She'll Come Back As Fire

She'll Come Back As Fire: Only It Was Me by Verity

"I recognize the walls inside me - I recognize them all - I've paced between them - chasing demons down - until they fall - in fitful sleep - enough to keep their strength - enough to crawl - into my head - with tangled threads - they riddle me to solve." I May Know The Word, Natalie Merchant

:01

They are very private people. Perhaps this is part of the problem.

Julia Riddle, as Head Girl, has her own bedroom this year - eliminating the necessity and heady recklessness of stolen kisses in storage closets and darkened corners. But they still duel - and for this dueling she lives. It is not the innocent exhilaration of their third year, nor the more studious and practiced fighting of their fifth year, but something far more dark and desperate.

And when they return to her room they cling to each other, trying to deny the void ever-present in their lives, of which they hover uncertainly on the edge. They rarely speak, outside of class work and dueling technique; it is easier to forget what they are training for, that way: a life of duplicity and hurried tenderness.

Julia's room in the dungeons is furnished with rich brocade wall coverings and a velvet-hung four-poster. But it has the advantage of being adjoined to both the common room and an external passageway - she almost wonders what Snape was thinking of when he selected the apartment for her. Almost.

On nights when she cannot sleep afterwards, Julia watches the play of lamplight across Geneva's hair, and wonders why it so looks like dark, vicious blood upon the pristine white of the pillow.

:02

There are strange undercurrents running through the castle. He, as a teacher, hears all the rumors last.

"-heard that Iesobel Esse's ghost was spotted in the Slytherin dungeons, and no one's seen her in simply ages-"

"-his great-granddaughter! She'll be the one to wrest control from those upstart Malfoys when she gets out of here; and we'll see a real nightmare the like of which we haven't seen in twenty years-"

"-dead woman turned up in a pond outside Hogsmeade eighteen years ago? Some say she's Martius Malfoy's mother, and a real Riddle-"

"-you ass, you can't be serious! Paris Potter's the one who's in Slytherin; even if his older sister's hanging about the likes of Riddle, he'll be the one to turn first, mark my word-"

"-they'll get in through the Chamber! If Malfoy has Marvolo blood in him-"

"-the Bloody Baron hasn't been seen in ages, and Peeves has been unusually quiet-"

"-got to be kidding. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would have done it already-"

"-Myrtle appears to have taken up permanent residence in the sewers-"

"-that madwoman who killed the Dark Lord last time is in with them! Always knew the Malfoys were ripe targets for ruddy Mudblood whores-"

"-I'm worried about Toulouse, he's been looking distant these days - do you think he knows something-"

There are strange undercurrents running through the castle. But all the Head of Slytherin can do is listen.

:03

She wakes in the wee hours of the morning, one crisp November night, and is unable to go back to sleep. So, impulsively, Geneva Potter takes the shimmering silver Invisibility Cloak that she and Toulouse share (for long ago they knew that such a thing must never be put in the hands of Paris, dear as he is to them.) Draped in the soft fabric, she makes her way through the sleeping castle to Julia's room in the dungeons.

This is the face of the castle that she adores; the only one that she loves.

Geneva stops in front of a portrait of Gesius Lott, a former Divination professor, and whispers the password, "In silencio et nocturne eo." In silence and night, I go.

Lott smiles a very Slytherin smile, and the portrait swings open, soundlessly in spite of its age. The house-elves keep everything very well taken care of. At least, aside from the storage rooms.

She curls up in the large easy chair beside Julia's bed - for Julia is fast asleep, and this is something that Geneva knows is treasured very much indeed. The easy chair is comfortable enough, and the soft rhythm of Julia's breathing has almost lulled her to sleep by the time she is suddenly jolted out of her dozing by a terrified shriek.

It is not the yelp of surprise she is familiar with from her brothers; but rather a cry full of horror and fear, that sets her heart to pounding.

"Julia? Julia? What?" she says, scrambling to her feet, dizzily making her way to the bed. She can barely see in the dim lamplight, but she moves quickly. For Julia Riddle is shuddering, and this frightens her almost beyond reason.

