The Boy Who Couldn't See: Year 2

The Very Secret Diary

"— 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 —"

Harry hears receding footsteps and distant door slam. He blinks. What the hell happened?

"Myrtle," Ron says, obviously disappointed. "She flooded the bathroom."

"Well, it's either Myrtle or Snape's essay," Harry says.

"Let's go," Ron tugs Harry down the corridor and Harry laughs.

They enter Myrtle's bathroom, their shoes and socks steadily becoming soaking wet.

"What's up, Myrtle?" Harry asks loudly, making sure she can hear him over her wailing.

"Who's that?" Myrtle sniffles obnoxiously. "Come to throw something else at me?"

Harry walks toward her voice, "Why would I throw something at you?"

"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouts. "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," Harry says, trying to calm her down. "I mean, it'd just go right through you, wouldn't it?"

This does not calm her down. In fact, it makes it worse.

She begins shrieking, "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, I don't think!"

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

"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," Myrtle says. "It's over there, it got washed out..."

Harry blinks.

"Over here," Ron says, grabbing Harry's wrist and pulling him over. "It's under the sink."

Harry immediately reaches down to pick it up, his self-preservation skills really kicking in. Ron stops him quickly.

"What are you doing?"

"Picking it up?"

"It could be dangerous, Harry! Honestly, you'd think you hadn't been almost murdered last year..."

"What does that have to do with a book, Ronald?" Harry crosses his arms.

"I'm just saying! You should be more careful," Ron says. "You'd be surprised at all the bewitched books my dad has found."

"Fine," Harry says, faking surrender. Ron lets out a breath of relief and Harry quickly swoops down and picks up the book.

"Harry!"

"We won't find out unless we open it," Harry grins. He flips the book open. "See? No curses. I'm perfectly fine."

Ron sighs and snatches the book out of Harry's hands, earning a noise of protest from the boy. "T. M. Riddle."

"Hm?"

Ron makes a noise of disgust, "T. M. Riddle won an award fifty years ago for special services toward the school. It's in the trophy room, I scrubbed a hundred times. It's a diary."

"Why is a fifty-year-old diary just lying around?"

"It's empty," Ron says. "I wonder why somebody wanted to throw it away..."

Harry purses his lips.

"He bought it at a store on Vauxhall Road, London," Ron mutters.

"Must've been a muggleborn," Harry says.