Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6889
Characters: Lina McLaggen, Tom Riddle, Walburga Black, unnamed elderly witch (OC), Jovis McLaggen (OC), Albus Dumbledore, Myrtle Jorkins, Armando Dippet, Galatea Merrythought, Claudia Zeller (OC), Miss Bones (OC)

If you were to ask each of the Hogwarts houses what it means to be a Gryffindor, you'd probably end up with four different answers. Gryffindors themselves will harp on proudly about bravery in the face of the odds and great feats of heroism. Ravenclaws might even agree with them, going so far as to point out several places in their history books where great historical Gryffindors have Saved the Day. The more naturally-cautious Hufflepuffs will probably tell you that Gryffindors have a tendency to dive into dangerous situations headfirst, and stick their noses into things that don't concern them. "Curiosity killed the cat," they might even add. And Slytherins? Well, everyone knows what they say: that Gryffindors are all hot air and arrogance, and that one usually has to be dead to be proclaimed a hero.

Who do I think is right? Well, they all are, in a way. Some Gryffindors are more one than the others, and for some of us, it depends upon what day of the week it is, or which way the wind is blowing. One thing upon which all the houses can most likely agree is that, if someone is doing something for shock value, nine times out of ten, that person is a Gryffindor.

When I was Sorted to the red and gold six years ago, the Sorting Hat said a number of things to me that I don't care to repeat here, but I will tell you that it was quiet for a long time when I put it on, and when it made its final judgment, its cry of "Gryffindor!" was tinged with a reluctance which only I seemed to notice. I'm not really even sure why it put me there, when you come right down to it, except that McLaggens traditionally inhabit that house, and I am a McLaggen, regardless of who my mother was.

So which kind of Gryffindor am I? Well, that's easy enough; I'm a shock-value Gryffindor. And for my next trick, I'll be bagging myself a Slytherin.

It almost never happens, you know. The rivalry between the houses tends to crush any sort of romantic notions in its path, and me on the Quidditch team, too! But there's nothing I enjoy so much as a really good look of openmouthed disbelief. Besides, the one I have my eye on is quite a dish. Dark hair, dark eyes, clever, popular, and tall as I am, though he's a year or two younger. Well, that just makes it more shocking, doesn't it? Good.

I know it's forward of me to be doing the asking, but that's part of the fun. Even better, I get to ask him in front of Walburga Black. She's a Slytherin in my year, and I know she's had her eye on him too, but she's sour-faced as a hag, and just not meant for something as tasty as he is.

"Tom," I say, biting my lip as though I'm nervous to be asking, which I'm not. "It's Hogsmeade next weekend. Do you fancy stepping out with me?"

He gives me a long, appraising look from my eyes to my toes and back again. I know what he sees. I'm too tall for a girl, and skinny as a stick, lacking all the womanly curves boys like so much. And that's not to mention the specs. But I do have rather pleasing sleek, black hair, and enough of a reputation for most boys to think they might be in with a chance.

At last, a slow smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "All right," he says. "Could be fun."

So I have an engagement with Tom Riddle for next weekend.

Tom is different from other boys. More of a mystery. He's a challenge, but I'm never sure what kind -- as if he's made of secrets. Not to say I don't have secrets. I do, and good ones! But other boys I've been out with -- and there have been a few, despite the specs and knobby knees -- have been all hands and hopeful compliments. Not Tom. I can't tell if he's really interested or not, and that intrigues me.

He likes to talk about people. Not that he's a gossip, but he speculates. He seems to love nothing more than watching people and trying to determine what motivates them and why. Like he's an observer of humanity without taking part.

We are in Hogsmeade, sipping butterbeer on the grass beside the Three Broomsticks, enjoying an unseasonably pleasant October day, and he wants to talk about Dumbledore, of all things. Professor Dumbledore is our Transfiguration master, and the head of my house. Tom is asking me questions like I should know the man better than he does.

"I don't know," I say for the third time. "I hardly see him outside of meals and lessons, same as you. Why do you care so much, anyway?"

