The Tenth Weasley - CH - 75

The cold, damp air of the lower dungeons clung to Harry’s skin as they descended deeper into the ancient underground passage. Flickering torches that hadn’t burned in a thousand years suddenly lit themselves as they passed, casting long shadows on the moss-covered stone walls. The silence was overwhelming—oppressive, even—as though the very walls were holding their breath.

Charlie, Ron, and Neville followed closely, their faces pale but determined. They had seen the shedded skin earlier—a length of molted scale that could have wrapped around the entire Gryffindor common room—and the reality of what they were facing had sunk in. But pride, fear of ridicule, and the desire to right the wrongs in Hogwarts kept their feet moving.

“Bloody hell,” whispered Ron, looking around nervously. “This place makes the Forbidden Forest feel like a summer picnic.”

“Keep it together,” muttered Charlie, clutching the rooster cage in his arms. “We go in, we find Tracy, we get out.”

Neville didn’t say anything. He held Harry’s second invisibility cloak tightly and looked like he was preparing to faint—or scream.

When they reached the massive door at the end of the tunnel, the sight stole what little breath they had left. The gate was forged from dark iron and shaped into interwoven serpents, each one bearing emeralds for eyes. In the center, the largest serpent coiled around a carved face—stern, regal, and unmistakably Slytherin.

Harry turned to the three boys. “Remember the plan. Stay hidden. No matter what you see, don’t reveal yourselves unless I give the signal. The rooster’s crow is fatal to the Basilisk. Keep them quiet and ready.”

Charlie nodded, gripping the cage tighter.

Harry handed them his invisibility cloak and motioned for them to pull it on.

“Don’t get any heroic ideas,” Harry added, looking at Ron. “Just because your dad’s a war hero doesn’t mean you have to be one.”

“I’ll keep them in check,” muttered Charlie, casting a glance at Ron and Neville.

With that, Harry turned back to the door.

He took a deep breath, placed his hand against the central serpent, and leaned in close.

“Open.”

The word hissed from his mouth in Parseltongue, smooth and dark like oil sliding over stone.

The snakes began to slither, twisting around each other with an unnatural grace. The head of Salazar Slytherin shuddered, and with a heavy groan, the gates began to part. Dust filled the air, rising from the cracks in the floor as ancient mechanisms awakened.

As the doors opened, a dim green light spilled out into the tunnel. The chamber beyond was massive, cathedral-like in its scale, with towering stone pillars shaped like coiled serpents reaching high into a ceiling lost in shadow. The air was thick with the stench of decay and stagnant water.

Harry stepped forward alone, wand drawn, heart pounding.

The sound of dripping water echoed through the chamber, each splash like a ticking clock counting down.

Behind him, under the cloak, the mini-marauders followed silently.

Harry looked around.

“Tracy?” he called, his voice echoing unnaturally. “Tracy Davis?”

No answer.

Harry’s footsteps echoed as he advanced cautiously, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. At the far end of the hall, upon the stone altar, lay Tracy Davis—unmoving, pale, and deathly still, but alive.

And standing beside her, bathed in eerie emerald glow, was Tom Riddle.

"You came," Riddle said smoothly, his voice echoing eerily in the chamber. “I was wondering how long it would take you to find your way down here, Harry.”

“Who are you?” Harry whispered aloud.

As if in response, the boy turned, his eyes locking onto Harry’s even through the vision.

“I am Tom Marvolo Riddle,” he said calmly. “You might not know me now, Harry Weasley, but the world will remember me… by another name.”

With a flick of his hand, he wrote the words in midair, the letters rearranging themselves into something far more terrifying.

I am Lord Voldemort.

Harry’s blood ran cold.

Harry’s eyes flicked to Tracy, then narrowed at the boy before him. “What did you do to her?”

Riddle tilted his head, amused. “I didn’t do anything to her. Tracy was my friend, Harry. We had long conversations. You were too busy brooding in your private dormitory to notice someone like her. But she noticed you. She followed you. And when she was pushed away by everyone else, she needed someone to talk to… and I was there.”

His smile widened. “She confided in me. Her anger. Her fear. Her loneliness. I fed it. Gently, patiently. Until she trusted me more than anyone else. Until she opened the diary… fully.”

Harry’s chest tightened. “You possessed her.”

Riddle gave a graceful nod. “She didn’t even know it at first. That’s the beauty of memory magic, of emotional bonding. The more she poured into me, the more I took root. And soon enough, she started waking up with dirt under her nails… memories missing… and students lying cold in the corridors.”

“You used her to attack them,” Harry said through clenched teeth. “Hermione. Astoria. Colin.”

“I didn’t use her,” Riddle corrected smoothly. “I became her. I whispered where to go. What to do. I felt their fear through her eyes. The thrill of the chase. The satisfaction of justice. She hated how everyone treated you, Harry. I just helped her channel that pain.”

Harry stepped closer to Tracy’s body, heart pounding. “Let her go.”

Riddle’s expression darkened slightly. “She’s only a vessel, Harry. A means to return. You of all people should understand. After all… how else do I live again, if not through those who feel forgotten?”

His eyes gleamed.

“Tell me… how does it feel? To be more like me than anyone else in this school?”

The serpents carved along the walls seemed to hiss in agreement, and somewhere far behind, a great body stirred in the shadows.

Harry didn’t respond. He raised his wand.

“I’m here for Tracy.”

Riddle ignored the command. “You’re stronger than I expected,” he said. “To created powerful wards.”

He looked around as though expecting applause. “But this ends here.”

With a wave of his hand, Riddle hissed something in Parseltongue.

The ground trembled.

And with a roar like a collapsing mountain, the Basilisk began to uncoil from the shadows behind the statue.

