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AN: Hope you enjoy this one; I was just writing this chapter when a few ideas about creating a more significant divergence from canon came to me...

Harry Potter/Granger and the Chamber of Secrets

With their initial investigation having ground to a halt due to lack of options for further pursuit, Harry, Hermione and Ron turned their attention to more leisurely matters. Ron was soon able to persuade Fred and George to show them a few of the castle's secrets that they'd discovered over the years, and Harry and Hermione tried to spend a bit of time talking with Ginny, but Harry soon resigned himself to the fact that Ginny still fell silent and looked awkward when he tried to speak to her; he was generally forced to rely on Hermione as an intermediary to at least initiate the conversation with her, and even when she started talking Ginny gave the impression that she was waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to tell her to leave.

They still carried out a few attempted research trips to the library, but without any new information about the monster or the chamber to go on, there wasn't much more that they could do. Harry had speculated about the possibility that his Parseltongue abilities had something to do with it, but he hadn't felt comfortable sharing that theory until he had a better idea what he could do with that possibility; he couldn't think of any snake that would have done anything to a ghost.

"Damnit..." Harry muttered to himself as he walked back to Gryffindor Tower after taking a brief detour to the infirmary during a rare quiet period; his hope that a second examination of the victims would have turned up some kind of clue that he'd missed earlier had proven fruitless, not that he'd harboured much hope of finding anything that way in the first place.

Here he was, swamped with so much Potions homework that he felt like he'd be in Sixth year before he'd finished it, faced with the possibility that he had some kind of connection to the monster walking around the school without any way of figuring out what that connection was, and nobody seemed to have the slightest clue what they were dealing with-

The sound of a frustrated outburst from the floor above cut Harry's debate with himself short, prompting him to hurry up the stairs and pause just out of sight of the yells, quickly identifying the speaker as Filch as he ranted hysterically about additional work before his footsteps became increasingly distant, storming off down another corridor before a door slammed behind him.

Glancing out at the corridor in question, Harry wasn't entirely surprised to find himself looking at Filch's now-common lookout post in the area where Mrs Norris has been attacked, a flood of water stretching out across the corridor from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and Myrtle's wails now audible from the other side of the wall.

Taking a quick glance around to make sure nobody else could see him, Harry hurried along the corridor and opened the bathroom door, holding up his robes to stop them trailing in the water as he entered. Mrytle's sobs actually appeared to be far louder than they were normally, putting Harry briefly in mind of stories he'd heard of a banshee's wail without any of the usual side-effects, apparently hiding down in her usual toilet as water flowed and extinguished the candles.

"Uh... Myrtle?" Harry asked uncertainly. "What's wrong?"

"Who's there?" Myrtle asked with a sob. "Come to throw something else at me?"

"Why would I throw something at you?" Harry asked in confusion, walking over to stand in front of her stall.

"Don't ask me," Myrtle said, sticking her head out of the door as she looked tearfully at him. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me..."

"It's never fun when people think that's funny, is it?" Harry said, smiling sympathetically at her; back when he'd lived with the Dursleys, Dudley and his makeshift 'gang' might not have done anything really physically damaging to him (That particular 'privilege' had been saved for Vernon during the last few months, as his uncle's temper became increasingly aggravated by something; looking back, Harry could recall a few cases where he'd been doing what was probably magic, such as escaping pursuit by 'jumping' into more secure areas, but he'd learned from Hermione and the Grangers that looking for reasons why the Dursleys had beat him was an exercise in futility). "What did they throw?"

"I don't know who did it," Myrtle said, indicating her stall in frustration. "I was just sitting in my U-bend, thinking about death, and suddenly it fell throw the top of my head... it's over there, it got washed out."

Walking over to pick up the object in question, Harry raised a curious eyebrow as he found himself holding a slightly water-stained black-covered book, a quick examination of the interior revealing that it was a fifty-year-old diary that had once belonged to a 'T.M. Riddle'.

Riddle...

Now that Harry thought about it, hadn't he seen that name somewhere before? He and Hermione had been checking out the school awards room during one of their first few weeks here to find out some more about the school's history- he'd noticed his father's name on a Quidditch award of some sort, and his mother had apparently earned a few commendations for her own schoolwork-, and Riddle had won something... wasn't it some kind of award for special services to the school... fifty years ago...?

The dates matched, the time-frame seemed to work, and stopping the Chamber of Secrets from being opened any more would have counted as a pretty major thing to do for the school...