Tom shrugs and throws me a disarming smile. Something inside me goes a bit wobbly. "I just thought you might be able to tell me something new," he says. "I mean, almost all the Slytherins are on friendly terms with old Sluggy. I thought you could give me the inside scoop on Dumbledore. He doesn't like me, you know."

My brows draw together. "Doesn't he? Are you sure, Tom?" I've never heard of him taking a dislike to a student before.

Tom grins in a way that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, there's a lot you don't know about me, Lina," he says with a wink. "I have a dark and shadowy past."

"You?" I laugh. "You're not old enough to have any kind of past at all!"

He raises an eyebrow. "Well, I've always been a bit advanced for my years."

And suddenly he's kissing me. I'm so surprised I almost pull away. My heart is pounding and my mind is racing. Why is he doing this? It's as if he's not doing it because he wants to, but because he wants to see what will happen. All right, then. I'll show him.

I lean in, parting my lips to taste his mouth, and he responds in kind. We stay like that a moment, until a disgusted "Tcha!" severs us.

We look up to see an elderly witch with a crup on a lead gazing down her nose at us in disapproval.

"You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves!" she says primly. Her eyes fix on my knee where my robes have ridden up to expose the tops of my stockings. "That is no way for a proper young lady to behave!"

I give her cold look for cold look. "Then go tell that to a proper young lady, you old hag."

With a shocked intake of breath, the woman turns and walks away quickly.

"Lina!" says Tom, sounding impressed. "I think I'm in love."

He's not, of course, and I look at him for a moment, wondering if he ever could be. Or if I'd ever want him to be. He's pretty enough. Nice enough for kissing. But he's so --

"Cold," I mutter.

"What?"

"I'm cold," I say. "Let's go back up to the castle."

That's not the last time I stepped out with Tom Riddle. He may be a bit odd, but he's also intelligent, which is appealing, and, as I probably mentioned, not too bad in the looks and kissing departments. Also, I like a challenge, and he is definitely that. I think I'll play the "older woman" and see if I can't bend this young Slytherin to my will.

One thing I learn about him in the weeks following our first kiss is that Tom loves Hogwarts. Really loves it. It seems like he knows everything there is to know about its history, and any time he finds something that he doesn't know, he'll spend every waking moment in the library, or exploring dusty, forgotten corridors, until he does. Sometimes, he'll invite me along on these "expeditions", as he calls them.

Today, I find him in the library, absorbed in a weighty tome containing especially small print, oblivious to the first snows of December falling past the windows.

"What are you looking for now?" I ask, leaning over his shoulder.

He slams the book shut and looks up at me for a long time before saying, "Let's go for a walk, shall we?" in a very odd voice.

I have to walk quickly to keep up with him as he takes this turn and that, at last coming to a halt in a long-disused corridor.

"Tom!" I giggle, trying to catch my breath. "You know you don't have to go to all this trouble just to kiss me. I'm perfectly happy to kiss you in the library. Let them stare, I say."

But he's looking around, up and down the corridor and out the high, narrow window and through an age-dark door and behind a dusty tapestry of two bearded wizards with crossed staffs.

"What are you doing, Tom?" I ask, puzzled.

"Shhh!" he hisses harshly.

At last, satisfied that there is no one within earshot, he comes to stand very close, and leans to whisper in my ear.

"Do you know the legend of the Chamber of Secrets?" he asks, breathlessly.

I think for a moment. It does sound familiar, but I can't place it.

"I've been looking for it for ages," Tom continues quickly and softly, rocking back on his heels. "It's a legend from the time of the Founders, you know? Godric Gryffindor and that lot."

I nod.

"Well, the legend says that just before old Salazar Slytherin left the school for good, he built a secret chamber. You know how he believed in the purity of wizarding blood, and the others were all about that 'equal rights for mudbloods' nonsense?"

He is testing me, I can tell. Most Gryffindors are all for bringing Muggle-borns and half-bloods into the wizarding world, but I come from an old pure-blood family, and I understand that magic is best left to those who are born and raised to it. Those with Muggle connections only endanger our world, threatening us with exposure. Again, I nod.

