Harry is having an intense bout of deja vu, mixed with a healthy dose of rapidly mounting anxiety. It's been around two weeks since the end of Christmas break. Harry had spent most of the holiday worrying about Hermione (and to a lesser extent, Theo).
Thanks to the nearly constant correspondence from Theo, Harry had known logically that the two were fine, but he hadn't truly relaxed until he could see his friends again in person. On the bright side, Hermione and Theo did appear to become closer as friends over the break.
On the not-so bright side, the constant worrying must have done something to his brain because now he's twice as worried as ever for his friends; needing to know where they are at all times.
And right now, he doesn't know where Hermione is.
Trying not to panic, Harry forgoes going to Percy or the twins this time, and instead heads straight for Myrtle's bathroom.
Knowing Hermione, she's either in the bathroom working on potions, or at the Library. Harry's trying the bathroom first because if she's working on potions, she's definitely working on them alone (the Slytherins are in class, so Pansy is otherwise occupied).
Harry arrives in front of the bathroom and can already tell that Hermione probably isn't in there- the bathroom has flooded, and Hermione doesn't put up with Myrtle's antics very well. Regardless, it can't hurt to check, so Harry opens the door and walks in. Myrtle is crying loudly in a stall, and all the faucets are running.
"Hello?" Harry asks, gingerly stepping over a particularly large puddle. Hermione definitely isn't in here, but maybe Myrtle has seen her?
"Go away," Myrtle says miserably. She sounds really, really upset.
"I, er, sorry," Harry says uncomfortably. "I just wanted to know if you'd seen Hermione?"
"No! Go AWAY!"
Harry would love to do nothing more. Unfortunately, he can't bring himself to just leave the girl to her wallowing, no matter how much he dislikes her. Harry sighs, and walks further into the bathroom.
"What's wrong? Is there, uh, anything I can do?" Harry asks.
Myrtle bursts into another round of tears and Harry groans internally.
"You've," Myrtle sobs, "just come to throw more things at me, haven't you."
"No!" Harry protests hurriedly. "I wouldn't! Who's been throwing things at you? It wasn't Hermione or Pansy, was it?"
"I don't know who it was," Myrtle sniffles, floating out of her stall and wiping her eyes. "All I know is that it was someone who thinks it's fun to throw books at poor, helpless, innocent, ghosts!"
"I'm sorry Myrtle," Harry says, studiously not looking over at the torrents of water flooding the room. Helpless. Sure.
"People can be cruel," Harry continues.
"Cruel and unforgiving," Myrtle agrees before dissolving into tears once more. Harry doesn't think he's helping all that much.
"Maybe, uh, the book will help us figure out who did, er, this to you? And then you could, um, flood… their… room?"
Myrtle flies towards Harry, hope shining on her face. Harry manages just barely not to flinch backwards as she stops just in front of him.
"You'd do that? For me?"
Harry hesitantly nods. "I can definitely try," he says.
"It's just over there," Myrtle says, pointing. "It dropped right on my head and I was so upset I immediately tried to wash it away."
Harry splashes over to where she had pointed and leans over to pick up the book. It's surprisingly dry for how much water is flooding the room. Harry turns it over in his hands, furrowing his brow.
"It's a journal," he says.
"Oh, good!" Myrtle says gleefully. "That should tell us who it was!"
"Maybe," Harry says, unconvinced. "I don't know a T. M. Riddle, though. Ring any bells for you?"
Myrtle goes still, head cocked to the side. Her eyes are distant. "I… that… I might," she says softly, trailing off.
"Right," Harry says as he pockets the journal. Myrtle doesn't move from her floating position. The ghostly girl isn't crying anymore, though, so Harry figures that his job here is done. He slips out the door, splashing all the way. He still needs to find Hermione.
Harry goes to the Library, and is relieved to see Hermione sitting and studying. The Library is busy, too, so she isn't alone at all.
"Hermione! I was worried," Harry says.
Hermione rolls her eyes. "Honestly, Harry. I know better than to go places alone. Percy walked me and a couple other Gryffindors to the Library. I'm fine."
"I just want you to be safe," Harry mumbles.
Hermione softens, and smiles. "Study with me?"
Harry nods and pulls out the potions essay he's been working on, diary forgotten.
Later, Harry is in the dorms and reading up on the founders in the hopes of learning something about the Chamber. He's already read through this book twice, but maybe he's missed something?
The dorm is empty save for Merlin, who's spent most of the day asleep under the covers of Harry's bed- Seamus and Dean are out doing who knows what where, and Neville is with Hermione in the Library.
