Chapter 10: Intruders and Visions

They stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and they entered. Professor McGonagall told Harry and Piper to wait and left them there, alone together..

Harry looked around. One thing was certain: of all the teachers' offices Harry had visited so far this year, Dumbledore's was by far the most interesting. If he hadn't been scared out of his wits that he was about to be thrown out of school, he would have been very pleased to have a chance to look around it.

It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard's hat… the Sorting Hat.

Harry hesitated. He cast a wary eye around the sleeping witches and wizards on the walls. Surely it couldn't hurt if he took the hat down and tried it on again? Just to see… just to make sure it had put him in the right House…

He walked quietly around the desk, lifted the hat from its shelf, and lowered it slowly onto his head. It was much too large and slipped down over his eyes, just as it had done the last time he'd put it on. Harry stared at the black inside of the hat, waiting.

Piper on the other hand, went to look around the room out of curiosity. When she saw the sword of Gryffindor, she widened her eyes at it surprised that a sword would still be in the castle… well a sword that wasn't part of the many armors around the castle. Especially, since swords are for close quarters combat. Wizards are all about long distance just like modern day muggles. She then looked back at Harry when she heard him speak up.

"You're wrong," he said aloud to the still and silent hat. It didn't move. Harry backed away, watching it. Then a strange, gagging noise behind him made him wheel around. Piper also looked at the cause of the noise.

They weren't alone after all. Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird that resembled a half-plucked turkey. Harry stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, making its gagging noise again. Harry thought it looked very ill. Its eyes were dull and, even as Harry watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail.

Harry was just thinking that all he needed was for Dumbledore's pet bird to die while he was alone in the office with it, when the bird burst into flames. Piper cried out in shock at that as she had never seen a bird catch fire before.

Harry also yelled in shock and backed away into the desk. He looked feverishly around in case there was a glass of water somewhere but couldn't see one; the bird, meanwhile, had become a fireball; it gave one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smoldering pile of ash on the floor.

The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very somber.

"Professor," Harry and Piper gasped in unison, "Your bird… I couldn't do anything… he just caught fire…"

To their astonishment, Dumbledore smiled.

"About time, too," he said, "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on."

He chuckled at the stunned look on their faces.

"Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry and Piper. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes. Watch him…"

They looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one.

"It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day," said Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk, "He's really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets."

In the shock of Fawkes catching fire, Harry and Piper had forgotten what they were there for, but it all came back to him as Dumbledore settled himself in the high chair behind the desk and fixed Harry with his penetrating, light-blue stare.

Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, the door of the office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild look in his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his shaggy black head and the dead rooster still swinging from his hand.

"It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore!" said Hagrid urgently, "I was talkin' ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time, sir-"

Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere.

"it can't've bin him, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to-"

"Hagrid, I-"

"yeh've got the wrong boy, sir, I know Harry never-"

"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly, "I do not think that Harry attacked those people."

"Oh," said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side, "Right. I'll wait outside then, Headmaster."

And he stomped out looking embarrassed.

"You don't think it was me, Professor?" Harry repeated hopefully as Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk.

"No, Harry, I don't," said Dumbledore, though his face was somber again, "But I still want to talk to you."

Before Harry could reply, Dumbledore turned towards Piper with a raised eyebrow.

"Why exactly are you here Miss Halliwell?" Albus asked.

"I was there with Harry at the second crime scene," Piper replied, "We both found Justin…"

Dumbledore nodded in understanding before turning back to Harry.

Harry waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the tips of his long fingers together.

"I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you'd like to tell me," he said gently, "Anything at all."

Harry didn't know what to say. He thought of the disembodied voice he had heard twice and remembered what Ron had said: "Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world." He thought, too, about what everyone was saying about him, and his growing dread that he was somehow connected with Salazar Slytherin…

"No," said Harry, "There isn't anything, Professor…"

The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick's fate that seemed to worry people most. What could possibly do that to a ghost? People asked each other; what terrible power could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go home for Christmas.

"At this rate, we'll be the only ones left," Ron told Harry and Hermione, "Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it's going to be."

Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed up to stay over the holidays, too. But Harry was glad that most people were leaving. He was tired of people skirting around him in the corridors, as though he were about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed.

Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through…"

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior.

"It is not a laughing matter," he said coldly.

"Oh, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred, "Harry's in a hurry."

"Yeah, he's off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant," said George, chortling.

Ginny didn't find it amusing either.

"Oh, don't," she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they met.

Harry didn't mind; it made him feel better that Fred and George, at least, thought the idea of his being Slytherin's heir was quite ludicrous. But their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.

"It's because he's bursting to say he knows who the Heir really is," said Ron knowingly, "You know how loyal he is to the Slytherin ways. He probably dreams of being Slytherin's loyal attack dog."

"We'll find out soon enough," said Hermione in a satisfied tone, "The magic mirror's connection is nearly completely established."

At last the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the grounds descended on the castle. Harry found it peaceful, rather than gloomy, and enjoyed the fact that he, Hermione, and the Weasleys had the run of Gryffindor Tower, which meant they could play Exploding Snap loudly without bothering anyone, and practice dueling in private. Fred, George, and Ginny had chosen to stay at school rather than visit Bill in Egypt with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Percy, who disapproved of what he termed their childish behavior, didn't spend much time in the Gryffindor common room. He had already told them pompously that he was only staying over Christmas because it was his duty as a prefect to support the teachers during this troubled time.

With John Constantine, at the Delacour household…

John laid down in the bed he was borrowing as he tossed and turned due to a very strange dream was having. The room was fairly bare as it was reserved for guests only. However, it had a wardrobe, a dresser, a walk in closet, obviously a bed, and a couple of windows which had fancy-looking curtains over them. The bed was designed just as fancy and was a queen sized bed. It was queen sized, because the Delacours usually have the room ready for whatever couple they invite to stay. The covers were white, grey, and had a brown heavy comforter on it.

This time, John dreamt of a young man that looked like Viggo Mortensen with neck-long black hair, a shadow of a beard, and wore a brown vest over a brown shirt, dark colored pants, and had a black cloak on. At his hip was a generic steel sword in a scabbard. The man walked alone through a forest without any clear goal in mind. This man was clearly a nomad of sorts. However, the man suddenly stopped when he heard a scream. He whipped his head about as he looked for the cause of the scream. When he heard it again, he bolted in the direction the scream came from. As he ran, he pulled out his sword as he ran through the forest. Once he came across a dirt road he saw a raven haired woman in a blue dress backed against a tree with random villagers surrounding her with sticks, rocks, bows knocked with arrows, or rusty looking swords.

"Kill the witch!" yelled the leader who had sandy colored hair and evil eyes. He wore a baggy white shirt, brown pants, and bag-like shoes. In his hand was a rusty sword with knicks all over it.

The ring began to swing at the woman, but suddenly it stopped as something intercepted it causing a clanging sound. He looked to see what caused the clang and saw a steel sword blocking his sword from striking down the witch. He looked at the sword's owner and saw a man with an angry expression on his face.

"Where is your honor?!" the young black-haired man demanded as he pressed on the rusty blade forcing the ring leader back.

"In our hands!" said one of the other hooligans.

"No!" the would-be-hero said, "Honor is not something you can hold. Honor is something you are either born with, or learn! Attacking a defenseless woman is the opposite of honorable!"

"But she's a witch!" exclaimed another, "how else are we going to rid the world of their evil?!"

"Being a wielder of magic doesn't automatically make one evil," the stranger said angrily, "Magic in itself is NOT evil. It is how you use it that describes it. Just like with a sword. Yes magic can be used to kill, but it can also save lives."

"Hell with this!" exclaimed the leader, "kill them both!"

At that the gang attacked, but the stranger was ready. He immediately swung his own blade shattering the leader's rusty sword. The raven-haired woman had her hands up in order to keep a barrier active as the gang kept hacking at the barrier. However, when they heard the sound of shattering steel they stopped and looked at what caused the sound. They all watched as the gang leader began backing up in shock and fear.

"How… how… how…" the leader panicked.

"You didn't take care of your blade," the stranger said, "Now leave and never do anything like this again!"

