IX. The Diary

I want to apologize, I guess- at least for me, part of the reason why I read HP fics is that sense of adventure, breaking new ground, etc- and I realize that by sticking so close to canon I've been… blueballing/teasing you about big changes. I could basically summarize the novella worth of stuff I've already written as "Neville joins the trio, Harry does some space testing, Harry's a bit more coolheaded, Sirius gets out early".

I'm so glad that you all took the time to read my passion project which I basically wrote solely for the purpose of "magic + space" and I'm sorry that hasn't really been explored so far. I'd like to think things really start to change though- you'll see now, huh?

Sometimes it felt like the magical world was just determined to disappoint Harry, such as when Harry discovered that the magical world's prejudice against muggles extended to the point of having a slur for muggleborns- "mudblood". Harry had to hold Ron back from casting a spell at Malfoy when the latter dropped the word mudblood- in large part because Harry didn't want Ron to get in trouble.

As much as Harry may have wanted to punch Malfoy in the face, and as satisfying as it would be, it wouldn't get to the root of the problem- at worst, it would land him in detention with Snape or even worse, Lockhart.

He had to bide his time- the magical world was his escape from life at the Dursleys, and his ticket to the stars was right here. All he needed to do was keep his head low and not screw it up, while getting every advantage he could out of the magical world. Not too hard, right?

Harry had a few vague plans for the actual end of the magical world (or rather, the end of it as a separate entity from the mundane), and for now he figured that it would need to be a longer term operation: make sure the first sightings of magic (which needed to be filmed, obviously) were of magicians doing good. The world needed to see magicians as, if not totally benevolent, capable of much more good than bad.

Maybe a sort of guerrilla campaign? Lots of incidents which needed to have digital proof, so a practically untouchable (at least by wizarding standards) body of evidence could be built… Hell, at that point he'd probably need to get in contact with the government, or rather, he'd need someone to contact the government for him (as he was a child), so they could smooth things over.

That was certainly something to go on the summer errands list: sneak a letter to the prime minister, possibly in a way that proved magic? He would probably need their help, and he needed to also not look like a raving loony when he did so. So many things to do- and he hadn't even started building his ship yet…

At first, Molly was working under the assumption that Sirius-as-Argos was a dog, which was the most rational assumption, considering how he looked like and acted like a dog, but Arthur knew that Sirius needed some human interaction.

He could scarcely imagine what a decade in Azkaban would have been like, how it would have shaped and changed his mind; Arthur felt drained for days after visiting for only a few hours. Living in a situation where happiness itself was a risk- what did that do to a man? Sure, Sirius had proved surprisingly cognizant during their talk, and had explained his plan to avoid detection in detail… but for the length of his stay at Azkaban his life was centered around enacting messy revenge- Arthur liked to think that he put Sirius on a better path, but…

Sirius would probably be helped by some interaction with Molly, and she could always use a little extra help around the house- it was a good deal, Arthur thought. The main issue would be convincing Molly that famed criminal Sirius Black was actually innocent. After thinking it over, he reached a rather obvious conclusion: show her irrefutable Pensieve memories.

So he brought her to one of the rent-a-Pensieve places in Diagon Alley- the sorts of places that catered to anyone who wanted to review their memories: mourners, proud parents, sufferers of empty nest syndrome, the list went on and on. Sure, it was expensive, but much less expensive than having to buy one.

Arthur sighed. "Molly… the memories I'm about to show you… they're a little concerning. Can you please promise to watch all of them, though? They're very important. Of course, she looked concerned, especially considering how long Arthur had rented out the room for, but Molly nodded, and together they plunged into the memories of one Sirius Black.

She looked rather upset when they left- part of it was the whole tremendous miscarriage of justice committed by the wizarding authorities... the rest was directed at him and Sirius, for coming up with such a crazy plan. He didn't argue that- it was pretty crazy, but... well, wasn't it crazier than an innocent man had been held in prison for now reason?

Harry did a bit of reading, and discovered both some good and bad things about magical paintings. First, the enchantments to make a painting or photograph animated were fairly simple and well known- but paintings didn't start with the same level of intelligence, or at least experience, as their subjects. They could do some of the general mannerisms- but it wasn't the real deal.

