THE HEIR OF SLYTHERIN
Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard’ s sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair.
“ Ginny!” Harry muttered, sprinting to her and dropping to his knees.“ Ginny— don’ t be dead— please don’ t be dead—” He flung his wand aside, grabbed Ginny’ s shoulders, and turned her over. Her face was white as marble, and as cold, yet her eyes were closed, so she wasn’ t Petrified. But then she must be—
“ Ginny, please wake up,” Harry muttered desperately, shaking her. Ginny’ s head lolled hopelessly from side to side.“ She won’ t wake,” said a soft voice. Harry jumped and spun around on his knees. A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him—“ Tom— Tom Riddle?” Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry’ s face.“ What d’ you mean, she won’ t wake?” Harry said desperately.
“ She’ s not— she’ s not—?”“ She’ s still alive,” said Riddle.“ But only just.” Harry stared at him. Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen.
“ Are you a ghost?” Harry said uncertainly.
� 307 