Author's Note: I've reached the point in the story where some things have to match up exactly with the original books. Since I divided this part from the previous chapter, this whole thing, except for a tiny bit at the end, is an altered version of what Harry sees in the Diary in chapter 13 of Chamber of Secrets ("The Very Secret Diary"). I've kept the dialogue the same and I've only reworded the descriptions that were in the book, but I've added Tom's thoughts. So a lot of this will be familiar. This is the only time this kind of borrowing will happen in such a great quantity.

I did some debating about whether to take the version of events in the diary as the truth, because Voldemort could have changed them. I decided that enough of it seemed "raw", unedited, so to speak, that I felt it was what really happened. That is, I felt that at the time when I was writing; now I'm unsure again—but I don't want to go back and rewrite it... Anyway, I do think it's cool to compare what Harry sees with what may have been going on in Riddle's head. Feel free to share your thoughts on this with me. I might change some things later.

Tom knocked on the door to Professor Dippet's office. "Enter," came a feeble voice from within.

"Ah, Riddle."

"You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?" he asked in a voice a bit more anxious than he would have liked.

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

"Oh," he said, sitting in the chair before the desk. He kept his hands tensely locked together, not wanting to look suddenly relaxed at learning the reason for his summons there; Dippet didn't need to wonder what else he might have been anticipating a meeting about.

"My dear boy," said Dippet in the kind tone he customarily used with Tom, "I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?"

"No," answered Tom without pause. Home? He had never thought of the orphanage as a home. Hogwarts was much more a home than that place. Was Professor Dippet really so daft as to think— "I'd much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that—to that—" He truly did hate saying the word aloud.

"You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?"

"Yes, sir," Tom answered, unable to keep from showing his embarrassment and discomfort towards this fact. He could feel that he must have turned a shade of pink.

Professor Dippet, to his relief, offered no sympathetic remark; although, what he did say was almost worse. "You are Muggle-born?" he asked. What a ghastly thought that was. Thankfully, no. He at least had some magical blood to claim.

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

"And are both your parents—?" They might as well both have been dead. His father was little more than a name to him—and besides that, a Muggle, who he didn't want anything to do with anyway.

"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." There was no reason the Headmaster needed to know this. And especially he did not need to be reminded of the name Tom shared with a known descendant of Slytherin. He was starting to ramble when he spoke, saying unnecessary things from nervousness and distraction. Why couldn't Professor Dippet just get on with telling him that he could stay at Hogwarts—for he was still hopeful for that outcome. Dippet only made a sound with his tongue. Sympathy. Well, it was going to come up sooner or later…

"The thing is, Tom," he continued with a sigh, "special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances…"

"You mean all the attacks, sir?" Tom asked, expertly keeping his voice disinterested, as casual as was necessary. But internally… He was struggling with the truth; he had damned himself to another summer at the orphanage. Was being the Heir of Slytherin worth it? He supposed, as awful as the orphanage was, it had been. But possibly only because he knew he would be able to get away for some time by visiting Charlotte.

"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…"

It was far worse than he had thought. He might never be able to return to Hogwarts after that. He could not let such a thing happen. With his eyes wide, no longer trying to conceal his emotions, he spoke disjointedly, "Sir—if the person was caught—if it all stopped—"

"What do you mean?" asked Professor Dippet in squeaky shock, jolting up in his seat. "Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?"

"No, sir," he answered quickly. Tom noticed there was no indication that Dippet believed this meant Tom himself was involved in the attacks. It would have given him more pleasure if he hadn't been so concerned trying to work out what he could do to assure everyone the attacks had stopped for good, where he could place the blame…

Dippet had sunk back in his chair, looking sad—a bit pathetic, really, to Tom's eyes.

"You may go, Tom…" he said.

Without a word, too busy thinking miserably about what he was going to do, Tom left the Headmaster's office. Not only did he have to stop the attacks, he had to find a suitable scapegoat as well. His ruminations on Rubeus Hagrid came back to him, even though he loathed the idea. He went from the room with his shoulders hanging low and a bit forward, his neck letting his head fall down in a similar manner. It was how he felt about the whole situation. Dejected. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he straightened himself up a little again and he stood there thinking about whether he really wanted to go through with framing the half-giant, and how he could go about doing it. Not that he had any choice really.

At the same time, however, he kept thinking: Charlotte. She had been out with him every night when there was an attack, and he could say that he had noticed her acting suspiciously. He would be able to say he hadn't brought it up before because of what she meant to him—it sounded like the kind of thing love would make someone do—but now that someone had died, he couldn't stay silent anymore. And she was pureblood, so that fit. The only problem with it was Slytherin's descendants were recorded well enough if one really looked, as were Charlotte's ancestors, to prove that she could not be the Heir of Slytherin. But if people were going to be that thorough in their investigation of the truth, Hagrid wouldn't pass for the culprit either. So Charlotte really was the best option. He set off down the hallway, still thinking about this. He kept his pace brisk until he reached the entrance hall and heard someone call his name.

He turned to see Dumbledore looking down at him from the marble staircase. He was more irritated than ever to run into the man, but kept his expression stoical.

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

"I had to see the headmaster, sir." It was Charlotte—that was what he wanted to say to him. But something held him back.

