Chapter Two

/ 19 October, 1992

You need to talk to me, y'know. I'm trying, I'm really trying but the teachers keep catching me wandering off on my own. That pansy Lockhart actually gave me detention last night. He doesn't know anything. You don't give a Slytherin like me a detention for being out of the common room too late. Just annoys me, y'know?

Calm yourself, Draco.

You. Where the bloody hell have you been? It's been a month . . . no, it's been more than a month since we last talked. What's wrong with you anyway? I'm trying to show you what you want to see but all you do is-

Silence.

. . . Sorry, Tom.

I've been thinking, Draco. Thinking. Which is more than I can say for you.

I've been trying.

But you haven't been thinking, have you?

Of course I've been thinking.

Well, your thought processes obviously aren't as advanced as I had hoped. What did I expect anyway? You're only thirteen.

Listen, you're trapped in my book. Do you get that? What would you do if I just shut you up and didn't bother with you anymore?

. . .

. . . Tom?

I wish you could see me, Draco. I wish you could see how hard I'm laughing.

Why're you laughing?

You don't get it, do you? You've already released me. It's only a little bit of me but you've still released me. I'm coming back whether you want to help me anymore or not.

. . . Oh.

And Draco?

Yes, Tom?

If you don't help me you'll die just like the rest.

Tom . . . Tom, I'll help.

. . . Tom?

. . .

. . .

Tom, I don't want to die like the rest. /

Draco waited for a response for more than ten minutes but received nothing. Tom had disappeared to . . . well, to wherever it was he disappeared to when he wasn't conversing with Draco. The entire conversation had bothered him somewhat, made him feel a little sick, a little unpleasant inside. His hand was shaking slightly and he dropped his quill to the table in the common room, silently admonishing himself. He wasn't allowed to become shaky and uncertain because he had wanted this.

It wasn't as though he was trying to take back his promise to Tom. He wanted to help more than anything but it wasn't easy when the apparently infallible Dark Lord wouldn't even help him out by communicating with him once in a while. When Draco had opened the book a few days after their first conversation Tom had seemed very angry and he demanded Draco go to the second floor girl's bathroom the first chance he had.

The only problem with that plan was that Draco hadn't had many chances and the ones he did have were all foiled by a random professor or, even worse, a nosy prefect. So far he'd tried to get to the girl's loo exactly six times and every single time someone had caught him. The most recent had definitely been the most appalling when Professor Snape had stumbled over him trying to sneak through the constant puddle outside of the bathroom and arched his eyebrow.

"Going to . . . the bathroom, Draco?" Snape had asked, practically sneering right in Draco's face.

"Uh . . . no, sir. I just wanted to see where the flood was coming from," he had said quickly and then walked briskly in the direction of the Slytherin common room before Snape could decide whether or not to ask more questions.

Draco wasn't afraid of receiving a detention from his head of house, but he wasn't about to answer any questions for Snape that he really didn't have answers for. Voldemort had fallen before Draco was really old enough to remember who had followed him and who hadn't. He had this mental image of Snape's black eyes glittering behind the dark mask of a Death Eater, but it was a little much for Draco to presume his Potion's Master had been a follower of Voldemort without any proof. The last thing he needed was someone finding out about his plan to help Tom and stopping him. He could never be too sure how Snape might react.

Biting his bottom lip pensively, Draco closed the diary and stared at it for a long moment. The common room was mostly empty, those who weren't in the library doing homework were outside enjoying the last of the pleasant weather before storms and snow reached Hogwarts. Perhaps now was the best chance he would have to go to the second floor bathroom, before the students came rushing back to the common room for the night. The halls would more than likely be mostly deserted and if he planned it correctly he could slip in and out before the teachers began to patrol for students who were late getting back.

He stood, tucking the diary into his robes and leaving his quill and inkwell where they sat on the table. If anyone wanted to steal his things he would let them but he didn't want the diary falling into the wrong hands. It seemed stupid to think of, especially when it was just a blank diary but there was no telling what another Slytherin might think to steal. The last thing he needed was to lose the diary when Tom was angry with him. Draco really didn't fancy dying just to let a Dark Lord lose on the world again.

Draco left the common room quickly, avoiding the surprised stares of the other students. He didn't want to answer any questions about where he was going so close to curfew. Instead he swept through the portrait hole and down the hall toward the stairs. He had heard Lockhart going on earlier about a staff meeting that evening and apparently it hadn't let out yet. Not even Filch was prowling the main hall when he got there, though Mrs. Norris did stare at him for a long moment.

He moved past the cat and started up the stairs, his eyes darting carefully in case any prefects decided to sneak up on him. He wasn't necessarily breaking any rules, but if the prefect was from any other house than his own and especially if the prefect was one Percy Weasley they'd want to know exactly where he was going and what he was doing. Come to think of it, Slytherin was unfairly discriminated again. It wasn't as though they were always sneaking about the castle trying to unleash Dark Lords upon the world. It just so happened that Draco was doing just that, but he'd never done anything like it before.

