{...} - Parseltongue
"..." - Hedwig
"italics" - Writing
Chapter 14
Harry and Draco have been home for the Christmas Holidays for a few days. So far, they have spent quite a bit of time in the library trying to find information on The Chamber of Secrets, however, they have yet to come across anything useful. After two days of research, they decide that it's time for a much-needed break. After all, this is a holiday for them. Why should they spend the majority of it holed up in the library? They're free from school for the next three weeks and they intend to make the most of it.
Severus arrived at the manor yesterday evening and has since been preoccupied with the Malfoy's potions laboratory, doing Merlin knows what. Harry and Draco would stop by and ask him what he's doing in an attempt to alleviate their curiosity, but they have a strong feeling that doing so would result in them being drawn into an impromptu potions lesson. Which isn't really such a bad thing. But they'd much prefer to hold off on any school or learning-related activities for at least a few more days.
Despite Harry's intention to enjoy his time off from school, he's unfortunately woken up early every day since they arrived at Malfoy Manor. Apparently, his brain and his body are not yet on the same page. Draco, on the other hand, seemingly has no problem transitioning from school to home life. In fact, he has yet to wake up before noon since they've been home, leaving Harry with an unhealthy amount of free time in the mornings. Luckily, Hedwig and Adira have been occupying him and keeping him out of trouble. Well, for the most part, that is. On the second morning of the Christmas Holidays, Harry decided that instead of sitting in his room, waiting for his absolute prat of a best friend to grace him with his presence, he was going to make breakfast. And, in typical Harry Potter fashion, the activity turned into a complete disaster. All I'm going to say is that the Malfoy's kitchen will never be the same.
Currently, it is 7:30 in the morning, and Harry is completely and utterly bored, which is immediately a cause for concern. Hedwig is still asleep on her perch across the room and Adira is only just beginning to wake up, leaving Harry alone with his racing thoughts. He has yet to get out of bed, having decided that lying awake staring intently at the ceiling is the only acceptable activity for this early in the morning.
Harry groans dramatically, making Adira raise her head to look at him skeptically. After a moment, she speaks, the sudden commentary startling Harry.
{What is troubling you, young one?}
Harry jerks into a sitting position on the bed. However, unfortunately for him, the extra momentum sends him tumbling over the side of the bed. He hits the wooden floor with a loud thud and a grunt of pain. After a few seconds pass, during which Harry remains in a crumpled heap on the floor, the dark-haired boy slowly pushes himself up so he's sitting with his back against the side of his bed.
{You did that on purpose.} Harry says, rubbing the back of his head to alleviate the pain. He hears Hedwig chuckle through their familiar bond, and though he tries, he is unable to resist the urge to turn to her and growl menacingly. His empty threat only succeeds in humouring Hedwig further, and eventually, Harry admits defeat, sighing and turning back to Adira.
{Maybe.} Adira replies, cocking her head to the side as she continues to look at Harry, her gaze holding a mixture of curiosity and mirth. {Answer my question, Harry.}
{What?} Harry asks, confused for a moment before he remembers Adira's earlier inquiry. {Oh, right; Nothing's wrong.} Adira hisses incomprehensibly at him, the gesture clearly stating that she doesn't believe his bullshit for a second. {Really, I'm fine. Just bored, is all.}
{I see.} Adira states simply, slithering over to her companion, prompting him to reach out so she can coil around his arm. Harry hears Hedwig shake herself awake before she flies over to him, landing softly in his lap.
"You could always be responsible and stop procrastinating. If I remember correctly, you have homework that you should be doing." Hedwig says, her tone simultaneously teasing and admonishing, which is something Harry didn't think was possible. Leave it to Hedwig to defy his expectations in the most annoying way imaginable.
"I hate it when you're right." Harry grumbles under his breath, scowling down at the floor.
"I usually am. You honestly should be used to it by now, Hatchling." Harry sticks his tongue out at her before sighing heavily and shooing her off of his lap. He stands, taking care not to jostle Adira, and looks around his room, his gaze falling on his school bag that has remained untouched since the beginning of Christmas break.
"Fine." He states with a groan, walking across the room to pick up his satchel. He takes a seat at his desk and promptly dumps the contents of his bag on the previously abandoned surface. Hedwig scoffs at his antics.
"Was that really necessary?" She asks with a note of disapproval.
"Absolutely." Harry replies, staring Hedwig down, daring her to disagree. He hears her sigh in defeat and immediately begins reveling in his success. What can he say? It's not often that his familiar lets him win, so he's going to enjoy it while it lasts.