"Right," he says. "Well, in his secret chamber, Slytherin put a monster of some sort that would live pretty much forever, and could only be controlled by him and his heirs. And when he left, he vowed that one day his heir would return to open the chamber and use the monster to wipe out all the mudbloods from the school."

"What kind of monster is it suppose to be?" I ask, intrigued.

Tom shrugs. "No one knows. But I want to find out. I'm going to find the Chamber of Secrets and try to open it. And you're going to help me."

"All right," I say. "Let's do that."

There is another thought forming in the back of my mind, but he cuts it off with a swift, fierce kiss. He is excited, but not, I think, by me. He's excited about this idea -- this mysterious Chamber of Salazar Slytherin's. But it doesn't matter. The end result is the same.

I break the kiss and give him an enticing look. "We can start looking later," I tell him. "Besides, I think better on my back."

The look he gives me is one I cannot interpret. "I know a place," is all he says.

That night, I lie in the darkness of my curtained bed, recalling a most enjoyable afternoon spent with Tom in one of Hogwarts' many guest rooms (usually locked, but there are ways around that). I am still trying to decide whether or not it was his first time. He had seemed interested in the proceedings, but I've known more experienced boys who were far more excited than Tom seemed. He hadn't been an expert lover, by any means, but he had known what went where, which, at not-quite-sixteen, was as much as could be expected.

Lingering upon the memory is pleasant enough, but Tom's words of earlier in the afternoon are still nagging at the back of my mind, and they deserve consideration. A monster, he had said, which can only be controlled by Slytherin and his heirs.

My father, Jovis McLaggen, comes from a long line of Gryffindors, and is very proud of that fact. He sent me to Hogwarts with a red and gold scarf before I was even Sorted, and when I made Chaser on the house Quidditch team, he bought me the finest racing broom money could buy -- a Cleansweep Three -- and he came to see me play in my first match.

I never knew my mother. She died not long after I was born. When I was younger, I asked my father about her. He told me she came from an old wizarding family which had fallen on hard times. When I asked if he missed her, he looked at me a little sadly and said that it was an arrangement of convenience, which her father had asked for, and he really hadn't known her for very long.

I was too young then to understand what that meant -- "an arrangement of convenience" -- but when I asked again not so many years ago, he told me that my mother had become infatuated with a Muggle, much to the horror of her family, and her father had quickly arranged a marriage for her to the first pure-blood man who would have her.

"'Slytherin's blood will never mix with a filthy Muggle's,' her father told me."

"Was she really Slytherin's blood?" I had asked him.

My father had smiled at that. "I really couldn't say, Lina. But she certainly believed she was."

If my mother was indeed Slytherin's blood, then so am I, and if I can find this Chamber of Secrets, I can prove it. For shock-value, that would definitely trump a Gryffindor bedding down with a Slytherin.

With a smile, I turn over and close my eyes, drifting into dreams of stunned onlookers, who watch, openmouthed, as I ride Slytherin's monster out of the Chamber of Secrets. And in my dreams no one is more shocked than the unflappable Tom Riddle. I don't think I'll tell him I'm Slytherin's heir, though. Not yet.

After the first time, Tom takes every opportunity he can to get us some privacy for another quick go-around. But the pleasure he gets from our trysting feels wrong somehow. It's not passion and it's not desire and it doesn't even seem like the usual sort of teenage male lust. He gets an odd satisfaction from having me every chance he gets.

Sometimes, I think it might be exciting to get caught, but so far, we have barely kissed where anyone can see us. And that's why I'm puzzled when Professor Dumbledore calls me into his office.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Sit down, Miss McLaggen." The Transfiguration master looks unusually grave. I sit.

"Miss McLaggen," he says, steepling his fingers. "It has come to my attention that you and Mr Riddle have -- er -- formed something of an attachment, shall we say?"

I see no reason to deny it. I nod.

He sighs, stroking his auburn beard as if choosing his next words carefully. "Please understand that I do not, as a rule, interfere in the personal associations of my students without good cause. But in this case, I must insist that you do not pursue your relationship with Mr Riddle any further. Am I understood?"

"Why, Professor?" I ask curiously.

