(Fixed some errors in this chapter.)

Disclaimer: I own Bree and the rules. I do not own Harry Potter.

Bree had a day and a half to get ready before it was time to go to America to visit her relatives there for Christmas. During this time she egged the Dursley's chimney and stole their bacon. She then put the bacon in the trunk off their car so it would smell like rotting meat.

When Bree went back to Hogwarts, she brought several cans of spary paint a two rolls of duct tape with her. Hermione had been confined to the hospital wing and rumor had it that she had been attacked. Bree began spreading her own rumor that it was actually a Ravenclaw who was attacking people. Her argument went something like this "Knowledge is power, right? And power corrupts, and the Ravenclaws are always learning so they have to be evil."

335. Just because knowledge is power, and power corrupts does not mean that the Ravenclaws are evil.

This rumor was given a quick death by Snape.

Bree then took her cans of spray paint and painted over the message from the heir of Slytherin with her own message in bright yellow and blue.

219. Not allowed to spray paint graffiti on the wall to "brighten things up."

The message, which took up a good potion of the wall said simply, "Slytherin Sucks." Her was caught because she couldn't wash the paint completely off her hands. Her graffiti was left in place because it wasn't as creepy or disturbing as what is was covering up.

Bree was walking by Moaning Myrtle's bathroom when she heard wailing and saw water seeping in under the door. She sighed and entered the bathroom.

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 wrong Myrtle?" Bree asked as she approached.

"Who's that?" glugged Myrtle miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"

Bree blinked. "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…"

"Who threw it at you?" Bree asked.

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. "It's over there, it got washed out…"

Bree 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. Bree picked it up and opened it "T M. Riddle" was written on the first page in smudged ink. Bree looked through the rest of the pages. They were all blank.

She said goodbye to Myrtle and went up to her dorm.

When Bree got up to the dorm she felt compelled to write in the diary. So she did.

"My name is Bree Smith." the words stayed put for a minute, then disappeared into the page. A moment later word that Bree hadn't written came oozing onto the page.

"Hello. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?" Theses words soon disappeared as well, but not before Bree began writing back.

"Someone tried to flush it down a toilet."

"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?" Bree wrote back.

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

Bree paused for a moment, thinking, before writing. "Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"

"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."

"It's happening again. People have been attacked. No one knows who's doing it. 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."

Bree thought for a moment. "Fine. Do it." she wrote back.

The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June. That the little square for June thirteenth seemed to have turned into a miniscule television screen. The window was widening, Bree was pitched headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of color and shadow

She felt her feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred shapes around her came suddenly into focus.

She was in an office. A wizened, frail-looking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair, was reading a letter by candlelight. Bree had never seen this man before.

The wizard didn't look up. He continued to read, frowning slightly. Bree watched patiently as the wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past her without glancing at her , 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.

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 Bree, and had jet-black hair.

"Ah, Riddle," said the old wizard.

"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 Dipper 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."

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?" Riddle asked.

"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 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.

He was lying.

Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.

"You may go, Tom…"

Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Bree followed him.

Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Riddle stopped, and so did Bree, watching him. Bree 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, Bree following behind him. They didn't see another person until they reached the entrance hall, when a tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and a beard called to Riddle from the marble staircase.

"What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?"

Bree blinked in surprise. The wizard was none other than a fifty-year-younger Dumbledore.

"I had to see the headmaster, sir." answered Riddle.

"Well, hurry off to bed," said Dumbledore. "Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since…"

He sighed heavily, bade Riddle good night, and strode off. Riddle watched him walk out of sight and then, moving quickly, headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Bree following him.

Riddle led her to the very dungeon in which Bree had Potions with Snape. The torches hadn't been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, Bree could only just see him, standing stock-still by the door, watching the passage outside.

It felt to Bree that they were there for at least an hour. All she could see was the figure of Riddle at the door, staring through the crack, waiting like a statue.

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. Bree followed him.

For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle stopped suddenly, his head inclined in the direction of new noises. Bree 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. Bree stepped out behind him. She 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."

"'N at 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't 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 … a very large spider. Riddle raised his wand again, but he was too late. The spider 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, "NOOOOOO!"

The scene whirled, the darkness became complete; Bree felt herself falling and, with a crash, he landed spread-eagled on the floor, Riddle's diary lying open on her stomach.

She stayed like that for a few minutes, thinking. "Hagrid is not the heir of Slytherin. Slytherin is know for snakes, not spiders, and besides, Hagrid could barely keep a baby dragon hidden on his own, let alone a monster that petrifies and kills." She smirked got up off the floor and wrote in the diary one last time.

"Liar, liar, very soon to be on fire." And with those parting words she took the diary down to the common room and chucked it into the fire, before leaving. She didn't notice Harry and Ron come in after she had left.

Bree was in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom again. She needed to ask the ghost something., Well actually she would have preferred to ask Nearly Headless Nick but seeing how he was indisposed she thought Myrtle the safest choice out of the rest of the Hogwarts Ghosts. "Myrtle what do you know about the girl who died here fifty years ago?" Bree asked.

"Oh that was me." Myrtle stated cheerfully. "Oh… How did you die?" Bree asked, somewhat confused.

Myrtle looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question.

"Ooooh, it was dreadful," she said with relish. "It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then —" Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. "I died."

"How?" Bree pressed.

"I don't know," Myrtle said in a hushed tone. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away…" She looked dreamily at Bree. "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses."

"One pair of yellow eyes." Bree stated.

"Yes." answered Myrtle. Bree smiled, spiders had eight eyes. "Thank for your help. I need to go to the library now." And with that Bree left.

Days later, on February Fourteenth, Bree walked into the Great Hall, blinked, rubbed her eyes, and promptly walked out again. Then she decided that she really wanted breakfast and came back in, trying hard not to look at the pink flowers covering the walls, the heart-shaped confetti that was falling from the pale ceiling, or a Lockhart who was wearing pink robes. She went over to the Gryffindor table, sat down as stared at the food, glaring at anyone who tried to talk to her.

Lockhart was waved for silence. The teachers on either side of him were looking stony-faced. From where he sat, Bree could see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall's cheek. Snape looked as though he was in pain.

"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!"

"Just die already!" Bree thought as she glared at him.

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.

"I miss Quirrel. He may have had Voldemort in the back of his head, but at least he didn't do things like this." Bree thought as she made herself a sandwich out of toast, eggs, and bacon, then quickly got out of the pink hell.

All day long, the dwarfs kept barging classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers, and late that afternoon as the Gryffindors were walking upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarfs caught up with Harry.

"Oi, you! 'Arry Potter!" shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry.

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 everything.

Harry scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, causing something of a holdup in the corridor.

Bree tried to help Harry, but at the same time she didn't want to get ink on her hands.

"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's all this commotion?" said another familiar voice as Percy Weasley 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:

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

Bree twitched. "There are so many things that his eyes could have been compared to, why pick the most disgusting one?"

Harry, looking mortified, got up, as Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.

"Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now," he said, shooing some of the younger students away. Bree went on her way not seeing Malfoy pick up a diary.

And that's all for this for this chapter.

Review please!