The leader immediately ran off with the rest of his gang quickly following suit as they had no idea what to do due to their stupidity. As soon as the would-be-killers had vanished, the stranger sheathed his sword onto the scabbard at his left hip. The raven-haired woman allowed her barrier to fall as she turned to look at her rescuer.

"What is your name," the woman asked, "or shall I call you stranger?"

The stranger then turned to look at her before holding out his right hand.l

"My name is Godric Gryffindor," the man replied, "and who might you be fair maiden?"

"I am Rowena Ravenclaw," the woman said smiling as she took Godric's hand.

Back with John…

John bolted up straight as soon as his dream ended, and he could remember every detail. Just like before, it didn't feel like a dream. It actually felt like he was actually there. Conveniently, the dream ended just before a knocking sound could be heard at his guest room.

"Excusez-moi," said a french voice on the other end, "Monsieur Constantine. Breakfast is ready, and everyone is waiting for you downstairs."

"Tell them I'm up and will be there shortly," John replied as he swung his legs out of bed. As he got out of the bed, he could hear footsteps fading away. He walked over to his bag, but then noticed some other clothes. They were more fitting for a wealthy person in his opinion, but as he looked closer at the clothes he saw that a note had been attached to it. It read:

Monsieur Constantine,

While you are staying at my household, I request that you wear more presentable clothes. Especially, since the French Minister of Magic will be visiting today.

Monsieur Delacour

With a groan John picked up the outfit after crumpling the note. About a minute or so later, John was now wearing clothes that just didn't suit him in his mind. He was wearing essentially what was the brown version of matt smith's 11th doctor outfit from season 7 part 2. However, he had his bowtie loosely tied because he doesn't like the feeling of something tight around his throat. Makes him feel like he's being choked.

A few minutes later, in the dining room…

Monsieur Delacour, Madam Delacour, Fleur Delacour, and a much younger girl that looked a little like Fleur were sitting at the table while they waited for John to appear. When John did arrive, they felt relieved because they were getting hungry. However, Monsieur Delacour's relief turned into irritation when he saw how loose John's bowtie was. With an irritated flick of his wand, the bowtie immediately un-tied itself and re-tied itself properly around John's neck. That, of course, made him choke abit and accidantelly trip bonking his head on the dining chair before managing to right himself. However, John didn't even notice as Fleur let out a giggle of amusement. Probably because he's a bit oblivious, and probably because she head it with a cough. The mother knew of course, and so approved of the obvious fact her daughter was smitten with John. Just like john, Fleur was oblivious to her own feelings.

"So," John said uncomfortably due to the bowtie, "what exactly do the french eat for breakfast?"

"French toast of course," Madam Delacour smiled as plates of French Toast was placed before each of them, "What else would we have?"

Only Monsieur Delacour seemed displeased with the thought of having french toast for breakfast. He had been raised to have healthy foods for all meals after all, and he finds french toast to be the opposite of healthy. John merely shrugged, and began cutting into the food that suddenly appeared on the plates similar to the meals at Hogwarts. However, he was quickly kicked in the shin by Fleur. As he began to rub his shin he looked at Fleur who gestured with her head to her father who was getting red in the face due to anger.

"You're a praying lot, aren't you?" John stated more than asked with a dry tone.

However, instead of answering the Delacours clasped their hands and closed their eyes as they prayed silently in their heads. John on the other hand just dipped his index finger in his wine glass that was filled with water before making a quiet noise by moving his wet finger around on the edge of the wine glass. Fortunately, the noise was only loud enough for him to hear it so he didn't irritate Monsieur Delacour any further than he had already.

Who drinks water out of a wine glass thought John as he waited for the praying session to end. As soon as it had ended, the Delacour family had finished praying. John immediately resumed cutting into his food with the fork and knife. However, as soon as he had eaten one french toast the doorbell chimed.

"Voir qui c'est," Monsieur Delacour said to a nearby servant.

"Oui Monsieur," the servant said with a bow before walking to the entrance hall.