Still, you could physically sit down with a painting and teach it, even have it learn mannerisms from the person themselves, but Harry had to wonder what could happen if someone painted a self portrait. Would it even have to be a good painting? If Harry just made a crappy, stick figure illustration of himself, as long as he was confident it was him, would it count? Surely, Harry knew himself better than anyone else, but someone else would have

He had very big plans for his paintings and what he wanted to do- he knew that paintings could influence the real world, as evidenced by the Fat Lady- but he had to wonder if he could make a painting… more than human. Or more than paint, he guessed. Could they be more in tune with magic, or more in tune with a hypothetical magical spaceship? If Harry could create a magical copy of himself that was just… better, in some ways, that would be incredible.

A very exciting idea- but not something that he wanted to jump into straight away. He really, really didn't want to mess up the enchantment and create something that was imperfect- he could never bring himself to destroy an imperfect painting, especially not one of himself. It was far too close to murder (even if he the body was paint and the mind magic) for Harry to be remotely comfortable with.

Striving for literal perfection was a goal that would never be fulfilled, Harry knew, but he wanted to put off that particular can of worms for quite a while- he wanted to get a bit further along in his drone work first. What good was a potential AI if it didn't have something to fly? Well, it could do a lot of things, but not things Harry was currently interested in.

Once again he found himself approaching Professor Babbling, the designs for Fred and George's light absorption runes in his hands. Honestly, harry was curious about what a rune expert would think of the design- she was probably going to give him a lecture about safety, but Harry probably deserved it.

"Professor Babbling, there was something I wanted to talk to you about." Professor Babbling looked tired, which was quite understandable, considering the recent start of the school year.

"What's the matter, Mr. Potter? Did you manage to break your drone?"

"No, actually- in fact, I was wondering if I could improve it." Harry said, setting the rune schematic on the table on front of the Professor. "This is something that Fred and George came up with-" Babbling cringed visibly, "- to help the drone run longer. I was wondering if it was any good."

Babbling picked up the paper gingerly, as if worried it might explode. "Interesting- absorbing… waves to receive power? Could you explain this one to me?"

"Muggle science sees most forms of light as waves- the idea was that the drone could restore the energy it lost by taking in energy from the light around it. It has a funny side effect of turning the object pitch black- it absorbs all the light that touches it."

"Interesting- I presume you want to cover your own drone in runes like this?" She nodded to herself, "I suppose it would possible- you'd probably want some way for the magic to 'vent', if that makes sense- either that or an off switch, to keep the magic from building up too intensely."

"How would I do that?"

"There are all sorts of pointless things you can do with magic- small cooling or heating charms, light shows, whatever. You could probably do both- it depends on how much energy it would take in."

"So… could you help me install it?"

Babbling sighed. "It sounds like a challenge- another one, that is. I'll give it a shot, if you promise to take Ancient Runes next year- the field's always in need of some new blood."

Harry had to taken to wondering around Hogwarts under his invisibility cloak- the castle was already an interesting place to explore, and it kept him far away from Lockhart. To a lesser extent there was also that first year Colin Creevey, but Harry could appreciate his sheer curiosity and enthusiasm, even if that enthusiasm was being directed towards Harry as opposed to something more rational.

Honestly, Harry almost wanted to sit down and talk with him about magical photos- he had that camera and was looking into potions that could develop photographs so they move- but sometimes he just wanted to be alone, and Hogwarts could certainly provide empty, lonely spaces.

Well perhaps lonely was a bit of an overstatement, considering just how many magical paintings dotted the halls. Honestly, if those paintings were fully independent and functional beings that just happened to be composed of dyes and oil instead of flesh and bone… well, Hogwarts was practically hosting a large town's worth of people all around the year. Considering that painted figures could hop from frame to frame… as long as there was a single painting in any room you couldn't guarantee that you were alone.

A little creepy? Possibly. But Harry supposed that it was probably good to have so many watchful eyes and helping… hands? Whatever- the paintings probably helped the teachers keep track of everything- if all you needed for an extra pair of watchful eyes was the money to pay a painter…

Harry was looking at a painting of Saint Patrick driving the snakes out of Ireland when he heard it, a raspy voice, cold yet so malevolent: "Come…. Come to me… Let me rip you… Let me tear you… Let me kill you…"

Immediately, Harry frozen in place, looking around the hallway with a panic- none of the paintings seemed to notice anything- at least they weren't reacting visually- Saint Patrick himself stood quietly in prayer as the snakes at his feet writhed and squirmed by a painted shore. For a moment, Harry started wondering if the snakes had snake level intelligence as well, but he shook his head.