Slipping past the staff room, Draco snuck up the stairs to the second floor and walked down the corridor that led to the flooded bathroom. It was the only bathroom in the entire school that was always completely unusable, so Draco had no idea why Tom needed him to go inside. He had debated asking Blaise Zabini if she knew anything about it but the icy looks he'd been receiving from her for the past three weeks didn't make it seem like she wanted to speak to him at all.

"Ugh," he murmured, tiptoeing through the puddle and slipping into the bathroom. His shoes were soaked and the bottom hem of his cloak wasn't faring much better.

"Well, we're here," he said aloud, surveying the darkened bathroom. "Is it everything you hoped?"

"SHH!" someone hissed suddenly and very loudly.

Draco blinked and stepped backward, his foot landing in a very icy puddle. "Who's there?" he asked.

A ghost floated into sight, twirling a strand of her dark hair around a finger and peering at Draco from behind her thick glasses.

"You needn't be afraid of me," she said softly. "I only wanted you to be quiet. I do hate when people disrupt my toilet."

"Er . . . your toilet?" Draco asked.

The ghost nodded. "Yes. I haunt this toilet. I'm Myrtle."

The name clicked in Draco's mind and he grinned broadly. "You're Moaning Myrtle, eh?"

Myrtle's expression darkened and her lower lip jutted out. "Don't call me that! Everyone calls me that and I hate. Miserable Moaning Myrtle."

Draco's grin grew. "What's so special about this toilet then?" he asked. "You must like it a lot if you haunt it, eh Moaning Myrtle?"

"I said stop it!" she exclaimed, tears welling up in her eyes. "You think you're so smart, don't you? In your silly Slytherin tie and uniform. You don't know what happened in this bathroom."

"Tell me."

"No! Leave me alone," she simpered, floating back toward one of the cubicles.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine. Don't tell me." He turned away and kept surveying the room. "So what exactly do you want here, Tom?"

He waited, studying the row of cracked sinks under the stained mirror. There was nothing, only the sound of Myrtle's pathetic sobs coming from the cubicle she had disappeared into. It Tom had had a real reason for sending him to the bathroom he should have told him. Draco removed the diary from his robes and opened it, staring at the blank page and waiting for some kind of instruction. There was nothing.

"This is ridiculous," he growled, pocketing the book and turning back toward the door.

As he reached for the doorknob he finally heard it. At first it was just a low whisper barely audible to his ears but it grew in volume very quickly. Within seconds the hiss was filling his head, drowning his senses and pulling him inside his own body. It sounded like it was coming from the sinks, so Draco stumbled over, grabbing at the chipped stone to keep himself from tumbling to the ground and stared at the taps. A tiny serpent was staring back at him, it's tongue flickering out over it's fangs and it's hiss filling the room.

Slowly he was able to make out words under the hissing; words that he couldn't string together into coherent sentences.

"Kill."

"Rip."

An especially loud hiss filled his head and then, "Blood."

Then suddenly, he felt him. Draco could feel Tom Riddle enter him, the longer limbs stretching out, and then tucking into his own. His own hands felt alien, he couldn't control anything anymore, not even the turn of his neck. Tom Riddle had flowed into him somehow; he had taken over Draco's body.

My eyes and ears.

The voice filled him, whispering inside of his head and echoing in the recesses of his mind.

"My, my, Myrtle. Still haven't left this ridiculous toilet?" Draco's mouth formed the words and he could hear his voice speaking them but it seemed so faraway.

"I told you to leave me alone," she wailed.

"I'll never leave you alone," Tom said.

The sobbing stopped and Myrtle peeked out from her cubicle. "You sound different."

Draco felt his mouth turn up in a smile. "You know me, Myrtle. You're here because of me."

Her face fell and she stared at him. "I'm here because I died. Because two big yellow eyes stared at me and I died."

"Yes, yes, think what you want."

Myrtle frowned and floated toward Draco's body. He could see everything that was happening but it was beyond him to speak of even move.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

Tom raised one of Draco's hands and waved it dismissively. "Nothing. Go back to crying in the U-Bend."

He turned his back on the ghost, pointedly ignoring her sniffling and moved toward the sinks once more. Draco watched through his own eyes as if he were a stranger in his body. He watched as Tom ran Draco's fingers over the taps as if he was searching for something. He moved down the row and then his eyes caught something glinting in the fading light of the bathroom.

"Here," he murmured. "It's still here." His fingers were running over the serpent that was etched into the tap.

Draco watched his own hands finger the tap lightly without his control. He watched as his body moved away and listened as a breath was heaved into his lungs and expelled quickly. Seconds later as Tom used his body to bend over the sinks his vision blurred slightly.

Tom paused. "Getting tired?"

Draco didn't know how Tom expected him to answer, but apparently whatever he had done was enough.

