Chapter Thirteen: The Diary of T.M. Riddle

Dinner was a rambunctious affair. Not even the fears of another attack could smother the holiday spirit in the air as everyone gorged themselves on food, pulling crackers together, telling jokes and discussing their presents. Peeves floated over the tables, singing inappropriate versions of songs until he was shouted out of the Great Hall by Minerva, much to the disappointment of most of the students. Hari was glad to see Draco joining in with the festivities, even agreeing to wear the giant sombrero he won out of the cracker he pulled with Fred and telling the joke inside with much fervor. Fred and George lost Gryffindor ten points each after setting off dungbombs at the staff table, Professor Snape’s beady eyes glowering at them past his sharp nose from the other side of the hall.

After the feast, yawning and patting their stuffed bellies, the second years stopped in the entrance hall to finalise their plans for the evening.

“So, Pansy, you’ve got your mother’s Quick Quotes Quill, right?” Ron clarified in an undertone as Hagrid and Sprout walked past them, off to The Three Broomsticks with the other staff members that stayed.

Pansy nodded. “Yup. It’s currently hidden in my trunk,” she replied, “I stole it from my mother before I even left for the term. I doubt she’ll notice that it’s gone. She’s got at least 4 others.”

“We’ll sit as close to them as possible but I’ll hide the quill and paper well out of sight so that we’ll have written evidence, especially if we miss something,” added Millicent, looking far too excited in Hari’s opinion. “The quill will write down any questions we ask them as well.”

With their plans underway, Hari, Ron, Hermione and Draco made their way up the stairs to the common room, waving goodbye to the others as they headed down the stairs to the dungeons.

Ron flopped onto the couch by the fire with his feet up, rubbing his overstuffed stomach. Hermione rolled her eyes and sat in one of the arm chairs with the new book Hari bought her for the Solstice while Hari and Draco sat down on the floor with a game of exploding snap. Fred and George were laughing in the corner over their presents from Lee Jordan from Zonko’s Joke Shop while Percy was somewhere off in the castle.

“Damn, how in Merlin’s pants do you always win this stupid game? It’s literally a game of chance!” Draco whined a little while later, leaning against the couch with his head against Ron’s sleeping legs. He had lost the last 3 rounds of exploding snap to Hari, which seemed to be one of the few games Hari could ever beat him at. “I’m bored,” he announced.

Hari laughed and sat back beside Draco, elbowing his side. “You’re just a sore loser, Dray. Admit it.”

“I will not,” Draco replied, nose in the air defiantly. “Because I don’t have to. I’m not a sore loser at all, Potter. I am the least sore loser ever—” He recognised his flaw too late as Hari’s grin widened.

“Aha! So you admit you’re a loser, then!” Hari shouted, accidentally startling Ron awake. Hermione rolled her eyes from behind her book, but said nothing.

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“For God’s sake! Would you two shut up?” Hermione snapped her book shut, glaring at the bickering boys on the carpet. Hari and Draco looked at each other for a second before dissolving into laughter on the carpet.

The great grandfather clock chimed and Hermione jolted out of her seat. “It’s time!” she exclaimed.

Underneath the Invisibility Cloak, Hari, Hermione, Draco and Ron sneaked out of the common room together and made their way in the direction of the Slytherin common room. It was eerily silent in the corridors, not even a ghost or a professor moving through the corridors as they crossed to the opposite side of the castle.

Deep in the dungeons, the group shuffled down a long stretch of corridor, dimly lit by the barest amount of lanterns lining the walls. Eventually, they turned a corridor and came across an ornately decorated door, two serpents twisting around each other.

A moment later, the doors slid open and Pansy poked her head out.

“We’re here,” Hermione muttered, tapping Pansy through the cloak.

Without a word, she led the group through the doors and into the Slytherin common room.

