Standing less than three hospital beds away from Ginny Weasley, Harry nearly lost his nerve.

He’d been piecing together the upcoming conversation in his head a thousand different ways for a good portion of the night. And now, Harry was exhausted and jittery and knew he would never be able to make it through breakfast without getting harassed by Ron for his silence. He decided that an early visit to Ginny before the morning meal seemed like a logical thing to do. Besides, Harry was certain that he wouldn’t be able to pay attention in class if he didn’t. And today was double Potions…

Dumbledore had seemed to think the idea was simple, yet clever and most definitely worth a try. Snape agreed; however, he hadn’t spared Harry a small, stern lecture on the way back to Gryffindor Tower, emphasizing that the boy should not overstay his welcome or badger Ginny over trivial concerns. Harry had nodded along every so often as if he was listening, but honestly, this was one task in which Harry knew he didn’t need assistance.

Adults just didn’t get it sometimes.

At least that’s what Harry had believed last night…before he was hovering only a few feet away from the slumbering girl. Now, he almost wished—almost—that Snape had positioned himself outside the hospital wing, just in case. What if Ginny didn’t want to talk to him? What if Harry had been wrong?

His hands clumsily found the pockets of his robes. And cramming his sweaty fingers into fists, Harry buried them between the thick pieces of material.

Moving forward carefully, Harry’s eyes grazed over the seemingly peaceful girl underneath the off-white blankets.

As if sensing the movement, Ginny suddenly shifted away from the wall onto her other side. Her eyes grew wide as she spotted Harry so near.

Harry paused when he reached the bed next to her. He could feel his muscles tightening in anticipation of a rejection, but Ginny only stared at him, clutching the edge of her pillow in one hand while the other pulled the blankets snuggly up underneath her chin. Even in the gray dimness that engulfed the infirmary, Harry could see her cheeks pinking rapidly. Just like they always did in his presence.

And for some reason, the familiarity of Ginny’s red face and awkward movements gave Harry the strength to walk over to one of the vacant chairs next to her bed and lower himself in it.

Harry watched as Ginny sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth. She was obviously embarrassed. Her ginger hair was tangled in the back, and she had bluish circles underneath her eyes. Dumbledore had described Ginny as rather unresponsive. But she was awake, and she knew that Harry was here. Maybe she wasn’t delusional after all.

“Hi,” Harry squeaked, feeling his own stomach prickle in embarrassment as his voice cracked in his throat. He clutched the armrests and tried to smile.

“Hi, Harry,” Ginny whispered weakly. She squirmed and twisted her blankets more tightly in her fist. “How come you’re here?”

Licking his lips, Harry clasped his damp hands together and shoved them between his thighs, resisting the urge to tap the soles of his shoes against the stone floor. “I just wanted to see how you were doing,” he replied. Harry, you sod…he scolded himself. That was stupid…

Though, Harry wasn’t exactly certain why he felt so foolish. This was only Ginny. He’d seen her in her nightgown. They’d eaten breakfast at the same table and smiled at each other when Mrs. Weasley had fussed at both of them for using their pajamas as napkins.

“I’m really sleepy all of the time,” Ginny began. Her face was sinking into the pillow, and Harry almost lifted his chair to move it in order to see her, but at the last second, Ginny, pressed down the lump of feathers and smoothed a few strands of hair off of her cheek. And crossing his ankles, Harry settled back into his chair.

“I thought you were sick,” he stated, feeling denser by the minute. “I mean, erm…when me and Snape found you in the bathroom, you looked kind of—“

“I was,” Ginny interrupted in a breathy voice.

Harry frowned. “You were?”

The girl gazed at him a minute before nodding into her pillow. “I was feeling really strange, Harry. I couldn’t take it anymore…” Ginny pressed her lips together, holding her breath.

Oh, no, Harry thought wildly. He’d seen Hermione’s face look like this before—right before the tears welled up. Don’t cry, Ginny. Please don’t cry.

“Couldn’t take what?” he asked. Harry dug his fingernails into his palms to keep from exposing his panic. He inched forward ever so slightly on his chair.

Ginny breathed small, shallow breaths through her nose.

