RIDDLE'S DIARY

Hermione remained in the hospital wing for several weeks. There was a flurry of rumour about her disappearance when the rest of the school arrived back from their Christmas holidays, because of course everyone thought that she had been attacked. 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. Natasha and Simran encouraged her, in every way they could that, she would be fine, but Hermione was still in a big state of shame.

When the new term started, they brought her each day's homework. "If I'd sprouted whiskers, I'd take a break from work,", said Ron.

"I will do all work, except maybe potions. I hate potions so much.", Simran said nodding her head.

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

"Nothing," said Natasha gloomily.

"I was so sure it was Malfoy," said Simran, for about the hundredth time. Ron just nodded in agreement.

"Well, even I hoped that, the mystery will be solved by the time, we were in the Slytherin common room. I still had some doubts, in my mind about Malfoy being a Slytherin. He maybe a mean bully, but I don't think he is capable of killing.", Natasha said.\

"You are defending him again, Natasha! He is a git, and you know that!", Ron said angrily.

"I know that he is a git Ron! I just don't think he is capable of murder. He just boasts about it.", Natasha argued back angrily.

"What's that?" asked Simran, pointing to something gold sticking out from under Hermione's pillow, just to distract the other two friends from fighting each other.

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 Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award.", Ron looked up at Hermione, disgusted. Natasha and Simran giggled at this.

"You sleep with this under your pillow?", Ron asked. 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?", Natasha said to Ron and Simran as they left the infirmary and started up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower. They reached the tower in a short time.

Professor Snape had given them so much homework, Simran and Ron thought that they were likely to be in the sixth year before they 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, as Natasha refused to help them in that, as she wanted the other two to learn on their own. Ron then went into the dorm, saying that he was a bit tired. Even Simran was a bit tired, so Natasha and Simran thought that, they could take break from writing. They both then just roamed near the lake, just enjoying the breeze and just talking about random things.

They then started going back to the tower, so that they could get ready to have dinner. They were climbing up the stairs, when an angry outburst from the floor above reached their ears. "That's Filch,", Natasha muttered as they hurried up the stairs and paused, out of sight, listening hard.

"You don't think someone else's been attacked?", said Simran tensely. They stood still, their heads inclined toward Flich's voice, which sounded quite hysterical.

"-even more work for me! 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 Simran. "Not that it is strange, she does this all the time."

"Let's go and see," said Natasha, and holding their robes over their ankles they stepped through the great wash of water to the door bearing it's 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?", said Natasha. "did someone come and trouble you?"

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

Natasha waded across to her stall and said, "Why would I throw something at you? I am not such a bad girl!"

"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 Simran said, reasonably. Natasha glared at her friend, knowing that it was the wrong question to ask the ghost. 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!"

Natasha felt really sorry for the ghost. Talk about getting bullied even after death. "Who threw it at you, anyway?" asked Natasha.

"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...". Natasha and Simran 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. Natasha stepped forward to pick it up, but Ron suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back.

"What?" said Natasha.

"Are you crazy?" said Ron. "It could be dangerous. Why else would they throw it?"

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

"You'd be surprised," said Simran, who was looking apprehensively at the book. "Ron told me that some of the books the Ministry's confiscated his dad had told him - 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-"

"So, you talk to Ron a lot huh?", Natasha told teasingly.

Simran blushed and said, "The point is- "

"All right, I've got the point," said Natasha. The little book lay on the floor, nondescript and soggy. "Well, we won't find out unless we look at it,", she said, and she ducked around Simran and picked it up off the floor. Natasha saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told her it was fifty years old. That was an interesting thing. He opened it eagerly. On the first page, she could just make out the name "T. M. Riddle" in smudged ink.

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

"How did you know that?", Natasha asked in amazement.

"Well, I had gone to the trophy room once, when you were busy in Library. I always like to know, what our older students did. I saw a really big trophy with his name, which really amazed me.", Simran said remembering that time. Natasha 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 Natasha, disappointed. She also wondered why, the dairy that was fifty years old of a seemingly famous student.

Natasha 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 Natasha thoughtfully. "To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road..."

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

Natasha gave her a small glare, but Simran just grinned and started walking away. Natasha just pocketed the diary. They returned to the dormitory, and Natasha kept the diary in a drawer, and totally forgot about it.

At the beginning of February, most of the students were relaxed as the monster of Slytherin did not attack anyone else. Perhaps the Heir of Slytherin had lost his or her nerve, thought Natasha. It must be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets, with the school so alert and suspicious. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was even now settling itself down to hibernate for another fifty years. Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff didn't take this cheerful view. He was still convinced that Natasha was the guilty one, that she had "given herself away" at the Dueling Club. Peeves wasn't helping matters; he kept popping up in the crowded corridors singing "Oh, Potter, you rotter..." now with a dance routine to match.

Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the attacks stop. Natasha overheard her telling Professor McGonagall so while the Gryffindors were lining up for Transfiguration. "I don't think there'll be any more trouble, Minerva," he said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking. "I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on him. You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster. Wash away the memories of last term! I won't say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing...".

Natasha was very much afraid of, what Lockhart was planning to. Lockhart's idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast time on February fourteenth. Natasha hadn't had much sleep because of a late-running Quidditch practice the night before, and she hurried down to the Great Hall, slightly late. She thought, for a moment, that she'd walked through the wrong doors. The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti were falling from the pale blue ceiling. Natasha went over to the Gryffindor table, where Ron was sitting looking sickened, and Hermione seemed to have been overcome with giggles. Even Simran was looking disgusted. Natasha was having really bad feelings about what she was seeing, and somehow knew who exactly was responsible for this thing.

"What's going on?", Natasha asked them, sitting down and wiping confetti off her bacon. Ron pointed to the teachers' table, apparently too disgusted to speak. Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. The teachers on either side of him were looking stony-faced. From where he sat, Natasha could see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall's cheek. Professor Snape was looking really outraged at the very sight of that.

Severus Snape was having a really hard time sitting in the great hall. The decoration was downright outrageous. Even other professors were looking angry or disgusted. Except for, Lockhart who was looking really cheerful, and was the one who organized this nonsense. Minerva had told that, his explanation was that, it was for calming the minds. But Severus knew that, the thing did everything but calm the student's minds, as most of the students were looking like they were also having the same feelings as him. Severus hoped that, the jinx on the DADA position was still there as he knew that, he could not spend another year with that idiot.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all - and it doesn't end here!", Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps. "My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!".

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison. "Please, Hermione, tell me you weren't one of the forty-six, said Ron as they left the Great Hall for their first lesson. Hermione suddenly became very interested in searching her bag for her schedule and didn't answer. Natasha and Simran just looked at each other and smiled, as they knew that she did send the professor one card. Natasha had never felt anything different on any valentine's day, but this time she was feeling a bit different especially to a certain Hufflepuff who had helped her on September first. She did not understand what it was, and she decided to keep it, as it gave her a bit of joy.

All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers. In the night, when they all went back to the dorms, she opened the drawer, just to search for a quill, and found the diary. She then decided that, it was time to show Hermione the diary.

"Oooh, it might have hidden powers," said Hermione enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it closely. The three girls were the only people in the dorm as the other girls were, busy in the common room.

"If it has, it's hiding them very well,", said Simran. "Maybe it's shy. I don't know why you don't chuck it, Natasha."

"I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it,", said Natasha. "I wouldn't mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special services to Hogwarts either."

"Could've been anything," said Ron. "Maybe he got thirty O.W.L.s or saved a teacher from the giant squid. "

But Natasha could tell from the arrested look on Hermione's face that she was thinking what she was thinking. "What?" said Simran, looking from one to the other.

"Well, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, wasn't it? "she said. "That's what Malfoy said."

"Yeah..." said Simran slowly.

"And this diary is fifty years old," said Hermione, tapping it excitedly.

"So?", Simran was still not getting what the other two was implying.

"Oh, Sim, wake up," snapped Hermione. "We know the person who opened the Chamber last time was expelled fifty years ago, we know T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago, Well, what if Riddle got his special award for catching the Heir of Slytherin? His diary would probably tell us everything - where the Chamber is, and how to open it, and what sort of creature lives in it - the person who's behind the attacks this time wouldn't want that lying around, would they?"

"That's a brilliant theory, Hermione," said Simran pointing at the diary, "with just one tiny little flaw. There's nothing written in his diary."

But Hermione was pulling her wand out of her bag. "It might be invisible ink!" she whispered. She tapped the diary three times and said, "Aparecium!". Nothing happened. Undaunted, Hermione shoved her hand back into her bag and pulled out what appeared to be a bright red eraser. "It's a Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley," she said. She rubbed hard on January first. Nothing happened.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing to find in there," said Simran. "Riddle just got a diary for Diwali and couldn't be bothered filling it in."

"Diwali?", Natasha asked questioningly.

"It is a festival that we Indians celebrate. We sometimes exchange sweets, and gifts.", Simran clarified.

"Ok. That sounds wonderful.", Hermione said with a smile. But Natasha could say that, she was disappointed of what she couldn't do.

Natasha couldn't explain, even to himself, why she didn't just throw Riddle's diary away. The fact was that even though she knew the diary was blank, she kept absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages, as though it were a story she wanted to finish. And while Natasha was sure she had never heard the name T. M. Riddle before, it still seemed to mean something to her, almost as though Riddle was a friend she'd had when she was very small, and had half-forgotten.

