A/N HAHA!

An update without a month long wait? I can do that! (probably not very often though...heh)

I'm just really want to get over to Harry's Fourth Year, because that is when shit will be going down. (Also he will be very much legal...not that he uh...wouldn't have experimented beforehand maybe?)

By the way, unless otherwise specified, you are safe to assume that this fic is following the cannon (eg. spoiler...Ginny still has Tom's book here)

Anyway, here's the next chapter of Magis (may you all be in awe of diary Tom [I'll say for now, that he is the version of Tom that will be joining the harem])


~Chapter 8 – Sibilant

October was when everything truly began. It was when the terror started, when Hogwarts slowly filled with fear. There was the mysterious writing on the walls, all hostile and in a deep familiar red. Accompanying each horrific note was a stone statue, a terrible state of the more unfortunate souls. Students were afraid, anxious to go home less they also be struck with the stony curse, and the teachers could do nothing. The smart thing would have been to send the kid's home, where they would be safe, and yet the schooling year continued. The first victim had been Filch's dear cat, something that had Harry dragging Eshe along with him to each class, despite the protest of his teachers. Harry reasoned she was well behaved, and that if they could not provide them with sufficient protection then he would take matters into his own hands.

The most popular rumour going around now revolved around the fabled Chamber of Secrets, created by Salazar Slytherin himself. According to what Hermione had learnt, the chamber had been built somewhere within Hogwarts, and inside laid a monstrous beast none except the Heir of Slytherin could hope to control. It was farfetched to believe that a possible non-existent, age-old 'monster' could be the cause of the petrification, but with little else to go on, the rumours and suspicions, spread like fire.


A good portion of the student populace had gathered in the Great Hall. Not because it was dinner, but due to the formation of a duelling club. Harry and Draco had tagged along with their anxious classmates, everyone looking out for who would be their instructor, only to groan as their infamous D.A.D.A. teacher appeared. At least he had a sensible man such as Snape accompanying him.

"Gather round! Gather round!" Lockhart stood atop the table with the potions master standing a good distance away from the insufferable man, "Can everyone hear me? Can you all see me? Excellent! Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions - for full details, see my published works." He flashed a wide smile that lacked the enamouring effect it once had on most students after spending a month with the man. "Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape, he tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry. You'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

Both men walked to opposites ends of the table, and as Snape passed by, he sent his favoured Slytherins a cunning smirk. Both men bowed to one another, Lockhart with ridiculous flourish, and Snape just barely. They raised their wands like swords and faced off, making the move at the count of three. Snape was fast and accurate, his 'expelliarmus' knocking his fellow teacher of his feet and off the table. No matter what prattle Lockhart added afterwards, it was obvious who was superior.

"Enough demonstrating!" Lockhart clapped his hands together loudly "I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me-" Slowly the students were paired off and spread out in the spacious room. Harry found himself with Hermione, the girl sending him an unconfident smile, and Draco found himself with Blaise. You could tell from the look on the blonde's face that he was up to something, after all, in his mind Blaise had a lot to answer for. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents, only to disarm them, we don't want any accidents. One ... two ... three-"

"Expelliarmus." Hermione's wand was knocked out of her hand sooner than she expected, but Harry was by her side in an instant, handing the magical piece of wood right back.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask you to go easy on me?" She laughed weakly…maybe she would have been better pairing with Ron Weasly and his broken wand.

"I can help you practice-" Harry as he turned his attention to the two Slytherins beside them. Both had clearly not followed the rules, using some of the more 'harmful' spells. As it was, Draco found himself kneeling on the ground while Blaise laid in front of him, groaning slightly. Concerned, Harry hurried to the Italian's side, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder intent to help him up. Blaise reacted quicker than he should have considering his condition, slapping away the offending hand as he pushed himself up and away from his 'friend'.

"Don't touch me!" His face was tinted red and he refused to look Harry in the eyes, instead giving Draco an angry glare. The green eyed boy steeped back, surprised and somewhat hurt. It must have shown quite clearly because Draco went from mad to almost murderous.

"What the hell happened to you Blaise?" He kept his voice as quiet as his emotions allowed, which wasn't very much, "You have no right to treat Harry like that." His usual composer had gone out the window, replaced with irrationality unbefitting of the Malfoy heir.

"I can do whatever I want," The Italian responded with weak sounding resolve, "I think I've made it obvious enough that your company is unnecessary."

"Blaise-" Harry attempted to speak up, to ask the questions that had been plaguing him, but he was cut off.

"Don't," Blaise turned to him, making eye contact for the first time since they had parted last year, "Please don't say anything Harry. It's already so difficult…" his brown eyes were darker than usual, almost pitch black with an intensity that made Harry shiver.

"Ah? What's going on here?" Lockhart walked towards the quarrelling kids, oblivious to the tension in the air, "Perhaps this calls for a little display, to show my excellence in teaching? I suppose for the best show we must use the best, so Zabini and Po-"

"I'd like to volunteer." Draco interrupted, refusing to take 'no' for an answer. Hermione raised a brow whilst Harry merely shook his head.

