Slytherin Raised by Wolfstar: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Previous Chapters:

Heads up, this is an angsty one.

Chapter Fourteen: The Very Secret Diary

Even when break had ended, Tracey had to stay in the hospital wing for several weeks. There was a flurry of nasty rumour about her lying that her mom wasn't a witch and that she was actually Muggle-born, and so she was attacked by the Chamber’s monster. So many students filed past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of her that Madam Pomfrey took out her curtains again and placed them around Tracey’s bed, to spare her the shame of being seen with a furry face.

Harry, Allison, and Theodore went to visit her every evening to keep her company and to bring her each day’s homework.

‘If I was in your situation, I’d use it as an excuse to not do homework,’ said Allison, dropping a stack of books onto Tracey’s bedside table one evening.

‘I’m not Ally, I’d never be able to catch up if I took several weeks off,’ said Tracey anxiously. Despite the continued embarrassment, her spirits were greatly improving thanks to the fact that all the hair had gone from her face and her eyes were turning slowly back to dark brown. ‘Have you guys thought of any new suspects?’ she added in a whisper, so that Madam Pomfrey couldn’t hear her.

‘Nothing,’ said Harry gloomily. ‘I was absolutely convinced Malfoy was behind the attacks.’

‘Tracey, what is that?’ asked Theodore, pointing to something pink sticking out from under her pillow.

‘None of your business,’ said Tracey while blushing, quickly trying to push it further under her pillow. Allison however was quicker and pulled it out. It was a letter and she read it aloud:

‘Dear the sweet Tracey Davis, hope you are well soon, the school is more dreary without you. From your secret admirer.’

Tracey now looked so embarrassed that if the moment had lasted any longer she would have just died. Harry felt a little bad for her, but Allison just lightheartedly laughed. ‘Tracey, it’s ok. It’s just a little weird you have it under your pillow. So, who do you think sent it?’

Tracey was spared answering by Madam Pomfrey sweeping over with her evening dose of medicine.

‘I bet it’s Longbottom, she is one of the only people who’ll talk to him. That and he’s to much of a coward to tell her himself.’ Theodore said to Harry as the three left the infirmary and started up the stairs towards Slytherin Dungeon. Harry didn’t like Theodore insulting one of his old friends, but his mind was focused on the lengthy homework Snape had given them, Harry thought he was likely to be in the sixth year before he finished it.

They were just approaching the Great Hall when they overheard some students gossiping to one another.

‘It’s right across from the first attack, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but I doubt it’s related given which bathroom it is.’

‘I’m not often in that area, is it true you can hear her cries all night long-‘

‘They are talking about Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom,’ Theodore said nervously. ‘Something must have happened, what if we left evidence behind?’

So they made there way back upstairs to find out what had happened.

‘You don’t think there’s been another attack, do you?’ asked Allison tensely.

‘I don’t know,’ said Harry, ‘The girls didn’t seem overly concerned so I don’t think so.’

They reached the right floor and carefully approached the corner and listened for Filch’s voice as they didn’t want to be caught by him near where Mrs Norris had been attacked. In the distance they heard footsteps receding and then a distant door slam.

They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had clearly been manning his usual lookout post: they were once again on the spot of the first attack. They saw at a glance what Filch had been shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

As they got closer, they could hear Myrtle’s wails echoing off the bathroom walls.

‘What set her off this time?’ said Theodore.

‘Let’s go and see,’ said Harry, and holding their robes over their ankles they stepped through the great wash of water to the door bearing its “Out of Order” sign, ignored it as always, and entered.

Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet. It was dark in the bathroom, because the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.

‘What’s up, Myrtle?’ said Harry.

‘Who’s that?’ glugged Myrtle miserably. ‘Come to throw something else at me?’

Harry waded across to her cubicle and said, ‘Why would I throw something at you?’

‘Don’t ask me,’ Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. ‘Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it’s funny to throw a book at me…’

‘But it can’t hurt you if someone throws something at you,’ said Harry, reasonably. ‘I mean, it’d just go right through you, wouldn’t it?’

He had said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, ‘Let’s all throw books at Myrtle, because she can’t feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha ha ha! What a lovely game, I don’t think!’