He needed to focus- what the hell was that voice? Presumably it was a real voice that the paintings just didn't hear- either that or Harry was coming down with some sort of magical mental disease (which considering Dumbledore's state… was possible). Assuming that Harry's faculties were functioning – and Harry hoped very much that it was a warranted assumption- that meant there was something special about him that let him hear the voice.

Was it some sort of magical messaging system, perhaps? Like a phone call directly into another person's skull? He knew that there was magic that could interact with the mind, destroying memories… could somebody implant the memory of a voice in his head that convincingly? Perhaps that little house elf, Dobby, was right- it was possible that someone was out to harm him at Hogwarts.

Still, that was a damned strange way to go about killing Harry- why tip him off at all if they planned on killing him? Harry certainly wasn't going to follow mysterious voices around, especially not ones that sounded so downright evil (well, he was going to think about it first)! Maybe… it was a mistake? Had some freak magical accident let him overhear a very worrying conversation?

Even if the voice wasn't directed at him, it clearly wasn't a good thing- he needed to talk with someone about it. So Harry almost headed back in the direction of Gryffindor Tower- before the hissing of the painted snakes brought him to a halt- although hissing probably wasn't the right term.

It sounded… like talking. Like a crowd of people, who spoke their letter "S" with a bit of a hiss. And it seemed like they were in a panic. Harry turned to the painting, and then looked down.

The snakes. "Uh- hello?"

"A speaker!" The snakes hissed in mass, their raspy voices overlapping. "A speaker!"

"Why yes- I am speaking."

After a few seconds, one of the snakes slithered forward, further into the foreground of the painting. "It has been years since we have last seen a speaker…"

"Wait- everyone can't talk to snakes?"

"Of course not- a rare few among your kind are blessed with the ability to speak our tongue naturally- and fewer still are willing to learn."

Of course, Harry remembered the time when he had talked with the snake at the zoo- but he had assumed that was some sort of accidental magic on his part- his magic just somehow lashed out, deciding to let him talk to snakes. Harry had figured it was a defensive thing- some sort of translation spell, automatically cast on a whim (maybe it was some ingrained magical defense?), but apparently not. He had to wonder if some sort of translation spell was available…

"Did you recognize that voice- the one that seemed to come from the walls?"

The snakes spoke- hissed?- among themselves silently, and eventually the same snake as before answered Harry. "We heard it- we recognize the voice, if barely. Many, many, years ago it killed a student- we never saw it occur, but the paintings all know."

"Thank you." That was a lot to work with- Harry would have almost grinned, if the news wasn't so grim. So the monster was probably a snake of some kind- or at least snake adjacent, close enough to speak the language naturally. He would have to research this snake language later- he clearly wasn't the first with this ability.

In an absolute best case scenario, Harry was dealing with some sort of minor snake with a massively bloated ego and a raging case of misanthropy- possibly a threat if it was venomous- but Harry had a sinking feeling that wasn't the case. Things would never be simple- he would probably need to add magical snakes onto his research.

Admittedly, the idea of a deathday party for a ghost was rather interesting- it was a fascinating piece of (undead?) wizarding culture, although Harry found himself worrying about bigger things than the wizarding dead- or rather, he started worrying that someone in Hogwarts might be joining them soon. Harry really hoped that this wouldn't become a trend on his Halloweens- something was up in the castle yet again.

Once Harry realized what being a Parseltongue implied, he knew he would need to keep it close to his chest- the stigma around just talking to snakes was massive. And stupid. It was really stupid, but that seemed to be business usual for the wizarding world. So Harry would keep it all close to his chest- and talk to every snake he could find.

They all seemed… antsy. On edge about the snake that was apparently prowling the castle, and Harry was worried too. Was there something special about it? Perhaps a particularly deadly poison, or some magical ability which made it hard to detect? He could barely imagine all the crazy adaptations an animal could get using magic…

Harry shook his head. Not important right now. Best case scenario, the snake was something known- something he could uncover through research- and worse case scenario it was something unique, the fruits of experimentation or Hogwart's strange magics.

