The light from the tip of Neville’s wand cut dimly into the darkness as the space in front of he and Ginny widened and stretched far off into the distance. Here, deep beneath the earth, they had come to their destination. This was the Chamber of Secrets itself. They were standing at one end of a vast vault, like a perverse mockery of some giant underground cathedral. Huge pillars supported a roof which could not be seen, and great carved stone statues lined each side. Each one took the form of a snake, with open mouth and fangs bared, as if ready to strike.
There was light filtering down from some high shaft on the far end of the Chamber. It fell on a massive stone figure, a statue far dwarfing those of the snakes. It stood high and proud, surveying its domain with sharp, sunken eyes set into a wizened face garlanded with a long beard. Its body was squat and hunched, like a monkey’s. Though no likeness of Salazar Slytherin could still be found in the corridors of Hogwarts, Neville knew at once that here stood in stone the renegade Founder, presiding forever over the legacy he had created.
Neville and Ginny approached the statue cautiously, their footsteps echoing off the stone floor, cutting into the silence. Ginny gave a cry and pointed. There, lying sprawled at the foot of the statue, was Ron. He lay face down, the light falling on his unmistakeable shock of red hair. Neville and Ginny broke into a run, sprinting down the rest of the hall. Ginny got to Ron first. She knelt at his side and clutched his left arm. “Ron, Ron, are you alright?” she cried. There was no response. Neville reached them and Ginny looked up at him. “He’s cold,” she said, rubbing his arm. Her voice was cracked in pain.
Neville dropped his wand and reached down to turn Ron over. He took him by the shoulder, and his arm was indeed as cold as stone. With Ginny’s help he rolled Ron onto his back. Something slipped from under Ron’s right arm and fell to the floor, but Neville took no notice of it. Ron was unmoving and his eyes were closed. Neville put his hand on Ron’s chest to feel his heart. It was still beating. “He’s alive,” he said.
“For now.” It was not Ginny who had spoken but another voice, a male voice, confident, calm. A voice that Neville thought he recognised. He spun around. There, walking quietly towards them, was a tall, dark-haired boy of maybe sixteen, his head held proud, his face expressionless. Neville gasped.
“Who are you?” demanded Ginny at the newcomer.
A flicker of a grin appeared on the boy’s face at the question. “Neville knows, don’t you Neville?”
Neville could hardly believe the evidence of his eyes. “Tom Riddle,” he said. And Tom Riddle it was, standing there, and yet not there. At least that is how he seemed to Neville; the outline of his form was shrouded in haze that seemed to fade off into nothing, as if he had not fully emerged into the light. “But how? Where did you come from?”
“From there,” replied Riddle, pointing at the object that had slipped from Ron’s grasp. Neville turned to look at it, and did not notice Riddle reach down and pick up his wand from where he had dropped it. The object lying next to Ron was a book, a book that Neville recognised immediately, it was Tom Riddle’s diary, exactly as it was when last he had held it.
“Who’s Tom Riddle?” asked Ginny, confused. “What’s he got to do with an old book?”
Neville turned the book over in his hands, and looked up at Riddle. “Are you real?” he asked.
“More or less, soon to be more,” came the reply. “In answer to Miss Weasley’s questions, to relieve her ignorance, I attended this school some fifty years ago. I left behind… shall we say a memory, a preservation of my sixteen-year-old self in the pages of the diary Neville is now holding. That memory is the me you see before you.”
“How do you know my name?” asked Ginny.
“Oh, I know all about you, Ginny Weasley,” replied Riddle. “I know all about all three of you, especially poor little Ron there.” He sighed and shook his head a little. “Poor, poor Ronald Weasley. Least regarded, forgotten, marginalised. Always in the shadow of others. He just needed somebody to talk to, someone to be his equal. It was easy for me to provide that.”
“What do you mean?” said Neville. He looked down at the diary. “You mean Ron took the diary from me?”
“Oh don’t be a fool, Neville, think for once. Ron has had my diary all year. Night after night he would write in it, pouring out his thoughts, telling me his problems. All I had to do was listen. About how his parents had no time for him, the youngest son and not the daughter they had longed for.” Riddle glanced at Ginny. “About how he had nothing but hand-me-downs to call his own. About how his brothers teased and mocked him, and how he was always the least of his group of friends. And about how he lived in the shadow of his best friend, more popular and successful at everything than him, and of the Boy-Who-Lived himself, while he himself was no one.
“He wrote and I listened, and he laid himself bare before me, and I placed my soul into his. And so it was that he was open to my will, and whenever I wished I could take control of him, and he would do whatever I wanted, and not know he had done it.”
Riddle’s voice was colder now, and there was a fire dancing in his dark eyes. Neville scrambled to his feet and met Riddle’s eyes with his own. He knew the answer to his question even before he asked it. “And what did you make him do?”
“Why, to open the Chamber of Secrets, of course,” Riddle laughed.
Ginny shot to her feet as well. “You!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, me. Ron so kindly obliged me by opening the Chamber, by setting the basilisk loose against the Mudbloods, by killing the roosters so the basilisk could not be harmed. Each time his own self would fade away and I would take over. Did he ever suspect what he had done? Perhaps, but he never knew.”