He purses his lips. "I would rather not say. It is a subject of some delicacy. I would not ask it of you if it were not important, Miss McLaggen."

The look in his eyes gives me pause. "All right," I lie, eyes large and innocent behind my specs. "I'll break it off with Tom. How long could it last, anyway? A Gryffindor and a Slytherin?"

Of course, I go straight to Tom and tell him what Dumbledore said.

"It's odd that he wouldn't want me seeing you, though, isn't it? I mean, usually he's all about uniting the houses, and how we should all be friends."

Tom only shrugs. "I told you he didn't like me."

"Well, what do you think we should do?" I ask. "Can he stop us seeing one another if he really wants to?"

"Do you want to stop seeing me?" Tom's eyes are dark and unfathomable.

"Of course I don't."

"Good. I have no intention of abiding by Dumbledore's injunction," he says firmly. "We'll just have to maintain our distance in public."

I somewhat reluctantly agree, but in reality the thrill of shocking people by kissing a Slytherin in public pales in comparison to the thrill of sneaking sex, and maybe getting caught in the act.

Once we begin our search for the Chamber of Secrets in earnest, though, Tom seems just as excited about that as he is about the possibility of getting me alone. He has a methodical mind, drawing up sketches of the castle and explaining the patterns of Hogwarts' moving floor plan. His knowledge of the castle itself is as profound as his understanding of its history.

Tom has been searching off and on since he learned of the Chamber in his second year, but to no avail. Many areas of the castle, he has already scrutinised. He is experienced in measuring the thickness of walls and floors and the distance along corridors, looking for discrepancies and places where secret spaces might be concealed, and he teaches me to do the same.

We divide up the castle into different areas of accessibility: places we may go with impunity, places only a Slytherin or a Gryffindor may go, places only a boy or a girl may go. Some areas are off-limits to either of us, and we will need to create opportunities to search them. In the meantime, there are plenty of places within the castle and grounds where access is not an issue.

The Chamber will be well-concealed, Tom reasons, but it should be marked in some way. Old Slytherin meant for his heir to find and recognise it, after all. We can safely rule out areas of the school traditionally occupied by the other three houses of Hogwarts. Why would Slytherin have concealed his Chamber in Gryffindor's tower, for example? But the school is a big place, and even working together, we spend months in fruitless searching.

It's almost by accident when I find something early in the spring.

I'm not feeling quite myself today, and I've ducked out of Arithmancy to visit the girls' toilets and splash a little cool water on my face. When I open the door, my ears are assailed by the sound of angry sobs. I groan. Myrtle Jorkins. She's always crying and she's always in here. Nobody likes her.

Ignoring her wails of distress, I go to the sink and turn on the tap. Nothing happens. Bugger. I always forget this is the sink that doesn't work. Why doesn't someone fix it?

I go to the next sink and turn on the cold water, splashing some onto my face. Turning my head to glare at the useless, offending tap, I freeze, water dripping from the end of my nose. There, faint but unmistakable, is a tiny serpent, scratched into the side of the tap.

It can't be, I think. This wasn't a loo in Slytherin's day. There were no taps.

Experimentally, I twist the broken tap again. It turns easily, but nothing happens.

I bend my head down into the sink and peer up the tap. "Open Sesame!" I say, feeling rather foolish.

"What are you doing?" says a thick, sniffly voice close behind me.

I jump, banging my forehead on the metal tap, and spin around, cursing in a most unladylike fashion. Myrtle Jorkins is standing there, staring at me suspiciously.

"Nothing," I snap, feeling unbalanced and not a little nauseated. "Don't you know it's not nice to sneak up on people like that?"

She peers at me through her thick specs. "Are you all right?" she asks. "Only, you look like you've just seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," I say, pushing rudely past her. I'll just have to come back for another look at the tap later.

By the time I get a chance to take Tom aside and tell him of my discovery, I'm feeling much better.

"But I don't think it can be anything to do with the Chamber," I finish. "I mean, the plumbing's modern, isn't it?"

He rubs his mouth thoughtfully. "You're probably right," he says at last. "But I'll go have a look later, just to be sure."