"Okay." The fraud's attempt to involve a certain Harry Potter were thwarted yet again, and he seemed marginally less excited to lead the two Slytherins onto the makeshift duel platform.

"Bow." Snape enforced the bow, seeing both participants weren't very willing. He started counting, watching their stiff backs like a hawk, knowing that one of them would do something stupid. He was mildly disappointed, but unsurprised, to see it was Draco.

"Serpensortia!" A jet black snake shot out of the hawthorn wand, slithering sinisterly towards its target.

"Don't move Zabini," The potions master called as he stepped forward to deal with the serpent, "I'll get rid of-"

"Allow me!" Lockhart, who was possibly the stupidest man in the room at the moment, decided to show off his prowess. He brandished his wand at the snake and it was sent flying into the air, landing amidst the screaming students, dazed and angrier than ever.

"Ahh!" Hermione literally jumped, clinging onto Harry as the snake at her feet reared back viciously. The boy beside her was unfazed, feeling pity for the confused animal. Could no one else hear its panicked voice?

"Calm," He told it, leaning down to a more appropriate height, "Please do not bite anyone." The snake listened, bowing its head in acknowledgement. Besides the hissing of its response the whole room was silent and apprehensive, the only one willing to speak out being the exasperator of the whole situation.

"Back away Potter, I've got this under control!" Lockhart tried again and whilst most would call this attempt successful, Harry could not. The snake did not return from where it came, it was not vanished, but killed. The red bolt from their instructor's wand struck the beast with a horrible sound, and only Harry was able to hear its cries of agony. He was so transfixed on its writhing form he found he couldn't turn away even when it stilled.

"Harry?" Hermione nudged him gently, and in response he scooped the dead snake up, its scales cool against his arms. The green eyed boy left the room silently, his mind far away from the whispers and stares of those he passed.


"This is your fault." Draco muttered unhappily as he was forced to walk several steps behind his best friend, Diggory taking his place by Harry's side.

"Pray tell me why?" Blaise responded flippantly, "You were the one to summon a snake at me." His reply shut the blond up, Malfoy recognizing his loss immediately.

"I had no idea he was a Parseltongue." He muttered unhappily. The whole school was on edge at the revelation, believing that their hero was the dreaded Heir of Slytherin and their current tormentor. Of course Draco could care less, wholly concerned about the boy who had just dug a grave for the deceased serpent.

"It came as an untimely surprise." The Italian said dryly. He had, by no means, 'made up' with his former friends, but did feel partially responsible for the episode the emerald eyed Slytherin was going through. Looking at the small back his dark eyes travelled up to his uncovered nape and once again he was forced to squash down the unwanted feelings. It was because of his torturous emotions he had tried to leave, resolved to keep them hidden. Now it was a test of his restraint as he endured his uncomfortableness, wondering if he would stay long enough for his control to break, or just run away again.


Was it some sort of test? He was seated alone in a large circular room, full of colourful knickknacks and odd little noises. The silent sorting hat placed atop an ornate claw-footed table and the paintings trying their best not to move, were the only company the boy had as he waited. There was an odd gagging noise and he followed the gaze of a fidgety painting to see a rather decrepit bird. Its withered appearance greatly contrasting with the elegant golden perch it sat on. With half its feathers fallen out it looked at Harry miserably, making uncomfortable squawks. And then, before his green eyes, the bird combusted, disintegrating in crimson flames until only the ash was left.

"Ah, it was about time." The man he had been waiting for entered the office unfazed, chuckling a little at the look of astonishment on his student's face. "Fawkes is a phoenix Harry," the wizened headmaster explained, "When it is time for them to die they burst into flames only to be reborn moments after…look." From the pile of ashes came a weak chirp before a scruffy unfeathered fledgling peeked out. "It's quite a shame you had to see him on his Burning Day, he's really very handsome most of the time, wonderful plumage…" It seemed he would be content to ramble about his dear pet but Harry had other things he would rather do than sit and listen.

"Why have you called me, Professor?" He questioned, turnings his attention away from the fascinating creature.

"I merely wanted to talk to you." Dumbledore stated to his surprise. There were no accusations, no suspicions, and it was undoubtedly impossible for him to have missed the rumours floating around Hogwarts. "Your teachers tell me you are a wonderful student, but I would like to make sure you are doing okay," Harry honestly couldn't tell if the old man was being sincere or not, unable to rid himself of the suspicion he had garnered over the years, "Is there anything that you would like to ask me?"

"Well Sir..." Harry paused to think, choosing his questions wisely.


By the time Christmas rolled over Harry no longer found it in him to care about Albus Dumbledore. His reasoning when it came to delicate questions were weak and overly careful, not to mention the little amounts of truth they held. Snape had made sure early on that Dumbledore was removed as his guardian and as such the old wizard no longer had anything to do with him. There were no questions he couldn't ask someone else, and no interactions to be had beyond that of student and headmaster.

