Ch. 2

First Entries

Later that night, after Harry, Ron, and Hermione gotten the recipe and made a commitment to the thief they need to commit in order to make the Polyjuice Potion, Harry found himself alone in his bed surrounded by his oddness. In front of him was the diary, its over opened and the first page staring blankly at him. He had a bottle of ink and quill next to him, both resting on his Potions textbook so if he accidently spills the bottle it won't fall on his bed, and now he was just staring at the page, wondering what to write.

He was nervous for multiple reasons, the potion is going to take a month to make, his first Quidditch match against the Slytherins were coming up and the entire team has the new Nimbus Two-Thousand and One brooms, all curtesy of Mr. Malfoy. He thought he should write about that. Or maybe about this strange sense of otherness he felt from everyone else. About how he felt isolated from the boys as the more he noticed about them. Or he could write about the voice in the wall that nobody else could hear. Or maybe he can write about the Heir of Slytherin, and what was happening in Hogwarts… his mind spun as Harry tried to figure out what to write.

I should stick to the basics, Harry thought to himself. Picking up the quill he dipped it in the ink and began to write.

My name is Harry Potter, I am twelve years old and am a Gryffindor in Hogwarts. He paused to think of his next question when something bizarre happened. The ink started to disappear… no, it was more like the diary was drinking in the ink, absorbing it into the pages. The page fully clean once more, Harry stared in bewilderment as words bleed back onto the page, but they were words that he did not write himself.

"Hello Harry Potter, how have you come to possess my diary?"

Harry almost screamed. The book just talked back to him. The words stayed there, as if waiting for a response. Harry's hand shook. He didn't know why he was thinking of replying however he did. Dipping his quill in the ink once more, he wrote: I tripped over the diary in the corridor on the way to the library. Who are you?

"I am Tom Riddle, and this is my diary. I'm sad to hear that my diary was left in a random corridor, but I am happy to see that it was picked up by a responsible wizard."

Harry frowned. He didn't understand this at all. He was still feeling shocked that the diary was talking back to him. He didn't know how he was able to do it, however his hand moved, and he wrote back, How are you able to do this?

"I've recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink in here. But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read."

What do you mean? Harry scrawled, the ink blotting the page in his confusion.

"I mean this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things that were covered up… but that can be discussed later, for I believe this is not the reason of why you've picked up my diary."

Harry frowned, he was right… it was right, the diary was right. This is a bit confusing, he thought to himself. Hesitating, he looked at the diary and thought about how he should answer. He thought that the diary, or should he refer to it at Tom Riddle, would write back impatient for an answer. But he… or it wasn't. Instead he… or it waited until Harry figured out what he wanted to say. Dipping the quill in the ink again Harry wrote slowly, hesitantly, as though he had to drag the words out of him. You're right. I wanted a place to go through my confusion.

"Your confusion? Perhaps I will be able to help Harry, tell me."

Harry didn't know why he didn't hesitate, his arm moved automatically towards the ink bottle and he quickly wrote back to Tom.

I feel strange, he scrawled, weird, like I'm different from everyone.

"How so?"

Harry frowned. It felt too weird for him. He wanted a place to put down his thoughts privately. To have the book talk back to him, even though he was the only one who can read back Tom Riddle's replies, made him feel that his thoughts weren't private, which was what he wanted. Hesitating, as though he did not want to disappoint the diary, Harry dipped his quill into the ink once more and wrote.

Actually… I'm not sure if I want to tell you yet Tom. I hoped that this diary would be for private use, and even though the words disappear, you replying makes me feel like I'm not private.

Tom Riddle's reply came instantly as soon as Harry's words were absorbed.

"I see. In that case I will be quiet until you want to talk with me, and the dairy will be yours to use as a normal diary. Would that be suitable?

Harry found that he was smiling. Thank you, he wrote. That is what I need.

"Then I will talk with you the next time you need me Harry," Tom Riddle's words said before fading into nothing.

Harry dipped his quill one last time in the ink and thought about what he would write. Deciding to start over again, he set to work.

My name is Harry Potter. I am twelve years old and a Gryffindor in Hogwarts. I feel strange, like I'm different from everyone else. He paused. And waited. But the words stayed there. Smiling, figuring that Tom Riddle was keeping to his promise, Harry continued. There are many things that makes me feel different from the others. But I want to write about the most recent one. For some reason I keep noticing things about boys! Like how Ron smiles or smells—and it makes my cheeks red! Also, he called Draco Malfoy a rat face, but he doesn't have a rat face. Though it makes my stomach feel icky to say, I think he looks rather nice! I don't know why I feel this way or notice these things. I'm scared to talk about this to people, especially not Ron!

Maybe Oliver Wood will know about this? He is my Quidditch Captain and older than me. Maybe he knows about this stuff? It would be nice to know why I'm having these thoughts. It would be one less mystery. God knows that there are enough mysteries around my life.

Harry waited. The text stayed. Satisfied, the small boy sat in his bed, suppressing a yawn as he thought of what else he could write. Feeling a little guilty for some strange reason, Harry dipped his quill one last time into the small bottle of ink laying on his potions' book and wrote one more sentence. One of those secrets being the voice that only I can hear in the wall.

Biting his lower lip Harry reread what he wrote. Satisfied, he capped his ink bottle and cleaned his quill tip. Closing the diary, Harry finally gave an exhausted yawn, his thoughts turning to Oliver Wood and the questions he wanted to ask the older boy the following day.

