For a moment there was silence as Johnny, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Lockhart stood in the doorway, covered in muck and slime and (in Harry's and Johnny's case) blood. Then there was a scream.

"Ginny!"

It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their daughter.

Johnny, however, was looking past them. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest. Fawkes went whooshing past Johnny's ear and settled on Dumbledore's shoulder, just as Johnny found himself, Harry and Ron being swept into Mrs. Weasley's tight embrace.

"You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?"

"I think we'd all like to know that," said Professor McGonagall weakly.

Mrs. Weasley let go of them. Harry hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the ruby-encrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle's diary.

Then he started telling them everything. For nearly a quarter of an hour he spoke into the rapt silence: He told them about hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realised that he was hearing a basilisk in the pipes; how he and Ron had followed the spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told them where the last victim of the basilisk had died; how they had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom...

"Very well," Professor McGonagall prompted him as he paused, "so you found out where the entrance was -breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add - but how on earth did you all get out of there alive?"

So Harry, his voice now growing hoarse from all this talking, told them about Fawkes's timely arrival and about the Sorting Hat giving him the sword. But then he faltered. He had so far avoided mentioning Riddle's diary - or Ginny and Johnny's involvement. She was standing with her head against Mrs. Weasley's shoulder, and tears were still coursing silently down her cheeks. Johnny was stood to the side, arms crossed. What if they expelled them? Harry thought in panic. Riddle's diary didn't work anymore... How could they prove it had been he who'd made them do it all?

He hesitated when he got to how exactly the Basilisk was killed, sending a look to Johnny who discreetly shook his head, which Dumbledore noticed...

"What interests me most," said Dumbledore gently, "is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny and Johnny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania."

"W-what's that?" said Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. "You-Know-Who? Enchant Ginny? But Ginny's not... Ginny hasn't been... has she?"

"It was this diary," said Harry quickly, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. "Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen..."

Dumbledore took the diary from Harry and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages.

"Brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.

"Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school... traveled far and wide... sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognisable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

"But, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley. "What's our Ginny got to do with - with - him?"

"His d-diary" Ginny sobbed. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been w-writing back since January--"

"Ginny!" said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. "Haven't I taught you anything. What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic!

"I d-didn't know," sobbed Ginny. "I found it in the girls bathroom. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it--"

"Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away," Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort." He strode over to the door and opened it. "Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up," he added, twinkling kindly down at her. "You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice - I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"So Hermione's okay!" said Harry brightly.

"There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," said Dumbledore.

Mrs. Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley followed, still looking deeply shaken.

"You know, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully to Professor McGonagall, "I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?"

"Right," said Professor McGonagall crisply, also moving to the door. "I'll leave you to deal with Grindelwald, Potter and Weasley, shall I?"

"Certainly," said Dumbledore.

She left, and Johnny, Harry and Ron gazed uncertainly at Dumbledore. What exactly had Professor McGonagall meant, deal with them? Surely - surely - they weren't about to be punished?

"I seem to remember telling you, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules," said Dumbledore.

"Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words," Dumbledore went on, smiling. "You three will receive Special Awards for Services to the School and - let me see - yes, I think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor and Slytherin."

Ron went as brightly pink as Lockhart's valentine flowers and closed his mouth.

"But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure," Dumbledore added. "Why so modest, Gilderoy?"

Johnny gave a start. He had completely forgotten about Lockhart. He turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a corner of the room, still wearing his vague smile. When Dumbledore addressed him, Lockhart looked over his shoulder to see who he was talking to.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry said quickly, "there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart--"

"Am I a professor?" said Lockhart in mild surprise. "Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?"

"He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired," Ron explained quietly to Dumbledore.

"Dear me," said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver mustache quivering. "Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!"

"Sword?" said Lockhart dimly. "Haven't got a sword. That boy has, though." He pointed at Harry. "He'll lend you one."

"Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?" Dumbledore said to Ron. "I'd like a few more words with Harry and Johnny..."

Lockhart ambled out. Ron cast a curious look back at Dumbledore, Johnny and Harry as he closed the door.

Dumbledore crossed to one of the chairs by the fire.

"Sit down, boys," he said, and they sat, feeling unaccountably nervous.

"First of all, Harry, I want to thank you," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling again. "You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you."

He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his knee. Harry grinned awkwardly as Dumbledore watched him.

"And so now you've both met Tom Riddle," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "I imagine he was most interested in you..."

Suddenly, something that was nagging at Harry came tumbling out of his mouth.

"Professor Dumbledore... Riddle said Johnny and I are like him. Strange likenesses, he said..."

"Did he, now?" said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully at them from under his thick silver eyebrows. "And what do you think?"

"I don't think we're like him!" said Harry, more loudly than he'd intended. "I mean, I'm - I'm in Gryffindor, I'm..."

"Wow, much love," Johnny said sarcastically.

Harry fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in his mind.

"Professor," Harry started again after a moment. "The Sorting Hat told me I'd - I'd have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin's heir for a while... because I can speak Parseltongue ..."

"You can speak Parseltongue, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly, "because Lord Voldemort - who is the last remaining ancestor of Salazar Slytherin - can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I'm sure..."

"Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?" Harry said, thunderstruck.

"It certainly seems so."

"So I should be in Slytherin," Harry said, looking desperately into Dumbledore's face. "The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in me, and it--"

"Put you in Gryffindor," said Dumbledore calmly. "Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue - resourcefulness - determination - a certain disregard for rules," he added, his mustache quivering again. "Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think."

"It only put me in Gryffindor," said Harry in a defeated voice, "because I asked not to go in Slytherin..."

"Exactly, "said Dumbledore, beaming once more. "Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. If you want proof, Harry, that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at this."