"Make way! Heir of Slytherin coming through, make way!" Of course Fred and George were making the best out of the moment as per usual, finding bits of humour in the fear of other students. They ushered him around, from the Great Hall to the Gryffindor dorms, amused at the chaos his appearance tended to bring. Sadly for them, Christmas meant marginally less students to scare, and already the fear factor Harry held was wearing off.

"It's getting late and I think I'd better return my room," Harry stated as he saw Percy Weasely about to approach him, dissatisfaction marked strongly on his frowning face.

"With that hunk of a cat with you you're safe wherever you go, no matter the time," George didn't put too much effort into dissuading him, knowing their friend was far from comfortable in the Gryffindor dorms.

"Do you want us to walk you back?" Fred offered, leaning into his twin, both of them sending him the same questioning gazes.

"I'll be fine." He assured. Without much resistance he slipped out of the warm common room into the dim lit hallways, preparing himself for the trek back. Eshe seemed distracted, for once not whining for his attention as her ears flicked around. It was a bad sign as the other times this had happened she had led him towards the petrified victims. Despite this unnerving fact, he couldn't just leave her alone and resolved to follow where she led. The flicking of her spotted ears became relevant when he heard the crying, a whiny kind of moaning that echoed out of the first-floor girl's lavatory. He had heard rumours of this supposed Moaning Myrtle but it had never been particularly relevant since he hardly visited this area…after all what use did he have for the unused female toilets? Harry did admit he was curious though, making weak excuses in his mind as he followed his pet inside. His footsteps were as soft as the cat's, completely muffled by the ghost's crying. He just hoped she wouldn't come out of the cubicle she had locked herself in before he finished snooping. He spent his time looking at the cracked mirrors and the carved snakes that made up the tap-handles. It was only when Eshe nudged him, purposefully or not, that he moved, checking each isle for who knows what. He stopped feeling that familiar sensation of magic, intrigued as Hogwarts itself usually dimmed out everything in comparison. The culprit? A soggy worn book, with a faded, brown cover.


It was hard to get Draco to fall asleep before him, and it was even more difficult to keep him asleep while he inspected the odd book. Across the front, bottom-left corner was the name "T.M. Riddle" written in elegant scrawl, but aside from that there was nothing else in the 50 year old diary. And yet Harry could help but feeling there was something more. He tried a revealing spell to no avail and was left staring at the off white pages. After being soaked for whoever knows how long, I was amazing that its pages were unwrinkled and intact, obviously a feat of magic. Magical or not, a diary was meant to be written in, he reasoned to himself. Maybe something would happen if he added ink to the paper. Somewhat decided, he reached for his quill on the bedside table and drew a simple line on the page titled 'January 1st'. He waited, the seconds passing by slower than usual, and then watched in fascination as the ink faded away.

He tried again, writing a simple "Hello." onto the pristine pages. 1…2…3…4…the words shone a tiny fraction before again disappearing, though this time the ink oozed back, forming words he knew he had never written.

"Hello, my name is Tom Riddle," the diary replied, "May I ask who this is, and how you came across my diary?" Realistically Harry knew he shouldn't just give out his name, but it would seem impolite…even to an intimate object.

"I am Harry Potter," he wrote back slowly watching as the pages hungrily consumed his letters, "And I'm fairly sure someone tried to flush your diary down the toilet."

"I suppose it's lucky that I recorded my memories in a more lasting way," the book chatted conversationally, "After all I knew there would be those who would not want this diary read…"

"Excuse me," Harry had no idea if the diary wanted to continue so he stayed polite in his interruption, especially with his possibly rude question, "May I ask what exactly you are?"

"You may," There was a ghost of a chuckle, "I'm a simply copy of Tom Riddle's mind, stored away at the age of 16. A placeholder for his words." Harry found himself with more questions despite his answer, wondering how sentient 'Tom' was.

"So what have you been doing for fifty years?" the boy asked curiously. He honestly wanted to ask what it was like being a book but refrained.

"What else is there to do but think?" the reply was a bit slower, and Harry wondered what was currently on the book's mind, "I do not sleep, though I suppose the wandering of my imagination can be taken as dreams." Harry had heard that extended solitude was rather hazardous to one's sanity, but so far Tom seemed rather stable. "Would you like to see?" after a moment of 'silence' the book's question caught him by surprise.

"See what?" The boy wrote back cautiously.

"What it's like inside here," Tom replied, "I'm quite curious and would like to meet you." He gave Harry little choice in the matter as the pages shivered before flipping over to December 31st, showing a small picturesque square, reminiscent of a television screen. Intrigued he brought the book closer, feeling himself tilting forward as the window widened. And just like that, he felt the world give way as the book drew his mind in, colours blurring past him. Eventually the shifting stopped and his feet found solid ground, as opposed to the bed he had been sitting in. Looking around the shapes focused into something familiar to the Slytherin Common room, the only occupant being a tall, oddly familiar teen.

"Good evening, I presume?" His smooth voice was clear and self-assured, his dark gaze amused as he observed his guest's state of dress.

"You would be correct." Harry held his dignity, taking his time to stare down the older teen. Dark hair, dark eyes and pale skin. A handsome face, a lean build and a confident stance. "I assume you are Tom Riddle?"