She’d had almost the same desperate grimace on her face as she had in the lavatory before Snape had hoisted her off the wet floor. She looked like she was going to explode.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Harry nearly pleaded. Ginny was trembling again. And Harry wanted to reach out and squeeze her hand until she stopped.

“I’m frightened, Harry,” the girl whispered; her tightened knuckles were white against the pink skin of her hands. She really did look terrified.

Harry’s own hands were shaky. “Of what?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Ginny shook her head. Her hair spilled over her cheeks again. “I don’t know,” she choked frantically. “I don’t know… I can’t remember.”

Harry watched Ginny’s stomach rise and fall with rapid, tiny gasps. She whimpered in a quiet, strangled way.

“Ginny…” Harry croaked. He scooted forward, unnerved by the peculiar, strained wails catching in her throat. “Ginny, I’m sorry.” Harry didn’t know what else to say. He’d been practicing, but he hadn’t expected Ginny to lose it this quickly. He hadn’t expected her to be so oblivious of her own condition.

His mind had gone blank. What do I do?

Harry wracked his brain trying to come up with the right thing to say. He glanced around his shoulder. Colin was still frozen. Madame Pomfrey was busy in her office. And Snape was not coming. Not this time. Harry turned back around, scraping up the bravery he knew still existed somewhere inside of him.

“It’s all right to be scared, Ginny,” he began, his tongue struggling around a dry swallow.

She didn’t move.

Dammit, Harry inwardly swore. What had Snape done for him on the few humiliating occasions when he couldn’t hold back the tears? Harry remembered that the man had patted his back one time. That had been strangely soothing…and weird. But Harry knew he couldn’t do that to Ginny. Cracking a knuckle, he reached out and gently touched his fingertips to Ginny’s wrist, fully expecting her to pull away from the iciness of his skin.

But she didn’t.

“I’ve been hearing voices,” Harry informed suddenly.

Oh God, what was he doing? Snape would kill him.

“I erm…I’ve heard something in the walls for a long time, but I didn’t tell anybody about it except Ron and Hermione. And…” He blushed, hot needles poking his neck and cheeks. “…and I was really scared, Ginny. I was. I didn’t know what to do...”

Ginny lifted her face away from the circle of dampness spreading along the pillowcase. Mussed hair covered most of her face. However, Harry could still see her eyes. They were a bit bloodshot, and her lashes were damp and clumped. But she was listening.

Harry pulled his hand away from hers, resting it lightly on the mattress.

Ginny sniffled wetly. “What did you do?”

“I...well,” Harry stammered, “I finally told Snape about it.”

A pause.

“You did?”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted, running his hand along the starched sheets. “I didn’t want to, because I was sort of embarrassed about it…and I didn’t think anyone would believe me. But he did.”

Taking this in for a moment, Ginny wiped her nose and eyes with the heel of her hand. She brushed back her hair once more, revealing shiny, blotchy cheeks and reddened eyes.

“What sort of voice?”

Harry hesitated. “Erm—“

A basilisk’s…

“We’re not sure yet,” he partially lied, staring down at his black robes, tucking his fingers into the folds.

Ginny nodded absently after a moment. “Snape carried me,” she said in a small voice.

Harry stopped smoothing the bedclothes. He stared at Ginny, stunned. She remembered?

“Yeah, he took you to Madame Pomfrey. I thought you were a bit out of it. We both did.”

“He took the diary too,” Ginny whispered, her breath still hitching every so often. She gave her nose another swipe with the back of a small hand.

Harry’s stomach plummeted; the heat was swimming around his head.

“You saw him take the diary?” he asked breathlessly.

She nodded.

“But why haven’t you told anyone about it?” Harry continued, trying to steady the waver in his voice. “Hermione’s been here to visit, and so has Ron… And your parents…”

Her eyes clouded over again as she sank into her covers. “Mummy would be so cross if she knew…” she whimpered.

“Knew what?”

“Harry, you can’t tell on me,” Ginny insisted, her voice soaked with fear. “I’ll be in trouble.”

“I don’t even know what’s wrong…” Harry replied, shaking his head. She wasn’t making any sense.

Ginny’s breathing quickened again.

