Harry Potter and the Dovahkiin

They landed hard in a dark corridor, Lockhart moaning somewhere nearby.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, clutching his elbow. "Next time I'm taking the stairs."

Ben pushed himself up, brushing dust from his robes. "Top Ten Worst Water Slides. Number two. Easily."

Hermione helped Harry 

"You alright?" Hermione asked Harry, helping him to his feet.

"Yeah—just winded."

Ben was already moving, casting a soft Magelight that floated up like a glowing moth and clung to the ceiling.

Lockhart lay sprawled on the ground, clutching his leg like he'd just taken a Bludger to the shin.

"Oh thank Merlin," Lockhart breathed. "I think I've broken my—well, something important, no doubt—"

"Nope, just your pride," Ben said cheerfully, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him upright with no ceremony.

"Unhand me!" Lockhart squawked. "I bruise like a peach."

"And yet somehow you've survived this long," Ben muttered under his breath.

Harry took in the tunnel ahead, the low ceiling, the slick walls glistening with moisture. "This place gives me the creeps."

"Good," Ben said. "Means you're paying attention."

"I don't like this," Ron whispered. "I really don't like this."

"Perfect," Ben said, stepping forward. "More reason to keep going. If we're gonna suffer, might as well make it count."

They lit their wands. The tunnel ahead was low and narrow, walls slick with glistening slime.

Lockhart trailed after them, muttering under his breath. "I must say, this is highly irregular. No one ever mentions slime in heroic retellings. Very poor taste."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Ron asked, not bothering to look back.

"I find it calms the nerves," Lockhart said. "I'm soothing myself."

"You're annoying us," Ron said.

They walked in uneasy silence, Lockhart's muttering giving way to the occasional squelch of his boots and the steady drip-drip-drip echoing through the tunnel like a broken metronome.

Then they reached it—the door.

Two serpents, entwined, carved with such precision they seemed to twitch as Harry approached.

"Open," Harry hissed in Parseltongue. The snakes slithered apart with a grinding hiss, revealing a tunnel that led into a massive chamber.

Ben took the first step.

"Welcome to the Chamber of Secrets. Please keep all limbs inside the trauma." Ben said, taking the first step.

The space was vast. Stone serpents lined the walls, their eyes cut with unnerving sharpness. At the far end loomed the statue of Salazar Slytherin—towering, cracked, and dripping with menace. The air was thick, damp, and heavy with something ancient.

Behind him, Lockhart lingered at the threshold, clinging to the wall like ivy.

"Chapter Eighteen," he whispered to himself. "Descending into Darkness… yes, that has flair."

Hermione glanced back. "Do you always narrate your own life?"

"Only the heroic bits," Lockhart said faintly. "Helps with morale."

Ron muttered, "Let us know when those start."

Ben didn't reply. He'd stopped, his eyes locked ahead.

Ben stepped forward—then stopped.

He stared.

Near the base of the statue lay two girls.

Cho Chang.

Marianne Fawcett.

Motionless. Pale. Fragile like discarded dolls.

His throat clenched. Finally, face to face with the consequences of hesitation.

He didn't shout. Didn't gasp.

He moved.

Fast.

He dropped to his knees beside them, hands trembling. Cho's hand was cold as ice. Marianne's brow was damp with sweat.

Behind him, the others caught up.

Lockhart made no move to follow.

And no one stopped to check.

"Is that—" Hermione gasped. "Oh my god—"

"Cho," Harry breathed. "And—that's Fawcett, right?"

Ron staggered back a step. "Ben... mate—what—"

Between them sat a diary, pulsing darkly like a beating heart. And standing beside it—a boy. Not quite a ghost. Not quite human.

Tom Riddle.

"You took your time," Tom said, voice silk and ice. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost."

Harry stepped forward, confused. "Who is this?"

"Tom Riddle," Ben said tightly, not taking his eyes off him. "Voldemort's schoolboy self."

"Impressive," Tom mused. "Didn't think you'd connect the dots. But you always were clever. Tell me, Ben—do you know what happens next?"

His grin stretched wider.

"Yeah. I slice you to pieces," Ben said, conjuring the daedric blade into his hand.

"Ah. The infamous ghost-cutter." Tom smiled thinly. "You don't really think I came unprepared for that trick, do you?"

Then—

"So predictable."

The voice echoed through the chamber, calm and oily.

Marianne's body stirred.

She sat up slowly, her movements uncanny. Wrong. Her eyes opened—not blue, but glowing green, slitted like a serpent's.

Her head tilted.

And she smiled.

"Did you miss me, Benny?"

Ben stood slowly, the dagger clenched tight in his hand.

"Marianne!"

"She's not home right now," said Tom's voice from her mouth. "But I am."

"Get out of her."

"Now, why would I do that? She's my insurance policy. Can't underestimate you again," Tom said through her lips.

Ben's jaw tightened.

"You ruined everything, seer," he snarled. "Because of you, I had to rush my resurrection."

His rage bled into the air, but only briefly.

Then he smiled again, calm and cold.

"Fortunately, I learned that pain... accelerates things."

Ben's eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

"To her? Just a blow to the head. I'm just borrowing her body for a while you see," He stepped toward Cho, who stirred faintly, her brow creasing.

Tom knelt beside her and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "But to this poor girl, you did all the harm."

Ben didn't move—but the tension in his shoulders tightened like a drawn bowstring.

"Don't touch her."

Tom turned to him, smiling faintly. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of hurting her," he said, voice almost tender. "I wouldn't even be here without her."

Ben didn't react. He'd known. Known since the night of the first attack.

"And I must thank you, of course—"

"I didn't give her the diary," Ben said sharply.

Tom tilted his head. "No," he agreed. "But you let her keep it. You knew she had it, didn't you? She only started writing in it because she thought it belonged to you."

Ben's heart jolted.

-To be Continued..