The Slytherin common room was a vastly different room from the Gryffindor one. Set deep underground, the entire room was washed with the strange green light from the lake. Every so often, shadows would pass over the room as various creatures underwater swam past. It was dimly lit with a brilliant, massive fireplace that roared almost constantly during the freezing winter nights as draughts were common so far down. Dotted around the large room were cozy, velvet green couches with an ornate silver chandelier hanging from the ceiling, casting tiny green light which bounced off the crystals and onto the dark stone.

Under the cloak, the four Gryffindors followed Pansy back across the common room where she spread out on one of the couches, half draped over the arm of the hair with her short black hair hanging down. Beside her, Pansy propped her legs in Millicent’s legs. Discreetly, her robe’s long sleeve hid the quill and paper from view of the three boys sitting adjacent to them. Theodore Nott, a scrawny and pale boy with short cropped hair, was sitting with his feet on the table in front of him with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him. Every bit the opposite of Nott in build, they were muscular, wide set boys.

“You know, I’m surprised the Prophet hasn’t reported any of these Mudblood attacks,” Nott said with a smirk. Pansy and Millicent exchanged looks. “Our useless headmaster probably doesn’t want people knowing he can’t run his school properly. My father says he’s lost his touch, the stupid Mudblood lover. Dumbledore’s the worst thing to happen to this school, ever.”

Millicent glanced down at the acid green quill which was rapidly writing down everything Nott was saying.

“Honestly, if you ask me, we’re better off without those idiots roaming the halls,” Nott continued, snickering. Crabbe and Goyle joined in their sneering, stupid laughter. Pansy and Millicent both resisted the urge to roll their eyes. “That stupid Creevey with his camera, always following Potter around like a lovesick puppy. And people believe Potter is the heir of Slytherin after all his Mudblood pals?”

Underneath the cloak, Hari exchanged a hopeful look with his friends, heart skipping a beat in anticipation.

Millicent’s eyebrows raised minutely and she glanced over to where she knew the Gryffindors were hiding, silently hopeful about the next few sentences no doubt waiting on the tip of Nott’s loose tongue. Could he, perhaps, be about to admit he was the heir of Slytherin? Pansy sat up, drumming her fingers on the couch with interest.

Nott sighed, getting to his feet and pacing in front of the fire. The light from the flames flickered against his ash white face, cutting jarring shadows into his thin features like a knife. “It’s too bad I still don’t know who it is.” Nott complained, scowling. “Father knows, of course, but he’s not telling me…”

Pansy scowled, disappointment written right on her face. She quickly hid it, sitting up straighter and batting her dark eyelashes in Nott’s direction. He turned to her, curious. “Surely you have some idea who it is, though. You’re so smart, after all,” she almost cooed, blue eyes staring at Nott intently. Millicent snorted quietly as a result, but stopped when Pansy pinched her ankle tightly in warning. Ron and Hari both pretended to gag, Hermione shooting them a silent glare.

“No I don’t, Greengrass. Father won’t budge no matter how much I pester him,” Nott replied, rolling his eyes. “All I know is that it was 50 years ago and that last time, a Mudblood girl died. Here’s hoping whatever is in the chamber kills Granger.” Pansy was pinching Millicent increasingly tightly as Nott went on. She didn’t stop until Millicent slapped her hand away, almond eyes scowling.

“Was the person that did it caught?” asked Pansy, moving her legs off Millicent and turning around to face Nott head on where he was leaning casually against the fireplace.

“Oh, yeah. They were expelled,” replied Nott carelessly. “Probably in Azkaban, I’d bet.”

Millicent hummed, glancing at the still writing quill and then back at Nott. He followed the movement, eyes landing on the quill. “What’re you—?” he began, eyes narrowing on the quill. Millicent’s eyes widened and she grabbed the quill and parchment in one hand and Pansy’s wrist in the other, dragging her towards the common room door.

Hari grabbed Ron and Hermione’s hands and yanked them after Pansy.

“Just going to the library! Got homework!” Millicent called over her shoulder, ignoring the strange looks from the three boys and shoving Pansy into the corridor. Breathless, the door slammed behind them and Draco yanked the cloak off of them.