‘Who threw it at you, anyway?’ asked Harry, trying to distract her but also find out if the person knew about their misadventure with the Polyjuice Potion.

‘I don’t know…I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head,’ said Myrtle, glaring at them. ‘It’s over there, it got washed out.’

Harry, Allison, and Theodore looked under the sink, where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. Harry stepped forward to pick it up, but Theodore suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back.

‘What?’ said Harry.

‘Are you crazy?’ said Ron. ‘It could be cursed.’

‘Cursed?’ said Harry, laughing. ‘Come off it, how could it be cursed?’

‘Use your head, someone came to a place no one ever goes to try and get rid of it,’ said Theodore, who was looking apprehensively at the book. Allison seemed suspicious as well. ‘Just take my word for it, some books are far darker then they seem.’

‘He’s right Harry,’ Allison said, ‘My dad has had to confiscate many dark texts over the years.’

‘All right, I’ve got the point,’ said Harry.

The little book lay on the floor, nondescript and soggy. It was almost like it was calling him.

‘Well, we won’t find out unless we look at it,’ he said, and he ducked round Theodore and picked it off the floor.

Harry saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told him it was fifty years old. He opened it eagerly. On the first page he could just make out the name ‘T. M. Riddle’ in smudged ink.

‘Wait a minute,’ said Theodore, who had approached cautiously and was looking over Harry’s shoulder. ‘I recognize that name…T. M. Riddle got a silver award for special services to Hogwarts about fifty years ago.’

‘How on earth d’you know that?’ said Harry in amazement.

‘The detention I got at the beginning of the year was to polish the silver trophies,’ said Theodore, almost sounding excited. ‘That was an odd one because it was a somewhat recent award compared to the ancient ones but it was in the very back. Like someone didn’t want it to be seen.’

Harry peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely blank. There wasn’t the faintest trace of writing on any of them, not even ‘Auntie Mabel’s birthday’, or ‘family meeting, half past three’.

‘He never wrote in it,’ said Harry, disappointed.

‘This is very odd,’ said Allison curiously. ‘Why did he have a diary he never wrote in, and why was it thrown into a girls bathroom fifty years later?’

Harry turned to the back cover of the book and saw the printed name of a newsagent’s in Vauxhall Road, London, Harry remembered Vernon Dursley mentioning that name once.

‘He must’ve been Muggle-born,’ said Harry thoughtfully, ‘to have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road…’

‘Well I don’t see any reason why we should keep it. Anyway we should go, Filch May be back any minute to clean this place up,’ said Allison. She then dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle’s head.’

Harry, however, pocketed it.

The next day, with nothing better to do, the group tried to research T. M. Riddle to see if they went on to be someone famous and possibly their address to send the diary back. Although Harry didn’t really want to send it even if they did. Thanks to the date Theodore had provided they were able to find a class list from that year and learned his full name was Tom Marvolo Riddle, but besides the fact that he was a fellow Slytherin they couldn’t seem to find anything else about him.

They ended up branching off into different topics and just reading books that interested them. When they were leaving Harry noticed Allison leave a book she had brought with her on the table they were reading on. He quickly grabbed it.

‘Allison, you dropped this.’ Harry held it out to her, but she did not take it.

‘I don’t want it, I’d hoped Ms Pince would find it and think it was one of the libraries copies.’ She said with a frown. Harry observed the book in his hand, it was called Secrets of the Darkest Arts and had a dark purple colour.

‘My dad sent me it along with the potions book we needed. I know he wants me to be an auror but this is to much, it is to dark for me right now.’

Harry’s curiosity got the better of him. ‘Could I have it if you don’t want it.’

She looked very hesitant, ‘I guess, but Harry I am serious when I say this book has some of the darkest and most horrible spells I have ever seen.’

That night, with his beds curtains drawn, Harry started flipping through pages of the book. Allison was right that there was some gruesome spells in it, any that seemed to be used for specifically malice intent he skipped, but there were a handful of spells that peaked his interest. There was an explosion spell called Confringo that Harry thought was really cool, but what truly caught his eye was the spell called Fiendfyre.

It was far darker then the other spell, but something about it drew Harry in. He spent over an hour going over its page, reading itself description, studying the illustrations, and memorizing the hand motions. He of course never intended to use it, but he could use it as a threat the next time Malfoy bothered him. Just incase however he took a couple minutes to look at the counter-curse.