Geneva wraps her arms around the other girl and holds her, awkwardly and unsurely. After a while, Julia sighs, and makes an attempt to pull away. Geneva, however, is not so easily thwarted.

"What is it?" she asks.

"How did you get here?"

"I couldn't sleep; I didn't think you would-"

"It's all right. You can - come here any time you need to. You don't have to ask."

"Tell me. I should have the right."

Julia looks at her for a moment; her black eyes are inscrutable. "Yes."

"I won't ask that much of you," she replies quietly. "But it's something to remember."

"It's nothing that should worry you. I'm fine."

"You're very good at pretending."

"Am I? Am I really?"

"You fooled me. But," here Geneva tempers her voice with a little humor, "I'm a Gryffindor. We are very gullible."

"I," murmurs Julia, "envy you."

Julia says nothing more (of consequence) that night, but Geneva feels reassured, and the November night no longer seems quite so bitter cold.

:04

"Minerva," he addresses the Headmistress, "there's something wrong in the school."

She raises an eyebrow, and takes a sip of her Scotch. (He has stuck with tea; old habits die hard, and Dumbledore had never been much of a drinker.) "Oh, Severus?" she asks, sounding dubious. "We haven't had so few disciplinary issues in years. What on earth do you mean?"

"Do you know why we've had so few disciplinary issues?" A question for a question.

Minerva McGonagall frowns at this. "I'd assumed - well, we haven't half so many troublemakers. Julia Riddle does wonders to keep the Slytherins under control, and Daniel Wood's set a marvelous example for the Gryffindors."

"Slytherin House is not under control. It has never completely been, I assure you, and will never be. Any sign of obeisance on its part simply means that things have gone further underground, beyond my realm of influence. The prestige of Slytherin House has always been built upon money and power; it is run by rumors. If this newfound lack of bellicosity in the school has been pleasant for you, Minerva, enjoy the small interlude while it lasts - because turmoil is brewing beneath the surface. Other houses are quieter as well - not silent with respect, but gagged and bound by fear."

"You sound like Sibyl," she dismisses him; this is not the first time they have spoken upon this subject - or quarreled. "More Earl Grey?"

"Dumbledore was not nearly sorted into Slytherin for nothing. Remember: discretion is the better part of valor. Dumbledore was subtle, Minerva, and would have seen the truth of matters to which you have unwittingly turned a blind eye. I do not mean - to criticize you, or hold you up to an unfair standard-"

"-but he was far better than I, and you should have had the job. You know the school board's prejudices." Minerva's voice is now bluntly grim and serious. "I cannot run this place on hunches; logic is my game. It is not enough. It's very difficult for me to take you seriously, you know. I try."

Severus Snape looks around the office; twenty years after his death, it is still littered with the various magical gewgaws and gadgets that Dumbledore had once collected. He feels the former Headmaster's presence most strongly in this room, less an office than a veritable shrine, and wonders what message the old wizard is trying to send him.

He remembers another evening, when he sat beside Dumbledore's grave, hungry for a forgotten face and desperate for his past. The lull before a storm. His stomach churns; he takes another sip of his tea to soothe it.

"What do we do now?" the Headmistress asks wearily.

"We wait," he says, for this is the only answer he can give; the tea is tepid when he finally thinks to bring the cup back to his lips.

:05

"Are you going home for the holidays?"

"You know I never do," replies Julia, closing her Arithmancy textbook and looking up from her workspace towards Geneva, with whom she is sharing a library table. "You?"

"The same."

"Catch up on our dueling, shall we?" Their tones are quiet; though they do not always get along well with Madam Pince, they are far from transgressing on such hallowed grounds.

"I certainly hope so." Geneva hesitates, the rapid movements of her quill stilling. "My father knows about us."

"Really?" It's not as though Julia hasn't expected it, though. Walls have ears, however minute. "Most likely Paris. I'm surprised it's taken him this long. Usually he's quicker with his petty vengeances."

