Chapter 23, everybody! Got a good head of steam going on this, might even have an update for every week in September (all right)!
So let me tell you about me, brainstorming this, understanding that Harry with Snips is more sensible and less inclined to solve everything himself. "Gee, that means if Harry finds the diary he'd take it to an authority figure—boy that'd nuke over half the book—"
*Glares angrily at canon*
Also FFN has upped the number of documents you can have in doc manager this one is document 101 my gosh. :O
TroyWeb, thanks for the review! Thanks! And yeah, Snips is a very responsible potion-teaching thing and wouldn't leave Hermione hanging. :D And yeah! One of the bonuses of having Slughorn instead of Snape is his Slug Club—he's picking everyone from the school he thinks can benefit him in the long run (which is very Slytherin), but it also means that the houses mix and have reason to be at least cordial with each other. Not having a head of house that's PO-ed at life probably helps too (sorry Snape). Harry is currently very sorry he didn't take up the Sorting Hat on going into Slytherin MERMAIDS he could have been seeing those for two years now. XD
Kkcats, thanks for the reviews! Glad you like things so far—and…we'll see. ;)
Shadowgrl, thanks for the review! Glad it made you laugh. :D Ah yes, Snips is a master manipulator whose main goal in life is keeping these kids out of trouble. XD And thanks! :D
Harry Potter © JK Rowling
They carted Hermione off to the Hospital Wing, where fortunately Madame Pomfrey asked minimum questions.
Mostly, it was "Spell or potion?"
"Potion," Hermione said miserably.
Madame Pomfrey nodded. "That'll be a different set of treatments then. Come on, to the back, I'll get you fixed up."
Harry and Ron would visit Hermione on a regular basis after that, throughout the rest of the break and into class starting again, to give her her homework and keep her abreast of the events of the day, Harry sitting at the end of her bed and trying his hand at a scarf. Thus far it was doing better than the hats, although it was turning out crooked.
"Hagrid tells me I have to keep practicing," Harry said, sighing at the zigzag way the scarf was going.
"Getting better usually follows that, yes," Hermione said. Her face was mostly back to normal, without whiskers and a cat nose and most of the fur, but she still had the ears and her eyes were still closer to a cat's currently.
"In other news, tea cozies can be hats if you're in the right mindset," Ron said, indicating his fuzzy orange headgear.
"Yes, well…any leads?"
"None," Harry sighed. "I think the problem is we put too much stock in it being Malfoy—we have no one else to suspect."
"Do we know any other slimy Slytherins?" Ron asked, leaning on his elbow on the edge of Hermione's bed—started when he made something crinkle. "What's this?"
"Nothing," Hermione said quickly, moving to stuff it away—
Too late, Ron had pulled out a sparkling gold get-well card and was reading it.
The expression of disgust he gave Hermione was impressive. "You sleep with a get-well card from Lockhart under your pillow?"
Hermione snatched it back, was spared answering him by Madame Pomfrey swooping in to dispense more medicine.
"So I understand we're only twelve, but I feel comfortable saying that Lockhart is the smarmiest bloke I have ever met or ever will meet," Ron announced as they headed back for Gryffindor tower.
Harry was inclined to agree, was about to when Snips yipped at something. "What? What is it?"
In response, Snips pointed at a thin trail of black shimmering along the edge of a window. Harry edged closer, trying to make sense of it—
"Huh!" he noised. "Ron, come look at this—have you ever seen spiders do this—Ron?"
Ron had leaped back as soon as he realized what the shapes were, was blushing red now. "I er—I don't like spiders."
"Okay," Harry said slowly. "I mean, lots of people don't, so…that makes sense?"
Ron shook his head. "I just—I really don't, okay? I'm saying back here."
Harry shrugged, looked at the spiders again—they didn't bother him, since he had to grow desensitized to them pretty quickly for living under the stairs—was puzzled by the fact that they were running in a frantic but orderly line, heading for a small crack in one of the panes.
"Is there such a thing as magical pesticide?" Harry asked finally—that was the only thing he could think of that would make spiders flee so quickly (although it didn't account for the tidy line).
Ron shrugged. "There's one that makes them your neighbor's problem—d'y'think Filch—"
As though the comment summoned the man, Filch's angry bellows started echoing down.
