❀ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐘,
˚ ༘♡ ⋆𝑨 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀 𝑶𝑭 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑪𝑯𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑭𝑻 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑭𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑷𝑺
━━━ ❝a name, or title, or house
doesn't define who you are,
only you're able to do that.❞
...
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︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
NYX'S BODY WAS STILL LAYING unconscious within the Chamber of Secrets when Harry arrived. He'd pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than more, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir. Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.
Harry craned his neck to look up into the giant face above: it was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thick beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, lay a small, black-robed figure with golden hair.
"Nyx!" Harry muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees. "Nyx—don't be dead—please don't be dead—"
He flung his wand aside and grabbed Nyx's shoulders turning her over onto her back. Her face was as white as marble and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, her cheeks were wet with tears, and she was trembling, so she wasn't petrified. At least she was alive!
"Nyx, come on, please wake up," Harry muttered desperately, shaking her.
Nyx's head lolled hopelessly from side to side.
"She won't wake," said a soft voice.
Harry jumped and spun around on his knees.
A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him.
"Tom—Tom Riddle?"
Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry's face.
"What d'you mean, she won't wake?" Harry said desperately. "She's not—she's not—?"
"She's still alive," said Riddle, "but only just."
Harry stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen.
"Are you a ghost?" Harry said uncertainly.
"A memory," said Riddle quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."
He pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Harry had found in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. For a second, Harry wondered how it had got there—but there were more pressing matters to deal with.
"You've got to help me, Tom," Harry said, raising Nyx's head again. "We've got to get her out of here. There's a basilisk... I don't know where it is, but it could be along at any moment... Please, help me."