Before any of them could finish their breakfast, a loud bang could be heard from the entrance hall. John's head immediately snapped to look at the entrance hall. Not one second later, a group marched into the room wielding what looked like shotguns, american auto-rifles, revolvers, and had a few grenades on their belts. They also wore dark outfits consisting off bullet-proof vests, balaclavas, black pants with pockets, and tight black long-sleeved shirts. They also had black jackets over that.

"Monsieur Delacour," said the one in the lead as the others raised their auto-rifles at the servants and the rest of the Delacours, "Our employer has demanded that you give what you promised."

"I have no id-" began Monsieur Delacour which prompted one of the intruders to shoot a maid in the forehead.

"Don't fuck with us," the leader said in a bored tone, "because each time you do, another person dies. Including your family."

That prompted Monsieur Delacour's face to grow red with rage, but other than that he didn't say another word.

"Now then," the leader said still bored, "our employer made a deal with you. In order for your wife to be cured from her illness, you were to hand over your first-born."

"Alexandre?" Madame Delacour asked shocked as she looked at her husband, "Is this true?"

When Monsieur Delacour shifted his eyes down guiltily for a second Madame Delacour also grew angry. She proceeded to slap her husband across the face hard.

"I'm waiting…" the leader said impatiently.

Suddenly one of the intruders fell to one knee as he cried out in pain. Everyone looked to see that a butter knife was sticking out of his leg.

"Leave here and never return!" snarled John Constantine as he stood from the chair.

"If you know what's good for you, kid," the leader said aiming his rifle at John, "sit the fuck down and shut up."

"You don't scare me!" John said as sparks of flame ignited between his finger-tips, "Now go while you still breathe!"

The leader had enough of John's bravado, so he proceeded to shoot at john. However, John was quick. He picked up a plate and used it to deflect the bullets back at the intruders wounding some and killing others. As soon as the leader stopped, John then threw it like a frisbee at the furthest intruder hitting him in the face. John proceeded to grab a spoon, step onto the table for a second, and leapt towards the leader. The leader widened his eyes in shock as he dropped his rifle to pull out his 9mm side-arm. Unfortunately for him, he was too slow. John managed to knock them both down. However, that didn't stop the leader from firing a shot. Everyone was focused on the battle, that they didn't notice the bullet hitting Fleur in the stomach. The battle was over as soon as John stood up. He looked down at his enemy with rage before bending down and wrenching the spoon out of the leader's right eye socket. There was a stream of blood oozing from the eye as the leader held his hand to it instinctively.

"Leave now," John said darkly as his eyes changed into dragons eyes for a split second, "and never bother this family again. If I were you, I'd get out of your current business and go live on a farm. However, If I come across you again only one of us would survive."

The leader was then pulled to his feet as the other intruders began retreating. They didn't even bother to pick up their fallen brethren as they left.

"This is not over boy!" the leader yelled angrily, "The next time we meet, there will be rivers of blood and it'll all be your fault!"

As soon as they left, John turned as he looked at the carnage.

"Sorry about the mess," John said as he looked at the Delacours who had their mouths open in shock, "I'll fi-"

However, he stopped talking when he noticed that Fleur had slumped to the floor and was bleeding out. John immediately dropped the bloodied spoon and ran to Fleur's aid.

"No!" John said as he held his hands over her stomach wound, "don't you dare die on me after all that work during the exorcism!"

"Fleur!" exclaimed Madame and Monsieur Delacour as they rushed around the table.

"Can you save her," Madame Delacour asked as she looked at John imploringly.

"I don't know," John admitted, "I've never dealt with bullet wounds before."

"There must be something you can do!" shrieked Madame Delacour.

John raced around in his mind searching for anything, but the only thing he found would change all their lives forever.

"There's one thing I can do," John said slowly as he looked at the Delacours, "but if I do… everything will change in our lives."

"Whatever it is, do it!" the Delacours said in unison.

"Very well," John frowned as he drew a mystical symbol on Fleur's forehead with her blood. He repeated the process on his own forehead.

"I've never used this before," John warned them, "so there's a chance it won't work as intended."

Without another word, he laid his forehead on her forehead and closed his eyes.

"Arbit ruwhiun lak," John chanted in Arabic, "hayatuna tusbih wahida."