As Hedwig takes off to return to her perch, Harry turns his gaze to the pile of academic chaos lying on his desk. Now that he thinks about it, his actions were probably ill-advised, not that he'd ever admit it, of course. Suppressing a groan, he begins filtering through his school things, sorting the contents into piles based on subject. Once he's finished, he evaluates his options, trying to decide which form of torture he's currently willing to subject himself to. After a minute of consideration, he chooses to start with his assignment for Professor Flitwick. Charms generally comes naturally to him, and he finds that he doesn't mind the homework that Professor Flitwick assigns.
Harry pulls his Charms textbook closer to him, pushing the rest of the piles aside to give himself room to work. He opens the tome, slowly flipping to the page that has been bookmarked by a piece of parchment detailing the requirements for the assignment. He reads it over slowly before setting it aside and pulling a quill and ink out of one of his desk drawers. He takes a few seconds to situate his work space, probably spending more time than is necessary trying to make his inkwell line up with his book and quill. And, before you ask, yes, this endeavor was absolutely worth his time and an integral factor of his continued existence. And, even if it wasn't, Harry likes to live by the rule of no regrets, which, according to Draco, is far from healthy. But whatever, life is much more exciting Harry's way. One hundred percent satisfaction guaranteed.
Harry abruptly snaps out of his musings once he realizes that this train of thought is completely off topic and likely to derail if allowed to continue. He shakes his head roughly, trying to get his brain to do what he tells it to. Or, as Professor McGonagall would say, "Sit down, shut up, and behave, Harry James Potter!"
Once he's sure that his brain is no longer attempting a mutiny, he turns his attention back to his assignment, skimming the first paragraph to get a general idea of the content. Suddenly, he stops, furrowing his brows as he examines the items in front of him. Something's missing. And it's probably something that should be blatantly obvious. Well, for most people, at least.
Harry scrutinizes his supplies for a minute or two before it hits him. Realizing that he is, in fact, an idiot, Harry groans loudly, slumping back in his chair.
"Finally noticed, did you?" Hedwig quips from across the room. Harry's gaze snaps to his familiar as he realizes the implications of her jibe.
"Were you going to tell me, or did you just want to see me look like an idiot?" Harry asks, sending Hedwig an accusatory look.
"Your stupidity entertains me."
"I hate you." Harry grumbles breaking eye contact with Hedwig before turning aggressively away from her. After a brief silence, Harry stands from his desk, walking briskly toward the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go on a quest to procure paper. Have fun being a traitor." Harry calls out as he passes Hedwig. He takes a second to transfer Adira from around his shoulders to the large window beside his bed before exiting his room. As the door clicks shut, he hears Hedwig chuckle.
"I intend to."
Scoffing, Harry makes his way down the hall in the direction of Draco's doesn't take long before he finds himself standing outside his best friend's room. He briefly considers turning around, figuring that Draco would be less than pleased with Harry's decision to wake him up, but he quickly decides that he couldn't care less if he interrupts Draco's beauty sleep. He's tired, bored, and craving attention, which obviously gives him the right to be as annoying as he wants without consequences.
Steeling himself, Harry opens the door and finds Draco's bedroom to be suspiciously empty. He sighs, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him with a soft click.
The curtains are open, allowing sunlight to spill in through the window. The rays of light paint their way across the room, casting intermittent shadows upon the floor. Harry wanders further into the room, his curious gaze shifting from the large, immaculate bookshelf on the far wall, to an ornate wooden chest that sits proudly at the foot of Draco's bed. His inspection continues, and his gaze lands on the old-fashioned desk that's pushed up against the wall opposite Draco's four-poster bed. Its weathered surface is covered by neatly stacked parchment, an expensive-looking quill and inkwell, and a plain, black journal. The journal, in all of its simplicity, sticks out amongst the sea of extravagances.
Remembering his mission, Harry makes his way across the room, stopping in front of the desk and picking up the journal. He turns it over in his grasp, noticing with confusion that the year emblazoned on the cover dates back fifty years. He runs his fingers over the indentations the numbers make in the rough leather, his brow furrowing as he wonders why Draco would own such a thing. It's not that he disapproves of keeping a diary, quite the opposite, in fact. It just strikes him as odd that Draco would use something this old and worn. Everything the blond owns is new. Draco seems to prefer it that way, almost to an obsessive degree. So, Draco keeping something like this is undoubtedly out of the ordinary.
Humming quietly under his breath, Harry debates whether he should open the journal. The last thing he wants is to invade Draco's privacy, but he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't curious as to what's inside. After a moment of deliberation, he makes his decision. He slowly opens the journal to the first page, the spine cracking in protest as the inside of the journal is slowly revealed.