Eagerly, Harry opened the diary to examine its pages, only for his hopes to be immediately deflated when he realised that there was nothing inside it; the pages were all blank, with no trace of even water-damaged ink smears to suggest that something might have been written in here before it was dumped in the toilet.

Shaking his head, Harry slipped the diary into his pocket and left the bathroom; it might be worth some use as spare paper later on, even if its' worth as a clue seemed to be relatively non-existent...


Not wanting to mention the diary to Ron or Hermione until he had some idea why anyone would have wanted to discard it in the first place- it might appear useless to him, but you didn't go into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom to dispose of something unless you really didn't want it to be found later on-, Harry ended up keeping it in his bag for the next few weeks, occasionally glancing over it in case he found some hidden clue that he might have missed the first time round.

He'd gone down to the trophy room during another quiet period to see if he could find further clues about Riddle there, but aside from discovering Tom Riddle's name on an old list of Head Boys and learning that he'd also received a Medal for Magical Merit, he failed to establish any other useful information about Riddle's past; he didn't even know what house Riddle had been in, although the fact that the diary had been purchased in Vauxhall Road suggested that he was muggle-born. Harry even checked out a couple of rune-related books in the library to see if there was some real-world equivalent of those 'moon-letters' that he'd read about in The Hobbit- writing that only appeared to the reader when it was viewed under certain lighting conditions- in case he could find anything in the diary that way, but that admittedly potentially shaky 'hope' was dashed fairly quickly; apparently, anyone writing in runes was felt to have done enough to conceal their secrets from unwanted readers without making things any more complicated.

With their investigation having failed, Harry and his friends turned their attention back to their ever-increasing work load, left with nothing else to do as far as the investigation went but wait until the mandrakes were ready and the Petrified students could be cured. Given the increased lack of attacks, Harry was starting to think that the Heir must have lost their nerve, although he definitely doubted Lockhart's theory that he was responsible for the Heir' abandoning his plans was even close to accurate...

However, even Harry's lowest opinion of the man couldn't have prepared him for what Lockhart had planned as a 'morale booster' later in the year- personally, Harry wondered if he was trying to draw attention away from his own shortcomings; the books themselves might have some interesting moments regarding some of his alleged victories, but either something strange was going on or Lockhart worked better under life-or-death pressure than in an academic environment given how useless he was-, when the students came down into the great hall and found Lockhart wearing fluorescent pink robes, pink flowers on the hall walls and heart-shaped confetti raining down from the ceiling.

"Oh God..." Harry groaned, trying to tune out Lockhart's ramblings- if he was being charitable, that was the best description for what the moron was saying according to what parts of the speech he couldn't ignore; the idea of Snape showing anyone how to prepare a love potion was ridiculous at best, and Flitwick looked like he was just embarrassed that Lockhart had even mentioned his name in connection to this mess- as he sat down for breakfast and looked over at Hermione. "Hermione, please tell me you weren't one of the forty-five people he just mentioned?"

"Harry!" Hermione hissed, looking over at him in exasperation. "I may have made a mistake at first, but I have some pride; I wouldn't go on doing it after you pointed out what a twit he was!"

"Good to know," Harry said, smiling in relief at his sister before he sighed in frustration. "Well, at least he isn't trying to use pixies to deliver the messages..."

"I'm not sure dwarves are much better, really; how'd he even get them to dress like that?" Ron asked uncertainly, sceptically eyeing Lockhart's golden-winged 'cupids' as they walked off into the corridors.

"I think that comes under the heading of things we don't want to know, starting with why the man likes wearing robes like that and progressing onwards from there," Harry said, rolling his eyes as he started eating.

The first few hours of the day weren't too bad apart from the dwarfs barging into the classrooms to deliver random Valentines to various students, much to the annoyance of the teachers, but Harry's opinion was definitely affected when one of the dwarfs caught up with him.

"Oy, you! 'Arty Potter!" shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry as he was on his way to Charms. Glancing around the corridor, Harry cursed slightly as he saw a group of first-years nearby, Ginny amongst them; somehow, the idea of her seeing this just felt...

Then again, judging by what he'd seen of the dwarfs so far, they took their 'job' seriously- even if they didn't appear to like it that much- and tended to try and get it over with as soon as they found their 'target'; he might as well get this over with now rather than endure the potential humiliation of being physically assaulted by something that short.