"It's in the girls' toilets, Tom!" I exclaim, scandalised.

He gives me a grin. It's not often he's able to shock me. "Well, we haven't done it there yet, have we?"

"No," I agree, half amused. "Not yet."

"Fancy going for a walk?" That's become our code for finding a little privacy.

"Not right now, Tom," I tell him. My head is still throbbing from where I banged it on the tap. "I'm feeling a little tired. I'm going to lie down for a bit before supper."

It's the longest Tom and I have gone without having sex since we started last December. In almost a week since my discovery in the toilets, I've barely seen him. To complicate matters, I've made a second discovery I ought to tell him about, and he's probably not going to like this one.

Passing him in a corridor on my way to Potions, I lay a hand on his arm. "What's going on, Tom?"

He only smiles and leans in to murmur, "You'll see," in my ear.

"Can I have a word with you sometime?" I ask, but he's already walking away.

Two days later, he's right; I do see. And, as it turns out, I see a lot more than I want to.

I'm lingering outside the hospital wing, debating with myself whether or not to go in and speak with Madam Zeller, the matron, when I hear a commotion on the steps behind me. Without thinking, I duck behind the heavy oak door to hide.

Coming up the steps are Headmaster Dippet, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Merrythought, the elderly Defence Against the Dark Arts mistress. And floating in front of them is -- a body. My stomach turns over and I feel faint. The girl -- a Hufflepuff I know by sight, but not by name -- wears an expression of rigid surprise, and her limbs stick out stiffly at odd angles. The three professors, grim-faced, guide their burden into the hospital wing.

Standing as close to the door as I dare without being seen, I hear Madam Zeller's cry of shock when she sees what the professors have brought her.

"Oh, Galatea! What's happened?"

"She's not dead, Claudia," Professor Merrythought informs her grimly, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "I believe she has been petrified in some way. It may be possible to restore her."

"But how did it happen?" the matron cries.

"We do not know." This time, it's Dumbledore's soothing voice which answers her. "Please, try to calm yourself, Claudia. I believe the girl is in no immediate danger."

"I must send word to her parents. Miss Bones is a member of my house," says Professor Merrythought stiffly, and hurries off. I duck back behind the door just in time.

Inside the hospital wing, the matron is fussing over the petrified girl, trying to pull the blankets up over her awkwardly-bent limbs. The Headmaster and Dumbledore are speaking together in low voices. They are close enough to the door that I can hear what they are saying.

"Did I see what I thought I saw, Albus?" Headmaster Dippet wheezes. "My eyesight is not as good as it once was."

"Do you mean the writing on the wall above Miss Bones?" Dumbledore replies grimly.

"Tell me what it said, Albus; there's a good lad."

Dumbledore sighs. "It said, 'Slytherin's Heir Returns Triumphant. The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened'."

"But what does it mean, Albus?" wheezes the Headmaster.

"I don't know, Armando," replies Dumbledore. "But I mean to find out."

Well, they may not know what it means, but I bloody well do! There's only one other person besides me who's been searching for the Chamber of Secrets for months now, and I'm betting that little serpent I found in the girls' toilets last week is no coincidence.

It has to be Tom that's opened the Chamber. But how can it be? I'm the one who has Slytherin blood. He was raised in a Muggle orphanage, if the rumours are true. Slytherin's heir just can't be spawned from Muggles. It's not possible. But there's one way to check, and with Dumbledore busy, it shouldn't be hard to manage it.

The room containing the Hogwarts Book is next to Dumbledore's office, since he is Deputy Headmaster, and has jurisdiction over things like sending letters to new students. The Book is very large and very old, and it lies open to a half-filled page on an old oak stand with a quill poised over its age-darkened parchment. Whenever a magical child is born in Britain, the quill inscribes a new line, noting that child's name, along with the date and time of birth, the names of the child's parents, and, if the parents were magical as well, page number references to find their own entries in the Book.