"Should I ask?"

"Probably not." Julia plucks a fresh roll of parchment and her Potions text from her rucksack. "Are you worried about it?"

Surprisingly, Geneva laughs. "No. Dad is - rather uninterested about all of us, as a whole. We remind him too much of Mum, I suppose. I was more thinking of you. If Dad knows-"

It's Julia's turn to laugh - though hers is a darker sort of amusement. "My mother knows. She doesn't care in the least. She won't tell anyone - she hasn't spoken to anyone in the wizarding world since before I was born."

"Oh. What about your father?"

She smiles languidly as she refills her quill with ink. "I would assume he knows as well. But he'd never, ever say anything."

:06

"-Potter. And Riddle. Yes, that way! Isn't it frightening? Absolutely surreal-"

"-they say that Filch found another message, like the ones from thirty years ago, scrawled on the wall outside the girls' bathroom-"

"-do you really think it's been opened again? I mean, it's just legend, right-"

"-that Potter girl's mother. They say insanity is hereditary-"

"-and just where did she come from? I've never heard of another wizard by the name of Riddle-"

"-I'm frightened, truly, I-"

"-bloody favoritism! If it's not Geneva Potter getting the top marks, it's Julia Riddle-"

"-You-Know-Who's real name - Tom Marvolo Riddle-"

"-absolute puzzle, a complete riddle-"

"-Riddle-"

"Riddle."

It all comes down to one word, thinks Severus Snape. He stares into the fire and wonders.

:07

"No one's been Petrified. I mean, it's completely unproven," Geneva offers. They are finishing up their extra-credit project for Astronomy from that tower (though, in deference to their Professor, they have avoided the sort of behavior that students generally engage in there at such hours.)

"Did you get that constellation mapped? but I agree with you. However, unproven does not necessarily mean untrue." Julia bites her lips, thinks a bit, then crosses off one of the arrangements of stars.

"Are you thinking of that in particular?"

"How shrewd of you, Geneva!" she remarks. "I'm proud. No. Not in particular."

"Ah."

"You are a terribly good Gryffindor, you know. Discretion being the better part of valor."

"You are a terribly good Slytherin, you know. Pithy quotes and all."

"Don't you mean Ravenclaw?"

Geneva squints. "Is that Ophiuchus?"

"Wrong season entirely."

"But I'm sure that if we put down that we saw it in January, Professor Sinistra would be quite impressed with our eyesight."

"Do you really think that the Heir of Slytherin is back?" Julia asks, setting down her quill.

"What do you think?"

"I believe that Martius Malfoy has Slytherin blood in him, even if he never knew it until his father and grandfather got hold of him. But he's not here. Yet."

"No. If they were, it would be you. And you wouldn't."

"You're too trustworthy."

"Am I, Julia?"

:08

They come upon it almost by accident, one weekend when most of the school is in Hogsmeade.

Geneva is doing her essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts on an arcane Dark spell, Vita Pro Vita, when she stumbles upon a strange footnote in Grave Magicks: Spells For This World And Beyond.

"Vita Pro Vita's counterpart, Vita Ex Mors, has not been used since Mediaeval Times, both because of its redundant nature and the laws that were set in place against necromancy in 1151. However, Vita Ex Mors, as previously stated, is merely an extension of natural sacrifice magic (Chapter Five: Harsh Payments), a catalyst in that it takes less energy (i.e., the life of a unwilling participant, rather than the life of the willing participant) to be effected."

So, naturally, she, the erstwhile scholar, turns to chapter five in search of more information.

Julia blinks in surprise when Geneva throws the door to the Head Girl's room open.

"What?"

"She did it. God, she did it, and I- so blind. So bloody fucking blind. How could I-?" Geneva's words are soft, but uttered quickly; they trip over her tongue. A nervous patter vibrant against the silence of the dungeons.

"What?" She says nothing. Julia closes the door, then takes her by the hands, leading her to the bed. Geneva sits, not letting go of Julia's hands - they have always been a lifeline to her. "What?"