By that time, the other girls of her dorm had come and the three decided to drop the matter for now. The three of them then just tried to sleep. But Natasha could not sleep even after two hours of rolling in her bed. There were too many questions in her mind that, she wanted answers for. One of them was about the mysterious diary that was in her procession. The diary both freaked her out in a way, and made her want to find more about it. So, she decided to write something on the old diary. She grabbed the diary and proceeded to the common room, and she saw that it was empty. She thanked her luck that, she was having some privacy while she was doing this. She then sat in one of the chairs, and put the diary on the desk and flicked through the blank pages, not one of which had a trace of scarlet ink on it. Then she pulled a new bottle out of his bedside cabinet, dipped his quill into it, and dropped a blot onto the first page of the diary.

The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it was being sucked into the page, vanished. Excited, Natasha loaded up his quill a second time and wrote,

"My name is Natasha Potter."

The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank without trace. Then, at last, something happened. Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words Natasha had never written. "Hello, Natasha Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?". These words, too, faded away, but not before Natasha had started to scribble back.

"Someone tried to flush it down a toilet.". He waited eagerly for Riddle's reply. "Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink. But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read."

"What do you mean?" Natasha scrawled, blotting the page in his excitement.

"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."

"That's where I am now," Natasha wrote quickly. "I'm at Hogwarts, and horrible stuff's been happening. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?". Her heart was hammering. Riddle's reply came quickly, her writing becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying to tell all he knew.

"Of course, I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my day, they told us 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.". Natasha nearly upset her ink bottle in his hurry to write back. The whole thing was getting more and more exciting.

"It's happening again now. There have been three attacks and no one seems to know who's behind them. Who was it last time?", Natasha replied back.

"I can show you, if you like, "came Riddle's reply. "You don't have to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him."

Natasha hesitated, her quill suspended over the diary. What did Riddle mean? How could she be taken inside somebody else's memory? She glanced nervously at the door to the dormitory, which was growing dark. When she looked back at the diary, she saw fresh words forming. "Let me show you."

Natasha paused for a fraction of a second and then wrote two letters. "OK"

The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June. Mouth hanging open, Natasha saw that the little square for June thirteenth seemed to have turned into a miniscule television screen. Her hands trembling slightly, she raised the book to press her eye against the little window, and before she knew what was happening, she was tilting forward; the window was widening, she felt her body leave her bed, and she was pitched 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.

She knew immediately where she was. 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. Natasha had never seen this man before. "I'm sorry,", she said shakily. "I didn't mean to butt in-"

But the wizard didn't look up. He continued to read, frowning slightly. Natasha 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 her. Thinking that the wizard might be deaf, Natasha raised her 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 Natasha 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. Natasha 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, Natasha, was little more than a phantom, completely invisible to the people of fifty years ago, Natasha felt the whole thing really weird, and wanted to see whatever Riddle wanted to show her fast, so as to get out of this quickly.

There was a knock on 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 Natasha. "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 Dipper 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. "So, he was an orphan like her", Natasha thought with a small bit of sadness.

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

"You are Muggle-born?"

"Half-blood, sir," said Riddle. "Muggle father, witch mother.". Natasha was again startled by the similarities between her and the boy. He was a half-blood like her too.

"And are both your parents -?"

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

Dipper 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 Natasha's heart leapt, and she moved closer, scared of missing anything. She knew that, she had come to the big part of the conversation.

"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 - err - 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?"

Natasha was getting excited second by second, and was listening more carefully. "No, sir," said Riddle quickly. But Natasha was sure it was the same sort of "no" that she herself had given Dumbledore. Natasha was disappointed at this, but knew that Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.

"You may go, Tom...". Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Natasha followed him.

Down the moving spiral staircase, they went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Riddle stopped, and so did Natasha, watching him. Natasha could tell that Riddle was doing some serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed. Natasha knew that, he was trying to come to a big decision as to what his next step should be.

Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off, Natasha 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?". Natasha 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 Natasha 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 Natasha in hot pursuit.

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

It felt to Natasha that they were there for at least an hour. All she could see was the figure of Riddle at the door, staring through the crack, waiting like a statue. And just when Natasha had stopped feeling expectant and tense and started wishing she could return to the present, she heard something move beyond the door.

Someone was creeping along the passage. She heard whoever it was pass the dungeon where she and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged through the door and followed, Natasha tiptoeing behind her, forgetting that she 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. Natasha 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 familiar about that voice... Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Natasha 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. Natasha was standing there with a shocked expression on her face. She knew who that person was. It was someone she knew really well. Someone whom she least expects to be behind all this.

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-", Riddle said.

"It never killed no one!" said the large boy, whom Natasha knew was Hagrid now.

"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 Natasha 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, "NOOOOOO!"

The scene whirled, the darkness became complete; Natasha felt himself falling and, with a crash, she landed sitting, Riddle's diary lying open on the desk. Natasha did not know what to do now. Before he had had time to regain his breath, the dormitory door opened and Hermione came in.

"There you are,", she said. "I was really worried where you were."

Natasha sat up. She was sweating and shaking.

"What's up?" said Ron, looking at him with concern.

"It was Hagrid, Hermione. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago,", Natasha said panting