"OK," he said, trying to sound somewhat dignified, "let's hear it then."

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.

Even looking back, Harry was never sure how to feel about that; receiving the Valentine itself had been slightly embarrassing, and the last line raised a few questions about their motives, but the thought that someone liked him enough... in that way... to send him something...

He had no idea how to react, and it was probably just sent as a result of hero-worship given his 'Boy-Who-Lived' status, but it was still... nice...

Trying to ignore the slight laughs that were coming from the students around him as the dwarf walked away, Harry reached into his bag to pull out his book for the next class, only for his suddenly-fumbling fingers- his mind lost in thought about the Valentine's possible sender- to pull out his inkwell and the diary at the same time, a slight jostle as somebody walked past him causing him to lose his grip on the objects and send them all falling to the ground, his ink breaking over the books. Bending down to pick up the books, Harry noted with some relief that his textbook's thick cover had protected it from most of the ink, but only just had time to notice that the diary was suspiciously clean before Malfoy grabbed it from him with a mocking sneer.

"Are you that desperate for attention, Potter?" he asked, smirking as he jerked his head in the direction that the dwarf had walked off in.

"And how many of those have you received today?" Harry countered, momentarily wishing that he'd thought of something better before Malfoy's slight hesitation gave him a minor boost; it wasn't much of a victory, but it was something.

"As if I'd want anything that pathetic, particularly when it came from her," Malfoy practically spat, waving a dismissive hand at the first-ears who had been standing around him earlier. Glancing back, Harry was just in time to see Ginny turning a shade of red that closely resembled her hair before she ran off, covering her face with her hands.

Ginny? Harry thought to himself, briefly lost in the possibilities as he watched the younger girl run into her class, trying to look everywhere but at him. For a moment, he thought about following her, but he was already running late for his next class...

And, now that he looked down at the objects in his hands, another question occurred to him; why was the diary so suspiciously free of ink, without even a few spots on its pages?

Maybe things had just fallen the right way, but Harry somehow doubted it; coincidences were something that had ceased to exist for him the day he and Hermione learned that magic was real, and there had definitely been some spots of ink on the diary's cover earlier...


As he sat in his bed that night- he went up early to avoid receiving any more renditions of his Valentine from Fred and George; he appreciated their desire to lighten the mood but that wasn't really helping him-, Harry stared contemplatively at the diary, trying to come to a decision.

The ink think could be nothing, but it wasn't like he had a surplus of options available to him right now, and there was definitely something strange about this diary given the lengths someone had gone to while trying to get rid of it; maybe the writing in it needed fresh ink to 'charge' it or something?

It was stupid and risky, but with their investigation into the Chamber having hit a dead-end, it was all he could do to try and find out more...

Deciding to start small, Harry pulled out a new bottle of ink, dipped his quill into it, and left a blot of ink on the page, watching with a slight smile of confirmation as he witnessed the ink being apparently absorbed by the paper; at least now his theory had something solid to back it up. Taking a deep breath, Harry decided to start with the obvious and wrote down what he hoped could serve as an introduction; 'My name is Harry Potter'.

As his words shone before they were absorbed into the page, Harry only had to wait for a moment to receive a response, but it was far from what he had been expecting.

Hello, Harry Potter, said the words that had just appeared out of nothing on the page in front of him. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?

He'd been expecting something out of the ordinary, but even his wildest guess hadn't included the possibility of the diary writing back to him...

As the words began to fade in front of him, Harry quickly scrawled down his response; 'Someone tried to flush it down a toilet'.

Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink, 'Riddle'- or whatever was responding to him; after reading a couple of Swamp Thing comics, Harry wasn't going to assume that anything was even what it thought it was without harder evidence- said. But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read.

'What do you mean?' Harry 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.

'Would those things have anything to do with the Chamber of Secrets?' Harry asked; this was his first definite chance at getting new information beyond conventional historical information, and he'd worry about its potential source later. For a moment the diary 'said' nothing, and then further writing appeared.

Of course it has to do with the Chamber of Secrets, the new words said, the writing hurried, as though Riddle was trying to say everything he could before something stopped him. 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 here', Harry wrote back. 'Can you tell me who it was 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 momentarily hesitated after those words- how could this thing take him into Riddle's memory?-, but in the end, he knew that he had to take the chance; if this mess with the Chamber was ever going to end, he had to take some kind of risk if there was ever going to be any progress made in this whole mess.

