smoothing his hair and face. “No, stop, you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay—“

“Neville—Neville, the bird! It’s a phoenix, let him through!”

“You’ll be okay, Harry, it’s okay—“

“Neville, move!”

Harry felt Neville being pushed away and felt four drops of liquid lightning hit his arm.

“Wh—what’s going on? Hermione, Neville? What’re you doing here? What’s wrong with Harry?”

Then he felt himself spiral into blackness.

To be continued...


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