Standing before the Book, I carefully turn the pages back eighteen years to the date of my own birth. There I am: Marvolina McLaggen, 4 October 1925, born to Jovis McLaggen and Merope Eurydice Gaunt. My father's ancestry might be interesting to explore, but for now, it's my mother's family I need to know about. I flip back further still to her own birth in 1908 to Marvolo Gaunt, my grandfather and namesake, and his wife, Maud Gaunt, and then back to find Marvolo's father and grandfather. Unfortunately, the Gaunt line ends abruptly in the early sixteenth century with Matthias of Ghent, who came over from the Netherlands. His ancestors, of course, are not included in the Book. Frustrated, I flip back and try another branch.

It takes over an hour, but at last I find it. It is in the Peverell line that I finally locate my connection to Salazar Slytherin. It is only a few pages from the start of the Book, and the ink is faded with age. But it is there. Alys Peverell bore a son to Salazar Slytherin -- the beginning of my line. Reverently, I touch the names of my remote ancestors.

Well, that proves it. Now, all I need is to check Tom's line. I flip back to my own page, and then forward a couple more. Tom is two years younger than I am, and was born on New Years Eve. Yes, there he is. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Marvolo?! But --

And that is when I make my third discovery. I stare in horror at the page before me, where the words are printed, clear and undeniable against the pale parchment: Tom Marvolo Riddle, 31 December 1927, born to Tom Riddle and Merope Eurydice Gaunt.

No! This is insane! It absolutely cannot be true! My mother died! Tom Riddle can't possibly be my -- brother! I turn my head and vomit on the stone floor.

For several moments, I stand in denial, staring at the mess I've made, my hands clasped over my stomach. Oh, God! What am I going to do? I have to tell him. At least then, I will have someone with whom to share my horror.

Decision made, I shakily draw my wand and clean up the mess, then turn the pages forward to the half-finished one, hiding the evidence of the most shocking thing I've ever done. I've lost all relish for inspiring stunned looks. Now, all I want to do is hide.

I find Tom leaning against the bannister, watching a stream of subdued and whispering students enter the Great Hall for dinner, with an extremely smug expression on his face. Of course. In my agitation, I had almost forgotten about the petrified Hufflepuff in the hospital wing.

"Tom," I say, stepping between him and his view. "I need to talk to you. Now."

"All right," he shrugs.

I turn and stride off to the nearest empty classroom, not looking back to see if he is following. He is. I shut the door, locking it behind us.

"Lina," he says with a smirk. "I know it's been a few days, but I had no idea you missed me so much."

I slap him hard across the face. The smirk vanishes.

"You -- you --!" I am almost too angry to speak. "You opened the bloody Chamber, didn't you? Without telling me? And that girl --!"

"Well, it was mine to open, wasn't it?" he replies airily. "I'm Slytherin's heir, as it turns out."

I bite back my first reply to this. It's going to be a shock to him. I have to do this the right way. Taking a deep breath, I lay a conciliatory hand on his arm.

"Tom," I say, "that's not actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm sorry. I was upset. Tom -- I'm pregnant." I hold my breath.

His face remains unreadable for a moment, and then -- then a slow smile spreads across it. This time, it reaches his eyes.

"Really?" he says. "That's wonderful! On the day I've declared myself Slytherin's true heir, the line of succession is secured. An excellent omen. My son will have the secret of Slytherin's Chamber after me."

He's actually pleased about it! Well, he won't be when I tell him the rest.

"Tom," I say slowly, choosing my words as carefully as I know how. "Let's sit down."

"Sure."

Sitting opposite one another at two classroom desks, I reach to take his hands, and then draw back. He's my brother. Another wave of nausea assaults me.

"Tom," I say again, not meeting his eyes. "I'm not having this baby. I can't."

"Why not?" He looks no more than puzzled. The smile does not waver.

"I -- I found something out today, Tom." It's incredibly hard to say, even staring at the floor. "I found out your mother's name. It -- it's the same as my mother's. I'm your sister, Tom -- your half-sister. I can't have this baby."

He goes very still. When I look up to meet his eyes at last, he sighs. "I had hoped you wouldn't find out so soon, Lina."

"What? You knew?!" I take a deep breath, grasping for rationality. "Is that why we haven't been --? But you just said you were pleased that I'm --? Tom, what in Godric Gryffindor's name are you playing at? How long have you known about this?"