The group stared at each other for a few long moments, taking in what they just witnessed.

“Well that was stupid,” Pansy said, raising her eyebrow.

¤¤¤

The next morning, Hari, Ron, Draco and Hermione made their way down the stairs for breakfast, still discussing the previous night. Pansy and Millicent accosted them, both of them half-hysterical. They allowed the two Slytherins to shove them inside a nearby empty classroom.

“I can’t believe it’s not him,” Ron blurted as soon as the door shut behind them. “I thought for sure it would be him!”

“So did I,” said Hari, sighing in disappointment. At least if they had found out it was him, they could have reported him and the attacks could have stopped. But now they were right back to where they left off. “There’s one thing I don’t get.” Everyone looked at him. “If the person that did it fifty years ago was expelled and probably sent to prison, how is it happening again now?”

“Well if the person that did it last time had a kid, they’d be the next heir, wouldn’t they?” suggested Ron, leaning against one of the desks. “And maybe they taught their kid how to do it now.”

Draco shook his head. “But if they really got sent to Azkaban, it would be pretty difficult for them to have a kid at Hogwarts nevermind tell them how to do it again. You don’t exactly go to prison for a short period of time for murder.”

Resigned to not knowing the truth still, the six second years made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast, splitting off towards their respective tables.

¤¤¤

A few days into the next term, Hari and Ron were making their way back from Hari’s Quidditch practice, complaining about a particularly boring Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson where Ron had fallen asleep.

“I mean, he just can’t teach for his life,” Ron was saying as they climbed up the stairs, past a pair of ghosts whispering to each other.

Hari nodded vigorously. “He can’t go five seconds without talking about himself,” he added as they reached the top of the steps. “At least he didn’t give us as much homework as Professor Snape.”

Ron was about to comment on the mass of homework they had waiting for them when they turned the corner and came across a familiar angry swearing from along the corridor. Eyebrows raised curiously, they crept along the hall towards where they could hear Filch complaining loudly to himself.

“You don’t think another attack’s happened?” asked Ron fearfully as they craned to hear.

As they neared the angry muttering, it became evident just what he was so hysterical about. The stone floors were soaked and flooded with puddles of water. Hari and Ron carefully dodged out of the puddles as they heard Filch disappearing up a flight of stairs, hissing about speaking to Dumbledore. Safe from the fuming caretaker, Hari and Ron skirted around puddles, which lined the entire hallway next to where the first attack took place months ago. The water appeared to be trailing out from under the door to Myrtle’s toilet, flooding over half the ground.

Hari could hear Myrtle’s loud cries coming from inside the bathroom, bouncing off the walls. “I wonder what’s upset her,” said Hari, leading the way through the water, holding up their robes as they crossed to the door. It creaked as Hari pushed it open.

Now, on the other side of the door, Myrtle’s wails were even louder, painful and high pitched from inside her usual stall. Hari held a finger up to his lips and stepped quietly over to Myrtle’s stall. Clearing his throat, he knocked gently on the door to the stall.

“Myrtle? What’s wrong?”

Myrtle’s moping, dreary voice came from inside the stall, “Who’s there? Back to throw something else at me?”

Hari and Ron exchanged glances. “Throw something at you? Why would I do that?” he asked.

Myrtle floated over the stall, sniffing loudly and causing another wave of water to drench the floor from her toilet. Hari and Ron jumped back from the onslaught of water.

“How should I know?” Myrtle wailed, crossing her arms, “I was just minding my own business in the U-bend when someone thought it would be hilarious to throw a book in my toilet!”

“It can’t hurt you though, can it?” said Ron cautiously, “You’re a ghost. It just goes through you, doesn’t it?”

This only proved to make things worse. Myrtle sobbed even harder, diving down in front of Ron and Hari and screaming, “Oh, let’s all be mean to Myrtle! She’s just a ghost! She can’t feel it! Let’s see who can get it through her head!”

“D’you know who did it?” Hari asked.