Neville’s hand instinctively shot to his side, but Riddle laughed again. He held up Neville’s wand. “Looking for this?” he mocked. “I don’t think you’ll be needing it any more. It is a pity I am not yet strong enough to use it against you myself, but one must be patient. Now Ron Weasley is fully in my power, and as he fades, so I arise, no longer mere memory. However I can fill the time with the satisfaction of watching you die.”
Neville quivered. “Why do you want to kill me? I’m not Muggle-born.”
“Can you not guess? I have a personal interest in you. So much so that I persuaded Ron to leave the diary with you for a while, then retrieve it later. I had to see who you were, so I showed you how I framed that stupid lump of a half-breed. You believed it just as those fools did fifty years ago.”
“I never really believed Hagrid was guilty,” protested Neville.
“But you trusted me, and that was my aim. I learned all I needed to know about you, and I must say what I discovered disappointed me. An ordinary boy of mediocre talent. How did you do it? How did you as a baby defeat the greatest wizard of all time?”
Neville stared into the dark, inscrutable eyes of Riddle. “Who are you?”
Riddle smiled. “The answer is the name, Neville.” He raised Neville’s wand and began writing in the air. The wand traced letters of fire as he wrote: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. He gave the wand a final wave and the letters began to move. Slowly they rearranged themselves into a new configuration: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.
Neville took a step backwards. “V-Voldemort,” he stuttered. It was the first time he had spoken the name. Ginny let Ron’s arm fall from her hand and her mouth dropped open.
Riddle gloated over his enemies’ reaction. He drew himself up to his full height. “I am Lord Voldemort,” he said proudly. “I rid the world of the memory of my father and his name, and created a name befitting my status. I am the Heir of Slytherin, the last of his noble line, and I will finish what he began. I will rise again, and my new order shall be born, and none shall stand in my way.”
Ginny stepped forward and stood defiantly by Neville’s side. “They’ll stop you,” she said. “They stopped you before and they’ll do it again.”
Riddle laughed in scorn. “And who exactly will stop me? The Boy-Who-Lived?” He pointed at Neville derisorily. “I think not, not this time.”
“Dumbledore will,” Ginny replied furiously. “He’s better than you and he doesn’t fear you.”
“Dumbledore!” exclaimed Riddle, his eyes focussing on Ginny for the first time. “Dumbledore is gone, driven out of this castle without a fight. I would not put your faith in Albus Dumbledore, you silly girl.”
But Ginny did not step down or break away from Riddle’s gaze. Suddenly, from above, far down the Chamber, there came a sound. It was a beautiful, melodious sound of a sort Neville had never heard before, and it uplifted his heart just to hear it. The cry echoed through the Chamber, seemingly amplified off the walls, filling the space with its harmony. From out of the darkness emerged the source of the cry. In flame red and gold it sped through the air, circling high above the heads of those below. It was Fawkes the phoenix, fully grown, resplendent in bright feathers. In its claws it carried something which it dropped into the hands of Ginny.
Riddle was rendered momentarily speechless by this unexpected interruption, but as Ginny examined the object in her hands, his swagger returned and he laughed coldly. “The Sorting Hat!” he snorted. “Maybe Dumbledore’s decided you two don’t belong in Gryffindor any more. Perhaps we should test how brave you really are.” He turned to face the great statue of Slytherin. “Come,” he exclaimed, and Neville knew it was Parseltongue he spoke. “Come out and kill.”
And from the mouth of the statue a voice came in answer, the same cold hiss he had heard all year, that turned his blood cold and drove back the hope of the phoenix song. “I come, my master. I come to kill.” Neville saw the faint outline of something beginning to emerge from the mouth.
He turned his face away from the statue. “Don’t look at it!” he cried to Ginny. “Run!” But Ginny hesitated over the body of her brother, unwilling to leave his side. Neville dragged her away.
Riddle continued to laugh, enjoying his little game. “Where will you run, Longbottom? There’s nowhere you can go.” He turned to the basilisk. “Kill them.”
The great creature roared and hissed, and bore down on its helpless prey. Neville and Ginny ran back up the Chamber, Ginny still clutching the hat. They looked desperately for another passage, but Riddle was right, there was nowhere to run. Behind them the basilisk bared its fangs to strike.
A cry from out of the darkness, high above and behind them, the cry of hope once more. Neville saw another flash of red and gold out of the corner of his eye, and heard the basilisk roar in pain. Fawkes had struck, tearing at the basilisk’s eyes, blinding the gaze of death. The basilisk writhed, trying to shake off its assailant, but Fawkes clung on. Eventually the phoenix broke free, but there were only streams of red blood where the yellow eyes had been. Riddle gave a scream of anger.
Neville dived behind a snake statue, and peeked out at the basilisk. He instantly regretted doing so. The creature he now beheld for the first time was truly monstrous. It was perhaps fifty feet in length, its head the size of a man, and though the light of its eyes was extinguished, its tongue still flickered between huge razor-sharp fangs. He cowered behind the statue, hoping his breath was not too loud.
