Chapter Text
After his embarrassing mishap — petrifying Colin Creevey instead of Lockhart, like he had intended —Tom considered giving up this whole Chamber of Secrets business all together.
Initially, it had been a way to prove to himself. To assert that no, while Lord Voldemort may have been weakened, he was not gone. He was not dead. Lord Voldemort did not die. Even Tom Riddle, changeable as he may be, did not die, not truly. That damnable wraith may be languishing in the forests of Albania, biding his time like the coward he was, but Tom would not wait around. Would not let his reputation become so utterly, ridiculously tarnished that the world proclaimed a twelve year old their savior.
But as for this Chamber business, he hadn’t been having the best of luck lately.
He blamed the basilisk. Her eyesight was already not up to par, even back when he had first stirred her from her slumber. And she was terribly hungry. Tom of all people knew how annoying it was to work on an empty stomach. He had been, while possessing an unaware Lucy, sneaking into the Forbidden Forest and catching whatever game he could manage within the scant hours of physical form he was afforded. But a few rabbits and birds could hardly satisfy a basilisk. Nothing would, short of allowing the beast to devour every student and teacher in the castle, as well as the whole of Hogsmeade Village, and probably a few muggle towns beyond that. And while Tom had no love for anyone in this castle, he had a general respect for the sanctity of Hogwarts itself. So the basilisk would just have to make do with what she had.
Even if it meant she missed every goddamn target Tom set out for her. He needed one win. Just ONE win.
Lucy had been quite upset by Creevey’s fate, it was rather annoying of her. If he could have hexed her for moping over it, he would have. He was trying to get Lockhart out of her — out of their hair. Tom didn’t particularly like attending Defense Against the Dark Arts with Lucy any more than she did. But, he supposed something good did come out of his petrifying Colin Creevey. Tom had accidentally convinced the populace that no mudblood was safe.
Tom wasn’t even thinking of mudbloods this year. He just wanted something to do. Get his name out there. It was getting too peaceful around here anyway. And he really hadn’t appreciated how that filthy old squib manhandled his vessel — bruised it. Tom waited fifty years to experience walking in a body again, and now he had to deal with an aching wrist?
The harm to Lucy herself had nothing to do with it. It didn’t. She was just his — A — useful vessel.
Anyway, plans of further terrorism were on hold. He came a bit strong out the gate anyway — he’d intended to kill Filch, and that cat would have died if not for the puddle of water nearby — but Lockhart was only ever meant to be petrified. He didn’t want the school to shut down, then he’d be stuck with Lucy in muggle London for ages until the school governors worked up the nerve to open up again.
(The thought of killing her and coming back to life, oddly enough, did not occur to him.)
And he rather enjoyed attending Hogwarts again. Lucy certainly made it entertaining. He almost didn’t even need to possess her, but then again, he did enjoy his jaunts. And Halloween of all times was simply irresistible.
He remembered after he’d forced her to faint, the little adventure he had afterward. Walking as quickly as Lucy’s frame would allow for, he’d set out to see if his basilisk had succeeded in the target he instructed her to kill. He had expected to come across a dead caretaker, the way his basilisk eagerly led him through the corridors.
Tom stared with disbelief at the sight of a singular mangy old cat.
It wasn’t even dead.
“This was NOT the plan,” Tom said, seething. Lucy’s little voice hardly made him sound menacing, but the basilisk flinched backward all the same.
“The scent…” began the serpent, trying to defend itself. Tom’s glare lashed at the basilisk —
Worm.
What.
Worm, Lucy’s voice in his head supplied.
Tom internally panicked. She wasn’t supposed to be conscious. She’d never been conscious in the past when he possessed her, he only ever caught glimpses of her dreams. He hurried to stuff her down, imagining a little yellow box in his mind to seal her in.
Anyway. The basilisk —
Worm. Call her worm. Lucy’s voice rang out again.
“Shut up. You don’t even know what’s happening,” Tom thought scathingly.
A boring dream with a big worm. Hey you should kill Filch.
Tom was so desperate to silence whatever consciousness Lucy was stirring into that he willingly absorbed a minuscule amount of her soul, her life force, just to get her to shut up. He waited for a moment, and there was silence. No Lucies prattling in his head. Good.
Now.
Back to the cat.
He could work with this.
He banished the worm — BASILISK —back to her chamber, before addressing the scene before him. The feast would be ending soon so he had to work fast. Right. Okay. He had a petrified cat. Make it scary. SOMEHOW, make it scary.
He thought about hanging it from the ceiling with a rope, but that seemed a bit too on the nose. Dumbledore would recognize immediately that Tom was somewhere in the castle. And if Lucy ever found out about what he did to that bunny in his youth, she might — MIGHT —connect the dots. It was unlikely, but possible. So hanging was out.
Ha. Hanging out.
Tom ate a little bit more of her soul.
He was taking too long to decide now so just went ahead and hung the cat by its tail, so he could write an appropriately ominous message by the time the feast ended.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED
Blunt, yet ominous…. It needed a little something more…
Make it rhyme, Lucy’s voice said.
SHUT UP.
He was going to absorb her entire soul at this point.
YOU shut up. It’s MY dream, RIDDLE. So RHYME.
Tom grumbled, thinking to himself, wand in hand… Enchanted red paint was still dripping from the end of it, he’d have to remember to wash it off before he returned them to the hospital wing… ‘Chamber of Secrets has been opened… Enemies of the Heir…’
Be scared?
No.
Don’t dare?
Worse.
Beware?
…Actually, that wasn’t too bad. Tom owned it as his own idea and hastily finished writing the message. He heard voices approaching from down the corridor, and promptly turned and sprinted as fast as he could back to the hospital wing, casting a disillusionment spell on him — her, them, whatever —for good measure. Maybe eating slivers of Lucy’s soul tonight had not been such a good idea, because good Merlin he was tired…
He climbed into bed, grateful that the matron was still in her office, otherwise he would have had to modify her memory. Perhaps kill her. One of the two.
He felt his soul slip out from the vessel, back to the familiar void that was his diary. As soon as his head hit the pillow, Lucy Rochester’s eyes snapped open.
And she felt like she had just been running a marathon. Quickly, she sat up in bed and looked toward the clock on the wall.
Nearly midnight.
She’d missed the feast.