“Ginny—“ Harry attempted once more. But he halted as he watched the girl silently lift her hands to her neck, tucking her fingers inside of her nightgown as if she were searching for something.

She pressed her head into the pillow as she busied her fingers. After a few seconds, she dragged her hands around to her throat and crumpled what appeared to be a necklace in the palm of her hand.

Harry’s stomach twisted violently. Could it be? …

“It’s from Tom,” she whispered through wobbly lips. She pushed herself up on an elbow. “I don’t remember how I got it, though. He told me it was special…” She stared at the weathered chain and attached locket in her open hand.

“Tom…” Harry repeated, dazed. He pressed his hand against his own chest, fingering the invisible lump underneath his robes. “Tom Marvolo Riddle? The name on the diary, you mean? Wait…he’s an actual person?”

Ginny went on to explain as much as she could remember about her experience with the diary. The more Harry began to understand, the more violently his muscles quaked with nerves and dread. This was serious…and frightening…and Ginny hadn’t told anyone about it.

“But…” Harry muttered through parched lips, the blood thrumming in his chest, “If you haven’t actually seen Tom, then how did you get that locket, Ginny?” He couldn’t take his eyes off of the thin, metal chain poking through her folded fingers. It looked so similar to the one around his neck.

She shook her head slowly, her eyes searching the infirmary floor as if she were trying to remember.

A wand-activated portkey, Harry remembered Snape telling him, I seemed to have misplaced one…

Misplaced one.

The air was warm and sweet in Harry’s lungs, making him nauseous.

“I think you’ve got a portkey, Ginny,” Harry spoke up feebly. His hands were so cold, but he could feel the sweat trickling down his spine. “It takes you somewhere else when you tap your wand to it. Snape told me. Where have you been with that around your neck?”

The girl was pale, a befuddled expression still smeared on her face. “I don’t know…”

“But—“ Harry pressed his teeth into his bottom lip, leaning back slightly. He could tell he was scaring Ginny. Her eyes were wild with fright as she clutched her pillow again with her free hand. How could she not know?

Harry breathed deeply, trying to stay calm. He knew what it was like to feel helpless and under attack when interrogated. He wiggled his fingers around, feeling them slip around in the sweat that had formed in his clenched fists.

“Can I…er…have the locket?” Harry asked quietly, holding out his hand. “I’ve got one like it too—around my neck—only you can’t see mine. Snape made it invisible…”

Yeah, way to convince her, you prat… Harry thought scornfully.

Ginny squirmed underneath her covers. “You have to promise not to tell, Harry. You have to. Mum and Dad will be so angry with me.”

Harry dropped his hand, feeling like his common sense was being shredded. He knew that Snape would want to know about this. He’d be able to tell if the locket was actually his other portkey. But Ginny was his friend. And she was Ron’s little sister. The thought of betraying his friends made him want to sick up.

“Are you sure you don’t know where the locket takes you or how you got it?” Harry inquired again. “It’s really important, Ginny.” Wouldn’t Tom have given her that information? Bloody hell…Harry couldn’t believe he was actually referring to this bloke as if he were a real person.

Ginny swallowed, gritting her teeth, her jaw pulsing as she lay against her pillows. “I’m trying…” the girl breathed miserably, closing her eyes. “I think maybe—“ She paused, entwining her fingers in a portion of stringy hair that rested quietly on the linen.

The sky was beginning to transform from pitch-black to dull, milky blue. The breakfast hour had to be nearing.

Harry was digging his nails against the armrests again. Please try, Ginny, he silently pleaded, Remember…

“Maybe a cave,” Ginny piped up suddenly, but her voice was thick with skepticism. “I think I only dreamt it, though, Harry.”

The boy frowned, rubbing a cold knuckle against the wrinkles along his forehead. “A cave?”

“With water… And maybe…” She huffed in frustration, smashing her face against the pillow. “I just don’t know.” Her voice was stifled and despondent. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Harry mumbled, trying to hide his disappointment. He sat very still for a long moment, trying to connect everything. “Can I still have the locket?” He stretched out his palm once more. “I promise I won’t say anything about Tom if you don’t want me to.”

