"Mr Lockhart?" an unfamiliar voice asked. "Mr Lockhart, are you in?"

Gilderoy weighed his options for a few seconds, and then replied, "Yes! Yes, I am, one moment…" He pushed his half-packed trunk under the desk, and went to open the door. A young man, with awful, waxy skin, freckles, and bags under his eyes like Gilderoy had never seen, stood in the doorway.

"Who are you?" Gilderoy asked blankly; the man's robes were simple but expensive, but the man didn't look expensive. He had a terrible, slumped posture, and his straw-coloured hair hung in uncombed strings around his ears.

"Barty Crouch," the young man said. "I've got some questions for you; I'm a reporter for Defenders Against the Dark Arts."

"Never heard of it," Gilderoy said.

"We're a new magazine, Mr Lockhart. I'm hoping to get interviews from Aurors, and Hit Wizards, and other heroes within our society, and given everything that's going on here at Hogwarts and your involvement, I thought that you'd be a good place to start." Gilderoy smiled at that. A notebook and quill appeared from inside Crouch's robes. "Do you have a few minutes?"

Gilderoy waved him inside, and offered him a seat, which he took. Gilderoy took the one behind his desk. "Did you say Barty Crouch? I thought he was older." And much more influential; Crouch had been Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, and had a lot of contacts in the Ministry besides. Gilderoy had met him once or twice, but the other man had always been rather disinterested.

"Barty Crouch Junior," Crouch amended, after a few moments.

"Your father?" The other man nodded. "And you're starting out, you said?" Gilderoy watched Crouch's face slowly.

"Yes," Crouch said. "I was hoping your story could be the feature of my second edition-"

"I can see right through you, Mr Crouch," Gilderoy told him. Crouch stiffened in his chair, and Gilderoy knew that he was right about him. "You're a new reporter – and reporting is a very competitive occupation." Crouch was very still. "I daresay your magazine's first edition didn't get the response you wanted, so you're planning to use my fame to get more attention for your second one." A slow, disbelieving smile spread over Crouch's face; obviously, he had underestimated Gilderoy, as people were prone to doing.

"I'm afraid you're right," Crouch said. "I hope you're not mad-"

"Mad?" Gilderoy asked. "I'd do the same thing, if I was in your position; I am, after all, one of the most notable wizarding names of our time, and I have an established fan-base. You'll sell thousands of copies!"

"You mean you'll talk to me?" Crouch asked, with something close to worship in his eyes.

Gilderoy smiled the smile that had won him so many awards, and asked, "What was your first question?"

"Do you reckon we'll ever come back?" Ron asked, sitting down on his packed trunk.

"Dunno," Harry said. He disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared with his toothbrush, which he threw into his trunk. "Guess that depends if they catch Riddle or not." Ron sighed and kicked the bed, and Harry jumped at the noise. His hand went to his wand, and he looked at Ron, wide-eyed.

"You all right?" Ron asked. "You've been jumpy since breakfast."

"Fine," Harry said. He dropped to the floor and pulled a pair of socks out from under his bed. They went in his trunk too, and Harry stayed sitting on the floor. He stared at his trunk for a few long seconds, and then said, "Or not. I- It doesn't feel right."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, warily.

"This," Harry said, waving his hand at his trunk. "Hogwarts closing. It's not right."

"Genius, Harry, really," Ron said, rolling his eyes. Harry jumped again, though, as the door opened to admit Seamus, Dean and Neville, all of whom were sooty from a game of Exploding Snap.

"-plenty of time to pack, Neville," Seamus was saying. "You've still got a couple of hours."

"That might be enough for you," Neville said. "But I have to find everything I've lost since September." Ron cracked a smile at that, but Harry was still looking edgy.

"What?" Ron asked in a low voice, prodding him with his foot. "There's nothing we can do now, except leave. And Riddle can't get us at home, and the monster's not there either-"

"Exactly," Harry sighed. Ron frowned at him, confused. "We're not entirely sure what Riddle wants," Harry said, watching the other boys out of the corner of his eye, "but if he wants to do Slytherin's work, and clear the school of muggleborns, or if he's following some other pattern with the attacks, or if he wants me, or- or something else, then he's running out of time."

