It was Ron's idea to keep the diary. The Chamber of Secrets had been closed, and the dining hall was cleaning itself up after the massive feast that had ensued. Heading back from McGonagall's office, Harry's foot nudged something on the ground as he chatted happily with his two best friends, Hermione and Ron. Something small, and black. A hole had punctured all of the way through, and the offending weapon, a basilisk's fang, lay off to the side, where it had fallen.

For all the faith that Lucian Malfoy had put into the small book, after having failed him he had tossed it aside as useless trash, and once again, Harry found it in his possession.

"Harry!" Hermione warned. "We know that is dangerous! Let's just take it to Dumbledore. He can destroy it, for good. Just in case."

"Just in case?" Ron asked, incredulous. "After getting bitten by a basilisk, I think it's as dead as it can get!" Turning to Harry with a mischievous smile, he suggested, "I'd keep it. I mean, it's like a trophy, right? It practically screams 'I'm more badass than the Dark Lord!'"

Harry sighed. "I don't think I need that kind of a trophy, Ron. Thanks."

"Aw, come on…."

"Harry's right, Ron." Hermione intoned. "We don't need that thing lying around. It's full of bad memories, and bound to be a bad influence…. We should just take it to Dumbledore."

Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from the book, though, despite Hermione's reassurances. He could practically see Tom's wry smile through its cover. That infuriating, stomach-wrenching smile that was so belyingly beautiful, and so fundamentally twisted. "I never said I wanted to do that," he told her grimly. "I want to destroy it myself."

Frowning in concern, Hermione interjected, "Harry, I'm not sure that's such a good idea…"

"Are you sure it can even be destroyed?" Ron asked, staring at it with one eyebrow lifted. "I mean, it belonged to You-Know-Who…."

"This is something I need to do," was Harry's only reply.

For the rest of the walk back to the Gryffindor common room, Harry more or less ignored anymore comments on the Diary, instead changing the subject to the possibility of visiting Ron over the summer break.

Nothing worked. Harry tried burning it, burying it, cutting the pages out, throwing it in the lake, and everything else he could think of. Flames licked around the book to no effect. After spending all night burying it near the Forbidden Forest, wrapped up in his father's invisibility cloak, and collapsing exhaustedly into bed nearly at dawn, Harry was dismayed to find the book under his pillow the next morning, untouched by dirt. The same thing happened when he tried to throw it into the lake.

Similarly, the pages were impervious to knives, and as hard as he tried to tear out the paper, it showed no effect. The only sign of damage was the small puncture-mark from the basilisk fang.

It had been a week. A week of trying everything, and failing over and over again. The diary would not be destroyed, and would not leave Harry. It kept coming back, as if taunting him.

Was Ron wrong? Was the diary still alive / if that's what you could call it / after the basilisk?

Worse, Harry couldn't stop dreaming, and in every dream, Tom was there with that infuriating smile, taunting him with that friendly expression in the face of Harry's anger and pain. Dark circles developed under his eyes as he missed sleep, and people started asking him if he felt all right.

"I'm fine," he snapped irritably, each time, strung thin.

The moon was setting, although dawn was still awhile yet to come. The dorm was silent, everyone asleep. Only one pair of green eyes shone in the darkness, coming to rest on the mutinous diary. Glancing over to Ron, making sure that he was asleep, he grabbed the diary, opening it up. The page was marred, punctured through in the middle as if a large pencil had been pushed through the book. Blank parchment stared back at him, daring him.

Hand shaking, he reached for his quill. He had to know.

Tom? He wrote.

Hello, Harry. It's been awhile.