"That sounds like it's coming from Myrtle's floor," Harry observed. "Come on."
Fortunately by the time they reached the floor in question Filch had vacated it, but why he had been in such a towering mood became clear: it had been totally flooded.
"I'll give Myrtle this: she doesn't do things by halves," Ron offered.
Harry slogged to the girl's bathroom, stuck his head in. "Um, Myrtle? Are you okay?"
"Oh go away!" Myrtle shot. "Come back to throw something else at me?"
Harry and Ron exchanged blank glances. "Um, Myrtle—we didn't throw anything at you." Hesitate. "What happened anyway?"
"Someone threw something at her," Ron offered. "Wouldn't that just go straight through you though?"
"Oh sure!" Myrtle yelled. "Let's all throw things at Myrtle because she can't feel it! Ten points if you get it through her chest! Fifty points if you get it through her HEAD!"
Harry and Snips both gave Ron a disparaging look when Myrtle dove back into a stall.
"I thought it was a valid question," Ron offered.
"But why would someone throw something away here?" Harry asked, knowing the irony of that question—Hermione had vanished the rest of the Polyjuice potion, but still. Wince when Snips tugged on his ear, looked where he pointed. "Hey, Ron, look at this—"
"Hold up!" Ron yelped, yanking Harry back just as Snips started squawking. "Don't be daft, Harry! You don't just pick up a strange book!"
Harry blinked at him, wondering how he could phrase his next question without implying that he thought Ron was being dense. "Uh, why?"
"Because people have hexed books before—some of the stories Dad comes home with—like this one book that burns your eyes out, or another that makes you speak in rhymes for the rest of your life, or this one that makes it so you can never stop reading—"
"Okay, okay," Harry said, waving his hands. "So what do we do about this book?"
They considered it, looked at Snips, who shook his head before moving a paw in a very familiar pattern.
"Ah," Ron noised, catching on first. Tug out his wand, point it at the diary. "Wingardium Leviosa." Watch as the sopping wet book rose into the air. "Now what?"
Harry considered. "So…it could be a dangerous book, since someone tried to get rid of it…maybe we take it to a teacher."
Flitwick turned out to be closest—well, no. Lockhart was closest, but they all agreed they wanted someone competent poking at this.
"I commend your caution boys, very good," Flitwick said, poking at the sodden book before casting a few spells on it—one of which dried it. "Hmm, there's definitely some sort of magic within it, but I can't be certain without further tests—I'll call Dumbledore down, we can puzzle it out over tea. Thank you boys, you may run along now."
"Will you tell us if you find anything out about it?" Harry asked.
"If it puts you to ease, certainly."
The book was a good topic of interest for the next couple of weeks, through to Hermione finally getting out of the hospital wing. Upon cluing her in, she made a beeline straight for the library, looking up instances of hexed books.
"I'm just thinking she was in withdrawal," Ron told Harry as they browsed the magical creatures section again, looking for something on Snips. "You know she'd live in here if they'd let her."
Harry nodded, trying his best to tune out the dark mutterings he could hear coming from the next row over—people had spotted him in the library and weren't wasting the opportunity to gossip.
The middle of February distracted everyone thoroughly, at least—mostly because everyone was too busy being gobsmacked by the Valentine's Day even Lockhart had organized. Well, the students were gobsmacked—the teachers mostly looked aggravated with the exception of perhaps Dumbledore, who just seemed amused by the glitter raining down from the ceiling.
Aggravated shifted to downright angry when Lockhart's team of valentine-delivering dwarves kept invading the classes, and even the students stopped deriving any amusement from this after a while. Harry had the misfortune to be caught by one in the middle of class and had a poem recited to him, complete with harp music.
The fifteenth was greeted with a collective sigh of relief.
The following weekend saw Harry and Ron being summoned to Dumbledore's office.
"It must be about the book," Harry supposed.
"It must be," Ron agreed. "Considering we didn't do anything to warrant being expelled."
"Maybe it's about the Polyjuice?" Hermione fretted, following them.
"If it was, they would have mentioned you—since it's me and Harry, and we're the ones who found it…."