Closing in on midnight he finally closed the book and went to sleep. Harry found himself having a nightmare of a humongous flaming serpent, but by the time he had woken up the dream had faded from his memory. The nightmare had continued however when Harry had woken up as he could hear the slight whisper of his magic mirror under his bed, he reached under and grabbed it.

‘Padfoot, it’s not even six o’clock yet,’ he said while rubbing his eyes. He’d wish he had never answered though as taking one look at Sirius’ incredibly sad face and crying he could hear in the background he knew something had happened.

‘Fawny, I’ve sent an owl giving you permission, you’ll have to pack your truck and come home for a couple days. It’s your Paw-Paw, Harry I am really sorry but he died last night.’

Harry’s world stopped at that moment. Up until that point he had never experienced such shock. In all honesty they next three days were a complete blur.

He did not remember packing or talking to anyone that morning, he just barely remembered the lonely train ride. He did remember meeting Sirius at the station as the two hugged for what seemed like an eternity, with Harry eventually crying into Sirius’ shoulder.

When they had gotten home Remus was trying his best to comfort a heart broken Canini, but was really struggling to hold his emotions back himself. When Canini saw Harry she burst into tears and nearly tackled him in a hug.

‘He’s gone Harry, he’s gone.’ She cried and cried.

The rest of the day they spent in mourning. The next day the mourning continued but they were all slightly more clear headed. It was on this day that Harry finally managed to process the explanation on how he had died. His grandfather Lyall had been at work supervising a class of trainees studying a manticore when he had tripped and fallen to close to the beast cage and was attacked by the extremely deadly tail and died on the spot. This was still a lot to process and Harry felt numb the rest of day.

The funeral was planned and the next day Harry, his family, Nymphadora and her parents, and a couple friends from Lyall’s work came to pay their respects. At one point Remus, shakingly, stood to make a speech.

‘It is no secret that me and my father had a rocky relationship, after a traumatic event in my childhood I started feeling he thought of me more as a burden than a son, and when I reached adulthood I felt betrayed as he accepted a job that was against everything I stood for, but it was over these last seven years I learned I had judged him just a little to harshly. When a child was attacked and orphaned he immediately took care of her, he then saved her life by bringing her to me and my husband to raise, if he had not she would have died. That child was my dear Canini, and ever since he had made an effort to be a good grandfather to her and my other child Harry. He was by no means perfect but in the end he tried his very best to be as good of a man as possible, and although it has been almost two decades since I said this, I was proud to be his son. I will miss you father.’

Remus was exhausted emotionally after making that speech, and so was Harry and Canini, so they had went home soon after. Trying to lighten the mood Sirius flooed to Diagon Alley and picked up their favourite flavours of ice cream but it did little to improve how they were feeling. Instead they all just huddled together on the couch for the rest of the evening being in each other’s company which in the end did make them all feel a little better.

The next day Harry took another extremely lonely train ride back to hogwarts and found himself hiding in his curtained bed almost the entire day.

The next day, the first of February, Tracey left the hospital wing, de-whiskered, tail-less and fur-free. On her first evening back in Slytherin Dungeon she consoled Harry and in turn he showed her Tom Riddle’s diary, and told her the story of how they had found it.

‘That is so mysterious, was it cursed,’ said Tracey enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it closely.

‘Why do you all keep saying that, no, it’s not cursed,’ said Harry. ‘It just looks like Tom bought it, signed the front page, then lost it or someone took it.’

‘You got to admit though Harry that it is a bit suspicious,’ said Theodore. ‘That a blank book from fifty years ago would end up in Myrtle’s bathroom right across where the first attack had been. That and we found scarily little about who Tom Riddle was, it’s almost like someone tried to erase him from the school’s history.’

‘We’ll be know he got a big silver award,’ said Allison. ‘Maybe he did something incredibly heroic, or maybe he broke the school’s record of highest grades, or maybe he got Myrtle to shut her screeching mouth. I’d give someone a shiny award if they managed to do that.’