Harry picked up a stack of school books, glanced at the titles, and then tossed all but his Charms and Transfiguration books into his trunk. He opened the Transfiguration one.

"What do you mean running out of time?"

"You said it, just before; we're leaving, and Riddle can't get us there, and neither can the monster."

"He's waited before," Ron said. "Myrtle was attacked years ago. And why are you reading?"

"Myrtle was attacked when Riddle was alive- or- well, not jumping around in people's heads. He'd have been caught eventually, I think, so he stopped to be safe." Harry looked up from the book. "But what's he got to lose this time, that he hasn't already?"

"- I really don't know!" he whimpered. "I promise-" Barty snorted and flicked his wand. Lockhart let out a thin scream and sagged a little more in his chair.

"You told the Prophet you knew-"

"I lied," Lockhart babbled, clutching his chest. "I lied, I don't know!"

"Tell me!" Barty snarled.

"I d-don't know!" And Lockhart started to cry. Disgusted, Barty jabbed his wand at the other man again, with a non-verbal Crucio.

"He really doesn't!" one of the portraits of Lockhart said from the wall.

"Leave him be!" another cried, while the real Lockhart writhed and sobbed. Barty blasted the painting off the wall. Lockhart snivelled in his chair, and glanced at the door, which was locked and warded with a Silencing charm. He didn't look so pretty now; his hair was in disarray, his eyes were red and puffy, and his white teeth were bloody from biting his tongue.

"Crucio." Lockhart wailed under the spell as Barty sat down in his chair again. Barty would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it; there was something so… rewarding about hearing Lockhart screaming and broken, when he was usually so confident. Barty had always thought that was the beauty of torture; wealth or lineage or education didn't matter; under the Cruciatus curse, everyone screamed the same.

"I'm only going to ask once more," he said, politely. "Where is the Dark Lord?"

Gilderoy ached and burned. He could hardly keep himself upright in his seat. His wand was on the floor bent at an odd angle, and the door was locked. He could only hope that one of the teachers would need a hand escorting the students to the train, and would come to fetch him.

As if summoned by the thought, McGonagall's cat appeared in the room, glowing and blue. Crouch trained his wand on it.

"Gilderoy, if you could escort the Gryffindors to the train, I would appreciate it," she said. "Be at their common room at eleven." The cat vanished, and Gilderoy's hopes of help faded.

"Where is the Dark Lord?" Crouch repeated, eyes still fixed on the place the cat had been.

It seemed Crouch hadn't known the truth when he'd heard it; Gilderoy didn't know. But when the truth wasn't enough, there was only one thing for it; to lie… and Gilderoy was a good storyteller.

"Okay," Gilderoy said, and didn't have to manufacture the panting, or the tears. It was embarrassing, but it would serve him well. "Please, just- just stop."

"You'll tell me?" Crouch asked eagerly.

"Yes," Gilderoy said, trying to think. "He's- been staying in the Chamber."

"Which is where?"

"There's a secret door, in the Slytherin common room," Gilderoy said. "You need a password to open it, but I've never been able to manage-"

"What is it?" Crouch demanded.

"I don't know," Gilderoy said. He gently rubbed his side; even talking hurt. "Something in snake-language, I think-"

"Parseltongue?"

"That's the one." He would have nodded, but it was too painful. Crouch considered him for a long while.

"Show me," he said. He stood, and walked around the desk, to yank Gilderoy out of his chair. Gilderoy eyed his wand. As Crouch went to drag him around the desk, Gilderoy let himself fall – and with his legs feeling the way they did, it was no difficulty at all.

Crouch cursed, and Gilderoy's hand wrapped around his wand. It felt like it would snap at any moment, but it was intact now, which was all that mattered, and as Crouch bent to help Gilderoy up, Gilderoy jabbed the wand up into his ribs.

His second year Transfiguration book didn't have what he wanted in it, so Harry tried to get Padfoot through the mirror, but all he got was darkness; he suspected the mirror was in a bag, or a drawer and so he let his own mirror revert back to normal; Harry stared at his own reflection for a few seconds, and then slid it into his rucksack, so that he'd have it on the train.