Myrtle shrugged, floating up and down with her arms crossed impossibly tighter and her frown deeper. “I don’t know. I was in the toilet and I didn’t hear anyone coming in, but the next thing I know, the book landed right through me!” she complained, “It’s somewhere over there.” She gestured vaguely towards the sinks.

Hari and Ron wandered over in that direction. Hari saw a small leather book sitting in one of the puddles under the sink and reached down to pick it up, but Ron grasped his wrist, stopping him.

“It could be dangerous!” he exclaimed. Hari gave him an odd look and he continued, “Dad’s seen all sorts of things at the Ministry. There’s loads of cursed books like one that you can’t stop reading ever and one that kills anyone that reads it! What if it’s something like that?”

Hari frowned. “I doubt someone’s thrown some cursed book down a girl’s toilet, Ron,” he said, “Might as well see what it is.” He grabbed the book from the floor abruptly, making Ron wince.

Nothing happened. Hari inspected the fading leather on what appeared to be an old diary, over fifty years by the date on the cover. Humming with interest, he peeled open the cover to the first page, Ron leaning over his shoulder to read with him. In neat, loopy writing in shining black ink, the name “T. M. Riddle” was written on the inside page.

Ron pulled the book from Harry and said, “I recognise that name… They were awarded for services to the school decades ago.”

“How do you know that?”

“It was the plaque Filch made me clean hundreds of times because I had another slug attack during detention, remember?” He handed the diary back to Hari, who began thumbing through the pages. They were all completely blank, not even a few notes about birthdays or appointments, just a thick stack of blank parchment. “I wonder why someone would throw away a 50 year old diary down the toilet,” said Ron.

Hari shook his head, unsure. “I dunno, but it’s strange. No one’s written in it,” he said thoughtfully. The label on the back stated that it was from Vauxhall Road in London, suggesting the owner had been a Muggle-born. Pocketing the book inside his robe, Hari and Ron left Myrtle’s toilet together. For some reason, Hari felt strangely compelled to keep it…

¤¤¤

Hari showed Draco and Hermione the diary when they got to the common room. Hermione remarked that it could have hidden powers while Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously at it, as though it almost offended him.

“If it has any powers at all, it does a mean job of hiding them,” said Ron, leaning back in his chair as Hermione took the diary from Hari to inspect it up close. “Dunno why you even kept it, Hari. It was probably just some birthday gift that Riddle got and never used.”

“But why would someone try to chuck it over fifty years later?” asked Draco, still looking suspiciously at the book, “It’s a bit odd to have an empty diary from so long ago.”

Hari agreed. “And why did this Riddle get awards for services to the school? It’s a wee bit suspicious, don’t you think?” Hermione was still poking her wand at the pages, eyebrows furrowed and curly hair falling into her face.

“Maybe they got a bunch of O.W.L.s or saved a first year from drowning in the lake,” said Ron disinterestedly, yawning. “Could’ve done in Myrtle or something. That’d certainly be a service to the school.”

Hari could tell from Hermione and Draco’s faces that they were both thinking the same thing as he was. Hermione was scowling at Ron and Draco’s light eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the diary in Hermione’s hands. Ron looked at the other three, sitting properly in his chair.

“What is it? Why do you all look like that?”

“The Chamber of Secrets was opened 50 years ago, according to Nott,” explained Hermione. “And this diary is 50 years old as well…”

“So what?”

Draco groaned, dropping his head on the table in frustration before turning to glare exasperatedly at Ron. “For Merlin’s sake, Ronald,” he snapped, “The Chamber was opened fifty years ago, the same time this diary was from. The owner of this diary got awards for services to the school fifty years ago. What if it was this Riddle guy that caught the person that opened the chamber? They could have all the details of how to open the Chamber from last time.” He looked over at Hari, grey eyes piercing and knowing. “If the one opening it this time was using this, they wouldn’t want to be found with it lying around, would they?”