He shrugs. "A few years. When I found out your name was 'Marvolina', I decided to check, because it was so close to my middle name. And then last autumn you invited me to Hogsmeade with you. Well, it was too good an opportunity to pass up, really."

I'm staring at him, my mouth hanging open. He's known that I'm his sister all along, and he still -- I can barely suppress a shudder of revulsion. "I'm not having this baby," I say again.

His expression turns dark at this, and I notice a red cast to his eyes that I've somehow missed before. "That's enough of that nonsense, Lina," he says sternly. "That's my heir you're talking about, and the heir of Salazar Slytherin himself after me. He'll be great. And he'll have Slytherin's blood on both sides."

That makes my blood boil. How dare he presume to tell me what to do? "How can you say that you're his heir?" I hiss, rising from my seat. "Your mother was married to my father when she ran off with that Muggle. If she married him at all, it wasn't valid. You're a bastard and a half-blood, and two years younger than I am! So who's Slytherin's heir now? Tell me that, Tom Riddle!"

I raise my hand to strike him again, but he grabs my wrist hard to stop me.

"You will not lay hands on me, woman," he says coldly. "No silly female can be the heir of Salazar Slytherin. And you will not address me by that Muggle name. My mother named me Tom Marvolo Riddle, but I've taken a new name for myself out of it. From this day forward, I am Lord Voldemort!"

I might have laughed at his pretentiousness in almost any other circumstances, but the look in his eyes is terrifying, and his grip is hurting my wrist.

"Let go, Tom," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "You're scaring me."

He lets go, and turns to leave. "Don't test me, Lina," he says when he reaches the door. "You've seen what I can do to those who vex me. Think about it. I'll give you three days to come to me."

What can I do? Two days have passed. Another student has been found petrified, and the school is in a state of panic. I know who is doing it. I could go and tell them. But then what? To tell them would be to implicate myself. I sought out the Chamber. I found the entrance. I told Tom where to look. And then there's my own Slytherin blood. Who will believe my word -- the Gryffindor showoff -- against that of popular, clever, good-looking Tom Riddle? Apart from that, there's whatever Tom would do to me -- and what he almost certainly will do if I fail to bear this child of his and hand it over to him.

And if I don't tell? What are the Muggle-borns of this school to me, weighed against my own life and safety? If I do hand the child over to him, he might let me go my own way. Or me he might consider me a liability and kill me. I believe he is capable of it. And even if he doesn't, he will stain my name with incest when he declares the child to be Slytherin's blood on both sides.

Well, perhaps not. Who's to know we're not merely cousins? It's not as if anyone knows our mother's name. Except --

Dumbledore. Dumbledore knows. That's why he didn't want me seeing Tom. Stupid! Why didn't he just tell me? I thought he just didn't like Tom.

But he doesn't like Tom, I realise. He might just be willing to believe me if I go to him. Dumbledore is a powerful wizard, and most agree that he's a wise man. He should be more than a match for Tom Riddle.

The only problem is that I'd rather not tell Dumbledore or anyone else what I know about the Chamber, and about my being Slytherin's blood. Because the thing is, I am Slytherin's heir, no matter what Tom may think, and I want whatever power and privilege comes with that title. It's mine by rights, and if I have to bring down Tom Riddle to claim those right, then so be it.

But if I tell Dumbledore that I know about the the Chamber, and that I know I'm of Slytherin's line, then he might become suspicious of me. What I need is to find a way to convince him that I would never do what Tom has done, and to make him swear that he will never reveal to anyone that he knows I am Tom's sister.

"You wished to speak with me, Miss McLaggen?" Professor Dumbledore inquires, giving me a searching look over the tops of his half-moon specs. "Do you perhaps have information regarding the recent occurrences?"

"No, Professor," I say, as meekly as I can manage. "I -- I have a problem, and I need your help."

"Any student may tell me anything, child," he says kindly. "What is troubling you?"

"I'm -- oh, Professor!" I cry in tones of despair. "I'm pregnant!"