They found out shortly, upon tromping up the stairs and giving the password to the griffin ("Jammy Dodger"). Dumbledore and Flitwick were both there, as was a handsome adult Fawkes (Dumbledore had been correct about baby phoenixes being adorable).
"Ah, Harry, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore greeted. "And Miss Granger! What a pleasant surprise—how fortunate that we have a spare cup for tea."
"Sorry," Hermione said, blushing.
"We told her about the book," Harry offered. "Is that what this is about?"
"It is indeed—although, Mr. Weasley, when we finish I must ask you about your brothers," Dumbledore told him. "Apparently there's more of them than I thought."
"It surprised us too," Ron offered.
Dumbledore nodded, pulled the book out, put it on his desk in front of them.
"You may examine it, if you'd like."
Harry did, surprised when he flicked it open that it was empty.
"Was it just a normal notebook?" Hermione asked, peering at it as Harry flicked to the front.
"It's fifty years old," he observed, looking at the printer's information. "Tom Riddle?"
"I know that name!" Ron blurted. At the looks he got: "When I got that detention, the one I had after I got hit by the slug-barfing spell? I had to help Filch clean the trophies in the trophy room, and that one I barfed all over. When you have to clean the same trophy for like three hours, you remember it."
"And do you know what Tom Riddle got the trophy for?" Dumbledore asked.
"Something about services to the school—it didn't elaborate."
Dumbledore nodded. "Theoretically, back when the Chamber was first opened, Tom found who did it and turned them in."
"Theoretically, sir?" Hermione asked.
"Theoretically—I always felt Tom had a greater hand in the events than he let on." Tap the book. "This suggests it as well." They watched as he procured a quill and inkwell, offered it to them. "Write something in it—the results may surprise you."
Harry glanced at Flitwick, who had been stonily silent throughout this. "Um…it's not going to hurt, is it?"
"Not a brief interaction, no."
Harry glanced at Ron, who shrugged—dipped the quill in the ink and wrote hello, my name is Harry Potter.
Ron swore when the ink vanished, prompting him to get whapped by Hermione—
Swore again, this time without retribution, when the ink returned.
Hello, Harry Potter. How did you manage to come by my diary?
"That was our reaction as well," Dumbledore said, when Harry dropped the quill.
"It's—a talking book?" Harry tried.
"No, unfortunately," Flitwick said, speaking for the first time since the meeting started. "Tom Riddle was a very accomplished student with an unhealthy fixation for darker arts—but I never thought he'd go there."
Dumbledore closed the diary.
"This is very important," he said gravely. "And if you can, I want you to answer honestly: have you seen this book before you found it?"
All three of them shook their heads.
"What is it, professor?" Hermione asked carefully.
"Something of deep concern. For you see, unless I am very much mistaken, it is Tom Riddle—or at least, a part of him."
Harry felt himself growing sick as Dumbledore explained what a Horcrux was.
"As a dark artefact, it can have a fell influence on anyone who was in prolonged contact with it," Flitwick explained. "You said someone tried to flush it away? Has anyone you know been behaving oddly?"
They all shook their heads, wracking their brains—no…no they didn't think so and how, precisely, did someone split their soul? Better yet, WHY?
"Alas, I do not know," Dumbledore said, putting the diary in a box before sealing the box with several spells. "But what I do know is a few means to destroy such an item—we've been doing some extra reading, you see."
They nodded, accepted more biscuits in an attempt to get the foul taste from their mouths.
"But for now, at least, that's one mystery solved," Dumbledore said, getting up and retrieving his pensive. "And since I see you need something brighter in your day—Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, I don't believe I explained a pensive to you…."
Seeing a baby fluffy Fawkes did put everyone in a better mood, as did puzzling out just how three extra Weasleys escaped their notice all this time.
It wasn't until they were back in their dorms and getting ready for bed that Snips let out a startled cry.
"What? What is it?" Harry squawked, diving after Snips as he rummaged through Harry's things, pulling out a sheet of paper. Neville and Seamus scrambled for ink, Dean managed to procure an inkwell first—
Snips wrote one word: Ginny.
Dead silence as the other boys looked to Ron, who had gone pale.
