Ever since Hermione had been in the hospital wing, Brooklyn had forgotten to write to Tom Riddle, visiting Hermione almost every day.
The two of them had wonderful conversations together. And there had been a humorous situation where Ron discovered a Get Well card from Gilderoy Lockhart, and that Hermione slept with it under her pillow. But this revelation didn't stop Brooklyn from visiting her. He supposed he could give credit to the doofus for actually being concerned for his friend.
On a plus side, he heard news that Harry was no longer being seen as the Heir of Slytherin, which relieved him greatly.
He'd forgotten about the diary for quite a while, even getting the chance to visit Hagrid, something Brooklyn had neglected to do. And had been in much better spirits since not writing in it.
"Hey, Brook! How's Hermione been doin'?" Hagrid asked, as Brooklyn strode by, smiling.
"Just fine, Hagrid. I think all her fur should be gone pretty soon, after coughing out some hairballs!"
Hagrid chuckled, but then Brooklyn noticed a dead rooster by him.
"What happened?" Brooklyn questioned in surprise, staring.
Hagrid frowned. "This has been the second or third rooster killed, strangled to death. And claw marks on its face. Either foxes or somethin' else."
Brooklyn's blood turned cold from this. Roosters killed. Waking up with feathers and blood all over his sheets twice in a row since the first and third attack? This can't be a coincidence. Was he the rooster killer?
Hagrid noted Brook's pale face. He hadn't been looking good recently, even when he seemed fine when talking to others.
"Are yeh feelin' alrigh?" He asked in concern. Brooklyn shook himself, a hand on his head.
"Er, yeah, I-I think so. I'll see you later, okay?" He mumbled, making his way back up to the castle and leaving Hagrid with a pretty concerned face, and Brooklyn struggled with troubling thoughts going in his head while walking down the path.
One evening, Brooklyn lay there, still thinking. He now wondered if he even needed to write to Tom Riddle anymore. He hardly had been any help for the last three attacks.
He pulled it out, coming to his decision. This thing had caused him nothing but stress in the past year. Even if it seemed friendly and likable at first.
Giving a small growl, he opened it, pulling out his quill.
Brooklyn! Where have you been? I missed you! Did the Polyjuice potion work?
But Brooklyn wasn't in the mood for games.
Cut the small talk, Riddle. It did work, but my friend Hermione put in the wrong hairs, making her go to the hospital. And I'm here to let you know that I'm no longer going to write to you. You've become unbearable in the past month! And you even supported me with this stupid Parselmouth stuff! That's not what a therapy diary should do! You're disgusting!
What? But you and I have been friends for months, Brooklyn. You said yourself it was sometimes hard for you to talk to your brother and can only come to me whenever you had fainted or sleep walked during attacks!
Brooklyn narrowed his eyes, now disgusted at himself for thinking this way, like his own bond brother wasn't trustworthy. There had to be a reason for him passing out every time he wrote in this thing. But no heck way, it couldn't have been him, and Tom, could it?
He took shaky panicked breaths, coming to that terrifying conclusion. How had he done all of that? His stomach filled with bile just thinking about it.
I want answers, Tom. And don't lie to me again! I know now that I had something to do with these attacks, didn't I? Say something or I'll destroy this diary!
I don't know what you're talking about, Brooklyn. How can I be a part of this?
This is what I mean, you made me avoid my own freaking brother, who also can speak Parseltongue! This all could've been resolved if I had talked to him! Brooklyn wrote, feeling hot tears coming out of his eyes.
This is quite the serious accusation, Brooklyn, and do you really think you can simply throw away the diary? You've become quite dependent on me recently, plus I've been growing stronger because of your entries. Who else can you turn to when nobody else can listen and help? I can probably provide a way for you to return to your clan, which is what you desire greatly, isn't it?
This hit Brooklyn at home plate, thoughts of his clan flashing in his head. Could Tom really help him? His jaw clenched, as he shook his head. No. He already trusted others with this. The idea of a diary like this doing some kind of scary magic to send him home, it repulsed him greatly.
No, Tom, I no longer need your help. It isn't worth it to me anymore! I was a fool to trust you!
There's more to me than you realize, Brooklyn. You poured a lot of your heart into these pages. It will only be a matter of time before you start writing again.
Brooklyn felt rather nervous and confused when Tom mentioned the putting too much of his heart part but bit his tongue and quenched his fear.
