The Hammer wasn't happy about it - but it seemed like he was never happy until he had closed in on the answers he wanted. With Riddle's journal in hand it felt like he was right there - standing on the edge of a cliff and staring into the abyss, ready to fill it with a revelatory light, but there just wasn't enough for him to do it. Something was missing. The ease of Christmas holiday and the relative calm of the season had lulled some of the others into hopeful relaxation, but there were still others who wanted to blame Harry for everything that happened so far.

Gilderoy Lockhart even began to talk about how his very presence had made the attacks stop. Between classes, he had been chatting with Professor McGonagall.

"I don't think there'll be any more trouble, Minerva," he tapped his nose with a knowing wink, "I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught them. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on them."

The Hammer redoubled his efforts, Hermione and Neville following him, with some reluctance on Hermione's part.

"Maybe he's right - he is a famous defender against the Dark Arts." She said.

"I still can't believe you're defending him. You've seen him at work. He couldn't defend his way out of a wet blanket." Harry retorted.

"I'd like to see you do better."

"Unlike some people who work here, I'm still working on it." Harry had gotten up with a huff and taken his things to a different room. Sitting back down alone, he found he couldn't concentrate on his homework anymore after his tiff with Hermione. Instead, he pulled out all of the materials related to the case he had written onto separate sheets and set Riddle's diary in front of him. It ended up looking like an occult ritual circle expanding around the diary. The Hammer flipped open to the first blank page and stared at it a moment before uncapping his fountain pen. If it was going to sit there being blank, then it could at least be useful. He wrote the day's current date down underneath the one printed at the top, lifting his arm up to try and figure out what it was he wanted to rearrange in his notes.

To his surprise, the fresh black ink shimmered on the page a moment before fading away, leaving the paper blank and clean again. A moment later, a question formed in the same slick, black ink in words and handwriting foreign to him.

"Is that what day it is?"

The Hammer stared at it, unsure of what to do before those words faded away as well. Harry decided to scribble back,

"Yes." That faded. The blankness of the diary lasted a few longer moments, like it was thinking.

"My name is Tom Riddle. Who might you be? And how did you find my diary?" Harry felt one side of his mouth curling up. This was it. This was the clue he needed to get a confession about Myrtle's murderer.

"I'm Harry Mason. Someone tried to flush your book down a toilet." He gave it his non-famous name. There was no reason to trust a book that could talk back. The Hammer tapped the end of his pen against the table, waiting for the book to respond.

"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?" Harry asked in return.

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

The text faded. The Hammer kept tapping with his pen on the table - it was his turn to think. It felt like some kind of trap. Of course there were terrible things that happened at Hogwarts.

"What kind of terrible things? There's some nasty things happening at Hogwarts now. Some people say it's something about the Chamber of Secrets."

Riddle's reply came quickly, the writing becoming less tidy, as if he was hurrying to tell Harry all he knew.

"Of course it's the Chamber of Secrets. In my day they spoke of it as legend - something that didn't 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 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."

"Who was it last time?" the Hammer wrote back, asking something he already knew.

"I can show you, if you like." Riddle replied, writing smooth and clear again, "You don't have to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him."

The Hammer took off his hat and put it on the desk near him, looking around the classroom again to make sure that the coast was clear. There was something to this - and whatever magic was hidden inside this thing's pages sounded like it was a different kind of powerful. The Hammer looked back down at the diary and saw a fresh set of words forming,

"Let me show you."

Harry grumbled to himself before writing, "O.K."

The pages of the book began to turn as if caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June. The little square for June 13th had turned into a tiny television screen. The Hammer leant forward and pressed his eye to the window to see the pictures moving inside and before he knew it, he was falling in. The window had widened and he felt his body pitch headfirst through the opening in the page into a whirl of colour and shadow.

Harry felt his feet touch solid ground. He tapped himself from toe to head in a body check to make sure all the important bits had made it with him when the shapes around him came sharply into focus. It looked like the Chief's office, but it wasn't the Chief behind the desk. Instead, there was someone who looked even more ancient - bald save for a few wisps of stark white hair, reading a letter by candlelight. The Hammer stood stock still, waiting for the wizened old man to notice his presence. After a few slow and careful breaths when the man didn't, the Hammer began to creep up toward him to try and see what he was reading.

Before he made it very far, the wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past Harry without even a glance and went to draw the curtains at his window.

The sky outside was the colour of fresh blood, a richly steeped sunset full of foreboding. The wizard went back to the desk, sat down and twiddled his thumbs and watched the door, the light from the window coating him in a crimson aura.

The man's office was more straightforward, as wizards went - no phoenixes, no whirligigs, no strange contraptions. This was, presumably, the old headmaster's place as Riddle had known it, though how he knew what the previous headmaster was doing in his office alone was a question that needed to be asked later.

