Ancient Magician (Severus x Reader)

Chapter 42: The Heir of Slytherin

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𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝟒𝟐: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒍𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏

"𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒌?"

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Harry and I stood at the mouth of a vast, shadow-choked chamber, the air thick with an eerie, greenish glow that clung to the stone like moss. Towering serpent-wrapped columns rose up on either side, vanishing into a ceiling we couldn't see, as if the darkness itself had swallowed the upper half of the world. Shadows slithered across the floor like smoke, and every step forward made the silence feel more pressing—more alive.

I swallowed hard, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. "Harry," I whispered, barely daring to break the silence. "Do you think you could... maybe hold my hand?"

Harry turned toward me, giving a small nod and the faintest of smiles as he slipped his hand into mine. "Yeah. Of course."

We both drew our wands and stepped forward together, moving cautiously between the looming pillars. Every footfall echoed around us, bouncing back in distorted whispers. Our eyes darted from shadow to shadow, always bracing for a flicker of motion, a shift in the gloom. The carved serpents on the columns almost seemed to move when we weren't looking, their stone eyes boring into us.

Then, past the final row of columns, something even more chilling emerged—a towering statue, ancient and imposing, loomed at the far end of the Chamber. We had to tilt our heads back to see the stern, monkey-like face carved into the rock above. A long beard fell from its chin like a stone waterfall, brushing the hem of its massive robes. At the base of the statue lay a figure crumpled between its feet—small, still, draped in black, with unmistakable red hair.

"Ginny?" I whispered, barely able to breathe.

"It's her," Harry said, already breaking into a run, dragging me along with him. "It has to be."

We rushed to her side, fear speeding our steps. Harry dropped to his knees and turned her over with trembling hands. Her skin was pale—too pale. Cold. But her eyes were closed. She hadn't been Petrified, and that should've been a relief—but it wasn't. Not entirely.

"Harry... she's still breathing," I murmured, placing a hand on her wrist. The pulse was there, faint and fluttering. "She's alive."

"But barely..." Harry's voice cracked as he shook her gently. "Ginny? Ginny, wake up, please..."

Nothing. Her head lolled limply against his arm. Her face was slack, empty.

"She won't wake," came a voice. Low. Smooth. And terribly familiar.

Harry and I jolted, twisting toward the sound. A boy leaned against one of the nearby pillars, his black hair slightly tousled, his outline shimmering faintly as though seen through fogged glass. His gaze was fixed on us, sharp and unreadable.

"Tom... Tom Riddle?" I asked, slowly standing to face him.

He gave a small nod, not taking his eyes off us. "You remember."

"Wait," Harry said, eyes narrowing, "Tom... You're—you're not—you're not him, are you?"

"He is," I said quietly. "Harry... he's Voldemort. Before he called himself that."

Tom's expression didn't change. If anything, he seemed pleased by the recognition.

"What's wrong with Ginny?" Harry demanded. "Why won't she wake up? What did you do to her?"