The two girls laughed, but by his scrunched eyebrows on his face Harry could tell Theodore was thinking what he was thinking. ‘What are you two so serious about? I know it was a dark joke but it was funny.’ said Tracey, looking from one to the other.

‘Well, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘That’s what Malfoy confirmed.’

‘Yes…’ said Allison slowly.

‘And that is roughly how old the diary is, give or take two years,’ said Theodore excitedly.

‘I don’t get it, they are from the same time, but I don’t understand the connection?’ Tracey concluded.

‘Lets go over the little we know,’ said Harry. ‘We know someone opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago. We know that Tom Riddle got a special services to the school fifty years ago. So I think Tom got that special award for stopping that generations heir of Slytherin! We could probably learn every single thing we need to know from his diary if for whatever reason it wasn’t blank.’

Tracey piped up, ‘Have you tried checking it for invisible ink or a concealment charm? I could try to find out if you’d like?’

They all nodded and so she pulled out her wand and tapped the diary three times and said, ‘Aparecium!’

Their collective hopes suddenly sank, nothing had happened.

Harry couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he didn’t just throw Riddle’s diary away. The fact was that even though he knew the diary was blank, he kept absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages, as though it was a story he wanted to finish. And while Harry was sure he had never heard the name

Tom Riddle before, it still seemed to mean something to him, almost as though Riddle was a friend he’d had when he was very small, and half-forgotten. But this was absurd. The only friends he had before Hogwarts was Ron, Ginny, the twins, Neville, and Susan.

Nevertheless, Harry was determined to find out more about Riddle, so, next day at break, he headed for the trophy room to examine Riddle’s special award with his own eyes, accompanied by an interested Theodore and a halfhearted Tracey and Allison who didn’t think there would be anything but would be happy to be proven wrong.

Riddle’s tarnishing silver shield was tucked away in a back corner cabinet. It didn’t carry details of why it had been given to him (‘If it had made room to include why I would have been polishing past midnight,’ said Theodore).

However, they did find Riddle’s name on an old Medal for Magical Merit, and on a list of old Head

Boys.

‘He sounds even more annoying than that Percy Weasley,’ said Theodore, wrinkling his nose in disgust. ‘Abscessed with perfection and perfection only.’

The other three laughed. ‘What, what is so funny?’

‘Careful Theo,’ Harry said, ‘or lightning is sure to strike you.’

The sun had now begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again. Inside the castle, the mood had grown more hopeful. There had been no more attacks since those on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, and Professor Sprout was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that

they were fast leaving childhood.

‘The moment their acne clears up, they’ll be ready for re-potting again,’ Harry heard her telling Filch kindly one afternoon. ‘And after that, it won’t be long until we’re cutting them up and stewing them. You’ll have Mrs Norris back in no time.’

Perhaps the heir of Slytherin had lost his or her nerve, thought Harry. It must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets, with the school so alert and suspicious. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was even now settling itself down to hibernate for another fifty years…

Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff didn’t take this cheerful view. He was still convinced that Harry was the guilty one, that he had "given himself away" at the Duelling Club. Peeves wasn’t helping matters: he kept popping up in the crowded corridors singing ‘Oh Potter, you rotter…’, now with a dance-routine to match.

Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the attacks stop. Harry overheard him telling Professor Flitwick so while the Slytherins were lining up for Charms.

‘I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble going forward, Filius,’ he said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking. ‘I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught them. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on them.' Flitwick just nodded and looked like he was about to call everyone inside, but Lockhart just kept talking, 'You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster. Wash away the memories of last term! I won’t say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing…’

He tapped his nose again and strode off.

Lockhart’s idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast time on February the fourteenth. Harry hadn’t had much sleep because of a late-running Quidditch practices and his mind still being occupied by his grandfather, and so he hurried up to the Great Hall slightly late for breakfast. He thought, for a moment, that he’d walked through the wrong doors.

The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Harry went over to the Slytherin table, where the others were sitting, looking really annoyed, poor Tracey was struggling to pick the confetti out of her hair.

‘What’s going on?’ Harry asked them, sitting down, and wiping confetti off his bacon.

Theodore pointed to the teachers’ table, apparently too disgusted to speak. Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. The teachers on either side of him were looking stony-faced. From where he sat, Harry could see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall’s cheek. Snape looked as though someone had just fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro.