Speaking of the eccentricities of Hogwarts, Harry found himself spending his Halloween night at a death day party- he had decided to go it alone, though. Honestly, he was glad for the excuse to get out of the dining hall- the 31st of October had gained quite a lot of meaning for him when he realized his parents died then, and spending it in the Great Hall didn't sound too appealing.

The dungeon was like something out of a dream, filled so thick with pearl-white, translucent ghosts that it seemed as if a fog had settled. Some part of Harry almost felt embarrassed, one living person among a crowd of the dead- but it was still interesting.

Peeves was still a major annoyance, but there were a few other interesting ghosts: like that Myrtle girl, who inspired… uncomfortable feelings. What if he died before he could accomplish what he wanted to do? What if one of Voldemort's minions finished the job before he even left school?

As interesting as ghostly culture might have been, the dungeon the party took place wasn't exactly the greatest, especially with the smell of rotting food thick in the air- he quietly excused himself, trying his best not to accidentally walk through anyone until…

"rip… tear… kill…" The voice again. Was it in the walls, maybe? He almost pulled out his invisibility cloak, but decided not to as he rushed after the voice as best he could. He didn't know if the cloak worked on animals, or if magical snakes had some special way to detect him (did the Cloak block infrared?)… not to mention how it would slow him down.

His feet hammered on the ground, echoing through the halls of Hogwarts, desperately trying to follow the voice, before…

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEW-

Had he scared away the mysterious writer before they could finish? Those letters were certainly a little melodramatic, but they didn't catch his attention like Mrs. Norris, the cat frozen in an expression of terror as it hung from a bracket on the wall.

Looking around, he tried to take in everything: the letters, the cat, the puddle on the floor, the half-soaked diary sitting in the pool…? Harry snatched it up nearly on instinct, saving the book from the water. Was it evidence? Had the criminal dropped it in their rush to get away from the scene of the crime?

Faintly, he could hear more people rushing about- far too many to just be the culprit- had the feast ended? That meant tons of people rushing in, looking all over the place… and closely associating him with the crime. So he slipped under his cloak, hiding beneath the shimmering, silky fabric as he held the diary close to his chest, gripping onto it like a lifeline. This was a piece of evidence- he couldn't loose it, even as he rushed away.

Tom Marvolo Riddle hadn't gotten where he was by being slow to adapt. Admittedly, he was currently inside of a diary, so "Where he was" wasn't exactly the greatest, but he could roll with it- he always did, after all.

There was a certain role he could play when he first arrived at Hogwarts- the enthusiastic, studious young man determined to learn everything about magic- that endeared the teachers to him, giving him more resources and autonomy. Playing to expectations was something he was very good at it, even if it recently felt like he was punching down.

The Weasley girl was a textbook case, if textbooks existed about emotional manipulation. Young and idealistic, practically fascinated with this Harry Potter figure- a boy who had apparently defeated another version of Tom. The girl had met Harry, but rushed off before he could learn much about the boy- and all that chaff to sort through! Children's stories and rumors- trite, all of it!

Unfortunately, the girl proved more resistant to possession than he first thought- or perhaps his diary form was just that weak, incapable of even overwhelming a child. He had tried to plan around the feast, to start his reign of terror when no one would be around, but some brat had to stick their nose into things, spooking Weasley and breaking a mental bond that was weaker than he liked. The girl fled, and someone else picked him up.

At first, he sent out gentle mental feelers, as subtle as could be- he couldn't afford to accidentally go stomping around the head of the staff of Hogwarts, people with the skill to actually handle him… But if a book could smile, Tom would have grinned widely when he realized that he had practically landed in the lap of Harry Potter.

His feelers proved Potter to be very different from the picture he had built up- curious, inquisitive, surprisingly driven when it came to some sort of Muggle pursuit (Tom would investigate that later), and shockingly dismissive of the magical world. The boy was interested in magical functioning on a deeper level, especially things like paintings, and he frequently thought back to a conversation with some snakes…

Thief! Damned thief! Somehow, he had defeated another version of Tom and then took the ability to talk to snakes-

No, no. He needed to calm down- he couldn't win Harry over if he was furious. For a moment Tom almost considered appealing to Harry with their shared skill as Parselmouths, but rapidly dismissed that as a horrible idea, at least right now. Harry was a fairly keen boy- if connected the dots and discovered Tom's involvement in the basilisk mess, he would probably try to get rid of him or even go to the authorities.