"Do you reckon we have time to go by the hospital wing?" Ron asked. "It's ten now… so there's only an hour, but-"

"We'll have time if we're quick," Harry said, hopping up. He patted his pocket, to check for his wand, and then followed Ron out of the dormitory. The corridors of the school were busier than he'd expected; people were hurrying around in groups of three or four, fetching owls from the owlery, or returning library books, or looking for cats that had a tendency to wander the school. There was a teacher on each floor, as well, acting a general sort of supervisor; since they couldn't be with every student, Harry assumed they'd decided to just split up and try to cover as much of the castle as possible.

Madam Pomfrey didn't come to the hospital wing door when Harry knocked, nor when Ron called for her. Worried, Harry pushed the heavy doors open, a little afraid to see what might lie beyond. He needn't have worried; he could see Madam Pomfrey in her office, talking to Snape about something, and the basilisk's victims lay still as ever on their beds… except for Draco's bed; something moved near him, and Harry headed for it, as Ron headed to Percy.

"Dobby?" A pair of large, green eyes and bat-like ears peered over the other side of the bed. Harry saw Ron glance their way, and start to come over, but Harry gestured to him that it was all right.

"Harry Potter?" Dobby squeaked. He looked miserable, and he had a sponge in one hand; obviously, he'd been attempting to tend to Draco. "Does Harry Potter see now why Dobby told Harry Potter not to come back to Hogwarts? Tis just sadness for Harry Potter here, sir, and for Master Draco too! Master Draco should have been safe with Harry Potter and Weasley-" Ron looked up at his name. "-but Dobby overheard that Master Draco wasn't safe, that Master Draco went for a walk." Dobby clutched his pillowcase, and sniffed.

"He was trying to get to Hydrus, so that he could talk to you," Harry said. "He wanted to ask you how Riddle got to Hogwarts?"

"Dobby can't say," Dobby said, backing away. "Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter, but Dobby mustn't- Dobby would be in such trouble-"

"I'm not asking you, Dobby," Harry said, putting his hands up; he didn't want to scare Dobby into leaving. "I'm just saying that Draco wanted to know. That's why he was walking, when he was attacked. He just wanted all of this to stop… I mean, Hermione's been attacked-" Harry waved at her bed. "And Ron's brother Percy, and Astoria Greengrass… I think Draco knows her." Dobby quivered. "Draco just wanted everyone to be safe." Harry let that sink in for a moment, and then said, "Did Mr Malfoy tell you they're closing the school?"

"The school, Harry Potter?" Dobby asked.

"All the students have to go home," Harry said. "The teachers can't find Riddle, so everyone has to leave to be safe." Dobby wrung his hands, and Harry decided to push his luck. "Without Riddle, though, we won't know what he did to Draco and the others, and how to fix it. Colin's been like this for months." Harry waved a hand at Colin's bed.

"Months?" Dobby squeaked. Harry nodded sadly.

"I just want them to be better, Dobby. And that's what Draco wanted too, only now he's petrified as well, and without Riddle-"

Dobby's eyes were wide and terrified, and fixed on Draco. He swallowed noisily and patted Draco's hand.

"A book," he said, a voice Harry wouldn't have heard without his animagus hearing. "A- a diary." Dobby let out a screech and launched himself at the bedside table. He connected, hard, before Harry could stop him, bounced off, and then started to hit his head on the stone floor. The bedside table crashed to the ground, narrowly missing him. Harry dragged him upright, trying to tell him to stop, but Dobby struggled and kicked and shrieked and eventually, won free. With a teary look at Harry and Draco, Dobby vanished. Harry felt ill, and hoped Dobby wouldn't hurt himself too seriously.

"What in Merlin's name is going on out here?" Snape had swept out of Pomfrey's office – with her on his heels – and was taking in the hospital wing; Draco's fallen bedside table, Harry sitting on the floor staring at where Dobby had been, and Ron, frozen a few feet from Harry, obviously coming to help.

"A diary," Harry said. "Riddle's in a diary." Whose diary, though? Hogwarts was a boarding school; there were bound to be a few around… but, if it was a horcrux, then maybe it was Riddle's diary, left from when he was here. So maybe it had been left in the library, or in the Slytherin common room. Or, perhaps it had been sent in with Hydrus, since Mr Malfoy was somehow involved.