There's nothing else for me to write in here now, Riddle! So goodbye!
He slammed the diary shut before Tom could reply back and threw it, where the book slid down the wall to the floor. He took a few heavy breaths to calm down after what happened, closing his eyes. If that diary was the cause of his blackouts, there was only one way to make sure he didn't faint again. He had to destroy it. And maybe, just maybe, his life would return to normal.
He grabbed the diary, running out of the room, and right to the abandoned girl's bathroom, trying not to look at the message still on the wall. Ignoring the Out of Order sign as usual, Brooklyn went in, finding the nearest toilet stall and throwing the diary in forcefully.
This is what you deserve, Tom Riddle, I hope, Brooklyn thought, narrowing his eyes.
Along with a splash, Brooklyn heard a girl's scream too. Startled, he quickly ran his way out, wanting to get as far away from Tom Riddle as much as possible.
Myrtle rose from the toilet to see who threw the book at her but saw nothing except the door closing.
Brooklyn leaned back against the wall away from the bathroom, his legs sinking beneath him, thinking about what he did. This whole thing with Tom couldn't be true, right? He still had no idea who the Heir of Slytherin was, and Brooklyn couldn't ask Tom now unless he would lie about it and increase his mistrust towards his close friends. But now, he hoped there wouldn't be any more attacks from this point forward, and couldn't help but think about his sort of friend in the lake, the Squid digesting that diary right now, grinning inside.
…
A month had gone by since Brooklyn threw away that diary, and no attacks had happened since, along with Hermione being let out of the hospital, furless and tail free. He was happy to see her again, and that Tom Riddle was gone out of his life for good.
The gargoyle had also managed to get some courage to at least go see Dumbledore to ask him the question he wanted to ask since getting rid of the diary; was Tom really the bad guy?
He nervously stepped inside, Dumbledore was rifling through a stack of papers, reading them through his half-moon spectacles. He noticed Brooklyn come in.
"Why, hello, Brooklyn. What brings you here? Have you been faring well?" He asked cheerfully, smiling.
Brooklyn lowered his head. "N-not really, Professor. I just-just..." He wanted to say something. Anything. But weirdly something kept him from doing it. Instead, he asked, "Did you know someone named Tom Riddle?"
Dumbledore frowned slightly, clasping his hands together. "Yes, Brooklyn, I did know him. Why is it you ask this?"
Brooklyn shrugged nonchalantly. "No reason, really saw him in a book and got curious. What was he like to you? Did he ever... hurt anybody? I'm sorry if that—."
But Dumbledore held up his hand. "It is normal for people to be curious about these things. But the only thing I knew from the boy when I met him in an orphanage was that he had a brilliant mind and magic ability, so I brought him to Hogwarts. He made many friends; the Professors praised him for having such high learning skills, and Tom even was rewarded for special services to the school."
"What did he do?" Brooklyn wanted to know.
"He caught the one responsible for the attacks," Dumbledore replied. This was what Brooklyn needed. Perhaps Tom really wasn't bad, just misunderstood, maybe it really hadn't been him behind the attacks..."
"Who was it?"
Dumbledore looked sorrowful. "You probably wouldn't like it, but it was Hagrid. He kept a monster that killed a girl, which led Tom to him and got his wand snapped and expelled. But I didn't believe he would hurt anybody, so I hired Hagrid to be the gamekeeper."
This knowledge was more than what Brooklyn could take in. Was Hagrid really responsible for murdering a small girl? Had he been wrong about Tom? It all sounded nuts and backwards!
"But Dumbledore, Hagrid must be innocent, I refuse to believe he's the one! Maybe Tom caught the wrong person! If there's a way to prove his innocence—."
"It had been fifty years, Brooklyn. Nothing will change what had happened unless a miracle occurs. But is there anything else you wish to tell me?"
Brooklyn felt numb all over, he wanted to tell Dumbledore everything that had been going on with him, his nightmares, etc. But for some reason, something in his brain kept telling him not to say anything.
"N-no, sir. Nothing," he said in a soft voice, turning to leave, wondering why he was being so scared to say anything now, feeling ashamed of his cowardice, now wanting to find out evidence about Hagrid being convicted and to prove he wasn't the villain, even if it came to saying to everybody that he, Brooklyn, was the one responsible for harming everybody here.