"It will take time getting used to me," Tom said, still using Draco's voice. "This won't be easy. For tonight I'll let you rest. We'll come back another time."

Just as quickly as he had come, he was gone. Draco collapsed to the floor in a heap and suddenly he could feel his arms and legs again. They were trembling, shocks ran through his body as he tried to stand and found that he couldn't. Everything ached like he'd run a marathon or swum across the lake six times. He felt like he'd never have enough energy to stand again.

Slowly it came back to him and slowly Draco got to his feet, shaking with the exertion. Having Tom inside of him was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. He had felt helpless and powerful at the same time; he had been unable to move but the residual power left behind was amazing. He didn't know what had happened, but he didn't care either. Tom was going to come back as strong as ever and Draco was going to help him.

He grinned and stumbled to the door, flinging it open and splashing through the puddle in the corridor. He hurt, but he managed to fight his way down the two flights of stairs to end up back in the main hall. Gasping for air and holding his side as a painful stitch blossomed there, Draco started down the stairs to the dungeons and ran into someone's back, nearly knocking them both to the bottom of the stairs.

"Draco!" Blaise's eyes widened and she reached out to grab his arm to prevent him from falling.

"Blaise," he replied tiredly, leaning against her for a moment and catching his breath.

"Are you okay?" she asked, lowering her voice so that the others walking down the stairs couldn't hear her.

He looked at her and narrowed his eyes. "Like you care."

Blaise pursed her lips and shrugged. "Fine, don't tell me. Then you'll never know if I actually care." She let go of his arm and started to leave him when the hissing voice came back.

Who is she?

Draco cried out and dropped to his knees on the stone steps, holding his head in his hands. It hurt so badly to hear Tom's voice inside of his head, more than it had hurt to have the memory invade him completely.

Who?

"Blaise!" he said too loudly.

She turned and saw him fallen. "Draco, what's wrong?"

"Blaise Zabini," he gasped, hoping she couldn't hear him.

Her eyes narrowed and she came back up the stairs, dropping to her knees by his side. "Do you need to go to the hospital wing?"

We need her.

"Why?" Draco asked.

Blaise frowned. "Why? You look like you're in a lot of pain, that's why."

Are you willing to give me your life, Draco?

"No."

Blaise touched his arm. "Are you sure? I can take you."

I need a life. To become whole again I need a human life. I want her. I want you to make her mine.

"Anything, just . . . stop it," Draco stammered.

Blaise backed away slightly. "Draco, you're not making any sense."

The voice was gone. Tom had left his head and he could stand again, his eyes still unfocused and blurry. Blaise was staring at him in concern and he forced a smile to his face.

"Headache," he said. "A Quidditch injury."

"Oh . . . during practice?"

"Yeah," Draco said, nodding and continuing down the stairs. "I fell off my broom yesterday and hit my head."

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital wing? You looked like you were in a lot of pain."

Draco grinned and touched her shoulder gently. "Don't worry about me, Blaise. I know how to take care of myself." He was about to open his mouth again and ask Blaise about their classes so far, but Queenie Greengrass appeared below and stood at the bottom of the stairs glaring at him.

"Blaise, come on," she said impatiently.

Blaise smiled apologetically at Draco, then quickly walked down the rest of the stairs to her friend. They disappeared around the corner talking and laughing, and Draco was left standing alone, glaring at the place where Queenie had stood.

"Hi, Draco."

He turned slightly to see Gwendolyn Languir walking softly down the stairs. Her mouth didn't even turn up in a smile of acknowledgement but her green eyes followed him as she went past.

"Hi, Gwen," he replied, watching her go. She looked like she was floating, each step delicate on the stair. There was something different about her, there always had been something strange and a little weird about that girl.

Draco sighed and continued on his way down to the common room and into his dormitory, not even pausing to speak to Andrea Moon and Tracey Davis even when Tracey nearly threw herself at him to stop him. He stomped up the stairs and went to his bed, drawing the curtains around him with a flick of his wand. Immediately he took out the diary and began to write.

/ What in the hell was that?

When?

On the stairs.

Who was she?

Blaise Zabini, I told you.

How do you know her?

She's in my year.

And the other?

She's in my year too.

But what is her name?

Gwendolyn Languir.

. . . Yes . . . Languir. Very good.

What are you going on about, Tom?

You did very well tonight, Draco. Very well indeed. I know it's hard to have what's left of me inside of you but until you can convince Blaise to come down to the Chamber of Secrets and give herself to me it's the best we can do.

Wait . . . Chamber of Secrets?

I'll explain everything tomorrow, Draco. You have another assignment from me. You have to make Blaise Zabini trust you more than she trusts anyone. When you lead her to me she has to come willingly and give herself up for me.

Are you going to kill her?

Does that thought bother you?

. . . Not as much as I thought it might.

Good. Don't let it bother you, Draco. Just make her trust you.

I can do that.

Good night, Draco.

Good night, Tom. /

End Chapter Two