There is an inscription on the front page, and though the ink is faded and smudged, Harry can easily make out the name, T. M. Riddle, written in an elegant script in the center of the page. His confusion deepens, and he turns to the next page. Harry is shocked when he finds nothing there, even more so when he continues flipping through the diary, turning page after page until he reaches the end. There's nothing! Not a word other than the name written on the first page. Harry snaps the book shut and flips over to the back cover, noting the name and address of the store it must have been purchased from.
Giving the journal one last curious look, Harry sets it back down on the desk and continues his search for parchment. He opens each drawer, deliberately searching through their contents, taking care to preserve Draco's organization. Unfortunately, Harry doesn't find what he's looking for. He lets out a groan of frustration, letting his head loll backwards briefly before his attention turns back to the mysterious journal.
He thinks about it for a moment, wondering if Draco would mind if he borrows it. After all, the blond has obviously never used it, and it wouldn't be the first time Harry's borrowed something of Draco's without asking. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right? Besides, Draco does the same thing, so it's only fair.
Making his decision, he grabs the journal and makes his way back to his own room. He briefly wonders where Draco is. Harry wasn't expecting to find his friend's room empty, especially at such an early hour, and he can't help but worry. He tries to put it out of his mind, deciding that it's highly unlikely that Draco managed to put himself in danger. Malfoy Manor is safe, Harry is sure of it, and he trusts Lucius and Narcissa to take every precaution when it comes to security.
Harry makes it back to his room, slipping inside and closing the door noiselessly behind him. Hedwig appears to have gone back to sleep while Adira hasn't moved from the windowsill, obviously enjoying the warm sunlight streaming in through the window. He smiles fondly at her before shuffling over to his desk, gently placing the journal down as he takes a seat.
He inhales deeply and closes his eyes, enjoying a moment of quiet before he begins working. He peels his eyes open and leans forward, taking his quill in his hand and dipping it into the inkwell. He opens the journal and writes his name and the date in the top right corner, a habit he picked up from Draco last year. Harry sets the quill down and grabs his textbook, pulling it closer to him so he can make out the text. After reading the first paragraph, he turns back to the journal so he can take notes. However, he pauses abruptly when his gaze falls upon the page he's using, which, much to Harry's confusion, is less blank than he remembers.
A sentence has been written about an inch below Harry's name. The looping cursive is elegant, a stark contrast to Harry's own handwriting, and it doesn't take long for Harry to recognize that the words were likely written by the same person who put their name in the front of the diary.
"Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?"
Harry blanches, freezing momentarily in shock before squeezing his eyes shut, expecting that when he opens them again, the words would no longer be there. However, when his eyes open and his vision comes into focus, the writing is still there, assuring Harry that he is not, in fact, seeing things. This only proves to confuse him further.
Despite his better judgement, he grabs his quill and hastily writes out a reply. Generally, something as unusual as this would scare people off, but Harry's curiosity easily outweighs his concern.
"I borrowed it from a friend. What's going on? Is this a two-way journal?"
"No; It's much more sophisticated than that. Would you like me to explain it to you?"
"I would."
"I found a way to record my memories in a more lasting way than ink. Contained within this diary are memories of terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"That's where I go to school. Hogwarts hasn't been safe this year. Horrible things have been happening and I think it's only a matter of time before the situation escalates. Tell me, do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"
"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 that resides within it 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."
Harry's heart begins to pound violently against his ribcage, each beat echoing loudly in his ears. This is it, what he and Draco have been searching for. Harry eagerly scribbles out an answer, anxious to finally get the answers he needs.
"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?"
"I can show you if you'd like. You don't have to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him. Let me show you."
Harry hesitates. He knows that agreeing to this is inadvisable, and that the offer could very well be a trap. However, he can't ignore the insatiable itch that urges him to find the answers, no matter the cost. Harry bites his lower lip anxiously before he replies.
"Okay."
Not seconds later, Harry feels the world begin to spin around him. His vision warps and begins to transform. Suddenly, he hears a muffled voice coming from behind him. The words are initially incomprehensible, sounding like they're being spoken from under water, but after a few moments his hearing sharpens enough for him to distinguish what is being said. Soon after, the world around him goes completely black before refocusing, revealing a completely different scene. It's a bit blurry around the edges, but it's clear enough for him to see what's going on.
For the next ten minutes he sits in silence, watching events from the past unfold in front of him. When the memory ends, Harry's world begins to spin once more, and soon he's being snapped uncomfortably back into the present. The events that Tom Riddle has shown him are confusing, contradicting his previous feelings and conceptions. However, there is one thing that he is sure of…
He needs to speak to Hagrid.
A/N: So, yeah, we're not dead... Surprise?
We hope you enjoyed the chapter. Comments are always appreciated, and we're always willing to recieve suggestions and constructive criticism.
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RavenGrey2107