"Mother. Mummy. She- the tie. She hung her self with his tie. We didn't see it. We - he must have known. God. Even if he didn't know - about that - he had to have known-"

"Tom Riddle is dead." Oh, the irony, to have this from Julia's lips. When so many times - he had said - to her mother -

"No." Geneva whispers it; but it her ears it seems louder than even the keening of a banshee for a mortal life long dead. "No. She took the tie. She wished - she dreamed. She wanted more than anything. She knew what to do. And all this time he's been waiting - and Martius Malfoy was seen last week in a pub ten miles east of Hogsmeade-"

And Julia looks at her honestly, naked of pretense. "He's coming to let him out."

:09

They leave a note for Professor Snape - he doesn't seem to be in his office, and they've never deigned to inquire as to the location of his more private quarters. Then, Julia Riddle and Geneva Potter make their way to a certain girls' toilet, now empty of its former spectral occupant.

It's such an innocuous little entrance. They peer at the copper tap that featured in one of Geneva's mother's favorite tales of her childhood. Then Julia taps her wand on it impatiently.

"Open!" Geneva commands.

Nothing happens.

"Open, you piece of magically imbued shit?" Julia offers, thinking that this may be an improvement on tact.

Nothing continues to happen.

"I think..." Geneva suggests hesitantly, "that we may need to work together on this one." And Geneva outstretches her hand.

Julia eyes it contemplatively for a moment. Then she seizes it. "Very well."

They crouch down before the tap, and whisper their orders. "I am Geneva Titania Potter, daughter of Harry, he-who-speaks-the-tongue-of-serpents, daughter of Virginia, lover-of-the-serpent-tongued. I will not be denied."

"I am Julia Livia Riddle, daughter of she who brought down Voldemort from his throne of blood and bone. I will not be denied."

Together, they speak, as one: "Open."

And the Chamber does.

:10

Searing, burning pain - fire across the flesh of her right wrist, the hand that clutches Julia's left one; it eats her alive. She does not remember screaming; but she must have done, for Julia is steadying her with her free hand, and the noise rings around in her ears. She never lets go.

A serpent - serpents? twines around her wrist; not so much a scar but a brand. Geneva sees the scorched red flesh of Julia's left wrist, and knows how much this calmness must be costing her.

Geneva? Julia asks. Are you all right?

Yes. She closes her eyes. Your battle now.

She is lying; it will be still belong to both of them, no matter where she lies; inside that room or here, on the cool stone of the bathroom floor. But somehow this makes sense to her; the world has suddenly shifted to allow thoughts to seem a reasonable means of communication. Her power ebbs away in her; she shifts into the blackness of sleep.

A kiss she sends to her beloved. And a wish.

:11

Geneva a strange, dreaming presence at the back of her mind, Julia makes her way into the Chamber of Secrets, down the tunnel, into the half-light. She is not surprised to see a young man there, with dark eyes and hair almost like to her own.

"Hello, Tom," she says, with a smile that is almost genuine (with relief?). "I'm sorry about the wait."

"I knew you would come. Who are you?" He stands, his back to the immense statue of Salazar Slytherin, surrounded by the jagged smoothness of rock on all sides; the light picks out his sharp cheekbones, the brown highlights in his hair.

"The Heir of Slytherin." And this is not a lie. For who has been so cunning, so shrewd, so gifted as the young Dark Lord as Geneva and she?

"A female Heir? Displeasing. And yet - hmm. I rather fancy that you may be better than the alternative."

"Oh, I assure you that I am far better," Julia replies, and in the blink of an eye she has her wand trained on him. "Martius is not only incompetent, he refuses to remember his origins. I, however, have no intention of ever making my name anything but Riddle."

"You have made a bad move there, pet." He does not look frightened; but neither does she, no matter how scared she truly may be. "Who are you?"

"My name is Julia Riddle. I duel."

Tom smirks; it's a fetching, ingratiating smirk. "Do you fancy yourself a duelist, then?"

"Oh, I fancy myself many more things than that."