Dumbledore reached across to Professor McGonagall's desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword, and handed it to Harry. Dully, Harry turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And then he saw the name engraved just below the hilt.

Godric Gryffindor

"Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Harry," said Dumbledore simply.

For a minute, none of them spoke. Then Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in Professor McGonagall's desk and took out a quill and a bottle of ink.

"What you need, boys, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go down to the feast, while I write to Azkaban -we need our gamekeeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too," he added Thoughtfully. "We'll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher... Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don't we? A word though, Johnny, before you go."

Harry got up and crossed to the door. He had just reached for the handle, however, when the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall.

Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury in his face. And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was Dobby.

"Good evening, Lucius," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the room. Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoys shoes. Apparently Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half-polished, but his usually sleek hair was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore.

"So!" he said "You've come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts."

"Well, you see, Lucius," said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, "the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They'd heard that Arthur Weasleys daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too... Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn't agree to suspend me in the first place."

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.

"So - have you stopped the attacks yet?" he sneered. "Have you caught the culprit?"

"We have," said Dumbledore, with a smile.

"Well?" said Mr. Malfoy sharply. "Who is it?"

"The same person as last time, Lucius," said Dumbledore. "But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary."

He held up the small black book with the large hole through the center, watching Mr. Malfoy closely.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

"I see..." said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

"A clever plan," said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. "Because if Harry here -" Mr. Malfoy shot him a swift, sharp look "and his friend Ron hadn't discovered this book, why -- Johnny here and Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove they hadn't acted of their own free will..."

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike.

"And imagine," Dumbledore went on, "what might have happened then... The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and - killing Muggle-borns... Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle's memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise..."

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak.

"Very fortunate," he said stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head.

And Johnny suddenly understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.

"Don't you want to know how I got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?" said Johnny.

Lucius Malfoy rounded on him.

"How should I know how got hold of it?" he said.

"Because you gave it to me," said Johnny. "I was at the Parkinson's last summer, we were celebrating my birthday early because your granddaughter, Avery, wanted to celebrate it. You said I hope it serves you well."

He saw Mr. Malfoy's white hands clench and unclench.

"Prove it," he hissed.

"Oh, no one will be able to do that," said Dumbledore, smiling at Johnny. "Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort's old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you..."

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Johnny distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-elf. "We're going, Dobby!"

He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby squealing with pain all the way along the corridor.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry said hurriedly. "Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?"

"Certainly, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly. "But hurry. The feast, remember..."

Dumbledore turned back to Johnny and smiled.

"I see more of your father in you every day," Dumbledore began. "Your father was a Slytherin. You're very much like him."

"Thank you," Johnny said, not knowing what to say.

"I have a feeling that in a few years, Lord Voldemort will rise again," said Dumbledore after a moment of silence. "And when that time comes, I'm going to need something from you."

"What, sir?"

"During the First War, I assembled the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore began an explaining. "An elite group of witches and wizards to aid the Ministry in those dark times. When Voldemort rises again, I will reform the Order, and I need spies in Voldemort's ranks, spies who can become his closest ally, possibly his right hand man."

"And you think I could?" Johnny asked, taking a gulp of air as he processed the information.

"Certainly Johnny," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort wasn't known for begging, but he would beg to have someone as powerful as you ruling by his side."

"Why're you telling me this now?" Johnny asked, rubbing his left forearm.

"For you to be mentally, physically, emotionally prepared for what would befall you once you join his ranks," Dumbledore said. "He knows Grindelwald's break the trace young wizards have, he'll have you do unimaginable things to prove your loyalty."

"Can I think about it?"

"Of course," Dumbledore said. "I won't need your answer until he has properly risen again, so do take your time and enjoy your Youth. Now I recommend having a bit of a clean up and heading to the feast."

Johnny sat at the Slytherin table at the feast, Pansy sat next to him, clutching his hand while Daphne, Theo, and Blaise sat opposite them. Johnny's mind was elsewhere, replaying his conversation with Dumbledore.

Pansy leaned in, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "So, wait—are you saying that Dumbledore thinks you could actually work for Voldemort?"

Johnny sighed, trying to find the right words. "It's not like that. He thinks I have potential to be a spy... to get close to him if he returns."

Daphne shook her head, "But after everything that happened last year? You were cleared of suspicion, right? Why would he think you could do that?"

"Because he sees something in me," Johnny replied, his voice tinged with frustration. "He said I remind him of my father, and that Voldemort would want someone powerful by his side."

Theo leaned back, crossing his arms. "That's a heavy expectation. You really think you could pull it off?"

"I don't know," Johnny admitted, running his free hand through his hair. "Dumbledore warned me it wouldn't be easy. He said Voldemort would make me do awful things to prove my loyalty."

Blaise smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "So, you'd be the ultimate double agent? That sounds like a wicked plot twist."

"Yeah, but it's not just a game," Johnny shot back, his tone serious. "It's dangerous. If Voldemort rises again..." He trailed off, the weight of the possibility hanging heavily in the air.

Pansy glanced around, ensuring no one was listening too closely. "What if you just refuse? You could tell Dumbledore you're not interested."

Johnny shook his head. "It's not that simple. Dumbledore would only manipulate me. He believes I could make a difference, and turning my back on that could mean losing a chance to protect everyone I care about."

Daphne looked thoughtful. "But what if it changes you? What if you become like them?"

"Maybe Dumbledore is wrong," Theo added, skepticism lacing his voice. "You're not your father. You don't have to follow in his footsteps."

Johnny swallowed hard, the conversation weighing down on him. "I just need time to think. Dumbledore said I should enjoy my youth, but it feels like a lot is resting on my shoulders."

Blaise raised his goblet. "To enjoying youth, then. And to figuring out how to deal with all this mess."