But you have to, Harry, he scolded himself. He knew he had to. A diary that actually writes back was just too bizarre. And dangerous. Even more dangerous than hearing voices.

Wordlessly, Ginny reached over and dangled the locket above Harry’s unsteady hand. Twisting the clasp in her finger for only a second, she let it fall, the chain links daintily clinking against each other as the necklace landed onto his sweaty skin.

Closing his fingers around the cold metal, Harry held it close to his stomach; his chest ached as if someone had just driven an icicle through it, but he wasn’t sure why.

However, Harry could already tell that Ginny was relieved to be rid of it. The circles under her eyes were broad and dark. Her lids drooped heavily as she rested her head in the dip of her pillow. She gazed at Harry, still shivering.

Without thinking, the boy reached over and pulled the blankets up around her shoulders, remembering how nice that felt. Harry hadn’t realized it when it happened, but Snape had been the one to recover him with a blanket when he’d fallen asleep on the man’s sofa. He was almost certain of it.

“Why am I the only one you’ve told?” Harry couldn’t help but ask. Ginny was part of a large family who would surely understand. Wouldn’t they? And besides, her mum couldn’t be too angry over something that wasn’t her fault…not really.

Ginny blinked drowsily, the tear streaks slowly fading as the final traces of wetness evaporated on her cheeks. “You’re the only one who listens…”

************

Harry’s head throbbed painfully.

He could feel his glasses tangling in his fringe as he sat huddled against the corridor wall outside of the infirmary, his face buried in his folded arms that rested against his knees.

His brain felt like it was buzzing with hornets, and he was having a difficult time making sense of anything.

How could he possibly be the only one that listens to Ginny? She had six brothers and parents that Harry admired. And besides, Ginny barely even spoke to him, aside from this morning…

A cave.

Had she really only seen one in her dreams? And how in the sodding hell did Ginny end up with Snape’s other portkey? She claimed that Tom had given it to her. But if he only existed in the diary, how could she have gotten it from him? And why did Tom have it?

Who was Tom?!

Harry groaned into his arms as the stinging pulse in the back of his head intensified.

Professor Binns’ hesitant lecture over the Chamber of Secrets rang repeatedly in Harry’s ears.

The Chamber has been opened before. A monster lies within. A girl was killed in the 1940’s. The Chamber…in the school. A basilisk. Only the Heir of Slytherin can control the monster. The Heir of Slytherin. The Chamber. Lies within.

A cave.

Harry’s heart began to pound. He lifted his head only far enough so that his nose peeked out. His glasses slipped from his forehead, landing inelegantly on the bridge of his nose. Ginny had mentioned a cave. Was that the same thing as a chamber? But…how?

And she thought the locket may have transported her there…

But it was Snape’s locket, wasn’t it?

Hermione had already established the fact that Snape couldn’t be Slytherin’s heir, because he attended Hogwarts after it was opened in the 1940’s. But—

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry snapped his head up; the corridor swirled in front of him.

So did the image of Professor McGonagall.

She was scrutinizing him with concern as she strolled forward.

Buggering hell, Harry thought, gaining the sudden urge to crumple into a ball and play dead.

“Potter, what on earth do you think you are doing?” the professor inquired in a clipped tone. “I believe your first period class begins—“ But she ceased speaking, frowning deeply as she came closer.

Harry moved his hands behind him to push himself up, but McGonagall pressed her own palms firmly onto his shoulders. “Oh no, Mr. Potter,” she exclaimed, “I should think not. You’re white as a ghost.” Harry fell back onto his seat with a thud—too dizzy and nauseous to argue.

Crouching down, she felt his forehead, neck, and cheeks, rotating her hands continuously about his head. “Cold and clammy…” the old woman commented disapprovingly. “Child you must— Oh, goodness gracious… Severus!” her voice echoed around the corner of the corridor as she leaned to the side a bit, one hand wrapped firmly around Harry’s neck.

“I’m okay, Professor… really,” Harry attempted weakly.

“Hush, child,” McGonagall chided breathily, her eyes still searching the corridor. “Oh, thank goodness. You decided to follow after all.” She sounded relieved. “Severus, come here if you would.”

Bloody buggering hell…

Harry pressed his knuckles up against his forehead, hating this.