A panic set in; this had to mean he'd let himself fall in love with her. He was doing the very thing he said he would not do. An opportunity to serve his own interests, with harm coming to Charlotte, and he was choosing her over himself.

"Well, hurry off to bed," Dumbledore said. With a pounding heart, Tom wondered, not for the first time, if Dumbledore suspected him. The expression on his face… He looked at him and it was so clear that he knew something but it was impossible to discern what. Tom could have hated the man on that look alone, although he had given him plenty of other reasons to despise him. "Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since…" He said nothing more, except a good night, which Tom did not return, accompanied by a deep sigh. Tom looked on as he walked away, thinking through his inability to point a finger at Charlotte.

Maybe his hesitation in blaming her was because it wouldn't work at all. His word was likely to be more convincing than hers, but the margin between them was nowhere near as great as was between his word and Hagrid's. And besides, he had just been dealt the blow of losing the option of staying at Hogwarts for the holidays; Charlotte was his only chance at getting away from the orphanage. Not to mention, meeting her father, and— He ran through all his usual reasons for having her as his girlfriend.

It had to be Hagrid then. He would have to wait to catch the boy, in the dungeons where he knew he kept his pet.

Dumbledore had disappeared, and Tom began moving again, down to the dungeons, resolutely having made his decision about what he was doing. He reached a room and stopped, stepping into near complete darkness. It was, he realized, the room Charlotte had dragged him into the day he had been formally introduced to Oliver Winship. He waited, staring straight ahead through the narrow space left between the door and its frame. He spent the time—he didn't know how long it was—thinking of what he would say to Hagrid once he caught him. He amused himself with imaginings of making fierce declarations of his loathing for the half-giant. He knew, however, that it was wiser to act as though Hagrid were somewhat innocent in the matter, instead, blaming in a believable way the beast he kept.

Finally, Rubeus showed up. As Tom knew he would. He couldn't let his little friend go hungry, could he? With a smirk, he opened the door wide enough to slip through, and then quietly set off down the passage, following Hagrid.

It was so dark that he couldn't see the boy very well, even despite his gargantuan stature; so, after trailing him for several minutes, sound served to tell Tom that his target had moved to the side of the passage and was opening a door.

"C'mon… gotta get yeh outta here… C'mon now… in the box…" How convenient the boy was trying to hide his beast away elsewhere. Very incriminating.

Hagrid didn't notice him, even as he revealed himself in the corridor, until he spoke. "Evening, Rubeus," he said sharply.

Slamming the door and standing up, Hagrid answered anxiously, "What yer doin' down here, Tom?"

He took a step forward. "It's all over. I'm going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They're talking about closing the Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop."

"What d'yeh—"

Tom didn't let him finish. "I don't think you meant to kill anyone." With a little luck, the boy might believe it that he was responsible. That was what Tom hoped. "But monsters don't make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and—"

"It never killed no one!" Rubeus backed into the door. It seemed he was going to defend his beast.

"Come on, Rubeus," Tom said, stepping closer, ignoring the sounds of the spider he knew was behind the door. "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…" He continued to try to drive some doubt into him.

"It wasn't him!" Hagrid roared, causing the passageway to echo with his cry. "He wouldn't! He never!" How could he possibly know that? Just went to show what a fool the boy was.

"Stand aside." Tom drew his wand. With a spell, he blasted open the door Rubeus was guarding, throwing the boy across the hall and into the wall opposite. In that moment the hall was far from dark, aglow with the magic Tom had used, and it illuminated the spider as it scuttled from the room. It was black and looked like a shadow—a shadow that made clicking sounds with its pincers and legs, and had eyes that caught the light and glinted.

He stood his ground against the massive creature, although even he had to admit it was fearsome. He raised his wand again, but the spider, making its escape, knocked him over as it went past. Tom hurried to get up as quickly as he could, but the spider was already disappearing around the corner. He would have gone after it—his plan would go better with proof of the monster Hagrid kept—but the boy jumped on him with all his force, pulling his wand from his hand, and shoving him to ground again. "NOOOOOOO!" he yelled.

The ferocity of the attack came as a shock to Tom. It seemed Hagrid actually cared about the spider; maybe it was some sort of beastly kindred spirit feeling. He sat up angrily. "Now look what you've done! You've let it get away, to attack someone else!" Although Tom didn't care in the slightest whether the spider hurt anyone.

"He wouldn'a run off if you hadn't come along!" Hagrid sniffed. He seemed calmer now, satisfied that he had stopped Tom from hurting the spider.

Tom climbed to his feet, grabbed his wand back, and looked down at the half-giant, who was still as tall crouching down as some human students. "Get up," he snarled. "We have to tell someone."

They walked down the corridor in silence, Tom listening for the telltale sounds of clicking or scuttling, but only hearing Hagrid's muffled, heaving sobs behind him. He whirled around. "Will you stop that?! I can't think."

"He told me there was somethin' in the castle, somethin' that frightened him…"

"Did he say what?" asked Tom, alarmed, but not sounding so.

"Too scared, he was." There was a pause, followed by another great sniff. "An' now he's all on his own…"

"He was probably worried he was going to have to share his room with it, if you got your hands on it," Tom said unkindly. Rubeus didn't reply, but shuffled on behind Tom until they arrived at Professor Slughorn's office.