Harry felt as though he were trapped in an endlessly long dream.
In the dream, someone was screaming…a red-haired woman.
She was pleading desperately with a wizard not to kill the baby on the bed.
Harry knew the woman was about to die… He had to help her… but he was like a helpless spectator, able only to scream in vain.
He didn't know how much time passed before the red-haired woman vanished… only to be replaced by the image of a red-haired boy.
It felt so real, too real to be a mere dream. But he still couldn't move.
The red-haired boy stood up, staring directly at Harry for a long time. Then, he pulled back the covers, hugged him, and carried him out of the dormitory…
What was Ron doing?
Harry didn't know how much time passed before he woke up with a start, pressing his hands tightly against his face.
His lightning-shaped scar burned fiercely, as though a searing-hot wire had been pressed against his skin.
He sat up, clutching his scar as he took in his surroundings.
He was in a strange room. Tall stone pillars engraved with coiling serpents towered upward, supporting the ceiling.
Around him, there were unusual torches, flames flickered, constantly changing colors. They had just been purple, but now they were deep crimson, illuminating the ceiling above.
When Harry looked up at the ceiling, he was stunned.
Every inch of the ceiling was covered in paintings, intricate constellations that dazzled the eyes. Countless stars moved along specific tracks as though simulating the movement of the universe itself.
But Harry couldn't recognize any of the star formations. Although he had attended Astronomy lessons, most of his assignments had been cobbled together with Ron, or copied from the widely circulated answer sheets.
The dizzying sight made his head ache, so he turned away and glanced to the side, only to see Ron lying flat on the ground.
"Ron!" Harry called out softly as he hurried to his friend's side, kneeling down.
"Ron! What's wrong? Don't die! Please, don't die!" Harry shouted in distress.
"Right, CPR!" Harry suddenly remembered what he had learned in Muggle emergency drills.
He took a deep breath, lowered his head, and placed his mouth over Ron's, intending to blow air in—
Before he could finish, a strange voice interrupted him.
"You'd best not disturb Ron. He's in Limbo, communing with Death."
Harry jumped in shock and turned around on his knees. It was only then that he noticed there was someone else in the room.
A dark-haired boy sat quietly at a stone table, holding a thick, leather-bound book in his hands.
"Who are you?" Harry asked warily.
"My name is Tom Riddle. I'm a student at Hogwarts as well," the boy said as he closed the book.
"Tom Riddle… You're the owner of Ron's diary!" Harry exclaimed.
"That's right. It seems Ron has told you about me," Riddle replied with a charming smile.
"You just said Ron… where is he? And who is he talking to?" Harry asked anxiously.
"Limbo. He's communing with Death," Riddle repeated.
Hearing Riddle's words, Harry felt a coldness spread through his entire body. His hands and feet felt numb. He struggled to comprehend what he was hearing.
"You mean… Ron is dead?!" Harry whispered, horrified.
"Not exactly," Riddle replied, shaking his head.
"Not exactly?!" Harry shouted, his voice echoing throughout the room.
"You just said he was 'communing with Death', doesn't that mean he's dead?!"
Riddle stood up, clasping his hands behind his back as he regarded Harry.
After a long pause, he let out a soft sigh.
"To be honest, you've greatly disappointed me, Harry Potter.
"I had thought… that someone who defeated the Dark Lord would have a deeper understanding of the mysteries of life and death. But it seems I was mistaken, you're so superficial."
Riddle shook his head slowly, his expression filled with disdain.
"It seems Dumbledore didn't pass his wisdom on to you."
"What wisdom?"
"I may need to pass this mission to Stark instead," Riddle murmured to himself, "He's a suitable candidate... though he lacks a sense of ceremony."
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked angrily, "Aren't we supposed to be talking about Ron?! What's happened to him?"
"Your beloved Ron isn't dead yet. He's in Limbo," Riddle explained.
"Limbo doesn't signify death... It's a place that exists between life and death—"
"What do you mean?"
"Right now, Ron is wandering there. He may either return to your world or fall into Death's embrace... that depends on what you do next."
Harry struggled to understand. "What... what do you want me to do?"
"I summoned you here for a reason, of course," Riddle said, glancing at an invisible clock. There was still a little time left... no need to rush.
"Summoned me here..." Harry's mind flashed with an image of the Chamber of Secrets.
Ever since the attacks began, everyone believed he was the one who opened the Chamber, that he was the Heir of Slytherin.
"Listen," Harry said firmly, "if you're trying to ask me something about the Chamber of Secrets, I can assure you that I know no more than—"
Riddle took a slow, deep breath and spoke icily, "Are you a retard, Mr. Potter?"
"…" Harry was stunned. Why was Riddle suddenly insulting him?
"Use that head of yours, which is only slightly larger than a troll's, and think carefully about where you are!"
Harry looked around the room again but could only shake his head in confusion.
"Think carefully..." Riddle said with forced patience, "You were asleep in your dormitory bed at midnight... and now, out of nowhere, you're in this strange place. What's the one thing everyone in school has been whispering about lately?"
A wave of cold dread washed over Harry. "This place is..."
"Poor, clueless Potter."
Riddle's gentle tone vanished, replaced by one of feverish excitement.
"This... is the Chamber of Secrets!"
Harry sucked in a sharp breath.
"To be more precise, this is the Sanctum of the Chamber, a place where the great Salazar Slytherin studied the ancient mysteries of the past. This is the secret treasure he left for his heir..."
Riddle's expression became shrouded in mystery as he smiled.
"And I... am Slytherin's heir!"
"Then why did you bring Ron and me here?!" Harry took a step back, gripping his wand tightly.
Riddle spoke in a calm, soothing tone. "Don't be nervous, Harry Potter. If I wanted to hurt you, you'd already be dead in your bed.
"I told you, I summoned you here for a reason. I need you to assist me tonight... to complete a ritual."
Harry's face was filled with bewilderment.
"Don't... don't look at me like that." Riddle's voice took on a mournful tone, "You should feel honored that I've sought you out, Harry Potter, you are the only one I've chosen."
Harry was infuriated by Riddle's tone. Instead of feeling honored, he felt like he was being toyed with.
He replied coldly, "Sorry, but you've definitely chosen the wrong person."
"I don't even know anything about the Chamber of Secrets, let alone some ritual..."
"You still don't understand, foolish Potter," Riddle said with a beaming smile.
"It wasn't me who chose you... it was Ron Weasley."
Harry froze in place, the eerie silence of the Sanctum pressing down on him.
Riddle's smile widened as he whispered,
"He... made me choose you."
…
[A/n: The Limbo is a state between life and death. In Deathly Hallows, the scene where Harry and Dumbledore talk at King's Cross Station represents that state.
The term "Limbo" comes from Dante's Divine Comedy. It's the first circle of Hell, where the virtuous non-believers dwell.]