Its eyes glowed faintly, and Harry could feel the chill of death in the air.

Behind him, under the cloak, Charlie whispered, “Now?”

Harry tensed.

“Wait,” he mouthed.

The Basilisk slithered forward, its body dragging across the stone floor, enormous and terrible.

Riddle stood behind it, arms folded.

“Let’s see how clever you really are,” he said coldly.

Harry gripped his wand tighter, knowing this was the moment that would decide everything.


The chamber trembled as the Basilisk slithered closer, its monstrous form coiling with unnatural strength and malice. Harry stood in the center of the circular stone floor, wand gripped tightly, eyes fixed to the damp stones beneath his feet. He could hear the creature’s massive body sliding, the echo of scales dragging against ancient stone reverberating around him. He dared not look up.

And then, calmly, he said one word.

“Now.”

From the dark archway above, Charlie hurled the enchanted cage with precision. It hurtled through the air, a small, compact iron construct glittering with runes, and landed just ahead of Harry with a solid clink. With no hesitation, Harry shouted, “Alohomora!”

The cage creaked open, the tiny door flinging wide—and from within, ten magical roosters burst forth, clucking madly and flapping into the air. But they were silent.

Not a single crow.

Panic twisted in Harry’s gut until he raised his wand again and sent a harmless but stinging curse at the nearest bird. It squawked in pain, flapped violently—and let out a shrill crow. The other roosters, startled by the noise and now jostled and cursed by the rest of the mini-marauders—Ron, Neville, and Charlie—joined in the cacophony, their cries echoing across the stone chamber.

The effect was instant.

The Basilisk screamed.

It reared, body flailing, slamming into the columns with such force the ground shook beneath their feet. Its eyes, protected behind milky lids, still bulged and wept venom. It curled in agony, writhing in circles, coiling in pain until, with a sickening thud, its body slumped and stopped moving.

The Basilisk—the terror of Hogwarts—was dead.

But the voice that followed chilled Harry more than the serpent’s scream.

“You planned this,” said a cold, smooth tone behind him.

Harry turned to find Tom Riddle standing tall and pale, still not solid, but more corporeal than before. His eyes were unreadable, his posture regal and assured, and his gaze fixed directly on Harry.

“You planned this,” Riddle repeated, voice lined with venom now. “You knew the secret. You brought roosters. Clever. And so very Weasley of you—to fight filth with farmyard animals.”

“I fight with what works,” Harry replied, stepping between the boys and the dead snake. “And it worked.”

Tom's form flickered with anger.

“Get the diary!” Charlie whispered from under the cloak.

Harry didn’t hesitate. He darted toward Tracy, reaching for the diary in her pale fingers. The moment he touched it, Tom shrieked, “NO!”

Magic exploded outward like a shockwave, knocking the others back. Tom screamed again, more furious now. “You don’t know what you’re doing! You can’t destroy it!”

Spells flew as Charlie and Neville burst from under the cloak, casting everything they could remember.

“Stupefy!”

“Expelliarmus!”

“Confringo!”

None of the spells touched Riddle. They passed through him like smoke.

Harry stared at the diary, then at the corpse of the Basilisk. A cursed object must be destroyed. The words echoed in his mind.

“Keep him distracted!” he shouted, rushing to the serpent’s massive skull.

He climbed onto its cracked jaw, pried open its maw, and grunted as he reached in to pull loose one of the long, venom-dripping fangs.

Tom’s scream cracked the air. “DON’T YOU DARE!”

Harry slammed the diary into the Basilisk’s mouth and shoved the fang through its cover with both hands. Black ink poured from the pages like blood. The diary shuddered, and Tom Riddle shrieked in agony.

“No—NO! I am Lord Voldemort! I—!”

But the voice became smoke, the body losing substance, shredding into nothing. The shadows around them brightened, the cold air lifting. Then, silence.

Tracy Davis gasped and sat upright with a violent jolt, blinking wildly. Her eyes darted around in confusion. “W-Where... what happened?”

Harry dropped the ruined diary and slid down from the Basilisk’s head. He knelt beside her.

“It’s over,” he said quietly. “You’re safe now.”

Behind him, Charlie and Ron were catching their breath. Neville stared at the steaming remains of the diary, as if he’d just seen a horcrux destroyed—though none of them yet understood what that truly meant.

The burst of flame singed the edges of the stone floor as Fawkes, the majestic phoenix, emerged from the air, golden feathers glinting in the dim light of the Chamber. With grace and purpose, the bird soared above them before hovering steadily just above Harry's head.

“Grab hold!” Harry shouted, his voice echoing through the chamber.

Charlie grasped Tracy’s arm while Harry reached for Neville and Ron, pulling them all close together. The phoenix descended gently, its talons resting on Charlie’s shoulder. In an instant, flames erupted again—warm, blinding, and safe—and when the light faded, they were standing in the polished grandeur of the Headmaster’s office.

Dumbledore was already there, as if he’d known they’d arrive this way. Beside him stood James and Lily Potter, Arthur and Molly Weasley, and Lord Greengrass, his face pale with worry.

Harry took a deep breath. “It wasn’t me. The heir of Slytherin—it wasn’t a person. It was a memory. A cursed diary.”

Silence fell.

And then Harry held up the broken remnants of the black diary, still steaming where it had been pierced by the basilisk fang.

“It was Tom Riddle,” Harry said. “A memory of Voldemort that possessed Tracy through this diary. He made her open the Chamber. He used her.”

Gasps broke out across the room.

Dumbledore stepped forward, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Then the truth is clear. Harry is not heir of Slytherin. He is the boy who saved Hogwarts.”

Molly burst into tears.

And for the first time in months, Harry felt the weight lift from his shoulders—not because they believed in him, but because the truth could finally speak for itself.