Snape swept hurriedly around the corner, his face stony, yet inquisitive. He paused in surprise when he spotted Harry slumped on the ground.

“The boy is soaking wet, Severus, and cold as ice…” McGonagall reported as she gazed up worriedly at the potions master.

Lips pursed, Snape kneeled down as well. “Are you ill, Potter?”

“No, I’m not,” Harry groaned, refusing to look at either of them. “I’m fine…”

“You are lying,” Snape said simply.

Harry didn’t say anything; he only smashed his knuckles more firmly against his brow.

Minerva glanced at her colleague curtly.

“Proceed to the hospital wing, if you will, Minerva,” Snape continued determinedly. “I need to speak with Potter.”

“Severus, I hardly think—“

“Only a discussion, Minerva…” the man cut in.

Harry glanced up, his stomach tumbling sickeningly. Did McGonagall think he was going to be punished? Merlin’s pants, he wasn’t in trouble all of the time. Harry didn’t think he was, anyway…

McGonagall paused a moment, brushing the back of her hand along both of Harry’s damp cheeks once more before sighing heavily. “Very well. I will be with Miss Weasley should you need me.” She stood up, still surveying Harry critically before patting her tight, gray-streaked bun and scurrying forward with quick steps.

Gazing pitifully at a silent Snape, Harry was startled when the man only placed his own hands at the base of the boy’s neck and across his forehead.

“What has happened, Potter?” the professor questioned immediately. “You are trembling.”

“I am?” Harry followed up stupidly. He hugged his knees tighter. His muscles indeed felt like gelatin.

“You are.”

Harry sniffed, resting his heavy head on his arms again. “I talked to Ginny.”

Snape stiffened. “At this hour?”

“You said I could talk to her whenever as long as it was before curfew,” Harry disputed. “So did Professor Dumbledore…”

Snape lowered an eyebrow menacingly.

Peeling his eyes away from the subtle threat, Harry adjusted his tone and continued before Snape could comment.

“Well, I visited her, and she…I mean, she’s not really sure…Well, she’s sort of—“

“Spit it out, Potter.”

“I’m trying to,” Harry growled, taking deep breaths. “Ginny…” And then Harry stopped; the shivers running along his torso were making his stomach want to heave. Good thing he hadn’t eaten breakfast… “Hold on a second.” Harry needed space.

“What do you have in your hand?” Snape asked, ignoring him. Hovering forward, he took hold of the boy’s tightly clamped fist. “Potter, open your fingers.”

Harry clutched the locket so hard it dug into his palm. He needed a minute to think. Hadn’t he made that known less than ten seconds ago? “Just…hold on, Professor…”

Snape began prying at the tightness with the tip of his thumb. “No, I will not. Now, do as I say.”

Harry tried to yank his arm away. “Would you just give me a second!”

Disregarding the child’s request, Snape encircled the thin wrist with one hand while he tapped Harry’s clenched fingers firmly with the other before renewing his efforts to slacken the frozen fist. “Quit being so damn dramatic, Potter…”

“I’m not! It’s just…” Harry pulled away as hard as he could nearly toppling over on his side.

He half-expected to be jerked back up by his arm, but as Harry slowly straightened, he was surprised to find Snape merely leaning back against the wall, his dark head resting against the stone in a defeated manner, his eyes closed.

Harry gaped for a long moment at his professor’s drab, black hair, studying the small lines that rutted the man’s features. He briefly wondered if Snape had been losing sleep too. Feeling hollow inside, Harry finally loosened his grip a bit on the locket, staring down at his palm, red and indented with tiny chain links. He was tired. And his head hurt. However, he was alert enough to realize that he’d just acted like a giant baby. Harry didn’t know why he did such things. But unfortunately the self-assessment of his idiocy always came as an afterthought.

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologized quietly, holding out the sweaty, tangled necklace. “I’ve got a headache.”

“What an uncanny coincidence…” Snape replied dryly.

Yet, the instant that the professor caught sight of the crumpled locket, his eyes darkened, and he stiffened, instantly plucking the locket from the boy’s hand. The dangling chain tickled Harry’s fingers as it dragged across his skin. “Potter, where—“

“Ginny,” Harry interrupted, knowing what Snape was going to ask. “She had it around her neck. She said Tom gave it to her.” The ice was back—jabbing him painfully in the chest.

