The Anger.

Harry spun around with his wand at the ready as Neville did the same from his kneeling position; his wand shooting from his holster.

A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window.

"I don't recognise you," said Harry. "But, I suspect. Slytherin robes, mid century styling, Prefect badge. Tom Marvolo Riddle, right?"

"Ah! I see you've heard of me," said the boy.

"What do you mean, she won't wake?" asked Harry, changing the subject. "She's not dead, is she?"

"She's still alive," said Riddle. "But, only just."

Harry stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood in his Slytherin uniform, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen. And he had the Weasley girl's wand in his hand. "Are you a ghost?" Harry said uncertainly.

"A memory," said Riddle quietly. "Preserved in a diary for fifty years."

He pointed toward the floor near the statue's giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary. For a second, Harry wondered how it had got there - but there were more pressing matters to deal with.

"Bullshit," said Harry. "Memories are not interactive."

Riddle smiled back. "Quite. No, it is far more than the memories you probably know as misty silver strands. This is far more."

"Well, do get on with it," drawled Harry. "I'd like to get back in time for dinner."

"I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter," said Riddle. "For the chance to see you. To speak to you." "Look," said Harry, losing patience, "How did Miss Weasley get like this?"

"How did Ginny get like this?" he asked slowly. "Well, that's an interesting question," said Riddle pleasantly. "And quite a long story..."

"Just the executive summary will do, then," Harry interrupted.

Ignoring him, Riddle continued, "I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger."

"What are you talking about?" said Harry.

"The diary," said Riddle. "My diary. Little Ginny's been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes. How her brothers tease her. How she had to come to school with second-hand robes and books. How..." Riddle's eyes glinted "... How she didn't think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her..."

All the time he spoke, Riddle's eyes never left Harry's face. There was an almost hungry look in them.

"It's very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl," he went on. "But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic and kind. Ginny simply loved me. No one's ever understood me like you, Tom," he mimicked. "I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in. It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket." Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't suit him. It made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry's neck.

"If I say it myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I needed. So, Ginny poured out her soul to me. And, her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted - I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"Haven't you guessed, yet, Harry Potter?" said Riddle softly. "Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on five Mudbloods, and the Squib's cat."

"Wrong," said Harry. "Only two muggleborns. The last three are all Heirs of some very powerful Houses. Two of them are purebloods."

"I know," said Riddle, a little angrily. "Of course, she didn't know what she was doing, at first. It was very amusing. I wish you could have seen her new diary entries. Far more interesting, they became. Dear Tom," he recited in a little girl's voice, watching Harry's stoic face, "I think I'm losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and

I don't know how they got there. Dear Tom, l can't remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale and I'm not myself; I think he suspects me. There was another attack today and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I'm going mad. I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom!"

Harry's fists were clenched, the nails digging deep into his palms. He heard Neville growl a little. At least Riddle seemed to be ignoring him. "And, Ginny told me all about you, Harry," said Riddle. "Your whole fascinating history." His eyes roved over where the lightning scar once sat on Harry's forehead, and his expression grew hungrier. "I knew I must find out more about you, talk to you, meet you if I could. And now I have."

"When I had Hagrid expelled, Dumbledore kept an annoyingly close watch on me afterwards," said Riddle carelessly. "I knew it wouldn't be safe to open the Chamber, again, while I was still at school. But, I wasn't going to waste those long years I'd spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen-year-old self in its pages. So that, one day - with luck - I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazaar Slytherin's noble work."

"Well, you haven't finished it," said Harry. "No one's died this time, not even the cat. In only a few more hours the Mandrake Draught will be ready to be brewed and everyone who was petrified will be all right again."

"Haven't you already guessed?" asked Riddle quietly. "Killing Mudbloods doesn't matter to me anymore. For many months now, my new target has been - you."

Harry stared at him.

"I knew what I must do. It was clear, to me, you were on the trail of Slytherin's heir. From everything Ginny had told me about you, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery - particularly if one of your best friends was attacked. And Ginny had told me the whole school was buzzing because you could speak Parseltongue.

"So, I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and come down here to wait. She struggled and cried and became very boring. But, there isn't much life left in her now. She put too much into the diary - into me. Enough to let me leave its pages, at last. I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I knew you'd come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter."

"I don't care," Harry spat.

"Well," said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, "How is it that you, a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

There was an odd red gleam in his hungry eyes now.

"You want questions answered; but, I want one answered first," said Harry slowly. "What is the diary - really?"

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