Snape stared at him for a long time, and then nodded once, curtly.

"I will inform Minerva as soon as I am done here," he said. Harry got to his feet, and went to stand by Ron. "We'll have students turn out their bags before they leave the school, and hopefully, that will be the end of it." Harry nodded, still trying to think. "You ought to get back to your common room, or you'll miss the train. I trust the pair of you can make it back without any drama or investigative detours?"

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, feeling his face warm.

"Good." Snape turned back toward Madam Pomfrey's office, while Madam Pomfrey saw them out.

"A diary?" Ron asked, when they were out in the corridor. Whose?"

"I don't know," Harry said, thinking hard. "I mean, it must have belonged to Riddle at some point if he's in it… so maybe they found it, or bought it-" No. No, it couldn't- "-second hand." Harry swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Maybe," Ron said. "So where do we look?"

Second hand. The words took Harry back to last summer, where they'd met the Malfoys in Flourish and Blotts. Mr Malfoy had taken one of Ginny's books, and mocked her for it. Second hand, he'd said, as if it was a crime. And then Padfoot had come over, and Malfoy had put the book back and left.

Ginny had spent the summer writing in a diary; Harry vaguely remembered Ron telling him about it. And how often had he seen it since? More often than not, it was in her lap in the common room. Hadn't he found her asleep like that, before they went down to dinner on Halloween, and found Mrs Norris?

And just last week, Fred and George had tried to take it from her, and Harry had given it back… and then Riddle was in my head at Quidditch that same night.

And Ginny hadn't been herself lately; she'd been quiet, and pale, and in and out of the hospital wing with headaches and exhaustion… Harry knew, with sick certainty, that he was on to something.

"Harry?"

"I know who Riddle's with," Harry said.

"You're mad!" Ron said. "She's eleven, and she's not evil!"

"She might not have had a choice," Harry said. "But she's had a diary all year, she hasn't been looking well or acting properly for the last few weeks-"

"I can't be Ginny!" Ron looked upset, and Harry couldn't blame him, but he hoped he'd listen at least. "It just- she wouldn't-"

"She might not have had a choice," Harry said again, as gently as he could. "But she wasn't at dinner on Halloween; I found her asleep in the common room, with the diary in her lap, and she was- confused…" And not feeling well, Harry remembered. She hadn't wanted to go to the feast at all, but he'd talked her into it. "Myrtle."

"What?"

"Myrtle attacked her. Percy told us about it, remember? He said that Fred and George must have upset Myrtle, so she went for Ginny, except maybe it wasn't the twins' fault. Maybe it was Riddle's, and Myrtle was scared-"

"Let's go, then," Ron said.

"What?"

"We can't ask Ginny," Ron said. "If it's not her, she'll be furious, and if it is, Riddle will know that we know. So we ask Myrtle." He didn't look happy, but he'd stopped telling Harry he was mad, at least.

"Let's go," Harry agreed, grimly.

They didn't talk as they walked; Harry's mind was conjuring up other bits of evidence to support it being Ginny, and he was sure Ron was thinking hard as well. The corridors were starting to quieten, so Harry guessed it must be almost eleven, but they could always meet the rest of the school downstairs and the house elves would make sure their trunks made it to the station. Harry would just have to go without his rucksack for the train ride; he'd left it on his bed.

Myrtle was crying loudly in a cubicle when they arrived at the bathroom. Harry shut the door, so she wouldn't draw Lockhart's attention like she had last time, and Ron called for her to come out.

"Oh, it's you two again." She glared at them. "What do you want?"

"Do you know my sister?" Ron asked. "Her name's Ginny."

"Oh, her." Myrtle crossed her arms, and asked rather stiffly, "Why do you ask?"

"How do you know her?" Ron asked.

"Not well," Myrtle said. "But she's always in here, blasting me down the drain, or telling me to get out… It's my bathroom!" Ron's face was faintly green when he looked at Harry. Harry doubted his own face looked much better.

"We need to find her," Ron said, starting toward the door.

"I don't know why you'd look for her out there," Myrtle said petulantly. "She was in here maybe an hour ago, crying."