Hermione’s various attempts to reveal any hidden ink or powers proved futile however as the diary remained hopelessly blank, lying open on the table between them. Hari had been sure there was something strange about the book…

“Like I said, it was probably just a gift someone couldn’t be bothered to have lying around anymore,” said Ron, going back to his Potions essay.

¤¤¤

Over the next few days, Hari found himself looking through T.M. Riddle’s diary often. He couldn’t explain what was so enticing about a fading, blank diary that he didn’t even bother writing in, but Hari still found himself thumbing through the creamy white pages half heartedly every evening before bed. He looked over the fading black ink that stated the owner’s name, as if it would give him all the answers if he just looked closer, just paid a little more attention to that sleek, loopy writing.

As the weeks went by and the grounds began to brighten ever so slightly as January slid into February, the mood lifted with the rising sun. It had now been months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick were attacked and the constant whispers and stares that used to follow Hari around were finally starting to ease down. As the Mandrakes began having acne break outs, signalling they were maturing, people began to stop suspecting Hari to be a Muggle-born hater, fearing they would be Petrified any second.

Of course, people like Ernie Macmillan or Zacharias Smith still told anyone and everyone about Hari’s guilt, Ernie proclaiming rather loudly that the attacks had simply stopped because Hari was caught in the act.

One day, while waiting outside for Transfiguration class to start, Hari overheard Lockhart telling Minerva that the school needed a ‘morale-booster’ to lift their spirits higher. Hari feared exactly what this would entail as he caught Minerva’s exasperated look as she ushered the students into class.

Lockhart’s morale-booster came to fruition on the morning of February fourteenth. When Hari made his way to breakfast, the entire Great Hall was filled with red and pink decor. There were vibrant pink and red flowers lining the walls and tiny heart-shaped confetti had been charmed to rain down onto the tables, covering everyone’s breakfast and hair in tiny bits of paper. He had dwarves dressed like cupids with ill fitting fake wings and miniature bow and arrows, apparently tasked with delivering Valentine’s Day messages to anyone that wanted them.

That day proved to be the very opposite of a morale-booster, as Lockhart, dressed in lurid pink robes and a matching pointy hat, had expected. The teachers were all in ghastly moods, rolling their eyes every time their lessons were interrupted by the return of dwarves and taking off an almost excessive amount of house points for small reasons.

On his way up to Charms, Hari ended up being the next victim to get a message from one of the “cupids”.

“Oi! Hari Potter! I’ve got a singing message for ya!” called a surprisingly gruff voice from down the corridor. Hari’s cheeks flushed as he turned in horror to find one of the dwarves walking over to him, fixing his wings on his back.

“Erm, not here,” Hari half-pleaded, looking around the room at the many stares he was getting. Hermione and Ron were staring at Hari with amusement as Draco shoved a fist in his mouth, grinning mischievously.

“Stay still!” grunted the dwarf, grabbing Hari’s bag so that it ripped horribly, spilling out all his things. The next thing Hari knew, he was being unceremoniously tackled to the floor with a yelp, the dwarf’s arms wrapped around his ankles and more of his books and items going flying. A bottle of ink burst onto all of his things, staining his hands and robes.

And then the dwarf began to sing, very off key and echoing around the hallway, which was rapidly filling with more and more onlookers:

“His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.
I wish he was mine, he’s really divine,
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.”

Face burning, Hari pushed aside the dwarf and scrambled to his feet, shoving his things unceremoniously into his bag. There were laughs and shouts coming from here and there down the corridor from the people that witnessed the scene. Draco was doubled over with laughter now, tears streaming down his face as he cackled at Hari’s embarrassment. Hari scowled, stalking over to his friends.

He elbowed Draco in the side. “Did you send that?” he asked. At Draco’s increasing laughter, Hari scoffed and shoved his friend. “You asshole! Look what happened to my stuff because of your silly prank!”

As they made the rest of the way back to class, Hari was still grumbling about Draco’s prank on him. All of his books and papers were drenched in ink and his bag was going to need to be repaired as soon as possible. “‘His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad?’ Honestly, Draco? You’re ridiculous sometimes,” Hariwhined as they reached Flitwick’s classroom finally and started taking their seats at their desks.

