The moment I showed my face in the common room the following morning, Harry raced forward and seized my arm so tightly his fingernails left imprints. I gasped at the motion—had he become angry by what I did the previous night?—and cried, "Harry, that hurts! What's going on?"
He pulled me to the side, to a darkened corner of the common room that no one liked all that much since spiders seemed to occupy that corner more than any other, and hissed, "It was Hagrid. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago."
"I… what?" I gasped, staring at him with wide eyes. "But how could you possibly know that, Harry? What have you discovered?"
He rummaged through his knapsack with a fervor I'd only ever once seen from him: when attempting to get the Sorcerer's Stone the previous year. When he found what he was looking for, he muttered, "A-ha!" and held it up in the air like a trophy.
It was Tom Riddle's diary.
"Harry, what—"
"It's not just a diary," he interrupted, his voice a low whisper. "It's… it's like a memory. A memory of Tom Riddle itself. When I wrote in this journal last night, he wrote right back to me. He knew about the Chamber of Secrets—he showed me what happened the night the attacks stopped. Hagrid had this giant spider; it had killed someone, a girl in the school. Riddle ended up stopping the creature…"
"Did he kill it?" I asked softly.
Harry shook his head. "No. It escaped."
A dead silence overcame us. I scanned Harry's face, his eyes—whatever he had seen, he obviously believed that he had seen it. There was no lie to his face at all; in fact, he was staring at me in a way that was pleading for me to believe him.
"Do Ron and Hermione know about this?" I asked faintly.
He nodded; shadows began lining the place underneath his eyes. "Yes. I told them about it this morning, before you came down. Hermione thinks it's a bit of old magic that got Riddle to tell me all of this, and… you know Hagrid, Belle. He tried to raise a dragon in his wooden hut, and of course you remember Fluffy."
A small smile filled my mouth despite myself at these recollections. The danger that the dragon and the three-headed dog had provided aside, they'd been rather fascinating creatures. But the smile was wiped away as I recalled our topic of conversation, and just how serious it was.
"Let's get down to breakfast," I said, my eyes glancing askance through the common room. Others were beginning to trail down from the dormitories as well, meaning we were in danger of being overheard. "I want to hear their thoughts on this as well."
And so we departed, with the silent agreement that we would be much harder to eavesdrop on in the Great Hall.
It didn't take long to find Ron and Hermione close to our usual seats at the Gryffindor table. There was a darkness to their expressions just as there had been to Harry's—the moment we sat down beside them, Hermione leaned forward and asked, "Harry told you then, Belle?"
I nodded, feeling a lump beginning to form in my throat. "Yes. But I don't know if I believe it yet, myself. I mean… it's Hagrid, you know? He wouldn't want to hurt anyone…"
"But those monsters he raises might," said Ron. He was so troubled, he wasn't even poking at his food. "You never know with those things…"
"Riddle might have gotten the wrong person," said Hermione, clearly in reassurance to herself rather than the rest of us. "Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people…"
"How many monsters do you think this place can hold?" Ron asked uneasily.
Harry sighed and stabbed the bacon on his plate, though he didn't raise it to his mouth. "We always knew Hagrid had been expelled, and the attacks must've stopped after he was kicked out. Otherwise Riddle wouldn't have gotten his award."
Ron's ears went red, the way they did whenever he was angry or embarrassed. "Riddle sounds like Percy—who asked him to squeal on Hagrid, anyway?"
"The monster had killed someone, Ron," I murmured.
"And Riddle was going to go back to some Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts," added Harry, still looking downcast. "I don't blame him for wanting to stay here instead."
A short silence emerged between the four of us, while the rest of the Great Hall was still in high spirits. There had been no attacks recently, after all: people had started treating Harry like an actual human being again, and there were not as many unnerving silences among our classmates these days.
My friends all met my eyes, one by one. Worry; anxiety; fear. All of that and more I saw in their faces, for what we had potentially discovered was no small thing.
"Do you think we should go ask Hagrid about it?" Hermione asked softly, breaking the uneasy tension between us.
Ron snorted. "That would be a cheerful visit. Imagine—'Hello, Hagrid! Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?'"
Despite the serious topic, Harry and I both ended up chuckling. But we all agreed that asking Hagrid directly about the topic wasn't a very good idea, which meant we were fresh out of options for discovering whether Riddle's vision was truth or not.
Weeks passed; February passed by, and then March. The Easter holidays were at the beginning of the month of April, and unlike the Christmas holidays, I elected to remain at Hogwarts for the short week that we had off of classes.
By this time, word on the Chamber of Secrets had nearly died off. Students were back to their careless selves before long; even Ernie MacMillan had forgone all efforts to avoid or be hostile to Harry. Our Quidditch practices were going splendidly—it seemed that my new maneuvers from Christmas break impressed our Captain, because more than once did Oliver shout, "You keep flying like that, Belle, and I'm going to buy you a full shelf of Honeydukes chocolate!"
