I lay in bed, I had only just gotten back from the Gryffindor common room, and couldn't fall asleep.
In the end I pulled out the diary Ginny had given me, flipping through it absent-mindedly, until.
"Ouch." I muttered, as I cut up finger on one of the pages drawing blood. Strangely though but blood didn't stain the page, one second it was there a red spot on a blank piece of parchment, and then it was gone. As if nothing had even been there.
I stared down at it confused, before I let another drop of blood drip onto the page. Just like before it stayed there for a moment before it vanished once more.
Interested I pressed my entire finger onto the page, smearing the blood around on the page. Suddenly the book gave a shudder, the pages seemed to be excited about my blood, before it lay still once more.
It remained like this for a minute, and I was just about to put it way when writing appeared on the page.
Hello.
Confused I stared at the words as the disappeared back into the page. Hurriedly I grabbed a pot of ink and a quill out of my bag and wrote Hello on the page.
My name is Tom Riddle.
"My name is (Y/n) Weasley." I wrote back. The words disappeared and it took a full minute before writing appeared again.
Are you sure?
I stared down at the page confused. What was that supposed to mean.
"What do you mean?" I wrote back.
Perhaps I am mistaken. I thought
The sentence ended there, and I wrote back "Thought what?"
Nothing. Surely I must be mistaken.
I thought for a second before I wrote the first thing that came to mind, something I'd been thinking about for a while.
"Did you know that muggles used to kill wizards?" I wrote, wanting to talk to someone about it.
Oh yes, and they done much worse than that.
"They have?" I wrote.
They've been persecuting us for centuries and yet we're the ones in hiding.
"That's what I thought!" I wrote back glad I found someone who agreed.
Not just us, but each other as well. They've had two wars where they've killed each other.
"They've killed each other? What for?"
For having different beliefs.
"That's it? They killed each other for that?"
Yes they did.
"And yet we have to hide? They're the ones scared of us?"
Exactly, if you ask me it should be us that rule over them.
I thought about this for a second, I had never fully though about it, but it made sense. If wizards ruled over muggles we could help them, make sure they didn't slaughter each other for different beliefs.
"Who are you anyway?" I wrote.
Tom Riddle.
"You said that already. I mean who are?"
It would be easier to show you.
Show me? What did that mean. "Ok" was all I wrote back, and suddenly the pages of the book began to flutter, flipping back to the beginning of the book, and I was sucked in.
Suddenly I found myself standing in my room at the orphanage. Hang on... what was I thinking? I never lived in an orphanage. As soon as I had thought this was my room it was already gone, I had never seen this room before and I had no idea why I thought I had.
It was a fairly bare room, with only a bed, a desk and a wardrobe. Sitting at the desk was a young boy, with dark black hair, writing in a diary, before the scene seemed to flicker and disappear, before a new one took its place, almost like pages of a book being flipped.
"I have these power..." the boy said as he sat on his bed talking to an older looking woman.
"Nonsense, you just have an overactive imagination." The lady said.
"No you don't understand. I can do things, make things float, set things on fire... talk to snakes." The boy said again.
"Sure you can dear." The lady said.
"That'sss what they all sssay." The boy almost seemed to hiss.
"Oh well isn't that a good impression. You sound just like a snake." The lady said with the smile. The boy however seemed to glare at her.
Once more the pages seemed to flicker before they settled once more. This time the picture settled on what looked like the Slytherin common room.
I almost jumped with surprise. The boy standing in front of me looked like a younger version of the man I saw in the mirror of Erised.
I felt like I was pulling myself out of a small space, before I found myself sitting on my bed once more.
"I saw you." I wrote rapidly on the book. "In the mirror of Erised!"
And what was it you desired?
My hand seemed to move on it's own as I wrote only one word.
"Answers"
We have a lot to talk about
...
Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits.
He usually picked Harry to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him.
Harry was hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time acting a werewolf. If he hadn't had a very good reason for keeping Lockhart in a good mood, he would have refused to do it.
