Emma Potter

42: Tom Marvello Riddle

I told Draco about it, not Harry and Ron; but the diary. "Are you crazy?" said Draco. "It could be dangerous." 

"Dangerous?" I said, laughing. "Come off it, how could it bedangerous?""You'd be surprised," said Draco, who was looking apprehensivelyat the book. "Some of the books the Ministry's confiscated — my father's told me — there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for therest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that youcould never stop reading! You just had to wander around with yournose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And —"

 "All right, I've got the point," I said.The little book lay on the table between us, nondescript and soggy."Well, we won't find out unless we look at it," I said, and I picked it off the table. I had noticed at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on thecover told me it was fifty years old. I opened it eagerly. On thefirst page I could just make out the name "T. M. Riddle" insmudged ink."Hang on," said Draco, was edging closer cautiously and was peering at the book. 

"I know that name. . . . T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago. My father's told me." "Hold on" I whispered "We know the personwho opened the Chamber last time was expelled fifty years ago. Weknow T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the schoolfifty 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 sortof creature lives in it — the person who's behind the attacks thistime wouldn't want that lying around, would they?" 

"That's a brilliant theory, Emma," scoffed Draco, flipping through the pages with a tentive hand "with just onetiny little flaw. There's nothing written in his diary." I snatched the book and flipped through it. He was right.

 I couldn't explain, even to myself, why I didn't just throwRiddle's diary away. The fact was that even though I knew the diary was blank, I kept absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages, as though it were a story I wanted to finish. Andwhile I was sure I had never heard the name T. M. Riddlebefore, it still seemed to mean something to me, almost as though Riddle was a friend I had when I was very small, and had half forgotten. But this was absurd. I'd never had friends beforeHogwarts, Dudley had made sure of that. 

Nevertheless, I was determined to find out more aboutRiddle, so next day at break, I headed for the trophy room to examine Riddle's special award, accompanied by an interested zoe and Nicholas and a thoroughly unconvinced Draco, who told us he'dseen enough of the trophy room to last him a lifetime.Riddle's burnished gold shield was tucked away in a corner cabinet. It didn't carry details of why it had been given to him.  However, we did find Riddle's name on an old Medal forMagical Merit, and on a list of old Head Boys.

So nothing.

Lockhart's idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfasttime on February fourteenth. I hadn't had much sleep becauseof homework the night before I hurried down to the Great Hall, slightly late. I thought, for a moment, that I'd walked through the wrong doors.The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. I went over to the Slytherin table, where Nicholas was sittinglooking sickened, Draco looked bored and Zoe seemed to have been overcomewith giggles."What's going on?" I asked them, sitting down and wipingconfetti off my bacon.

No one. Touches. My. Bacon.

 Draco pointed to the teachers' table, apparently too disgusted tospeak. Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. The teachers on either side of himwere looking stony-faced. From where he sat, I could see amuscle going in McGonagall's cheek. Snape looked asthough someone had just fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro."Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted. "And may I thankthe forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have takenthe liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all — and itdoesn't end here!"Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to theentrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just anydwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings andcarrying harps. "That stupid-" I began

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart. "Theywill be roving around the school today delivering your valentines!And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want toenter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snapeto show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it,Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantmentsthan any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion wouldbe force-fed poison. 

"Please, Zoe, tell me you weren't one of the forty-six," said Nicholas as they left the Great Hall for their first lesson. Zoe suddenly became very interested in searching her bag for her scheduleand didn't answer.All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to delivervalentines, to the annoyance of the teachers, and late that afternoon as the Gryffindors were walking up to transfiguration and Slytherins were walking upstairs for Charms, one ofthe dwarfs caught up with Harry.

 "Oy, you! 'Arry Potter!" shouted a particularly grim-lookingdwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry.Hot all over at the thought of being given a valentine in front ofa line of first years, which happened to include Ginny,Harry tried to escape. I'm mad at the idiot, but...poor guys. The dwarf, however, cut his way through thecrowd by kicking people's shins, and reached him before he'd gonetwo paces."I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in person,"he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way."Not here," Harry hissed, trying to escape. 

"Stay still !" grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry's bag andpulling him back."Let me go!" Harry snarled, tugging.With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books, wand,parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottlesmashed over everything.Harry scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarfstarted singing, causing something of a holdup in the corridor. "What's going on here?" came the voice of Draco. Harry started stuffing everything feverishly into his rippedbag, desperate to get away before we could hear his musicalvalentine."What's all this commotion?" said another familiar voice asPercy Weasley arrived.Losing his head, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarfseized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor."Right," he said, sitting on Harry's ankles. 

"Here is your singingvalentine:His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,His hair is as dark as a blackboard.I wish he was mine, he's really divine,The hero who conquered the Dark Lord."  Trying valiantly to laugh along with everyone else, I gotup, his feet numb from the weight of the dwarf, as Percy Weasley didhis best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth."Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off toclass, now," he said, shooing some of the younger students away."And you, Malfoy —"  "will be going now" I say shoving him. 'Is that written somewhere?" I whisper to the dwarf handing me a note he dwaddled off. I stared at the name. Ginny. Oh....

After Homework. I sat on my four-poster and flicked through the blankpages, not one of which had a trace of scarlet ink on it. Then I pulled a new bottle out of my bedside cabinet, dipped my quill intoit, and dropped a blot onto the first page of the diary.The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, asthough it was being sucked into the page, vanished. Excited, I loaded up his quill a second time and wrote, "My name is Emma Potter."The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sankwithout trace. Then, at last, something happened.Oozing back out of the page, in my very own ink, came words I had never written. 

"Hello, Emma Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you comeby my diary?"These words, too, faded away, but not before I had startedto scribble back."Someone tried to flush it down a toilet." I waited eagerly for Riddle's reply."Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way thanink. But I always knew that there would be those who would not wantthis diary read."