‘Happy Valentine’s Day!’ Lockhart shouted. ‘And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all–and it doesn’t end here!’

Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the Entrance Hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps. ‘My friendly, card-carrying cupids!’ beamed Lockhart. ‘They will be roving around the school today delivering your Valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!’

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.

‘Please, make it stop,' Allison grumpled, 'this is going to be the longest day in my life.'

Being the weekend Harry just wanted to relax before the start of the next school week, but the dwarfs kept barging into the rooms he was in to deliver Valentines, to the annoyance of almost everyone. The only person happy with the dwarfs was Tracey, who had received another sweet letter from her secret admirer. Late that afternoon, as the Slytherins were walking back to their common room, one of them caught up with Harry.

‘Oy, you! ’Arry Potter!’ shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry.

Hot all over at the thought of being given a Valentine in front of a queue of first-years, as well as Hermione Granger who had agreed to tutor some of them, Harry tried to escape. The dwarf, however, cut his way through the crowd by kicking people’s shins, and reached him before he’d gone two paces.

‘I’ve got a musical message to deliver to ’Arry Potter in person,’ he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.

‘Not here,’ Harry hissed, trying to escape.

‘Stay still!’ grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry’s bag and pulling him back.

‘Let me go!’ Harry snarled, tugging.

With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed over the lot. Harry scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, causing something of a hold-up in the corridor.

‘What’s going on here?’ came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Harry started stuffing everything feverishly into his ripped bag, desperate to get away before Malfoy could hear his musical Valentine.

‘What are you all doing?’ said another familiar voice, as Gemma Farley had arrived.

Losing his head, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor. ‘Right,’ he said, sitting on Harry’s ankles, ‘here is your singing Valentine:

Roses are red,

You are a hero,

This poem is too cheesy,

Happy Valentines Day, cheerio.'

Harry would have given all the gold in Gringotts to evaporate on the spot. Trying valiantly to laugh along with everyone else, he got up, his feet numb from the weight of the dwarf, as Gemma did her best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.

‘Everyone disperse, go on, supper is in an hour so go, now,’ she said, shooing some of the younger students away. ‘I saw that, Malfoy.’

Harry, glancing over, saw Malfoy had snatch up something. Leering, he showed it to Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry realised that he’d got Riddle’s diary.

‘Give that back,’ said Harry quietly.

‘Wonder what Potter’s written in this?’ said Malfoy, who obviously hadn’t noticed the year on the cover, and thought he had Harry’s own diary. A hush fell over the onlookers. Hermione was staring from the diary to Harry, looking terrified.

‘Give it back to him, Malfoy,’ said Gemma sternly.

‘When I’ve had a look,’ said Malfoy, waving the diary tauntingly at Harry.

Gemma was loosing her patience and said, ‘Listen here, I am Head Girl–’, but Harry had lost his temper. He pulled out his wand and shouted, ‘Expelliarmus!’ and just as Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so Malfoy found the diary shooting out of his hand into the air. Allison, grinning broadly, caught it.

‘Ok, you aren't supposed to do magic in the halls!’ said Gemma with a smirk. ‘But that was pretty clever, now all of you move along.'

Chuckling with pride, they started to walk away. Malfoy was looking furious, and as Hermione passed him to catch up to her pupils, he yelled spitefully after her, ‘You ugly Mudblood, I hope you are next!’

Hermione covered her tear stained face with her hands and ran into a nearby classroom. Enraged, Harry pulled out his wand again, but

Allison pulled him away. They didn't want to give Gemma a reason to change her mind. In total Harry had gotten three Valentines, the anonymous musical one, one from a Gryffindor girl named Parvati Patil, and a first year Slytherin named Bridget Moloney.

When Harry reached his dormitory he noticed something rather odd about Riddle’s diary. All his other books were drenched in jade ink. The diary, however, was as clean as it had been before the ink bottle had smashed all over it. He tried to point this out to Theodore, but Malfy was in the room and he didn't want him teasing him more about the diary.

Harry wanted to examine Riddle’s diary again, and knew that Theodore thought he was wasting his time, so he waited until it sounded like the five other boys had fallen asleep before he picked up the diary.