Merlin wakes up now and sleepily noses Harry's arms out of the way, going into her satchel. Instead of slithering in, though, she pauses and flicks her tongue in and out a couple times. Harry turns to look down at her, worried.
"Merlin? What are you doing?"
"Why do you smell so… magic-y?" Merlin asks, confused.
"I have no idea. What do you even mean?"
"Your magic. It smells normal, but more. It's almost doubled in strength."
That is the last thing Harry needs, so he panics for a moment as Merlin sniffs the air around him.
"It's all concentrated on whatever is in that pocket," Merlin decides.
Harry's hand shoots to the pocket and pulls out the diary.
"This?" He asks dubiously.
"Yes," Merlin says firmly. "What even is that? Did you supercharge a random book?"
Harry shakes his head and picks the journal up again. He looks closer at the cover and sits up straight.
"Huh, look at this date- this book is fifty years old. Looks like it was bought in a muggle store, too."
"So what? You still haven't told me where you got it," Merlin hisses grumpily.
"I just found it," Harry shrugs.
"Well? What's in it?" Merlin asks.
Harry leafs through the pages again, but after that first page with the faded words 'Property of T. M. Riddle', everything is just as blank as they had been in the bathroom. Harry closes the journal.
"Nothing," he says.
Merlin flicks her tongue at it again. "It's uncanny," she says wonderingly. "It smells so much like your magic. You really haven't done anything to it?"
Harry shakes his head again. "Not that I know of, anyways."
Merlin coils around Harry's shoulders. "What are you going to do with it?"
Harry sits back, thinking. "You say it smells magic, right?"
Merlin nods vehemently. "Big time," she agrees.
"But not… not evil, or anything?"
Merlin flicks her tongue out irritatedly. "It doesn't smell rotten, if that's what you're asking. But it's not exactly possible to smell moralities, you know."
Harry smiles sheepishly. "Right, I knew that."
Merlin bumps her head into Harry's affectionately. "That said, I'm inclined to trust it. It smells so much like your magic."
Harry considers the unobtrusive journal for a second, chewing on his lips.
It's nothing much, really: just a mysterious journal that smells exactly like his magic, that appeared out of nowhere in the middle of a haunted bathroom, and fits right into the timeline they'd constructed for when the Chamber had last been opened.
Harry sighs. It would probably be smart to bring his find to the others. Let them investigate it, cast diagnostic spells on it, theorize where and who it came from… but on the other hand, Merlin had said the magic didn't smell rotten, and Harry doesn't really want to go all the way down to the Library.
Decision made, Harry pulls out a self-inking quill and puts it to the first page.
Testing, testing…
Harry sits, staring at the words for a few minutes. He isn't really sure what he's expecting. Harry's about to write another few words when, to his surprise, his words sink into the page and disappear. Harry stares for a moment, unsure of whether or not he should write some more.
Hello? Who is this?
Harry stares wide-eyed at the words that have appeared in place of his writing.
"What? What?" Merlin asks, hissing.
"It responded," Harry says, putting his quill to paper again.
My name is Harry. Who are you?
Nice to meet you, Harry. I am Tom Riddle. If you don't mind me asking, how did you come by my diary?
I found it.
Harry chews on the end of his quill, before writing:
I think someone was trying to flush it down a toilet.
It's a good thing I recorded my memories in a more lasting way than ink, then. I always knew that there would be those who don't want my stories told.
What are you? What stories?
What am I? Memories, mostly. It's… complicated. What stories? Stories of things that happened at Hogwarts. Terrible things.
Harry nearly snaps the tip of his quill in his excitement as he hurriedly writes:
Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets? I'm at Hogwarts right now and it's been opened again.
Ha! Do I ever.
Harry's heart is pounding in his chest.
Could you tell me about it?
Sure, I'd love to. They told us all it was just a legend. This is a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students until one finally died. The person who'd opened the chamber was caught and expelled.
Headmaster Dippet was ashamed of what had happened at Hogwarts while under his care and decided to cover it up- saying the girl had died in a freak accident.
Harry furrows his brow. Expelled? Was Voldemort expelled from Hogwarts? Harry supposes it's not impossible, but definitely not something any of his friends had considered.
Do you know who opened it last time? His name, I mean?
I should hope so- I was the one who caught him. However, I was threatened into keeping quiet about it and given nothing more than a little trophy for my troubles.
The writing stops, and Harry is just about to ask for a name again when it starts up again.
Has the Chamber truly been opened again? I should have come out with the truth anyways, consequences be damned. Maybe then you wouldn't be in this mess. I apologize.