A shadow passes across his face, and he blinks at me. "Ah. Is it -- perhaps --?" he inquires delicately.

"Tom," I say miserably, burying my face in my hands so that he cannot judge my expression too closely. I rub my eyes hard, hoping to make them water.

"Hmmm," he says. "Oh, dear."

I look up, biting my lip. "And I know, Professor. Why you didn't want me seeing him. I found out. But it was too late!" I wail. "I was already -- oh, what am I going to do?!"

"Does Mr Riddle know?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"About this?" I ask, poking my belly. "Or that we're --?"

"Either."

"Both," I whisper with feigned reluctance.

The Transfiguration master looks thoughtful. "And what did he have to say about it?"

I don't have to fake a look of disgust. "He acted like he was pleased about it. He scared me. And --" here's the part where I pull out all the stops, and I am pleased to feel tears leaking down my cheeks -- "And he hurt me when I said I didn't want to have it, and that what we had done was wrong!" I wail miserably. "I'm so scared, Professor. Please, I think he might do something awful if I don't get away from him."

Dumbledore looks sympathetic. "I can shield you from him, Marvolina. I can keep you from him until the child is born, and I can keep it safe from him after that."

My look of shocked disbelief is real. "You -- you can't expect me to have this child!"

He sighs, looking suddenly old and tired. "Marvolina, I know these are difficult circumstances, but you must realise there is so little magic left in the world. I cannot recommend the snuffing out of a magical life, even in such an extreme situation. Of course I cannot prevent you from seeking other options, but please consider carefully. I can hide you, and you will have time to think over your decision."

Slowly, I nod. "But -- how long can you keep me hidden, Professor? I think Tom might really be dangerous. Especially to me after this."

Dumbledore must be able to read something in my eyes, because he asks, "What do you have in mind, Miss McLaggen?"

"Well," I say slowly. "I just thought that it might not be safe to be Marvolina McLaggen anymore. I could -- be someone else. It could be like Tom never had a sister."

"You are speaking of abandoning yourself -- giving up your identity. Are you really so frightened of him, child?"

"Yes, Professor," I whisper, lowering my eyes, and I think he believes me. "But Professor, you'd have to promise never to tell anyone who I really am. I think you might be the only one who knows that Tom and I are --" I break off with a calculated shudder.

He is looking at me very seriously. "If you will give me your word, Miss McLaggen, that you will at least consider allowing your child to be born. I will find a safe place for it, and I will find a safe place for you. And no one will ever know your secret from me."

"Do you swear, Professor?" I ask, all trusting guilelessness.

"I do swear it, Marvolina," he says solemnly.

I'm going. I won't say where. Tom doesn't know. He'll be so angry when he finds out! Maybe he'll kill some mudbloods. What do I care? I'll be safe. Maybe I'll even have this baby, just to spite him. The thought of knowing the child is out there in the world, and Tom can't touch it, fills me with satisfaction. Tom was right about one thing; Slytherin must have an heir. I'll give the baby to Dumbledore when it's born. God knows I don't want to raise such a creature. But maybe one day, I'll ask where it is.

In the meantime, I must hide. Remember those secrets I told you I had? Well, I have a perfect way to hide myself, and no one knows about it, but if I mean to have this baby, it would be dangerous to use it before the birth.

One day, I will emerge like a butterfly from a chrysalis -- a new creature with a new name. I've chosen the name already -- taken it from my old one as he did, to taunt him. I should be able to make my way in the Wizarding world, even if no one has ever heard of Minerva McGonagall. I'll have to miss my N.E.W.T.s, but my marks have been consistently excellent, and if I need a job, I'll come to Dumbledore.

After all, the power is here, at Hogwarts. The Chamber is here, and Slytherin's monster, too. I can bide my time here, molding the minds of the young. One day, I will meet my brother again, face to face, and if I ally myself with Dumbledore for now, when that day comes, I will be in a position to strike Tom Riddle down. Then all the power and influence due to the heir of Salazar Slytherin will be mine.

And now, Marvolina McLaggen bids you adieu forevermore.

Gryffindor on the Cusp of Slytherin © 2007 Skjaere