But there was one thing Tom could offer that Harry would be very interested in- the chance to talk with a magical intelligence that would be more than happy to explain the (fictionalized) means of his creation. Bait him in with the promise of eventually making an artifact with an intelligence to rival a person… and Harry was his.

Ginny Weasley was more than a little worried about that diary. Now that she was away from it, she could see as clear as day that there was something horribly wrong with the whole thing, the way Tom had gotten so close to her, the way it had somehow shifted her perceptions…. Up until the moment she had heard those footsteps, she was completely certain that everything she was doing made complete sense.

She was checking the diary, making sure that she copied down the words verbatim, with no spelling mistakes (Tom had stressed this) when she heard someone coming, and all of a sudden she realized where exactly she was. She was standing in a corridor with a paralyzed cat, writing an ominous message in something red. She wasn't sure if it was blood she had gotten from somewhere (where?) or paint, and that was horrifying all on its own.

So of course, she dropped everything, paint and diary both, in her haste to make an escape. Of course, she eventually realized how incriminating the diary would be if Tom started mouthing off about her personal secrets to someone else, but when she returned to the scene to pick it up, it was gone. Stolen.

That certainly wasn't good.

Sitting down in bed with the diary on his lap, Harry was struck by just how simple it was. Sure, it was a little silly to expect something that could completely blow the case open- the person hadn't immediately rushed back to grab it after all, so it couldn't be that important- but he was hesitantly hopeful that he might be able to figure out what the hell was going on.

Flipping through the pages revealed a whole lot of nothing, despite the diary's apparent age- surely, if it had been kept around for this long, someone would have written in it?

Well, Harry wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth- it might useful to keep his thoughts organized. Carefully, he dipped his pen and began to write, starting with the date- before the ink disappeared into the page.

Has it already been that long? Words appeared on the page, as if written by an invisible hand. Harry froze. Had he really lucked into having a magical intelligence right in his lap?

Yes- that's the current date. Who might you be?

My name is Tom Riddle- could I have yours as well?

I'm Harry Potter. What exactly are you?

I certainly think of myself as human- just in diary form.

How did you end up… here? Harry sort of tapped the diary and wondered if Tom felt it- how exactly did being stuck inside a diary work?

I was… well I suppose the human version of me made this diary and enchanted it with a copy of his consciousness- it certainly feels like I'm the genuine article, though.

What about your memory? Harry wrote, Do you remember everything perfectly?

Well of course I do- in fact… Suddenly, the page was filled with words, a potions text that seemed vaguely similar albeit with some minor changes in wording- was it a textbook from whenever Tom had attended?

That's incredible! Truly, Tom , or the diary he was in, was something incredible- this was such a incredible application of magic, much better than funky paintings!

Well of course it is- it's part of the reason I was made- I was supposed to help the 'original' me study. I can organize the information held within entire reams of paper.

Would you be willing to help me?

Of course. Harry smiled and pulled out his books- he had a lot of writing to do.

What do you think of this? Harry wrote, having finished a drawing of a planned spaceship- the current design was sort of bell or cone shaped, like the crew capsule of a normal spaceship, but with everything or an entire expedition inside it. A room for sleeping (still a work in progress- could he simulate gravity with wingardium leviosa, or would he need to actually fake gravity the muggle way?) was there, with space for his trunk, but the rest was filled with spaceship things.

A space was tentatively marked Oxygen- could he use alchemy to transform carbon dioxide into oxygen, could he make it automatic? He and Tom had bounced a few ideas back and forth about that, Tom seemed to think it was possible, if not maybe he could get a trunk and fill it with plants? However, most of the space was taken up by storage. Energy storage, that was.

He and Tom were still hammering out the specifics of that one- Harry was leaning towards some sort of kinetic energy storage system involving spinning flywheels, but he wanted to do some more testing, to see how flagrantly magic broke the laws of physics. Tom argued for trying to improve tried and tested runic arrays- imagine all the power of a massive battery in a simple sheet of paper, and then a room filled with reams of them! It was a point of contention, but they had time to hammer it out- maybe a hybrid system?

How do you plan on seeing out of this?

Remember the camera runes I talked about? As appealing as windows would be, I don't want to be fried by radiation.