It's not your fault. Tell me what you know and maybe I'll be able to stop the culprit before it's too late.
Harry taps his fingers on his legs anxiously as he waits for a reply. This could be it- the key to everything.
Tom might know who Voldemort was before he became Voldemort. Hell, if Tom caught him in the act, he might even know where and how the chamber was opened in the first place!
Finally, words begin bleeding onto the page again.
I can show you, if you'd like.
Harry leans back.
"What?" Merlin asks again. "Tell me what's happening!"
"This Tom guy apparently caught the last person to open the Chamber, and when I asked him who it was, he said he could show me," Harry says.
"Show you? Also, this is amazing! We might crack this thing once and for all," Merlin says.
Harry nods leaning forward again to write a response, but pauses as he sees that new words have already formed:
Let me show you.
Harry pauses, looks at Merlin, shrugs, and then writes:
Okay.
The pages of the diary begin to flip, slowly at first but then more rapidly, until the book itself is blurring. If Harry squints, he can almost see a moving image from within the pages, almost like a scene from a movie. Unwittingly, Harry leans closer to get a better look.
Merlin hisses in warning, but it's too late: Harry has leaned too far and pitches forward, falling into the pages.
As Harry falls, he grabs tight to his magic. He doesn't know what would happen if he tries to burn the book while he's inside it, but he certainly doesn't want to find out.
Harry doesn't fall for long, but even still he expected to land heavily. Instead, one second he's falling and the next he's just… standing. Harry tries to get his breathing under control and makes sure he has a good grip on his magic.
His breathing calmed, Harry looks around only to feel his heart skip a beat- he knows exactly where he is: Dumbledore's circular office.
Only, it's not Dumbledore's office. Other than the portraits, everything is different. Different furniture, different books, less clutter. Everything is oddly sepia-toned as well, including Harry himself. Merlin, Harry notices, didn't fall through with him.
Worst of all, the office is occupied. The man sitting behind the desk is old, older than Dumbledore. He's almost completely bald other than a few wisps of white hair.
"Oh, uh," Harry says. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"
But the wizard doesn't look up from the book he's reading. Harry blinks in confusion, then walks forward.
"Hello?" Harry asks again.
Nothing. Harry waves a hand in front of the wizard, and still he gets no response. The old man turns a page and continues reading. Harry steps back, thinking hard.
This must be the Hogwarts of fifty years ago: the Hogwarts Riddle knows, not the one Harry is familiar with. Harry is nothing more than an invisible watcher.
Harry tries not to panic. Harry is no stranger to being invisible. All he needs to do is pretend he's under his cloak.
With that thought, Harry relaxes.
The man at the desk stands up, sighs heavily, and goes over to the window. He pulls the curtains back to look out the window- the sky is red, stark against the bland tones of everything else. The sun must be setting.
Suddenly, there's a knock at the door. Both Harry and the man turn.
"Enter," says the man in a feeble voice.
Just as the door is swinging open, Harry feels a painful pressure on his magic. He gasps and clutches his chest as he doubles over. Around him, the scene freezes and the room goes staticy.
Harry hears a high pitched sound and can't tell if it's the ringing in his ears or if the diary itself is shrieking in pain. It's growing louder by the second and Harry desperately moves his hands from his aching chest to his ears, trying in vain to block the sound out.
Harry tries to breath through the pain as tears stream from his face. He's holding tight to his magic, but the pushing is becoming unbearably strong. It feels like he's stuck in a blackhole.
Harry closes his eyes and grits his teeth, able to do nothing more than hold on as the scene around him shudders and dissolves into bright white nothingness.
Just as Harry can't take it any more, the pressure stops and Harry opens his eyes to find himself on the ground of his dorm.
Apparently he'd been flung so violently from the diary that he's fallen out of his bed.
Harry sits up slowly, clutching his head. It's pounding, but the pain is receding fast. Merlin slithers up to him, hissing frantically.
"Are you alright? Are you hurt? I'm so sorry, one second you were normal and fine, and the next your face was stuck in the book and you weren't responding and I thought it might be suffocating you to death so I did the only thing I could think of!"
Merlin is babbling and twisting around Harry's shoulders over and over again, periodically licking at him as though to assure herself that he's alright.
"What… what did you do?" Harry asks, dazed.
"I don't know," wails Merlin. "I followed my instincts! I sort of… bit the book? And then, I don't know, pushed?"
Harry is about to ask what she could possibly mean by that when his gaze falls on something and he realizes that there is a much more urgent question he needs to ask her.
"Merlin," Harry starts. "Who is that boy, and why does he look like me?"