Chapter 44, The Diary of T. M. Riddle

Harry stared at the open book in shock. Recovering when the ink began to disappear, he wrote: "Someone tried to flush it down a toilet."

The reply came quickly. "Hmm. Well, I knew not everyone would want my memories revealed. Lucky I recorded them in more lasting ways than ink."

He hastily scribbled back. "Why wouldn't people want your memories to be revealed? Surely they're valuable."

"They are. Which is precisely why some would want them kept secret."

"I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"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."

Harry smirked. He was sure Tom Riddle meant the Chamber of Secrets. "That's where I am now. Terrible things are happening now, also. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened again, like it was when you were in school."

"Ah… so you know about the Chamber, then."

"Not very much. What do you know?" Harry's heart was pounding, waiting for Riddle's reply.

It came quickly, untidy, as though it was written hurriedly. "In my day, they told us that 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."

Harry read it hastily, shocked. "You caught Voldemort? But, surely you couldn't have. There are no record's of Voldemort's expulsion, and he got a full education."

The reply came slowly this time, as if it had required great thought. "What makes you think the Dark Lord opened it, Harry Potter?"

The boy frowned and scribbled his response. "Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin. He speaks Parseltongue, and Professor Dumbledore told us that Vanella was the heir, and her father is Voldemort, so clearly, it must be this way."

"Lord Voldemort has a daughter? I had not been told of this."

"No one else is supposed to know. Voldemort wants her dead."

"How do you know she is not the one doing it then, Harry Potter?"

"Because she is my friend, and the monster from the Chamber didn't listen to her."

"The famous Harry Potter is friends with his archenemy's heir?"

"Yes. But who did you catch as the heir, if not Voldemort?"

"I will show you the real opener of the Chamber now, then, Harry Potter, if you'd like."

Harry hesitated, then wrote: "Okay."

The pages of the diary began to blow as if caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June. Mouth hanging open, Harry saw that the little square for June thirteenth seemed to have turned into a miniscule television screen. His hands trembling slightly, he raised the book to press his eye against the little window, and before he knew what was happening, he was tumbling forward; the window was widening, he felt his body leave the bed, and he was pitched forward, headfirst through the opening in the page into a whirl of color and shadow.

He felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred shapes around him came suddenly into focus.

He knew immediately where he was, he'd spent enough time in this room over the summer. This circular room with the sleeping portraits was Dumbledore's office—but it wasn't Dumbledore who was sitting behind the desk. A wizened, frail-looking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair, was reading a letter by candlelight. Harry recognized the man from one of Dumbledore's portraits, but, looking around, he noticed that that portrait wasn't currently hanging.

"I'm sorry," he said shakily. "I didn't mean to butt in—"

But the wizard didn't look up. He continued to read, frowning slightly. Harry drew nearer to his desk and stammered, "Er—I'll just go, shall I?"

Still the wizard ignored him. He didn't seem even to have heard him at all. Thinking that the wizard might be deaf, Harry raised his voice. "Sorry I disturbed you. I'll go now," he half shouted.

The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past Harry without glancing at him, and went to draw the curtains at his window. The sky outside the window was ruby-red; it seemed to be sunset. The wizard went back to the desk, sat down, and twiddled his thumbs, watching the door.

Harry looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix—no whirring silver contraptions. This was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it, meaning that this unknown wizard was Headmaster, not Dumbledore, and he, Harry, was little more that a phantom, completely invisible to the people of fifty years ago.

There was a knock at the office door.

"Enter," said the old wizard in a feeble voice.

A boy of about sixteen entered taking off his pointed hat. A silver prefect's badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than Harry, but he, too, had jet-black hair.

"Ah, Riddle," said the Headmaster.

"You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?" said Riddle. He looked nervous.

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

"Oh," said Riddle. He sat down, gripping his hands together very tightly.

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

"No," said Riddle at once. "I'd much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that—to that—"

"You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?" said Dippet curiously.

"Yes, sir," said Riddle, reddening slightly.

"You are Muggle-born?"

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

"And are both your parents—?"

"My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage that she lived just long enough to name me—Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather."

Dippet clucked his tongue sympathetically.

"The thing is, Tom," he sighed, "special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances…."

"You mean all these attacks, sir?" said Riddle, and Harry's heart leapt, and he moved closer, scared of missing anything.

"Precisely," said the Headmaster. "My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy… the death of that poor little girl…. You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the—er—source of all this unpleasantness…."

Riddle's eyes had widened.

"Sir—if the person was caught—if it all stopped—"

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

"No, sir," said Riddle quickly.

But Harry was pretty sure that Riddle's "no" came a little too quickly.

Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.

"You may go, Tom…."

Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Harry followed him, sure that's what he was supposed to do.

Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Riddle stopped, ad so did Harry, watching him. Harry could tell that Riddle was doing some serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed.

Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off, Harry gliding noiselessly behind him. They didn't see another person until they reached the entrance hall, when a tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and a beard called to Riddle from the marble staircase.

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

Harry gaped at the wizard. He was none other than a fifty-year-younger Dumbledore.

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

"Well, hurry off to bed," said Dumbledore, giving Riddle exactly the kind of penetrating stare Harry knew so well. "Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since…"

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

But to Harry's disappointment, Riddle led him not into a hidden passageway or a secret tunnel but to the very dungeon in which Harry had Potions with Professor Snape. The torches hadn't been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, Harry could only just see him, standing stock-still by the door, watching the passage outside.

It felt to Harry that they were there for at least an hour. All he could see was the figure of Riddle at the door, staring through the crack, waiting like a statue. And just when Harry had stopped feeling expectant and tense and started wishing he could return to the present, he heard something move beyond the door. Something was creeping along the passage. He heard whomever it was pass the dungeon where he and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged though the door and followed, Harry tiptoeing behind him, forgetting that he couldn't be heard.

For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle stopped suddenly, his head inclined in the direction of new noises. Harry heard a door creak open, and then someone speaking in a hoarse whisper.

"C'mon…gotta get yeh outta here…C'mon now…in the box…"

There was something familiar about that voice….

Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Harry stepped out behind him. He could see the dark outline of a huge boy who was crouching in front of an open door, a very large box next to it.

"Evening, Rubeus," said Riddle sharply.

The boy slammed the door shut and stood up.

"What yer doin' down here, Tom?"

Riddle stepped closer.

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

"What d'yeh—"

"I don't think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don't make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and—"

"It never killed no one!" said the large boy, backing against the closed door. From behind him, Harry could hear a funny rustling and clicking.

"Come on, Rubeus," said Riddle, moving yet closer. "The dead girl's parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered…"

"It wasn't him!" roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. "He wouldn'! He never!"

"Stand aside," said Riddle, drawing out his wand.

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind the large boy flew open with such force it knocked him into the wall opposite. And out of it came something that made Harry let out a long, piercing scream unheard by anyone—

A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers—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 scene whirled, the darkness became complete; Harry felt himself falling and, with a crash, he landed spread-eagled on his bed in the Slytherin dormitory, Riddle's diary lying open on his stomach.

He sat up, breathing heavily. "Hagrid?" he said aloud. "How could it possible be?" He lifted Riddles diary from where it was resting against him. "This makes no sense."

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Author's Note: The memory is all from the book. Sorry.

Thank you all for reviews! They feed a writer's insatiable hunger.

This chapter was fairly quick to getting up. I did, after all, get five reviews for the last chapter and figured I may as well reward all of you.

Until next time,
Cheers,
Sam.