"Yjb 'an tatashabak masayiruna 'iilaa al'abad," John continued, "ln taqae 'abadaan li'ahad siwaa bedna albaed"

"'Ana 'utalibuk, hubu hayatiun, 'ana 'aeish," John finished.

Suddenly, both Fleur and John glowed so bright that the Delacours had to cover their eyes and turn away. As soon as the light had ebbed away, Fleur regained some color. However, she was still bleeding out. John had also lost some color and had fallen onto his back clearly weakened, in pain, and in the same state as Fleur… minus the bullet wound of course.

"Bought… time…" John gasped in pain, "Get… help… save… both of us."

Later, back at Hogwarts…

Hermione had apparently vanished from everything one day during the Christmas holidays. There was a flurry of rumor about Hermione's disappearance when the rest of the school arrived back from their Christmas holidays, because of course everyone thought that she had been attacked. the only way John knew she still existed was the fact that he was in the hospital wing due to the fact he was connected to Fleur and could feel her pain and occasionally her emotions. As soon as he had gotten back to school, he was admitted to the hospital wing immediately. While Madame Pomfrey had no clue as how to help him she knew enough that he wouldn't be able to go to classes again till he was no longer in pain. In order to help reduce his pain, she gave him some pain relief medicine which tasted like ass. However, it did its work… albeit a little too well. He felt like he was high almost all the time, and he knew that Fleur needed to no longer be in pain. While the medicine didn't do anything for either of them physically, it still helped numb the pain they felt. So many students filed past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of her that Madam Pomfrey took out her curtains again and placed them around Hermione's bed, to spare her the shame of being seen with a furry face.

Harry and Ron went to visit her every evening. When the new term started, they brought her each day's homework. Piper and Anne did the same for John. Ritchie visited every now and then, but usually just to help John stay caught up. Other than that, Ritchie had other things to do. Gary had also made some visits, and that got him and John to become friends. Once Gary spazzed out due to the fact that he was still mentally suffering from no longer injecting himself with heroin. However, that earned him a nickname. John was so high when Gary spazzed he accidentally combined "Gary" and spaz" into "Gaz." However, the nickname suited Gary fine.

"If I'd sprouted whiskers, I'd take a break from work," said Ron, tipping a stack of books onto Hermione's bedside table one evening.

"Don't be silly, Ron, I've got to keep up," said Hermione briskly. Her spirits were greatly improved by the fact that all the hair had gone from her face and her eyes were turning slowly back to brown.

"That's right Wonnikins," John said high as a kite, "Never tell a workaholic to become a fun-a-holic."

"If he calls me that again…" Ron said with an eye twitching as John giggled for no reason, "i'm gonna feed him one of Hagrid's rock cakes."

"What happened to him anyway?" Harry asked glancing over at John who had tied a random ribbon around his nose making it look like a present.

"Honestly have no idea," Hermione said with a frown of concern as she too glanced at John, "but I hope it passes. He is currently driving me insane with how he's acting."

She then quickly changed the subject as John stuck two cue tips into his nose.

"I don't suppose you've got any new leads?" she whispered, so that Madam Pomfrey couldn't hear her.

"Nothing," said Harry gloomily.

"I was so sure Malfoy was at least working with the slytherin heir," said Ron, for about the hundredth time.

"What's that?" asked Harry, pointing to something gold sticking out from under Hermione's pillow.

"Just a get well card," said Hermione hastily, trying to poke it out of sight, but Ron was too quick for her. He pulled it out, flicked it open, and read aloud:

To Miss Granger,

Wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award.

Ron looked up at Hermione, disgusted.

"You sleep with this under your pillow?" Ron said disgusted.

But Hermione was spared answering by Madam Pomfrey sweeping over with her evening dose of medicine.

"Is Lockhart the smarmiest bloke you've ever met, or what?" Ron said to Harry as they left the infirmary and started up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower. Snape had given them so much homework, Harry thought he was likely to be in the sixth year before he finished it. Ron was just saying he wished he had asked Hermione how many rat tails you were supposed to add to a Hair-Raising Potion when an angry outburst from the floor above reached their ears.

"That's Filch," Harry muttered as they hurried up the stairs and paused, out of sight, listening hard.