His praises always made me grin and flush despite myself. It was Oliver Wood saying these things, after all…
During the Easter holidays, an important decision had to be made: which classes we would add to our schedule for third year and beyond. There were plenty of choices: Arithmancy, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, and Muggle Studies. All of these classes had some merit to them, which made it incredibly hard to choose.
Hermione and I were poring over the list and the schedules one day, our fists underneath our chins as we stared silently at the papers. We were some of the only ones taking the choice seriously—Dean Thomas had ended up choosing by casting spells like darts at his list, and Seamus had just closed his eyes and stabbed his wand on the classes he wanted. Neville was in the same boat as Hermione and I, frantically considering each class and which ones he wanted to take.
Harry and Ron eventually approached us, seeming amused by our unspoken dilemma.
"You two are still going on about those?" asked Ron, shaking his head bemusedly. "We chose ours days ago."
"Yes, well, this decision could very well impact the rest of our lives!" Hermione retorted shrilly. "What if later on, we decide we want a career centered in one of the classes we didn't take? That could be disastrous!"
I sighed and ran a hand through my raspberry-colored hair; a thin coat of red color came off onto my fingertips since I'd so freshly dyed it again. "I just want to pick classes I can succeed in… I don't want to pick one I'll suffer in. History of Magic is bad enough on its own."
Harry snickered at that. "Too bad we can't drop our old classes, or I'd give up Potions on those grounds."
"Yeah, I would too, but we can't," sighed Ron, unhappily plopping himself onto the couch next to me. The force of the gesture almost launched me up a few centimeters, like a see-saw. "We keep all our old subjects, or else I'd have ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Hermione gasped and threw her hands to her mouth. "But that's very important!"
"Not the way Lockhart teaches it. I haven't learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose."
I snorted, remembering the disastrous first class we had of Defense Against the Dark Arts. If I looked very, very carefully, I could swear that there were still white puncture marks from where those damned creatures had bitten my neck.
Before Hermione could offer a rebuttal, I noticed someone crossing the back room; it was Percy Weasley, who had obviously just finished a tutoring of some first-years based on the way they were waving and thanking him for his help. I knew that he took Tuesday and Thursday afternoons to help students who needed it with schoolwork…
"Hey, Percy!" I called, waving towards him. "Can I get your help with something? What classes should I take for third year!"
"Oi, don't!" hissed Ron from the corner of his mouth. "You'll never hear the end of it!"
"Actually, I'd like Percy's advice, too," said Hermione, interrupting him with a sharp glance. "There's no one better to ask than someone with experience when it comes to this sort of thing."
Ron scoffed in obvious disgust at us and moodily began setting up a house of Exploding Snap cards.
Percy arrived at our little congregation soon after, grinning sideways. "Afternoon, Belle, Hermione. You wanted help with which classes to take?"
Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "We did! We're quite stuck, you see, and this could very well be the choice that sets up the rest of our future—and there's no one better to ask than someone who's been through this same problem before, right?"
Such words seemed to make Percy quite pleased; the tips of his ears turned red, as did his cheeks. "Well, I can certainly attempt to help you. My best advice is for you to play to your strengths. While I chose Arithmancy and Ancient Runes since I do wish to obtain a practical job in the Ministry of Magic someday, my father chose Muggle Studies—and you can imagine how helpful that is for him now. My brother Charlie was always an outdoors type of person; he selected Care of Magical Creatures. Play to your strengths, and you can hardly go wrong."
I grinned at this advice and nudged Hermione's shoulder with my own. "That helps me, but I don't know if it'll help you, Hermione. You're good at everything."
Now it was Hermione's face that morphed pink as she began to stammer, "Well, I—I'm not good at everything, Belle…"
"Nonsense. You'll succeed at any class you take," I replied. My eyes flew towards Percy again, who was smiling warmly as well. "Percy, do you think there are any classes we shouldn't take?"
Percy paused for a moment, his lips twisting in intense thought. Then he leaned close to us and murmured, "I don't normally like to bad-talk any of our classes or professors, but I personally believe that Diviniation is a bit of woolly magic at best. Of course, I could be absolutely wrong: there are prophecies and whatnot. But if I were you, I'd direct my attention to Arithmancy. It's a difficult subject to learn, very black and white: you're either correct, or you aren't. But for those who are good at logistics and numbers, it's quite a sensible choice."
I nodded slowly, taking this into consideration. While I was quite good at Transfiguration—it was still, in fact, my best class—I wasn't sure about Arithmancy. I'd heard Fred and George groaning and griping about it all year in the common room and during Quidditch practice; it sounded quite difficult…
"Hmm," I mused, tapping my fingers upon the table. "Maybe I'll go for Muggle Studies…"
"It could be sensible. A thorough understanding of the Muggle world is never amiss," replied Percy.
I glanced towards Harry and Ron again. "What subjects did you two say you would be taking?"
"Care of Magical Creatures and Divination," said Ron with a shrug. He didn't look at me as he spoke, for his concentration was fully and completely on his now one meter tall card house. "I didn't really choose, I just randomized it."
