#180 in Fanfiction || #1 in Hermione ||
In the language of literature, there exists a seemingly-concrete, antonymous relationship between good and evil, light and dark, hero and monster. And yet, we often disregard the transition from one to anothe...
The Chamber of Secrets is a reminder of Tom Riddle's past, looking near identical to how he left it more than fifty years ago. At the end of the long and wide corridor, Salazar's statue stands agape, mouth open with the reminder that the Basilisk never returned to its nest. And along the sides of the middle pathway, the high levels of water almost reach over the pavement, the gauntlet of serpents reaching from the depths of the water, kept from Tom and Hermione's forms.
"I didn't expect it to be like this," Hermione remarks, her eyes keenly appraising the Statue of Salazar Slytherin, someone Hermione expected to vaguely look like Tom, only to be disappointed. It's a rather silly notion to think they'd resemble each other, but both being dark wizards, it seems important that there'd be moral and physical resemblance. But, in fact, she thinks the reborn Voldemort more resembles the snakey-faced House founder.
Tom looks at her, not feeling her itch of curiosity at the sight, simply because he's been here far too many times to count. The tunnels, chamber, and statues themselves bear a great resemblance to what he remembers, like a home of the past that he's barely forgotten in the cessation of visits. But, he is drawn into curiosity at the expression on her face, asking "What did you expect it to be like?"
Hermione does not know what to say. Did she expect a swampy cavern where snakes breed? Did she expect a throne room? In reality, she did not really picture anything, so Hermione only responds with, "Not this."
He seems struck by her inability to communicate her ideas, but refocuses as he sees the gleaming ivory in the corner of his eye. Looking outward to where they now stand, the main platform in the Chamber, Tom is startled not to have seen it before: the large skeleton of his Basilisk. Stepping around a stalled Hermione, Tom makes his way over to the beast with gentle steps that do not communicate his past here or connection to the beast, just his ease with the situation, strangely enough. For an instant, Tom seems overcome with emotion, his long and lean hand reaching out to pet the boney face of the long-dead creature, a simple caress that should look unpracticed, but maybe it isn't. Hermione never expected Tom to have shown genuine care to this creature, but maybe the apple doesn't fall far from the tree with Voldemort and Nagini.
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But the weakness departs as soon as it arrives, Tom reaching out to harshly pull a fang from the beast's jawbone, nearer the front and sharper than she ever could have imagined. Tom stares at the beast for a moment, desecrated by himself, before shoving emotion aside and turning on his heel away from it, a stiff goodbye that exemplifies what this creature was to him. A tool.
But was Hermione not a tool that he came to love?
With him again at her side, no longer easily distracted by his actions, Hermione reaches into her beaded bag for the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, the gold gleaming brightly even in the low and green light of the Chamber of Secrets. Palming it down onto the floor, Hermione stands to her uneasy toes, simply startled to see Tom's hand in front of her, an offer of the Basilisk fang.
