The Diary

By: Hikari Ice Angel

Warnings: Fatherly!Tom, Evil!Dumbledore, more to follow when they arise

Summary: After stumbling upon Tom Riddle's diary in Harry's second year, Harry doesn't realise that one simple action can alter the course of future events and history. At the time, Harry doesn't realise a sentient soul resides within the book. He never knew that he would soon find himself close with his parents' murderer.

A/N: Amid other projects this idea popped up in my head while working my usual shift. I'm sure it'll be an interesting ride. Enjoy the story! Please review if you like it. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.

Disclaimer: I by no means do not profit off or receive any monetary compensation for my creations or plot devices I include these lovely characters in. All rights belong to the genius that is J.K.Rowling.

Chapter One:

The Beginning

Wailing and screaming could be heard in the corridor just down the hall from the girl's lavatory on the second floor as Harry hurried down the hall late to his next class. As any other time Moaning Myrtle was upset, the hall was flooded with fresh, cold tap water a few centimetres deep and looked like a shallow lake; no surface was untouched. "What's going on?" Harry asked the two girls.

"It's Myrtle. She's been wailing and has flooded the entire corridor," explained Lavender.

Harry moved past the two girls, past the threshold, and into the bathroom, "What's the matter, Myrtle?" Harry asked while all the taps to the sinks were left running.

Myrtle peeked her head from out behind the bathroom stall and ceased her wailing to speak, "Hello, Harry," the ghost girl said quietly, "I was just in the U-bend thinking about death when someone threw this at my head!" and with a wail the ghostly girl dived back into the toilet splashing water everywhere.

The ghostly girl with supernatural force launched an old leather book out of the toilet, out of the stall, and onto the cold, wet floor. Harry looked down at the worn, wet book and picked it up off the floor, and left the bathroom without saying anymore.

After classes and dinner, Harry found some time alone to examine the book. Gladly neither Ron nor Hermione were around to poke or pester him about it. Harry figured that this was the best chance, if any, to finally get a look at the diary. Harry found an unused corner of the library and settled down there in an old leather chair. He took the diary out of his school bag and placed it onto the table surface in front of him. In silver letters a named shined and shimmered in the dim candle light, "Tom Marvolo Riddle?"

Harry remembered that named; he knew he had heard it before, but he couldn't seem to remember from where. Then it hit him! The trophy room in first year. He had been doing a detention there and have been shining the trophies and one had his name on it. Tom Riddle had received a plaque for performing special services for the school some forty or fifty years ago. Harry opened the front cover of the diary; he saw nothing. He turned to the next page; yet again, he saw nothing. Then, the next page; nothing. Then he thumbed quickly for the remainder of the pages very quickly; each page was like the first and as blank as a canvas. So Harry flipped back to the first page of the diary, took out a quill and some ink, and wrote a simple, "Hello," on the parchment of the first page; the ink disappeared.

"Hello. Who are you?" appeared in neat cursive writing.

Harry was taken aback by this, and hurriedly scrawled, "I'm Harry Potter. Who are you?"

"My name is Tom Riddle," appeared the writing from before, "I see you've come upon my diary."

"Yes," Harry scrawled, "Someone threw it into the girl's lavatory toilet."

"I see. I'm sure they thought a toilet could dispose of such an old relic as my diary," next the neat cursive appeared again, "So, tell me about yourself, Harry. Who are you really?" asked Tom.

"I dunno, just Harry. I'm an orphan. My parents died when I was a baby. I live with my muggle relatives. They're ghastly in terms of other muggles. If it were my choice I would never go back," Harry scrawled across the diary page.

"Why is that? What do they do to you?" Tom asked.

Was he concerned or was he just curious? Either of those Harry didn't know, but he was taken aback by the question. "What didn't they do to me?" Harry muttered as he scribbled across the page with a flash of anger crossing his eyes, "My Uncle Vernon is a bully who thinks nothing but of himself. He beats me and calls me 'freak' and 'boy', starve me… I didn't know my own name until I attended muggle primary school! 'Freak' and 'boy' were my names for the first years of my life. For the first eleven years of my life I didn't have a proper room and slept in the cupboard under the stairs. By all definitions if I were to tell this to an adult, I was there house elf. I was cooking the moment I could walk. Petunia was smug to not have to lift a finger. Then there's their overly obese son, my cousin. I could go on."

Harry sat there fuming in the worn leather chair at the desk. There was a long pause as if Tom were taking in all he had written to him and all Harry could hear was the crackling of the fire. Finally, an answer came back, "Harry," the young man wrote, "How would you like to get back at all of those horrible people?"

Harry thought of this for a moment while holding the end of the quill to his lips, ' I shouldn't,' he thought with a feeling of remorse settling in his stomach, ' But maybe I should. They ought to be taught a lesson.'

"I will on one condition," Harry's quill scratched against the parchment page.

There was a slight pause from Tom, "And what would that condition be," he asked.

"I don't ever want to return to the Dursley's ever again," Harry wrote, "I've tried begging Dumbledore to stay at Hogwarts over the summer, but he's always told me 'no'."

Tom must have found a kindred soul in Harry at that very moment, because Tom's handwriting came back hurriedly as if the young man were going through something emotional, "Don't worry," came his words, "You'll never have to go back to them again."

Harry was still somewhat innocent; a bright smile came across his lips, "Okay," he scribbled, "What do you want me to do?" he asked his mysterious Diary-dweller.

"Instead of telling you, why don't I show you," came Tom's response in his elegant handwriting.

Harry was confused. He sat his quill down beside the Diary and leaned himself curiously forward looking at the page. Then, before hr knew it, he was sucked in without a moment's notice leaving only the diary on the desk in an empty common room.