Harry stared down at the small black book in his hands.
The cold water of Myrtle's bathroom still sloshed around the soles of his boots, but the Diary was bone-dry. He turned it over, thumbing through the pages. Every single one was completely blank, not a note, not a date, not even a stray ink smudge.
"Anything in it?" Ron called from the doorway, leaning against the jamb to keep his shoes out of the worst of the puddles.
"Nothing," said Harry, flicking through the creamy paper. "Not a word. Just the name on the front."
"T. M. Riddle," Ron repeated, frowning as Harry walked back towards him. "Wait a minute... I know that name. Where've I heard that before?"
"You recognise it?" Harry asked, looking up.
"Yeah... hang on." Ron tapped his forehead, squinting as he tried to remember. "Filch gave me detention, remember?"
"I had to polish all the silver in the trophy room without magic. I remember wiping slugs off one of the shields after my wand malfunctioned..." His face suddenly brightened. "Special Award for Services to the School! That was it. Riddle got an award fifty years ago."
Harry looked back down at the faded gold lettering stamped into the peeling leather.
T. M. RIDDLE
Beneath it was the date.
1943
"Fifty years ago," Harry muttered.
A strange thrill passed through his chest as the pieces suddenly seemed to slide closer together. He looked up at Ron, his eyes widening.
"Ron, that's when the Chamber was opened the first time."
Ron stared at him for a moment, then shook his head with his usual scepticism.
"Could just be a coincidence, mate. Maybe he won an award for getting thirty O.W.L.s or saving a teacher from a giant squid." Ron shrugged, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Why would someone throw a diary down a toilet if it was important?"
Harry looked down at the Diary again.
He didn't have an answer.
But something about the little black book suddenly felt much more important than it had a minute ago.
Hermione left the Hospital Wing at the beginning of February, finally de-whiskered, tail-less, and completely free of fur.
Her return to Gryffindor Tower was met with considerable relief from Harry and Ron, who had grown tired of visiting her under Madam Pomfrey's watchful eye and listening to her complain about missing lessons.
That evening, once the three of them had settled into a quieter corner of the common room, Harry pulled the little black Diary from beneath his robes and placed it on the table as they told her the story of how they found it.
Hermione's eyes immediately brightened. "Oooh, it might have hidden powers," she said enthusiastically, picking it up and examining the faded leather from every angle.
"If it has, it's hiding them very well," Ron said. "Maybe it's shy. I still don't know why you don't chuck it, Harry."
Hermione placed the Diary flat on the table and leaned closer. " We know the person who opened the Chamber last time was expelled from Hogwarts fifty years ago. We also know that T. M. Riddle received an award for special services to the school around the same time. What if Riddle was the one who discovered who the Heir of Slytherin was?"
Harry frowned. Hermione was already building the theory in her head.
"If that's true, then his Diary might contain everything he learned," she continued. "It could tell us where the Chamber is, how to open it, and what sort of creature lives inside. And if whoever is behind the attacks knows that, they wouldn't want a Diary like this lying around where someone could find it, would they?"
Ron stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. "That's a brilliant theory, Hermione, with just one tiny little flaw."
"What?"
"There's nothing written in it."
Hermione paused.
Then her eyes narrowed.
"Unless it's invisible ink."
Before either boy could object, she was already pulling her wand from her bag. Hermione tapped the Diary three times and pointed her wand at its blank pages.
"Aparecium!"
Nothing happened.
Hermione stared at the Diary.
Harry waited.
Ron grinned.
"Well?"
Hermione ignored him. She shoved her wand back into her bag and immediately began rummaging through it again. A moment later, she pulled out what looked like a bright red eraser.
"It's a Revealer," she explained, holding it up proudly. "I got it in Diagon Alley."
She opened the Diary to the first page and rubbed the Revealer firmly across the parchment.
Nothing happened.
She rubbed harder.
Still nothing.
Ron leaned back in his chair. "I'm telling you, there's nothing to find in there. Riddle probably got a Diary for Christmas and couldn't be bothered filling it in."
Harry looked down at the blank page.
For some reason, he wasn't convinced.
The Diary had survived being submerged in a sink without becoming wet. It had been hidden for fifty years and somehow ended up in his hands at exactly the right time. And yet, despite all of that, there wasn't a single word inside it.
Hermione closed the Revealer with a disappointed snap.
"Maybe," she said slowly, "we just haven't figured out how to make it show us."
Harry looked at her.
Then at the Diary.
A strange thought began to form in the back of his mind.
Perhaps there was another way to learn what was written in it.
Harry ignored the whispers that followed him as he made his way back to the dormitory. He climbed the spiral staircase to the boys' four-poster dormitory, drew the heavy velvet curtains around his bed, and finally allowed himself to sit down in the quiet darkness.
For a few moments, he listened to the muffled sounds of the common room below. Then he reached beneath his robes and pulled out the small black Diary, placing it carefully on the bed beside him.
Harry dipped his quill into the ink bottle. He hesitated over the first page, feeling slightly foolish. He wasn't entirely sure what he expected to happen, but there was only one way to find out.
Steeling himself, he touched the nib to the parchment.
*My name is Harry Potter.*
Ethan felt the connection form the instant the boy wrote his name.
It was thinner than the link he had maintained with Ginny, still fragile, yet unmistakably present.
The dark ink sat on the surface for half a second. Then, as though the parchment had suddenly become porous, it soaked straight into the page and vanished without leaving a trace.
Harry gasped softly and pulled his quill back.
Before he could move any further, words began to appear in the very centre of the page, the letters forming one after another in neat, elegant handwriting.
*Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. *
Harry's heart thumped against his ribs. He gripped the quill a little tighter and pressed the nib against the page again.
*Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?*
The words dissolved smoothly into the white space.
For several seconds, nothing appeared.
Then the Diary answered.
*Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my time at Hogwarts, most students believed it was nothing more than a legend. The teachers insisted that it did not exist, and everyone was expected to leave the matter alone.*
Another line appeared.
*But it was not a legend.*
Harry leaned closer.
*In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened. A monster emerged from within it and attacked several students. One of them was killed.*
*I discovered who had opened the Chamber and brought the matter to the attention of the headmaster. The student was expelled, but Professor Dippet was deeply ashamed that something so terrible had happened at Hogwarts. He ordered me to keep the matter secret.*
Harry stared at the words.
Another sentence appeared beneath them.
*They gave me a shiny silver trophy and told me not to speak of the Chamber again.*
*But I knew the danger had not truly gone away,* Ethan continued. *The creature had not been destroyed. And if the Chamber could be opened once, there was always the possibility that someone might open it again.*
Harry nearly spilled his ink bottle in his hurry to write back.
*It's happening again now. There have been two attacks, and no one seems to know who's behind them. Who opened the Chamber last time?*
The Diary remained blank. Then the answer appeared.
*I can show you.*
Then another line slowly appeared.
*If you truly want to know what happened fifty years ago, I can show you.*
Harry's heart began beating faster.
*How?*
The answer came almost immediately.
*You don't have to take my word for it, Harry. I can show you my memory of the night I discovered the Chamber and caught the person responsible.*
Harry stared at the page.
A memory.
How could he see inside someone's memory? Harry didn't know.
His quill hovered over the page.
For the first time since the attacks had begun, Harry felt as though he might finally be close to discovering the truth.
He lowered the quill.
*Show me.*
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