“Tom…”

“The bloke from the diary,” Harry supplied gloomily, cradling the side of his cloudy, aching head with an open palm. He had decided on a whim that it was better for Snape to know now than to find it out some other way. Harry supposed he could deal with being friendless. He did it every single summer. But he couldn’t handle anymore secrets. Harry had learned from his own experience that keeping everything inside wasn’t necessarily the better option.

“Is that your other portkey?” the boy mumbled, limbs heavy and numb from his recent treachery.

“Yes,” Snape answered without hesitation. He was turning the locket over and over in his fingers, inspecting it, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the engraved pattern.

Harry watched the potions master for a moment. The man’s face was eerily blank.

“She doesn’t remember actually getting it, though,” Harry told him. “It doesn’t make any sense.” Harry was now supporting his head with both hands.

“Miss Weasley claims to have interacted with the owner of the diary?” Snape inquired for clarification.

Harry nodded against his hands. His eyes hurt too much to keep them open.

“And she is uncertain of how she acquired the second portkey?”

“Yeah, I mean…” Harry sneaked his fingers underneath his glasses and began kneading his lids. “I don’t know.”

“You do not know?” Snape repeated, emotionlessly. “What is it you mean to say, Mr. Potter?”

“I’m not—“ Harry paused, exhaling shakily. “I can’t…”

“Look at me,” the potions master commanded.

Slowly, Harry complied, even though he didn’t really feel like it.

Looking the boy straight in the eye, Snape kept his tone flat and objective.

“You have not slept.”

Harry’s defenses immediately steeled as his brain fished around for a proper retort. However, Harry had none. He felt awful. And although he could sense some sort of hidden correlation among everything Ginny had revealed, his body and mind wouldn’t allow him to discover it. Harry couldn’t even get his face to contort in a cynical manner.

Sighing, the boy threaded his fingers through his fringe, still propping up his forehead in his hand. “I know,” he stated simply. “I’ve just been thinking a lot. But nothing’s coming together. And I just… I don’t know.”

In all honesty, Harry truly didn’t know. He wanted desperately to understand things as quickly as Hermione. And he wanted Ginny to remember so he didn’t feel so useless and dull. Harry wanted to help her. But he didn’t know how.

“Come along, Potter,” Snape prompted as he hoisted himself up from the ground. Securing his fingers around Harry’s arm, Snape pulled the boy up as well. Baffled but submissive, Harry obeyed the gesture and followed his swift-moving professor into the hospital wing.

Harry caught a distant glimpse of McGonagall huddling over Ginny’s blanket-clad form, as well as Madame Pomfrey bustling about with a silver tray full of potion bottles, as he and Snape progressed into the infirmary office. Without speaking, Snape opened an aged, wood-grain cabinet and expertly selected and pocketed a small bottle before steering a sluggish Harry toward the floo. Again.

“Are we going to your office?” Harry asked as Snape threw in a hefty handful. Snape’s chambers had been their previous destination, so the boy simply used deductive logic in this case.

“No.” Snape pushed Harry into the flames, following closely behind.

“Then where?” Harry wondered, steadying himself woozily against the stone surroundings.

“As I cannot seem to extract a single coherent sentence from you, Potter, you are going to bed for the rest of the day. This time, I will see to it,” the man informed, opening his mouth again to deliver the desired location.

“Wait!” Harry cut him short, tugging urgently at Snape’s robes.

Curling his upper lip slightly, the man peered down at Harry, clearly annoyed.

“What?”

The warm flames licked at Harry’s cheeks as he blinked rapidly at Snape through the green haze. “I can’t just… I’ve got class, Professor…”

Snape quirked an eyebrow as he averted his gaze, staring straight ahead. “Not anymore.”

“But—“

What was Snape playing at?

However, the man’s voice permeated easily through Harry’s thin one, sending both of them swirling into the darkness before Harry even could protest. This time, the floo would spit them out directly onto the dusty crimson rug of the Gryffindor common room.

And the bell for first period hadn’t yet rung.