Harry sat on his four-poster and flicked through the blank pages, not one of which had a trace of jade ink on it. Then he pulled a new bottle out of his bedside cabinet, dipped his quill into it, and dropped a blotch onto the first page of the diary.

The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it was being sucked into the page, vanished. Excited, Harry loaded up his quill a second time and wrote, “My name is Harry Potter.”

The words shone momentarily on the page and they too sank without trace. Then, at last, after almost a month of having the diary in her possession, something happened.

Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words Harry had never written.

“Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?”

These words, too, faded away, but not before Harry had started to scribble back.

“Someone tried to flush it down a toilet.”

He waited eagerly for Riddle’s reply.

“Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink. But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read.”

“What do you mean?” Harry scrawled, blotting the page in his excitement. He remembered how they had thought someone tried to cover up Tom Riddle’s existence.

“I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things which were covered up. Things which happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“That’s where I am now,” Harry wrote quickly. “I’m at Hogwarts, and horrible stuff’s been happening. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?”

His heart was hammering. Riddle’s reply came quickly, his writing becoming less tidy, as though he was hurrying to tell all he knew.

“Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my day, they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person who’d opened the Chamber and he was expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given out that the girl had died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned.”

Harry nearly upset his ink bottle in his hurry to write back.

“It’s happening again now. There have been three attacks and no one seems to know who’s behind them. Who was it last time?”

“I can show you, if you like,” came Riddle’s reply. “You don’t have to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him.”

Harry hesitated, his quill suspended over the diary. What did Riddle mean? How could he be taken inside somebody else’s memory? He glanced nervously at the spaces in his curtains, he couldn’t be positive that everyone was asleep. When he looked back at the diary, he saw fresh words forming.

“Let me show you.”

Harry paused for a fraction of a second and then wrote two letters.

“OK.”

The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June. Mouth hanging open, Harry saw that the little square for June the thirteenth seemed to have turned into a minuscule television screen. His hands trembling slightly, he raised the book to press his eye against the little window, and before he knew what was happening, he was tilting forwards; the window was widening, he felt his body leave his bed and he was pitched headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of colour and shadow. He felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred shapes around him came suddenly into focus.

He knew immediately where he was. This circular room with the sleeping portraits was Dumbledore’s office–but it wasn’t Dumbledore who was sitting behind the desk. A wizened, frail-looking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair, was reading a letter by candlelight. Harry had never seen this man before.

‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said shakily, ‘I didn’t mean to butt in…’

But the wizard didn’t look up. He continued to read, frowning slightly. Harry drew nearer to his desk and stammered, ‘Er–I’ll just go, shall I?’

Still the wizard ignored him. He didn’t seem even to have heard him. Thinking that the wizard might be deaf, Harry started shaking his hands to get his attention.

‘Sorry I disturbed you, I’ll go now,’ he half-shouted.

The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past Harry without glancing at him and went to draw the curtains at his window. The sky outside the window was ruby red; it seemed to be sunset. The wizard went back to the desk, sat down and twiddled his thumbs, watching the door.

Harry looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix; no whirring silver contraptions. This was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it, meaning that this unknown wizard was Headmaster, not Dumbledore, and he, Harry, was little more than a phantom, completely invisible to the people of fifty years ago. There was a knock on the office door.

‘Enter,’ said the old wizard in a feeble voice.

A boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver Prefect’s badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than Harry, but he, too, had jet-black hair. He was also quite handsome.

‘Ah, Riddle,’ said the Headmaster.

‘You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?’ said Riddle. He looked nervous.

‘Sit down,’ said Dippet. ‘I’ve just been reading the letter you sent me.’

‘Oh,’ said Riddle. He sat down, gripping his hands together very tightly.

‘My dear boy,’ said Dippet kindly, ‘I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?’

‘No,’ said Riddle at once, ‘I’d much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that–to that–’

‘You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?’ said Dippet curiously.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Riddle, reddening slightly.

‘You are Muggle-born?’

‘Half-blood, sir,’ said Riddle. ‘Muggle father, witch mother.’

‘And are both your parents–?’

‘My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me: Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather.’