"You don't think someone else's been attacked?" said Ron tensely.

They stood still, their heads inclined toward Filch's voice, which sounded quite hysterical.

"-even more work for me!" Filch was ranting, "Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore-"

His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor and they heard a distant door slam.

They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had clearly been manning his usual lookout post: They were once again on the spot where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. They saw at a glance what Filch had been shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Now that Filch had stopped shouting, they could hear Myrtle's wails echoing off the bathroom walls.

"Now what's up with her?" asked Ron not really caring.

"Let's go and see," said Harry, and holding their robes over their ankles they stepped through the great wash of water to the door bearing its out of order sign, ignored it as always, and entered.

Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet. It was dark in the bathroom because the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.

"What's up, Myrtle?" asked Harry.

"Who's that?" glugged Myrtle miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"

Harry waded across to her stall and asked, "Why would I throw something at you?"

"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor, "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me…"

"But it can't hurt you if someone throws something at you," said Harry, reasonably, "I mean, it'd just go right through you, wouldn't it?"

He had said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, "Let's all throw books at Myrtle, because she can't feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don't think!"

"Who threw it at you, anyway?" asked Harry.

"I don't know… I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head," said Myrtle, glaring at them, "It's over there, it got washed out…"

Harry and Ron looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. Harry stepped forward to pick it up, but Ron suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back.

"What?" said Harry.

"Are you crazy?" said Ron, "It could be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" said Harry, laughing. "Come off it, how could it be dangerous?"

"You'd be surprised," said Ron, who was looking apprehensively at the book. "Some of the books the Ministry's confiscated… Dad's told me… there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And-"

"All right, I've got the point," interrupted Harry.

The little book lay on the floor, nondescript and soggy.

"Well, we won't find out unless we look at it," he said, and he ducked around Ron and picked it up off the floor.

Harry saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told him it was fifty years old. He opened it eagerly. On the first page he could just make out the name "T. M. Riddle" in smudged ink.

"Hang on," said Ron, who had approached cautiously and was looking over Harry's shoulder, "I know that name… T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago."

"How on earth d'you know that?" said Harry in amazement.

"John told me about it at one time," Ron said before he face-palmed.

"What" Harry asked.

"John told me a story of when the Chamber of Secrets the first time," Ron explained, "but that was a month before we rescued you from the Dursleys. I can't believe I forgot all about it till now!"

Harry peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely blank. There wasn't the faintest trace of writing on any of them, not even Auntie Mabel's birthday, or dentist, half-past three.

"He never wrote in it," said Harry, disappointed.

"I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?" said Ron curiously.

Harry turned to the back cover of the book and saw the printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.

"He must've been Muggle-born," said Harry thoughtfully, "To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road…"

"Well, it's not much use to you," said Ron. He dropped his voice, "Fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle's nose."

Harry, however, pocketed it.

Translations:

French to English:

1) Oui = yes

2) Voir qui c'est = see who it is

Arabic to English:

1)Arbit ruwhiun lak = I bind my soul to yours

2) hayatuna tusbih wahida = our lives shall become one

3) Yjb 'an tatashabak masayiruna 'iilaa al'abad = our destinies shall be entwined forevermore

4) ln taqae 'abadaan li'ahad siwaa bedna albaed = never shall we fall for anyone but each other

5) Ana 'utalibuk, hubu hayatiun, 'ana 'aeish = I bid thee, the love of my life, to live

A/N:

There will be more visions of Godric Gryffindor, so don't need to worry about that. I don't actually know how to represent being high in a story so that's why John is appears kid-like, drunk, and possibly crazy during a specific scene. i hadn't intended for the gun-toting intruders to be in the story. however, i'll keep it as is cause i can't think of any other way to write the story. also, the reason magic wasn't used was cause the gun-men were muggles. There are laws of using magic on muggles after all. And yes, the guy John stabbed in the eye with a spoon was Slade Wilson. A version much more douche-like than the version i love which is Manu Bennett's iteration. If there are any questions that aren't mean please do ask them. Once again, don't expect another chapter soon. hope for them to be uploaded quickly, but expect them to be spaced out. I request you to follow that logic.