Harry nodded and added, "I just went with what Ron picked."
I sighed and exchanged an exasperated look with Hermione. "Well, that's no real help at all, is it?"
But their words and Percy's earlier advice made me pause. Based on the way I'd grown mildly fond of both Fluffy and Norbert… maybe Care of Magical Creatures would actually be a good choice for me. It was certainly possible that I'd become like Hagrid: fond of creatures, able to take care of them.
A stone sank into my gut as I realized—maybe I shouldn't be like Hagrid. If Tom Riddle's memory had any validity to it, then…
"Oh," sighed Hermione, breaking me out of my concentration, "I think I'm just going to sign up for everything. I don't want to make the wrong choice—and if I leave my decisions up to chance, I feel like I'll regret the decision I make. Maybe Professor McGonagall can help me with my schedule, since it'll undoubtedly be more busy than most others…"
I gaped at Hermione, startled by the way she seemed relieved by her own choice. "You're mad! You'll have no time for anything except schoolwork, Hermione. And didn't you grow up with Muggles? You already know how to navigate the Muggle world, maybe you can take that one off of your schedule?"
Hermione shrugged at me, barely restraining a happy grin. "But it'll be fascinating to study it from a wizard's point of view, Belle! Think of it!"
"That's fair, but actually, I think I've made my choice," I replied, grinning slightly. "I think I'll go with Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, and Divination. I might actually be good at Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes seems interesting, and I might as well take a class with the rest of my friends, too…"
Percy grinned at me and slapped a hand on my shoulder. "Excellent choices, Belle. You really can't go wrong with what you select; you know yourself best, after all."
With that, he began to walk towards the boys' dormitories, the smile persisting on his face until he was out of sight.
The moment he was gone, I turned to Ron with a grin and said, "I don't know why you didn't think I should ask for his help. Percy was quite nice, and he did offer some good advice."
Ron's fascination with his card house had been broken by this point; he stared after his older brother with incredulity, as though he couldn't believe what he'd just witnessed. "I'm surprised too, t'be honest. Percy gave me a lot of unwarranted advice about my own classes…"
I shrugged at him, but was unable to conceal my grin. "Maybe it's because you're his brother, and he, y'know, wants to help you in a more hands-on kind of way. He probably just wants to be involved in your life somehow."
"Maybe," Ron allowed. He thought on my statement for a moment… a smile began to cross over him…
Then his card tower exploded in his face, singing his hair and coating him in ash. Harry, Hermione, and I couldn't stop our laughter upon noticing that one of his eyebrows was now gone.
The following week passed quickly; tension had settled around the school again, but not due to the Chamber of Secrets—due to the upcoming Quidditch game between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. If we ended up winning, we would be facing Ravenclaw in the finals, seeing as they had already bested Slytherin and Hufflepuff alike and come out the better for their efforts.
Oliver cornered us all in the Great Hall before dinner that evening; the manic spirit was, as ever, present upon his face as he clapped a hand upon Katie's and my shoulders. "You all are going to get a good dinner tonight and then go straight to bed, right?"
"You got it, Oliver," sighed Angelina, and while she was smiling, it was in a bit of an exasperated way. "We'll take care of ourselves."
"Excellent. There's only two games between us and that Quidditch Cup. We've got to win it sometime, we've just got to."
Harry and I both felt the pressure with this statement, although we knew that Oliver was quite right; the Quidditch Cup was a huge bit of honor and glory for our house, and Professor McGonagall would certainly be pleased to have it sitting upon a shelf in her office…
After a hastily eaten dinner, we proceeded back to the common room. Ron and Hermione were offering us platitudes and encouragement all the way back to the portrait of the Fat Lady, through our trek to the common room… but when we got to the point of the spiral staircases that separated our dorms, we ran into Neville, who was pale and shaking.
"Harry," he gasped, "I don't know who did it… I just found—"
Harry pushed past Neville with a confused frown and began running up the staircase. Exchanging looks, the rest of us followed.
What awaited us was an absolutely devastating sight; all of Harry's things had been ransacked and destroyed. The curtains of his poster-bed had been torn down and slashed, everything in his desk had been uprooted and hurled aside. His clothes were scattered upon the floor—his cloak was even torn. Some of his schoolbooks had pages ripped out of them, the papers littering the floor.
"What the…" I began to say, but there were no words that could fully express my surprise. All I could settle on was, "What the hell?"
Harry scanned the mess, trampling on pages of some of his ruined textbooks. His eyes narrowed. "Someone's been looking for something. The pockets of my robes…"
I glanced towards him and was able to see what he was talking about—the pockets of his clothes had been turned inside out, as though they'd been searched.
"Is anything missing?" asked Ron, frowning.
After a brief moment of silence and Harry rummaging through his belongings, he swallowed hard and faced us again. "Tom Riddle's diary is gone."
"What?" gasped Hermione. "But… only a Gryffindor could know our password!"
Harry gazed at her darkly, the implication not lost on him, or on any of us. "Exactly."
