"Alright, Tom," he said, cracking his neck. "Let's finish this."
Tom Riddle stood frozen, staring at the spot where the Basilisk had disappeared, his eyes wide. "You banished it. Through a portal. Where did it even go?"
"Somewhere sunny," Ben muttered. "Maybe a beach. Doubt it'll write."
"That kind of magic doesn't exist," Tom said sharply, his eyes narrowing. "There are no spells in this world that can do what you just did."
Ben tilted his head. "Maybe your world's just too small."
Tom paused, then smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
"I was right about you," he said smoothly. "You're not some schoolboy. You don't belong here—playing pretend with wands and house points. You're something more. And with me, you could be everything."
Ben blinked slowly. "Mate, are you trying to seduce me or recruit me? Pick a lane."
Tom chuckled, but there was a tightness behind it. "Don't you see? I could teach you things this world's too scared to even imagine. Together, we could tear it down and build something better. No more hiding. No more rules."
Ben looked over his shoulder at Cho—barely breathing. Marianne's limp body, puppet-like, still kneeling with the diary clutched in her hand.
Ben tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "You really think I'd team up with the bloke sucking the soul out of my friends?"
Tom gave a casual shrug. "Collateral. History won't remember their names, only ours."
Ben's expression didn't change. "You done?"
Tom tilted his head, still smiling. "I'm offering you everything."
"I said—" Ben stepped forward, voice like iron, "—are you done?"
Tom's smile faltered.
"Good. Because I've had it with your dramatic speeches and your snake fetish. I'm not interested in joining your creepy little book club."
Tom's eyes narrowed. "You're too late, anyway. I've already taken enough. In a few moments, I'll be whole again."
A hiss echoed through the chamber.
Ben turned.
Snakes. Dozens. No—hundreds, pouring in from the dark, slipping through cracks, slithering down pillars and across the flooded floor. They coiled between him and Riddle forming a living wall of scales and fangs.
Tom raised his arms behind them, triumphant. "Let's see what you do now."
Ben rolled his neck with a sigh. "Cute, but like I said, I've had enough of your snake fetish."
He stepped forward, planted his feet, took a deep breath and then—
"FUS!!"
The shout cracked through the Chamber like a thunderclap. The force blasted outward, a shockwave of raw power. Snakes went flying, the water rippled back, and Tom was hurled off his feet. Marianne's body hit the stone with a sickening thud.
Ben darted forward, snatching the diary from her slack grip.
Tom, coughing, scrambled toward him. "No!"
Their hands met on the cover.
"You don't know what you're doing!" Tom yelled, desperation seeping into his voice. "You destroy that, and you'll never understand the power—!"
Ben yanked the diary free and said, "I don't need to understand it."
Dark mist burst from his chest—thick and twisting, filled with tiny lightning flashes. It wrapped around the diary like a storm, devouring it whole.
Tom screamed—his voice twisting and warping with Marianne's until it sounded barely human.
Then—clink clink clatter—a small pile of gold septims dropped at Ben's feet, the only sound left in the echoing Chamber.
"Guess evil really does pay… just not well," Ben muttered.
With a final hiss, Marianne's body collapsed on the ground. The mist, having done it's job receded into Ben's chest like smoke sucked into a vacuum.
He took a step forward towards Marianne.
And immediately collapsed.
The pain hit like a tidal wave.
His hands flew to his head as his knees hit the floor, hard.
Flashes.
Memories.
Tom as a boy, alone in the orphanage, learning how to hurt without touching. Controlling snakes, making them do his bidding.
Tom at Hogwarts, charming Slughorn, experimenting with curses, splitting his soul like it was an art project.
Tom killing for the first time—cold, calculated, like a snake.
It was like watching a horror film projected straight into his brain—too fast, too sharp, too loud. Stopping only after he'd had a recap of everything the diary had experienced till this chamber.
Ben blinked. His head throbbed, but it passed. Just a dull ache behind the eyes.
"Ugh. Warn me next time before downloading a psychopath's baby pictures." This was what he'd been afraid of, let's hope his magic doesn't go haywire again.
Ben was still catching his breath, one hand braced against the cold stone, the other pressed to his temple.
Clink. Clink.
Footsteps. Not the trio. An adult.
Lockhart.
Looking far too pristine and unbothered for someone who'd spent the whole battle cowering outside the chamber.
"Oh, splendid work, my boy!" he said cheerily, wand already in hand—his wand, Ben realised, the one Ron had nicked earlier. Must've slipped it back while no one was watching.
"Absolutely brilliant spellwork—though I'd expect nothing less from my... apprentice. Yes, I shall mention that in the press release."
Ben narrowed one eye. "Press release?"
"Don't worry, I'll handle everything from here." Lockhart continued, stepping closer with that awful showbiz grin. "You look exhausted. I'll just tidy things up—wipe your memory, rescue the girls, take the credit, you know the usual."
Ben blinked. "Yeah—someone saves the day, and you show up like a mushroom after the rain."
Lockhart grinned. "No hard feelings. Obli—"
"FUS."
Lockhart flew backwards like a sack of wet laundry, smacked into a pillar, and crumpled with a dramatic oof.
Ben groaned, standing fully upright with some effort. "Mate. Wrong day."
He eyed the unconscious professor and muttered, "Honestly, I should've let the Basilisk have you."
He walked over to the groaning Lockhart, slowly,cracking his neck as he went. The pile of gold septims gleamed behind him.
"Don't mind if I borrow this," Ben said as Lockhart's wand floated over to his hand with telekinisis.
Lockhart blinked up at him, woozy. "Wha… what happened…?"
Ben examined the wand like one might a particularly unimpressive vegetable. "You were about to wipe my memory and steal my story. Honestly, it's getting a bit stale."
He tapped the wand against his palm. "Y'know, poetic justice's a funny thing."
Lockhart groaned, trying to sit up. "Now hold on—there's no need for violence—"
"Violence?" Ben tilted his head. "Nah. This is educational."
He pointed the wand straight at Lockhart's face.
"Let me show you how it feels."
A beat.
"Obliviate."
A soft flash. A little puff of sparks. Lockhart's eyes went wide… then glassy.
He blinked slowly, took in the serpent statues and wet stone floor, and said brightly,"Good heavens… did I decorate this place? So dramatic, so tragic—whoever did it clearly had immaculate taste."
Then he paused.
"Who am I, again?"
He sat up, spotted Ben looming over him, and beamed.
"You there! Dashing young man with the brooding stare—Do you know who I am? Am I famous? I feel famous."
Ben sighed. "Stupefy."
-To be Continued..
The Real Chamber of Secrets Was the Friends We Made Along the Way. Check out my Chamber of Secrets at P!treon/DreamyApe.