The dairy in his bookbag, Harry caught Oliver Wood during the lunch break the next day. "Wood!" Harry called out, running to the Quidditch Captain. Harry stopped when the sixth-year boy turned to him and Harry got a smell of something oaky yet nice. "Harry, what is it? You getting nervous for Saturday?" Wood asked.

"Uhh… no," Harry said, his mind momentarily flooded by Wood's scent. "I uhh… wanted to talk to you… about something," he tried to say, his cheeks going red."

"Me?" Wood frowned.

"Yeah well… you're my captain and all and uhh… this is too embarrassing to talk to, you know, anyone else…" Harry said, biting his lower lip.

"Blimey, they're starting younger and younger," Oliver Wood said. "Alright Harry, let's find somewhere a bit more private to talk about this."

"Thank you," Harry smiled, glad that Oliver Wood understood what he wanted to talk about without Harry having to say it explicitly. Wood waved goodbye to his friends and led Harry out of the Great Hall. They walked outside to the courtyard, which was practically empty as all the castle's inhabitants were inside eating lunch, and Oliver Wood chose a bench in the far side of the courtyard to go to. "I'm glad that you came to me about this Harry," Wood said. "I mean, I know this is usually something you go to your dad about but… yeah sorry that was tactless," Oliver Wood said. "So… what's up?"

"I feel strange," Harry admitted. "Like I'm changing but no one else around me is."

"Well Harry, that's simply part of growing up," Oliver Wood shrugged. "Your body's changing, and you'll be noticing weird things with it. Hair growing in places you wouldn't think of, a strange smell from your armpits that you're going to need deodorant for, and you will need to put it on daily. The girls don't like a smelling man," Wood smirked at Harry.

"Girls?" Harry repeated confused.

"Yeah, aren't they great?" Oliver Wood grinned. "Sure you notice things about them, yeah?"

Harry stared at him confused. "I mean… Hermione is pretty nice, and she's a good friend of mine," he said. "She lets Ron and me copy her History of Magic notes."

"Yes well… I'm sure you notice some other things about girls," Oliver Wood said suggestively. "Maybe about the older girls?"

"In my first year they gave me candy, I liked that," Harry said. "And some of their perfume smelled nice but that's not what I mean by feeling strange."

"Then what do you mean?" Wood asked.

"Well I just started noticing the way guys smell, you know, and how they move and stuff. The way Ron grins when he's happy, or pouts when he's late for food," Harry said. "And all of that makes my cheeks blush. I don't know why I notice these things about boys, is this part of puberty too?"

Harry looked up at Wood hopefully as the older teen stared down at Harry. At that moment Harry noticed the casual short distance between them and looked down at their legs for a moment before looking up at Wood who seemed to have noticed it too, however he looked weird about it. Wood etched away from Harry as he said awkwardly, "Well… I see… you only notice this stuff on boys Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Is this normal with puberty?"

Oliver Wood stood up suddenly, "I have to get back to lunch," Wood said, "I will see you at match Saturday." And with that Wood left without another word. Harry frowned, being left more confused than ever as he sat in the courtyard alone. He didn't know how to react. Harry's mouth opened hanging as he stared at the place Wood was. Why didn't he answer? Why did Wood's mood change so suddenly? His thoughts in an array of confusion, Harry did the only thing that made sense to him, he took out his diary and held it tight as he ran inside, looking for a private place to write by himself. On the way, he ran pass Ginny who looked frantic, but he had no time to ask she wanted help as he did not want to lose the thoughts he was thinking and feelings he was feeling. They had to be recorded.

He found a nearby broom closet. Keeping the door slightly open for light, Harry made a make-shift seat and desk with an overturned bucket and a box. He placed his diary on it and pulled out an ink and quill as he began to write.

I was going to write later, but I am left more confused then ever. I wanted to talk with Oliver Wood, my Quidditch Captain, about my weirdness since he's the oldest person I know in Hogwarts… well the teachers are older but there's no way I'll go to them. Anyway, I talked with Oliver and he said I'm going through puberty, whatever that is, though I don't think I am. He said that I'm supposed to be noticing things about girls? Yet I'm not noticing anything about them, they just stay the same to me. I mean, Hermione's nice and my best friend, the others are nice as well and I get along with them, but I don't think that's what Oliver is talking about. In fact, when I told him that I notice thing about boys he just ran away! I have no idea what any of this means but I hope this doesn't cause the anything strange during the Quidditch match on Saturday. Still, I wish I knew what all this means.

Tom please don't reply yet. Thank you.

Satisfied, Harry closed his diary and placed it in his bag along with his capped ink bottle and quill. He walked out and made his way back to the Great Hall to finish lunch when he ran into Ginny again, who was on her hands and knees looking under the suits of armor in the corridor. "Ginny, what's the matter?"

"Oh! Harry," Ginny squeaked, standing up suddenly. She looked a little frantic, as though she was searching for something very important. "I didn't see you there."

"It's alright," Harry said. He looked around the corridor and frowned, "Are you looking for something?"

"What? No-no I'm not… I have to go Harry, bye!" Ginny said and she sped off away from Harry. Harry was left confused as ever as he watched Ginny run away. Frowning, he continued his way to the Great Hall, somehow feeling odder and more different from everyone around him than before.