It was then he realised that Ginny had not moved, and was still standing in the centre of the Chamber, facing the basilisk. Though Neville was deaf to it, the song of the phoenix still rang in her ears, and she did not quail. Neville saw her hand dive into the Sorting Hat and draw something from it. It was a gleaming sword, ornate, sharp and long, and Ginny struggled to hold it up. Discarding the hat, she clutched the sword in both hands, bracing herself against the monster’s next onslaught.
Neville wanted to cry out, to tell Ginny to run. He wanted to move, to rush to her side and help her. But he froze. He found himself unable to move, unable to speak, as if the basilisk had regained its stare and Petrified him. Paralysed with fright, he could only watch as the basilisk blindly bore down on Ginny, who clumsily heaved and swung the sword, striking only air.
The monster slid forward, its other senses pinpointing its prey. It lashed downwards, missing Ginny by inches. Ginny staggered and gave an ineffective slash against its side, failing to penetrate its tough leathery skin. Neville watched in horror as the great head of the beast swung around, knocking Ginny to the ground. A front fang of the basilisk sliced across Ginny’s right arm and snapped off. The sword slipped from her hand and fell with a clang to the floor.
Ginny lay helpless on the floor, unable to regain her feet. The basilisk raised its head once more, for the final strike, which Neville knew would be fatal. The great sword lay on the floor in front of him, where it had fallen. Suddenly, in an instant, without any conscious thought, Neville was released. With a cry of “No!” that burst from him involuntarily, he sprang out of his hiding place. Seizing the sword in both hands, he skidded across to Ginny’s prone form and fell onto his back, holding the sword point upwards into the air. The basilisk, mid-way through its strike, plunged down with mouth agape, right onto the point of the sword. Neville clung on for dear life, reeling from the dying breath of the monster. It writhed and shook, succeeding only in driving the sword further into its flesh. Finally with a great crash, it fell dead, the sword still lodged in its skull.
Neville lay there by Ginny’s side, his hands, which had clung to the sword until the last moment, were shaking uncontrollably. His brain was only now beginning to process what he had done. His heart was pounding and he was shivering. He tried to get to his feet but they buckled underneath him. He looked at Ginny, who had raised herself to her knees, clutching her arm. “I knew you’d save me, Neville,” she said weakly. “I knew it.” But beneath her fingers was a deep gash and the blood oozing from it was stained black.
Neville picked up the snapped-off fang that lay next to them. Its tip was stained with the same black liquid. From down the Chamber, Riddle approached. He looked disdainfully at his fallen servant, before turning to Neville and Ginny. “Ah, what a shame,” he said in a mocking tone. “Don’t worry Weasley, basilisk venom is very quick. You can join your brother.”
Neville looked down at the fang, and then at Ginny. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I failed again.” Ginny did not reply, and Neville could not look into her face. There was a gentle patter behind them and Fawkes hopped to their side. His face looked sad, and Neville gently stroked his plume. “Thanks,” he said. Fawkes however took no notice, and leaned over Ginny’s injured arm. He began to cry. The tears dripped softly from his eyes and fell onto the arm. Ginny removed her left hand and gazed in astonishment. All once, the wound shrank and the skin seemed to knit together. In a matter of seconds there was not a mark to be seen.
Riddle snorted in anger. “Phoenix tears,” he muttered. “I should have known. No matter.” He turned and strode back towards the prostrate Ron. “Not long now and it will be all over. I will be whole again, and I will still have my revenge.” He stroked his long fingers with the tip of Neville’s wand. “I feel it coming. The power within me growing.”
In rage, Neville got to his feet and charged at Riddle. Instinctively Riddle turned, attempting to fire a curse at his attacker, but only sparks emerged from the wand, disorienting Neville, who slipped on the wet floor. “Not yet,” Riddle said to himself. “I have not the strength yet. Wait until the boy is dead.” He crouched down and examined Ron. Neville, getting up again, saw that Ron’s face looked far whiter than before. “Almost gone,” continued Riddle. “Watching death is a strange thing. The finality of it. The feeling of power you get as they end and you continue.” He prodded the diary still lying by Ron’s side. “Too long have I remained locked inside of you. All it took was one lonely fool, and I am free.”
Neville felt his grip tighten on the basilisk fang still clutched in his fingers, and a thought sprang unexpectedly and urgently into his mind, almost compelling him to act on it. He seized the diary from under Riddle’s hand. Before Riddle could react, he raised the fang and stabbed it hard through the cover of the book. There was a terrible scream, and his scar burned in pain on his forehead. He collapsed to the floor, but when he opened his eyes, Riddle was gone.
Neville heard a cough and a spluttering gasp of air from Ron. Ron sat bolt upright, breathing heavily and holding his head. Eventually he looked up. “Neville, Ginny!” he exclaimed. “What…I…?” Then he saw his surroundings, and the carcass of the huge dead serpent. “So it’s true,” he said quietly. “It was me.”
Ginny ran to Ron and hugged him. “It’s over, Ron,” she said. “Neville did it.” She looked up at Neville, who looked away, embarrassed at the undeserved praise. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Neville Longbottom and the Chamber of Secrets by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which Neville encounters the Heir of Slytherin, and faces the basilisk.