"Wait," Ron said, weakly. "Ginny got a diary this year…it's kind of black…."
"And old-looking?" Harry finished, feeling his stomach sink as well. When Ron nodded: "We need to make sure."
Percy was quickly informed, who asked the other prefect if she could retrieve Ginny from the girls' dorm. Fred and George materialized just as Ginny came downstairs with Hermione, who had heard Ginny's summons and figured something was up.
Something was.
"I want to open with you're not in trouble," Percy told Ginny. "Which, being a Weasley, you're going to hear a lot of please follow my scholarly path and not Fred and George's—"
"Oi," Fred and George barked.
Ron waved to redirect attention. "Ginny, you said you were keeping a diary this year, right?"
Harry could tell by the way all the color drained from Ginny's face that she knew exactly which diary they were talking about.
"It's okay, Ginny," Ron insisted. "We were just wondering where you got it."
Ginny looked like she thought this was an intervention, which is apparently what Fred and George sensed, since they got on either side of her and crouched down in that concerned older-brother way—which is what finally got her to break down. Professor McGonagall was summoned, and George carried Ginny as they all tromped up to Dumbledore's office.
Once there, Ginny explained in fits and spurts what happened as she was given tea that probably had a calming drought in it and offered jammy dodgers and allowed to pet Fawkes, who had sensed her distress and settled on her lap as soon as she sat down.
As it sat, her story was that she had received the diary in with her school things, and since her parents had gotten her books she had thought nothing of it. When she tried writing in it the first time the diary introduced herself, and yes she had thought it weird but since her parents got it it shouldn't have been bad so—
Snips poked Harry in the neck as Ginny went on to describe what Riddle made her do, how he made her black out and then she was coated in red paint and chicken feathers—he was behind Fred and George somewhat, so Snips could mime to his heart's content: someone snooty, stuck-up—
"Malfoy?" Harry guessed, prompting Snips to point at him.
"What about Malfoy?" Ron asked.
Snips dove under cover as attention shifted to Harry, who had to think—wait—
"At Flourish and Blotts!" Harry exclaimed. "When Mr. Malfoy grabbed one of Ginny's books—he took one but he put two back! I'd bet anything he slipped her the diary then!"
Dead silence followed this revelation.
"This is a very serious accusation, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Can you prove it?"
"I—no, not really, it's just my word against…wait—professor—the pensive? You said you could examine memories in it?"
Which led to retrieving of the pensive, which led to an impromptu lesson on extracting a memory to put in (Dumbledore did the actual extracting, citing that beginners often only got fragments), which led to Harry having to think hard on that day while Dumbledore pulled it out—
There was kind of a fuzzy feeling in his head after that, which Dumbledore assured him was normal.
"We should also retrieve the memories of the incident from the rest of you—preferably now—as corroborating evidence," Dumbledore said, prompting everyone else to file up.
The memories went into the pensive, and so did they a moment later.
"Wow, Harry," Fred observed. "So this is what it's like in your head."
"I like it," George said. "Very clean."
"Give it a few years."
McGonagall looked done enough for the whole school. "Mr. Weasley, both of you—"
"Can't dock points from us, ma'am, we're not in Hogwarts."
"We shall have to examine that loophole later," Dumbledore assured them, focusing on the altercation between the Weasleys and the Malfoys. "Harry, this here?"
"Yes," Harry said, running around so he'd be on the opposite end of the exchange and marveling at the fact that he was looking at himself glaring at Mr. Malfoy—watch as he slipped a hand in Ginny's cauldron—
"Right there," he said, pointing. "He only pulled out one—and there—he's putting two back—and the second one's the diary!"
They were back in Dumbledore's office moments later.
"The only issue with using memories as testimony is—like with regular memory—they can be faked. However," he said, holding up a hand to stave off the protests. "We should be able to prove it from examining the other memories, which should show the same sort of incident—and since we retrieved them before examining Harry's memory, they shouldn't be affected by them."
"So the memories don't change after they're in the pensive?" Hermione asked.
"No—it's what makes one of them so useful, you see."
"And no, you can't use one to store your memories of lectures, we've already been asked," Professor McGonagall said wearily.
"Dangit," was the collective sigh from all Weasleys currently in the room.