'Yes', he wrote down.

As though that word had been a password of some kind, the book's pages suddenly began to blow forward as though caught in a high wind before halting at the pages displaying the middle of June, with the small square for information about June 13 displaying a small, television-like image. Leaning over to examine it more closely, Harry tried to make out what was in front of him, only to find himself suddenly falling forwards as the image widened in a whirl of colour while he fell headfirst into something...

As his feet hit something solid, he stood back up and shook his head to try to bring everything around him into focus, quickly surprised to register that he seemed to be standing in Dumbledore's office, except that the man sitting behind the desk was a very frail-looking old man with practically no hair on his head, reading a letter by candlelight.

For a moment, Harry wondered if he'd been teleported into this room or something- he'd read a bit about those 'Portkey' things when he and Hermione were researching magical means of transportation-, but dismissed that thought fairly quickly; not only did that fail to account for the strange image he'd seen in the diary before appearing here, but even if the wizard in front of him was deaf he must have made some kind of visual impression during his arrival. The only explanation that he could think of, based on Riddle/the diary's prior comments, was that somehow he had been transported into a memory of the past, invisible to anyone present in the memory while allowing him to witness it directly.

As the wizard walked over to the window, Harry took a quick glance around to confirm his theory, noting the absence of Fawkes's perch and various other silver instruments that had been present on the shelves in Dumbledore's time, leaving him as little more than a phantom observing the past rather than the traditional idea of ghosts observing the future...

A knocking on the door drew Harry out of his reflective thoughts as the headmaster called for the person on the other side to enter, the door opening to reveal a boy of sixteen with jet-black hair and a silver prefect's badge.

"Ah, Riddle," the Headmaster said, smiling slightly at him

"You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?" Riddle replied, looking surprisingly nervous.

"Sit down," the now-identified Dippet said. "I've just been reading the letter you sent me."

"Oh," Riddle said, gripping his hands tightly together as he sat down.

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

"No," Riddle said automatically. "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?" Dippet said curiously.

"Yes, sir," said Riddle, reddening slightly (Harry wasn't sure how he should feel about Riddle 'condemning' the kind of life he'd lived himself at one point, but pushed that aside; as the Dursleys and the Grangers had taught him, standards of care that children received could vary greatly from place to place).

"You are muggle-born?"

"Half-blood, sir," Riddle replied; Harry wondered if there was something off about the way Riddle said that, but concluded that he had more immediate matters to focus on right now. "Muggle father, witch mother."

"And are both your parents-?" Dippet asked.

"My mother died just after I was born, sir," Riddle replied, in a manner that was far too casual for Harry's liking; he didn't even know his birth-mother beyond those photos Hagrid had given him and he still missed her. "They told me at the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me; Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather."

"Ah," Dippet said, clicking his tongue sympathetically before he continued to speak. "The thing is, Tom, special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances..."

"You mean all these attacks, sir?" Riddle asked, drawing Harry's attention directly on to the conversation as he moved closer, determined not to miss anything.

"Precisely," the headmaster replied. "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..."

He sighed for a moment, clearly torn up at the memory of the death in question, before he continued. "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..."

"Sir," Riddle said, his eyes widening as though a thought had just occurred to him, "if the person was caught- if it all stopped-"

"What do you mean?" Dippet asked, a sudden anxious squeak to his voice as he sat urgently up in his chair. "Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?"

"No, sir," Riddle replied, with the kind of haste Harry knew from experience reflected someone who was trying to cover up a mistake they'd just made.

"You may go, Tom..." Dippet said, sinking back into his chair in obvious disappointment as Riddle slid off his chair and walked out of the room, Harry quickly following him down the staircase. After Riddle had spent a few moments standing around in silent contemplation, biting his lip with his forehead furrowed, he hurried off down a corridor, Harry only partly surprised to find himself almost gliding after Riddle; if he was inside Riddle's memory, it only made sense that he would automatically stay close to what Riddle perceived himself. They avoided running into anyone else until they reached the entrance hall, when a tall wizard with long auburn hair called out a question to Riddle from the marble staircase.

"I had to see the headmaster, sir," Riddle replied, looking up at the wizard that Harry quickly recognised as a younger Dumbledore; even without the silver beard Harry was used to seeing, the school's future headmaster still carried himself with a strong air of dignity.