This phenomena of radiation is so curious- you're certain it's fatal?

Extremely- especially if we plan on going anywhere past the Van Allen belt.

Could you write me a bit about that?

Harry cracked his knuckles and started writing- hopefully, in time, Tom would grow to be something truly unrivaled, a mind to surpass any on the planet. Could Harry get a printer to print articles onto the page, maybe? Could Tom somehow integrate an entire encyclopedia?

Harry kept Tom close to his chest, quite literally, by holding the diary in his robes at basically all times. You never knew when you might need to take notes, after all. Not all of those notes were necessarily completely academic- Harry did his best to wax poetic when he could, describing the mostly unchanged, if still beautiful, campus of Hogwarts.

Occasionally, Harry and Tom did a bit of exploring of the halls themselves- admittedly, trying to write inside of the invisibility cloak wasn't exactly easy, but it was possible if he squinted (was glowing ink a possibility?). Well, maybe exploring was a strong word, as Tom basically played the role of tour guide. He stopped every few seconds to scribble down notes, trying to see if there was any logic to the castle's machinations (although he doubted it).

Some part of him was antsy about another potential attack from the mysterious snake, which he had described in detail to Tom, who was as confused as he was, but as of yet the mysterious beast had not returned. At least, as far as Harry could tell.

Eventually, he found himself on the seventh floor, hunting down a particular tapestry that Tom had told him about. After finding a tapestry of dancing trolls- who the heck spent their precious time weaving that?- he knelt down to write in the diary.

Found it, what now?

Walk in front of the wall opposite of the tapestry three times, thinking of what you desire.

Can you do it?

What do you mean?

Surely, you're a thinking being- why couldn't you imagine something?

I suppose. I'll show you one of the grandest rooms in the whole of the castle.

Harry carried the diary in his hands, pacing in front of the blank wall, feeling like a bit of a knob- until a door simply appeared. Harry shrugged and opened the door- that was magic for you, after all. On the inside, he found a room that was quite literally stacked to the ceiling with things, of just about every type he could possibly imagine.

He flitted through the rows, looking at stacks of books which he was so tempted to grab, on top of all sorts of random articles- were they banned goods, maybe? Was this some sort of magical school dump? There were all sorts of toys and tools scattered around, many of which seemed to the sort that Filch would have frowned upon- one of the frisbees nearly bit off a chunk of Harry's robe.

As he swept a massive, glimmering cloak- was it actual gold? So heavy- to the side, and he found a rather simple looking cabinet, worn with age yet strangely familiar… Wait a moment, it looked rather like the cabinet in Borgin and Burke's. Was it just some case of wizarding mass production? Surely, it would be easy to use magic to mimic industrial production on a small scale- but Harry knew how important sympathy was to magic. Two things that looked like each other could have their own special magical connections, couldn't they?

Harry shook his head- there was too much stuff to see here for him to waste time. He jotted down a few quick recollections in Tom's diary, describing the two cabinets, and walked towards the next item that caught his interest- it felt a little demeaning to make Tom into a catalog of items, but Harry felt that was what the wizarding world needed sometimes. Order, organization, a way to spot patterns and a potential larger structure between all these marvelous things.

Before he left, he did pick up a book: it was a rather suspect looking tome called the Pilferer's Partner, that seemed to be some sort of guide describing the uses of magic for petty theft. Of course, he had no plans on using it for the intended purpose, but he did want to know what sort of magical schemers were out there- did they prey on muggles and muggleborns who didn't know how to defend themselves?

His usually voracious reading was slowed down slightly because he knew it would definitely be frowned on by the people around him- but he did read. There were spells for picking pockets and sending wallets right back in (Harry had to chuckle when the author complained about the "odd plastic cards" filling wallets instead of good old fashioned cash- if only he knew!), for debasing coins- with several warnings about how the Goblins would have your ass if they caught you-, and most interestingly, spells which were intended to modify weight.

It was intended for meddling with scales and the like- it would require some slight of hand, and most critically, moderation (or a good Confundus charm) so you didn't go around halving or quartering the weight of everything, blowing the scheme wide open, but if you could, you could work up lots of tiny little savings here and there…

Of course, he talked with Tom about it- they still weren't sure if it affected mass or gravity, but either way it would be very useful for their future projects. Lessened mass meant greater acceleration for the same force, after all, and anti gravity tech… well, the sci-fi practically wrote itself.