A knock sounded on the office door.

"Enter." The old wizard said in a voice that would've barely been audible in the entrance hall.

A boy about sixteen years old entered, taking off the stupid pointed uniform hat. A silver Prefect's badge glinted on his chest in contrast to his jet black hair. He was a network television kind of good looking, a decently defined jaw and eyes with the iridescence of black pearl.

"Ah, Riddle." the Headmaster greeted him. So this was the guy.

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

"Sit down," Dippet gestured, "I've just been reading the letter you sent me."

"Oh." Riddle said before he sat down, clenching his hands together, knuckles white for an instant before loosening his grip.

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

"No," Riddle responded immediately, "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 asked.

"Yes sir," Riddle flushed a little. Harry felt for him, knowing what life was like for orphans who never got adopted. The Hammer pushed away a twisting feeling in his heart when he remembered his parents.

"You are Muggle-born?"

"Half-blood, sir. Muggle father, witch mother."

"And are both of your parents-"

"My mother died shortly 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," the old headmaster sighed, "special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances…"

"You mean all these attacks, sir?" Riddle said and Harry's eyes widened. He had just heard the motive behind why he would file a false report with the authorities.

"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 the 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... " The Hammer bit his tongue, watching the old headmaster speak. It made his blood boil to know no one in charge could think their way out of a wet paper bag.

Riddle's eyes widened.

"Sir - if the person was caught… if it all stopped…"

"What do you mean?" Dippet said with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair, "Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?"

"No, sir" Riddle said a little too quickly. Harry had seen it before; he had used it himself.

Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.

"You may go, Tom…"

Riddle slid off his chair and stumped out of the room. Harry followed.

Down the moving spiral staircase, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor, Riddle stopped. The Hammer followed suit, watching him. Lines of thought furrowed Riddle's brow whilst he chewed on his lip.

A flash of inspiration passed over Tom's face and he hurried off with the Hammer on his tail. There wasn't a soul in the castle until they reached the Entrance Hall when a tall wizard with a long, sweeping auburn hair and beard called to Riddle from the marble staircase.

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

It was the Chief, Dumbledore, but without the weight of fifty years.

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

"Well, hurry off to bed," Dumbledore told him, giving Riddle the same kind of penetrating stare the Hammer knew so well, "best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since…"

He sighed with the heaviness of a man caught beneath the weight of the world and bade Riddle goodnight before striding off. Riddle watched him until he was out of sight and then headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons with the Hammer in his shadow.

The Prefect went to the same dungeon in which Snape held his potions class. The torches hadn't been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, Harry could see him keeping watch on the passageway through the sliver he had left open. It was an old fashioned stakeout. They waited for what felt like an hour, just Tom, the Hammer, and an empty corridor. Harry had a respect for the prefect, standing still as a statue and breathing quiet, slow breaths to not give away his position.

A noise cued the Hammer back to the corridor - someone was trying to creep along the passage. Harry heard the unknown figure pass by their room, followed a few moments later by Riddle sliding out after him. The Hammer followed.

Harry could tell it wasn't the first time Riddle had followed someone at a distance: he knew how far to stay back, and when to pause and listen for a change in their noise and direction. A door creaked open nearby followed by someone speaking in a hoarse whisper.

"C'mon… gotta get yeh outta here… c'mon now… in the box…" Harry knew the voice immediately.

Riddle jumped out from around the corner and Harry followed a moment after. The dark outline of a huge boy was crouching in front of an open door, a large box next to it.

"Evening, Rubeus," Riddle said sharply.

The silhouette 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."

"What d'yeh-"

"I don't think you meant it 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!" the large boy backed against the closed door. From behind him, Harry could hear a funny rustling and clicking.

"Come on, Rubeus," Riddle continued, moving 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' him!" Roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage, "He wouldn'! He never!"
"Stand aside," Riddle commanded, 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. Out of it came something that chilled the Hammer to the bone. Harry bit his lip hard enough to draw blood to prevent himself from screaming. The taste of iron running bitter over his tongue, Harry used the pain to focus on the details of the creature.

A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers untangled itself from the box - Riddle raised his wand again, but he was too late. The thing 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, "NOOOOOOO!"

The whole scene whirled, fading into complete darkness. The Hammer felt a fall, and with a crash he landed on his back in the disused classroom he had been in, the chair he had been sitting in toppled over with him. Riddle's diary lay open on his stomach.

His hands shaking, Harry flipped the book shut and sat up, feeling the ache in his body flaring in the cold classroom. He ran his tongue over the inside of his lip, wincing. He couldn't tell how much the book could do. The Hammer tossed it up onto the desk with his case notes and scrambled out the door, closing it behind him before leaning against the wall adjacent to catch his breath.

"Tom," The Hammer heaved, wiping cold sweat from his brow, "You lying sack of shit."