"Well, hurry off to bed," Dumbledore said, giving Riddle the penetrating stare that Harry was far too familiar with from his own time; it was enough to give the impression that Dumbledore had been born with that kind of stare. "Best not to roam the corridors these days; not since..."

He sighed heavily before he strode off after bidding Riddle good night, clearly lost in thought about the dark events that were currently plaguing the school, Riddle watching him walk out of sight before heading down to the dungeons.

Harry had expected that Ridde would take him to the chamber's hidden entrance, but was disappointed to find himself witnessing nothing more elaborate than the dungeons where he had Potions with Snape in the future, although far darker than even the dour teacher would have ever had it even on his worst day. As Riddle took up position inside the classroom, he pushed the door so far that it was almost completely closed, Harry only just able to see him standing by the door through the narrow crack he had left open in it.

Harry had no idea how long Riddle had stood there with almost statue-like patience- he wasn't even sure if normal rules of time applied in a place like this; maybe Riddle was able to 'fast-forward' his memory through the more boring parts of his recollections-, but, finally, he heard something moving down the passage, Riddle quickly getting out of the classroom and walking silently along the corridor, Harry close behind him. After a few minutes of walking, Riddle stopped once again, his head inclined in the direction of new noises as a door creaked open and a voice reached Harry's ears, muttering something about getting something else into a box, in a voice that Harry somehow recognised...

As Riddle jumped around the corner, Harry followed him in time to see the dark outline of a huge boy crouching in front of an open door with a very large box beside him.

"Evening, Rubeus," Riddle said sharply, prompting the boy to slam the door shut and stand up to look at him.

"What yer doin' down here, Tom?" the boy asked, in a distinctive accent that Harry would have recognised even without the name.

Hagrid had opened the Chamber of Secrets?

Harry had never heard a more ridiculous theory in his life; Hagrid might have a fascination and sympathy for dangerous creatures that could go far further than was safe for anyone else around him, but the idea of him keeping something in the school after it had been regularly attacking people didn't fit what Harry knew of his friend by any stretch of the imagination.

If any of Hagrid's pets had been a danger to others, Hagrid would have taken them somewhere where they and others could be safe; even as a teenager, Harry refused to believe that Hagrid could have been that careless.

"It's all over," Riddle said, stepping towards the young Hagrid. "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-?" Hagrid began.

"I don't think you meant to kill anyone," Riddle said, in a deceptively casual tone. "But monsters don't make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and-"

"It never killed no one!" the young Hagrid said, backing against the closed door in the familiar defensive manner that Harry recognised from when Hagrid had been protesting Norbert's need for protection last year.

"Come on, Rubeus," Riddle said, advancing towards the door and the strange clicking sound behind it. "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!" Hagrid roared. "He wouldn'! He never-!"

"Stand aside," said Riddle, drawing out his wand and casting a spell that created a brilliant light in the corridor before the door Hagrid had been holding closed flew open with such force that it knocked Hagrid into the opposite wall; Harry didn't know how much force Riddle would have needed to give that spell to move even a young Hagrid, but he was fairly sure that it would have been far more than the average wizard-

Then a large, hairy creature with a mass of black legs, several gleaming eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers emerged from the door, and Harry's eyes widened in shock.

An Acromantula? he thought in surprise, remembering the brief reference he'd found to the large spider-like creature in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

He knew that the book hadn't been that detailed- it was more of a casual reference text than a detailed book about magical creatures-, but he was sure they couldn't petrify people like this; they either ate you, poisoned you, or you were able to escape.

As Hagrid lunged desperately at Riddle as he attempted to aim his wand at the creature, Harry turned around and focused all of his mental effort on leaving the diary, witnessing the same bizarre whirlpool he'd seen earlier in reverse before he emerged back into the Gryffindor dormitories, shaking his head in shock.

A quick glance around was all that he needed to confirm that he was still alone, prompting him to stuff the diary under his pillow as he went over what he had just learned.

Riddle might have gone after Hagrid, but he knew that Hagrid couldn't have opened the Chamber of Secrets, and that acromantula couldn't have been the monster based on what he remembered of the creature from his book.

After the day he'd had, Harry wasn't that inclined to do additional research at this time of night- and he was too emotionally stirred-up after seeing Hagrid being accused of something that he knew Hagrid couldn't have done that he might overlook something important unless he gave himself the night to cool off-, but come the morning, he would look up that book and see what he could find...