The Chamber of Secrets | Hermione Granger x Male Reader (Book Two)

16. Tom Riddle's Diary

Y/N's POV

Me, Harry and Ron were walking out of the Hospital Wing, we had just left Hermione and was on our way back to the Common Room, when we saw Filch.

"You don't think someone else's been attacked?" Ron asked tensely.

We stood still, our heads inclined toward Filch's voice, which sounded quite hysterical.

"-even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore-"

His footsteps receded along the out of sight corridor and we heard a distant door slam.

We poked our heads around the corner and we could see that we were once again at the spot where Mrs Norris had been attacked. We saw at a glance what Filch had been shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Now that Filch had stopped shouting, we could hear Myrtle's wails echoing off the bathroom walls.

"Now what's up with her?" Ron asked.

"Let's go and see," I said, and holding our robes over our ankles we stepped through the great wash of water to the door bearing its OUT OF ORDER sign, ignored it as always, and entered.

Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet. It was dark in the bathroom because the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.

"What's up, Myrtle?" I said.

"Who's that?" Myrtle said miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"

I waded across to her stall and said. "Why would I throw something at you?"

"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor, "here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me..."

"But it can't hurt you if someone throws something at you," said Harry, reasonably, "I mean, it'd just go right through you, wouldn't it?"

Harry had said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked. "Let's all throw books at Myrtle, because she can't feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game!"

"Who threw it at you, anyway?" asked Harry.

"I don't know...I was just sitting in the U bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head," said Myrtle, glaring at us, "it's over there, it got washed out..."

I made my way over to the book and was about to pick it up when Ron held me back.

"Are you crazy?" exclaimed Ron. "It could be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" I said, laughing. "Come on, how could it be dangerous?"

"You'd be surprised," said Ron, who was looking apprehensively at the book, "some of the books the Ministry's confiscated dad's told me, there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And-"

"All right, I've got the point," I said, "we're never going to find out about it if we don't pick it up."

After I said that, I rushed past Ron and grabbed the book.

I saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told me it was fifty years old. I opened it eagerly. On the first page, I could just make out the name 'T.M. Riddle' in smudged ink.

"Hang on," said Ron, who had approached cautiously and was looking over my shoulder, "I know that name...T.M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago."

"How on earth d'you know that?" said Harry in amazement.

"Because Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times in detention," said Ron resentfully.

I peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely blank. There wasn't the faintest trace of writing on any of them.

"He never wrote in it," I said, disappointed.

"I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?" said Ron curiously.

I then turned to the back cover of the book and saw something printed, Vauxhall Road, London.

"He must've been Muggle-born," said Harry. "Vauxhall Road in London is a store."

"Well, it's not much use to us," said Ron. He dropped his voice, "fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle's nose, Y/N" I ignored him and pocketed it.

When Hermione finally left the Hospital Wing, she was intrigued by this diary.

"Oooh, it might have hidden powers," said Hermione enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it closely.

"Wonder what he got a special award for." Harry said.

"Could've been anything," said Ron, "maybe he got thirty O.W.Ls or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered Myrtle, that would've done everyone a favour..."

I had this far fetched theory. "Well, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, wasn't it?" I said.

"And this diary is fifty years old," said Hermione, tapping it excitedly.

"And?" Ron said, dumbfounded.

"Oh, Ron, wake up," snapped Hermione.

I then said, "We know the person who opened the Chamber last time was expelled fifty years ago. We know T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago. Well, what if Riddle got his special award for catching the Heir of Slytherin? His diary would probably tell us everything, where the Chamber is, and how to open it, and what sort of creature lives in it, the person who's behind the attacks this time wouldn't want that lying around, would they?"

"That's a brilliant theory, Y/N," said Ron, "with just one tiny little flaw. There's nothing written in his diary."

Hermione was one step ahead, she got her wand out. "It might be invisible ink!" she whispered.

She tapped the diary three times and said. "Aparecium!"

Nothing worked.

Until one time, I got my quill out and wrote in it. No one was there, it was just me, I wrote something and there was a reply.

My name is Y/N L/N

Hello Y/N, I am Tom Marvelo Riddle

From there, we talked. For hours. I don't think I got much sleep that night.