Riddles story was very sad, Harry felt guilty however as just hearing the word grandfather pulled violently at her heartstrings and he had a hard time refocusing.

Dippet clucked his tongue sympathetically. ‘The thing is, Tom,’ he sighed, ‘special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances…’

‘You mean all these attacks, sir?’ said Riddle, and Harry’s heart leapt, and he moved closer, scared of

missing anything.

‘Precisely,’ said the Headmaster.

‘My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in the light of the recent tragedy…the death

of that poor little girl…You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the–er–source of all this unpleasantness…’

Riddle’s eyes had widened. ‘Sir–if the person was caught…If it all stopped…’

‘What do you mean?’ said Dippet, with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair. ‘Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?’

‘No, sir,’ said Riddle quickly. But Harry was sure it was the same sort of “no” that he himself had given Dumbledore.

Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.

‘You may go, Tom…’

Riddle slid off his chair and stumped out of the room. Harry followed him. Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor.

Riddle stopped, and so did Harry, watching him. Harry could tell that Riddle was doing some serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed. Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off, Harry gliding noiselessly behind him. They didn’t see another person until they reached the Entrance Hall, when a tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and beard called to Riddle from the marble staircase.

‘What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?’

Harry gaped at the wizard. He was none other than a fifty-year-younger Dumbledore.

‘I had to see the Headmaster, sir,’ said Riddle.

‘Well, hurry off to bed,’ said Dumbledore, giving Riddle exactly the kind of penetrating stare Harry knew so well. ‘Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since…’

He sighed heavily, told Riddle goodnight and strode off. Riddle watched him out of sight and then, moving quickly, headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Harry in hot pursuit. But to Harry’s disappointment, Riddle led him not into a hidden passageway or a secret tunnel but the very dungeon in which Harry had Potions with Snape. The torches hadn’t been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, Harry could only just see Riddle, standing stock-still by the door, watching the passage outside.

It felt to Harry that they were there for at least an hour. All he could see was the figure of Riddle at the door, staring through the crack, waiting like a statue. And just when Harry had stopped feeling expectant and tense, and started wishing he could return to the present, he heard something move beyond the door.

Someone was creeping along the passage. He heard whoever it was pass the dungeon where he and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged through the door and followed, Harry tiptoeing behind him, forgetting that he couldn’t be heard. For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle stopped suddenly, his head inclined in the direction of new noises. Harry heard a door creak open, and then someone speaking in a hoarse whisper.

‘C’mon…gotta get yeh outta here…c’mon now…in the box…’ There was something familiar about that voice.

Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Harry stepped out behind him. He could see the dark outline of a huge boy who was crouching in front of an open door, a very large box next to it.

‘Evening, Rubeus,’ said Riddle sharply.

The boy slammed the door shut and stood up.

‘What yer doin’ down here, Tom?’ Riddle stepped closer.

‘It’s all over,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They’re talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don’t stop.’

‘What d’yeh–’

‘I don’t think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don’t make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and–’

‘It never killed no one!’ said the large boy, backing against the closed door. From behind him, Harry could hear a funny rustling and clicking.

‘Come on, Rubeus,’ said Riddle, moving yet closer. ‘The dead girl’s parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered…’

‘It wasn’ him!’ roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. ‘He wouldn’! He never!’

‘Stand aside,’ said Riddle, drawing out his wand.

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind the large boy flew open with such force it knocked him into the wall opposite. And out of it came something that made Harry let out a long, piercing scream no one but he seemed to hear.

A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razorsharp pincers–Riddle raised his wand again, but he was too late. The thing bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing up the corridor and out of sight. Riddle scrambled to his feet, looking after it; he raised his wand, but the huge boy leapt on him, seized his wand and threw him back down, yelling,‘NOOOOOOO!’

The scene whirled, the darkness became complete, Harry felt himself falling and, with a crash, he landed spread-eagled on his four-poster in the Slytherin dormitory, Riddle’s diary lying open on his stomach.

Before he had had time to regain his breath, his curtains opened and Theodore dragged him by his pyjama collar into the staircase and slammed the door.

‘What in Merlin's beard was all that,’ he said in a mix of curiosity and anger.

Harry had to catch his breath. He was sweating and shaking.

‘It was Hagrid, Theo. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago.’