"Would you like to send Harry something for Christmas, Sirius?" Molly suggest as she sewed one of many sweaters- they took a lot more preparation than the candies and sweets, after all.

"Can I?" Sirius perked up at that, looking almost doglike.

"Sure- we just can't let you give away your identity, alright?" Molly warned. "We'll have to excuse it as a gift from Arthur or something, and we certainly can't let you go shopping, if you even had the money…"

Sirius groaned. "I have tons of money, just sitting in my vault- if you two would let me go and grab it!"

"How would you do that, exactly? Sneak into Gringotts as a dog?"

"I could-"

Molly leaned towards him, her expression sour. "The greatest gift you could possibly give Harry is not getting caught, is that clear? If you can just hold your horses until summertime, then you can finally give that poor boy the feeling of actually having family."

"What am I supposed to get him from inside the Burrow, then? Certainly don't know how to knit..."

The next time he and Tom entered the room on the seventh floor, there was something different about it- instead of an expansive room filled with random items, there was a small room, barely the size of a closet, at the top of a stretching stairwell which went down into the inky depths of the school.

Thankfully, he could write to Tom by faint torchlight. Where do the stairs go?

To one of the greatest secrets in the entirety of the castle- I'm not sure if anyone else has seen it at all. Harry grinned at that, even if some part of him was a little anxious- what sort of secrets were held in the castle's depths?

So he and Tom went down. And down, and down and down.

Tom introduced it as the Chamber of Secrets- and Harry had to admit that he had never seen anything quite like it outside of fantastical stories. Perhaps he should get used to remarkable things like this, but at the same time, he never wanted to grow used to the magical world, complacent and content like so many other wizards.

The giant statues of Salazar Slytherin were certainly impressive, even if the whole place had a kind of gloomy look about it. A window would probably do the place some good- if it didn't open up to the lake. Hey, couldn't you just make magical windows that fulfilled the same function? Something to think about.

Harry shrugged and tried to find a decently dry spot to sit down and write in. What is this place?

You might know it as the Chamber of Secrets?

Wait, how did you know about it?

I wasn't completely sure, but I knew that the Room of Requirement could do many things- why not serve as a shortcut? There was a moment of… well, silence wasn't the word, but the flowing ink stilled for a second. The passage is still there, yes?

Harry looked back to check. Yeah, it is. Thankfully. This place is a little creepy.

Creepy as it was, Harry had to admit that the Chamber would be useful, just as a place to work- it was fairly out of the way and big enough to actually do things in. There was only the question of material- maybe he and Tom could work out the alchemy needed to transform stone into the materials for a ship?

Oh wait, they had a room that could give you just about whatever you wanted- why not work there? Well, he didn't know the exact specifics of how it worked- could somebody just ask for "whatever thing Harry was working on?" and find his work? Well, it could argued that the same would work if he hid it away in the Chamber… but the Chamber also had that feeling of history, on top of being steeped in myth that hid it away.

Presumably, Salazar Slytherin had walked these stones (and made a massive statue of himself) back before William the Conqueror, before the steam engine or muggle flight… Harry liked the idea of using this old, ancient place to reach the stars. Slytherin was ambitious- he'd probably approve, and if he didn't? Well, then he could go suck a (ghostly?) lemon with the other purebloods.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when the statue of Salazar began to rumble, the mouth opening as something slithered inside that gaping mouth. He grabbed his wand and nearly dropped Tom- that was one big snake.

It was thicker around than a tree trunk and had length to match, and it seemed to pour from the mouth of statue, until eventually the entire length of that monstrous snake was revealed, the snake seemingly glaring at him as best it could with its closed eyes. Harry almost wrote a note to Tom, but shook his head- the snake could strike while he wrote.

"Hello? Uh, please don't bite me."

The snake turned its head his way, its breaths so massive he could feel them. "Sspeaker? Your voice has changed." Harry recognized that voice- that was the snake that had crept in the walls, and had petrified Mrs. Norris. He tried his best to control his fear (could magical snakes smell that?) and continue a somewhat normal snaky conversation.

Harry gulped. That didn't sound good. "I'm not if I'm your speaker, whoever they are." The snake seemed to twitch at that, lifting its great green head to sniff at him.