The duel is different from hers with Geneva; in a way, theirs are more sophisticated, for they've had nearly seven years to learn the intricacies of each other's dueling styles. But Tom is good - as good as they are, certainly, and fights in a manner nearly a century old, a form that is as like to hers as the sun is the moon.

But this gives them both the disadvantage; he cannot anticipate her sudden ducks and rolls, nor many of the more recently developed curses and hexes.

"Glacius!" shouts Tom.

"Parvi Nervi!" Julia fires back, neatly dodging the ball of ice.

"Arachnafunesta!"

"Miserus Filiolus!"

Finally he has her cornered, up against one of the many pillars that flank the main corridor of the Chamber. "I told you that you were making a mistake," he hisses in her ear.

"I told you," she murmurs, sliding her arms around him, surreptitiously slipping her wand up to touch his temple, "that I was the true Heir. Claude Librum."

And Tom Marvolo Riddle crumples in her arms to ashes, and the ashes drift away, lifted by an invisible wind, to leave a small diary, worn and tattered but otherwise intact.

:12

"Hello, Professor," Julia Riddle greets him coolly. She is sitting on the edge of Geneva Potter's bed, and holding the sleeping girl's right hand.

Not an hour back from Hogsmeade, Severus Snape has already heard from Minerva McGonagall, in strictest confidence, that these girls defeated the Dark Lord. This statement was punctuated with Julia's extraordinary arrival in the infirmary, book in pocket, Geneva floating behind her. He assumes that little has changed since then.

"Congratulations," he replies, taking a seat on a chair next to the bed. "You appear to have won."

"Nothing is without price."

"But certainly she will recover...?"

"Oh, not that." Julia draws up the left sleeve of her school robes; he is stunned to speechlessness in the wake of what he sees there.

"That's the sigil of Slytherin."

"She bears it as well. Salazar does not appear to be discriminating on the basis of actual Slytherin heritage."

"Have you decided what you're going to tell the reporters, Miss Riddle?"

Julia eyes the apparently sleeping Geneva. "I'll leave that up to her. It's her choice."

"Why?"

"Think, Professor. Think about sacrifice magic, and a present you were once given, and a present you gave, and a boy..."

Lucius. In that moment it all falls together in his mind - Harry, Ginny, the long-dead Ronald, her, trapped in Malfoy Manor for two days - a silken tie - the tie that binds - a spell - a programmed resurrection. Lucius has always loved dark comedies on the greatest sort of scale.

He must have made some noise; some movement; but he cannot recall doing so.

"No," says Geneva Potter's voice faintly; they both turn to the other girl, and he notes how protectively Julia's hand curves over Geneva's. "We're not going to say anything to them."

Julia simply nods, with a small smile, showing approval and understanding. Geneva smiles as well, and then closes her eyes, as if to return to her rest.

Severus Snape is, however, still confused. "Why?"

"I know what fame has done to my father, and infamy to Julia's mother- I would not want such a curse bestowed on either of us," Geneva murmurs.

All this time - it had been right there before him - he had never seen-

His daughter simply looks at him calmly, serenity in her black eyes. "You will say nothing, Professor. Agreed?"

:13

By the end of the month Geneva is fully recovered, and soon there are exams to thing about; they bury themselves in academia. She rarely bothers with returning to her dorm. Julia seems happier, if a little subdued; they begin to speak of an apartment in London for after they leave Hogwarts. Both have been unconditionally invited to join the Ministry of Magic, Geneva as an Auror, and Julia as an Unspeakable. They send their letters of acceptance back on the same day.

On the day the last of the OWLS are finished, they retreat to Julia's room, and sleep for forty-eight hours.

"That's it, then," Geneva pronounces upon waking.

"Yes," Julia agrees. "For the moment."

"It seems almost... as if it were all a dream. The exams. Everything."

"I know. No one will ever know."

"Except for us. We can treasure it."

Julia leans over and kisses her; they are both sleepy, weary, and hungry, but at the same time she realizes that such things have never mattered with them.