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But I keep you on your best behavior
Honey, I can't be your savior
Love you to the grave and farther
Honey, I am not your martyr

Savior, St. Vincent

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PROLOGUE

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1943

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A young, dark-haired boy knelt down in the middle of the large, cavernous chamber. The position was one of reverence; the boy was facing the tall, proud statue of a man dressed in gratuitous, flowing robes. When the boy spoke, the words that poured forth were not English, but something much older.

"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four."

There was a hissing noise as the base of the statue shifted in accordance with the command. Then, slowly, the shadowy form that lurked within the statue came creeping out.

The boy raised his hand as Slytherin's fabled monster drew close, pressing its nose against the boy's palm, as though it was a dog called back to its master.

"You've done well," said the boy, this time in plain tongue. "But now it is time to put you back to sleep."

The Basilisk, in its incomprehension, merely withdrew slightly, now awaiting its instructions.

Drawing his wand, the boy began to carve large, glowing runes upon the floor. It was difficult, precise work. The runes had to be angled correctly; one false rune could lead to disaster once the spell was cast upon them. The boy continued, sweat forming on his brow as he painstakingly outlined the runes required to put the Basilisk to sleep.

There was no manual on how to train a Basilisk, even one that was bred to obey you. The boy had suffered through much trial and error in his attempts to bring the creature to heel. Things had gone too far. A girl had been killed, and the Board of Governors had threatened to close Hogwarts. New steps had to be taken to prevent the closure of the school; a scapegoat for the blame and a cessation of the Basilisk.

Scowling fiercely, the boy traced the final rune upon the ground of the chamber, then stepped back to examine his handiwork. These runes would put the Basilisk to sleep for approximately fifty years. When it rewoke, it would be prepared to serve its heirs once more.

The boy raised his wand a final time and began to chant a long, complex spell in Latin. The runes began to expand, their glow burning brighter as the spell continued on. The Basilisk lifted its head up, then, examining the proceedings with interest.

Then, at last, the burning runes lifted from the ground, hovering in the air. The boy was panting now, but he held his wand aloft, pouring his magic into keeping the spell alive.

The runes floated over to the Basilisk, which gazed steadily back as the runes touched what it believed to be its nearly impenetrable skin. The magic disappeared as it made contact; one by one the runes vanished against the scaly skin of the serpentine creature.

Slowly, slowly, the great Basilisk lowered its head to the ground, its eyes sliding shut.

The boy, still on his knees, looked exhausted as the spell completed. The Basilisk, now motionless, lay curled upon the floor in front of him. On shaking legs the boy stood, stepping towards the creature. He laid a hand upon the side of its head, as though to bid it farewell.

"Fifty years," said the boy, now breathless. "By then I will have paved my way to greatness."

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1978

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A tall, arrogant man in luxurious wizard's robes was seated at the head of the table. There was a small, leather book in his hand—the name embossed on it on gold script read 'Tom Marvolo Riddle'. He gently released it, watching curiously as the book hung in the air before him.

"Lucius," said the man. "Come here."

Another man, this one with long, blond hair, hesitantly approached from where he had been waiting by the door. He then knelt down before the arrogant man, awaiting his instructions.

"You and yours have served me faithfully," the man began. "Therefore I have decided to reward you with a great honour."

"Yes, my lord?" Lucius's eyes flickered upwards, just briefly, towards where the leather book now hovered.

"This," said the man, gesturing to the book, "is an artifact of great importance to me. It contains powerful dark magic within its pages. I would ask you to protect this artifact as you would protect your own heirs. This secret is not to be revealed to anyone, and this item is never to leave your hands."

"I am… to carry it with me, my lord?"

The man gave his servant an impatient look. "Crucio," he snapped.

Lucius fell to the ground, screaming in pain. The spell held for ten seconds, then twenty seconds. Then the man lifted his wand, and the torture stopped. Lucius lay shivering upon the floor for a brief moment. Then, with huge effort, he silently pulled himself back up to kneel at his lord's feet.

"You are to carry it at all times," the man continued, as though nothing unusual had happened. "You will never open it. You will never take a quill to it. It must not leave neither your sight nor your person."

"Y-yes, my lord." Lucius bowed his head deeply, fearfully, so low that his forehead was nearly touching the ground.

"This item is vital," the self-proclaimed lord continued. "And you will shield it with your life if need be. Is that quite understood, Lucius?"

"Yes, my l-lord. It is an honour t-to serve." This response was firmer, though Lucius was still shaking with the lingering effects of the Cruciatus.

"Very well." With a lazy sweep of his hand, the man directed the little book to descend to where his servant knelt. "Do not fail me, Lucius, or there will be grave consequences."

"I will not fail you," whispered Lucius. His trembling hand grasped the journal, which he then proceeded to tuck into his robes. "Thank you, my lord."

The man smiled cruelly, then. Though Lucius, who still had his head bowed low, could not see the smile, a shiver ran down his spine anyways, as though some primal sense inside of him had recognized that he was in imminent danger.

"Don't worry, Lucius," crooned the man. "I will not be taking such chances. Obliviate."

Nine complex Compulsion Charms later, the man was satisfied that not only would his servant have no recollection of receiving the diary from him, but he would also be compelled to carry it around on his person, believing it to be an extremely essential possession of his own.

Lucius straightened, looking mildly dazed, and left the room without needing to be dismissed. The diary was still tucked into the inner pocket of his robes, and it would remain insidiously close to him for the next twenty years, even long after the Compulsion Charms had broken.

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1993

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Fifty years later, a different boy stood tall in the Chamber of Secrets. He, too, had dark, black hair, but he was much younger than his predecessor. This boy also had no parents, and he also was able to speak to snakes.

The sword in the boy's hand was soaked in blood, and the now-silent Sorting Hat lay at his feet.

Before him, the large, hulking form of the dead Basilisk lay upon the floor—its yellow eyes had been stabbed out by the Phoenix that was now perched upon the boy's shoulder.

There was a long tear in the boy's robes where the creature's fang had stabbed him. But the wound was gone now, because the Phoenix had cried upon it. So the boy no longer felt any pain, only a bone-deep tiredness that reached every atom of his being.

He thought of his friend, Hermione, who was lying frozen in the Hospital Wing. He thought of Ron's sister, Ginny, who was also frozen and lying next to Hermione. Not to mention Colin Creevy, Penelope Clearwater, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Nearly-Headless Nick, and even Mrs. Norris the cat.

They were safe now. They were all safe.

Hogwarts would not have to close, Hagrid would be proven innocent, and Professor Dumbledore would return to the school as Headmaster. The monster of Slytherin had no master actively controlling it—it was merely a violent, carnivorous thing that had finally woken after fifty years of slumber, determined to complete Salazar's work for him.

The Phoenix on the boy's shoulder cawed softly, its voice echoing into the damp air around them. He and the bird were the only two living things in the Chamber.

"It's over, Fawkes," said the bespectacled boy. He knew that Ron was waiting for him, with Lockhart, just outside the Chamber door. It was just a matter of leaving this place and finding a professor.

But, looking at the dead body of the giant snake that he had just slain, Harry Potter couldn't help but feel that he had missed something vitally important.

A/N: story title taken from 'savior' by st. vincent.

this one is dedicated to hannah (waitingondaisies) again because she keeps giving me all these tomarry ideas.

i usually tw graphic violence but i don't feel like i ever end up actually writing it that severely. we'll see i guess. expect darker themes than in my other stories.

just putting this out here for now. expect slow updates until i'm further along with writing and planning this story. feedback is welcome!