"You certainly are a more natural speaker than the last. Their voice was… off."

"They were, huh…" Harry mumbled to himself and tucked that away in his mind. "When did you see… ah, hear from this speaker last?"

"I am… uncertain, about many things, like the passing of time." Well of course, it was a snake- not like it could wear a watch. Actually, it probably could… Harry shook his head.

"Say, do you have a name, big guy?" Or was it a gal? Harry couldn't really tell.

"A name?"

"You know, a word that people refer to you by? Did Salazar call you anything?"

"No…"

"Would you like one?" Cautiously, Harry reached out and placed his palm on the creature's great head. What would be a fitting name for a giant snake of indeterminate gender? "How about… Sage? That's a good name, isn't it?" Harry certainly hoped the snake thought so.

The snake seemed to quirk its massive head, considering his suggestion (wait, did snakes naturally have human intelligence, or did Parseltongue imbue the creatures with temporary sapience?) before giving something that seemed to be a nod. Or at least, harry hoped it was a nod- he wasn't exactly an expert on serpentine body language, and he still couldn't get anything out of the creature's eyes, which remained clamped tight.

Hopefully, he could keep the snake from attacking again- what if it went after someone less hated than Mrs. Norris? He practically had an obligation to keep the snake under control- maybe he could smuggle food down here?

It turned out that the Room of Requirement was remarkably flexible in some ways, and almost completely useless in some other ways. It was rather disheartening to see some of his early work literally disappear into thin air- it turned out that having the Room conjure you parts didn't work because eventually the magic would just give in, and the object would just poof away.

So that meant that he had to reconsider his plans- and take a dive into alchemy, as it was the only way he could actually get materials that would last- unless Hogwarts had some scrap metal he could pinch. All the tools in the world, but no materials that he couldn't get from the grounds themselves.

Admittedly, that was a bit of a conundrum at first, at least until Harry realized that he was sitting next to a giant, underground dungeon. So Harry found a particularly isolated corner of the dungeon, one without anything that seemed important nearby… and started blasting. From a distance, of course.

Any idiot could make runes that basically just blew up- Harry just used said runes to blow rough chunks out of the wall, which he could use for alchemy. At least, that was the theory- it turned out that turning rocks into metal was a lot harder than he thought, so he spent a lot of late nights checking notes with Tom and trying his best to understand the complexities of alchemy.

Harry managed to grab some meat basically every night and sneak it down to Sage, but it never felt like enough for such a huge snake. Still, it hadn't died yet, despite the massive body meaning a truly massive metabolism that somehow didn't burn itself out in the sewers under Hogwarts after years. What could it possibly eat down here?

You know what, bad question. He was going to tuck that away and not think about the ecosystems of magical sewers.

Admittedly, Tom was taking a risk, leading Harry into the chamber- along with the boy's parselmouth ability there was a chance of this whole thing coming around to bite him, but Tom wanted to familiarize the basilisk to him- Potter was a natural parselmouth, unlike the Weasley child. Trying to force parselmouth in someone who had never so much as heard it, all while holding onto a tenuous possession…

Leading him into the Room of Requirement was a risk as well- he certainly didn't like the idea of sharing two of the school's great secrets, but he felt that he had traded them for a greater prize in Potter's trust.

Other than the sheer vindictive pleasure of triumphing over the boy that had defeated another version of Tom, Harry had a lot more to offer- a permanent possession would be difficult to pull off, and he'd need to get a good idea of the boy's mannerisms, but the resources and clout it would give him… He had faint hints of the Potter fortune, great piles of gold, certainly enough to fund any projects, on top of warded properties, and most crucially, thousands of wizards who would probably assume the best when it came to his intent.

It turned out that luck really was on his side- why shoot for the Weasley brat when he had the grand prize right here?

Remember: Tom Riddle is a lying scheming sunnabitch.

Also, I decided to make his possession more slow and creeping, if that makes sense- could a powerful magical entity overwhelm a school-age child in about two months? Probably, but I like the idea of Diary!Tom as more a guile villain.

So yeah, I took some time to sit down and think about the plot, how I wanted it to go forward, etc. Have I done something interesting here? I'd like to think it's a little novel. Diary Tom and Harry Potter, the dynamic duo! For now. dun dun dun