“Come on, it was funny!” Draco insisted as he sat down beside Hari. Hari huffed, piling his soggy parchment on his and Draco’s table.

“It was embarrassing, Draco. Everyone was watching and laughing at me.” Hari pouted and looked at his torn bag, pulling out more inky papers and putting them on the table. It was going to take ages to get them all fixed.

Draco bumped Hari’s shoulder. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll let you copy all my notes…” Draco’s voice trailed off, watching Hari pulling out his soiled items. He gasped, eyes narrowing. “Hari, Riddle’s diary is completely dry.”

Hari looked down at the diary and frowned.

It was, in fact, completely unharmed. Unlike the rest of Hari’s things, it was completely devoid of ink, despite having been in the bag as well. How could it have escaped the rest of the contents of his bag’s fate? Hermione and Ron, who were whispering about Ron’s now bubbling wand, didn’t notice Hari and Draco’s pondering over Hari’s unharmed diary…

¤¤¤

After the diary stayed miraculously dry of any ink, Hari went upstairs early that evening in the hopes of getting a better look at the diary. He had a feeling there was a reason the book was impenetrable by ink properly and pulled out a new bottle of ink and a quill and flipped to a random page in the diary.

Careful not to spill any ink on his blankets, Hari dipped his quill in the ink and drew a long, thin line down the page. For a moment, the black ink stayed shiny and wet on the parchment before disappearing, leaving the paper clean and blank once more.

Hello, I am Hari Potter.

Once again, the ink shone black before disappearing again. After a few moments, words he had never written appeared on the page in the same neat writing from the first page.

Hello, Hari Potter. I'm Tom Riddle. How did you find my diary?

Hari gasped at the words on the page, watching them fade back into the diary like the rest of the ink before. Heart thrumming with excitement, Hari dipped his quill in the ink bottle again and replied:

Someone tried to flush it down a toilet.

The reply was almost immediate, feverish, a whole paragraph of neat writing.

Good thing I preserved my memories within this diary in a more lasting form than ink. I am not surprised that some would not want to keep this diary, the memories it holds. Terrible memories, things kept hidden from the world. Events that took place at Hogwarts School…

That’s where I am now! Horrible stuff is happening again. Do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?

Tom’s reply was frantic and hurried, the writing growing messier, the ink fading faster as Hari stared in awe, heart skipping a beat every second as the words went on. Tom knew about the Chamber of Secrets. His writing told Hari about how he had caught the culprit and been forced to hide the reason a young girl was murdered.

Hari wanted to know more. He needed to know more. Tom’s story, however enlightening, was still too vague for him. If he had caught the last culprit, he may have an idea of who did it this time.

It’s happening again now. No one knows who did it. Who was it last time?

I can show you… I can take you within my memory of when I caught him, if you like.

What did Tom Riddle mean? How could Hari enter someone else’s memory? His hand hovered over the page, dropping ink onto the paper and disappearing again as he thought. Glancing at the dormitory door, Hari wrote down, “Ok.”

The pages blew violently, flipping through the entire diary until they stopped halfway through the month of June. Eyes wide and slack jawed, Hari felt compelled to lift the diary up to his face. Hands shaking, Hari pressed the book to his face and felt a strange lurching sensation as though he were falling forwards.

Hari whirled through colours and fog, falling, falling, falling into Tom Riddle’s memory…

¤¤¤

Gasping, Hari shot straight up in bed, the diary falling off his chest and onto the floor of the dormitory. Chest heaving and heart racing in his chest, Hari fell back onto the bed, gaping up at the ceiling as he attempted to regain his breath.

The door to the dormitory opened and Draco and Ron entered together.

“There you are! We were wondering where you went,” said Ron.

Draco wandered over to Hari’s bedside, looking down at him with concern as he sat up, chest still heaving and beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “You okay, Hari?” he asked, lips pulled into a tight frown.

“It was Hagrid. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets last time.”