"Nice loud howl, Harry — exactly — and then, if you'll believe it, I pounced — like this — slammed him to the floor — thus with one hand, I managed to hold him down — with my other, I put my wand to his throat — I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm -
"he let out a piteous moan — go on, Harry — higher than that — good — the fur vanished — the fangs shrank — and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective — and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks."
The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet.
"Homework — compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of Magical Me to the author of the best one!"
"Another thing I'm not doing." I muttered gathering my things.
The class began to leave and Harry returned to the back of the room, where Ron, Hermione, and I were waiting.
"Ready?" Harry muttered.
"Can't we just curse him and take his signature?" I asked.
"No we can not. Now, wait till everyone's gone," said Hermione nervously. "All right..."
She approached Lockhart's desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Harry and Ron right behind her, while I sulked a bit behind them.
"Er — Professor Lockhart?" Hermione stammered. "I wanted to — to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading."
She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. "But the thing is, it's in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it — I'm sure it would help me understand what you say in Gadding with Ghouls about slow-acting venoms."
"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" said Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. "Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it?"
"Oh, yes," said Hermione eagerly. "So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea strainer —"
"Well, I'm sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year a little extra help," said Lockhart warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. "Yes, nice, isn't it?" he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron's face.
"Looks like someone's overcompensating for something." I muttered, forcing Ron and Harry to stifle their laughter.
"I usually save it for book- signings."
He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.
"So, Harry," said Lockhart, while Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag. "Tomorrow's the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you're a useful player. I was a Seeker, too.
"I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of the Dark Forces. Still, if ever you feel the need for a little private training, don't hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my expertise to less able players..."
"Yeah actually Harry needs some help dodging bludgers, d'you reckon you could give him a practical demonstration?" I asked, hoping he would agree so I would have an excuse to smack bludgers at him.
"Er perhaps another time, but I could talk you through the time I-"
"Pass." I said cutting him off and heading to the door with Ron and Harry close behind, and a panicked looking Hermione apologizing profusely.
"I don't believe it," Harry said as the four of us examined the signature on the note. "He didn't even look at the book we wanted."
"That's because he's a brainless git," said Ron. "But who cares, we've got what we needed—"
"He is not a brainless git," said Hermione shrilly as they half ran toward the library.
"No you're right, that would be an insult to people without brains." I said snidely.
"Have you ever read his books?" Hermione said to me angrily.
"Just because he said you were the best student of the year —"
We dropped our voices as we entered the muffled stillness of the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture.
"Moste Potente Potions?" she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn't let go.
"I was wondering if I could keep it," she said breathlessly.
"Oh, come on," said Ron, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. "We'll get you another autograph. Lockhart'll sign anything if it stands still long enough."
Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later carrying a large and moldy-looking book.
Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty. Five minutes later, we were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle's out-of-order bathroom once again.
Hermione had overridden Ron's objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so we were guaranteed some privacy. Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily in her stall, but we were ignoring her, the same as she was ignoring us.
Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions carefully, and the four of us bent over the dampspotted pages. It was clear from a glance why it belonged in the Restricted Section.
Some of the potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there were some very unpleasant illustrations, which included a man who seemed to have been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head.
"Here it is," said Hermione excitedly as she found the page headed The Polyjuice Potion. It was decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people.
"This is the most complicated potion I've ever seen," said Hermione as they scanned the recipe. "Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass," she murmured, running her finger down the list of ingredients. "Well, they're easy enough, they're in the student store-cupboard, we can help ourselves... Oooh, look, powdered horn of a bicorn — don't know where we're going to get that — shredded skin of a boomslang — that'll be tricky, too and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into."
"Excuse me?" said Ron sharply. "What d'you mean, a bit of whoever we're changing into? I'm drinking nothing with Crabbe's toenails in it —"
Hermione continued as though she hadn't heard him.
"We don't have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last..." Ron turned, speechless, to Harry and me, who had another worry.
"D'you realize how much we're going to have to steal, Hermione? Shredded skin of a boomslang, that's definitely not in the students' cupboard. What're we going to do, break into Snape's private stores? I don't know if this is a good idea..."
"I'm more than happy to steal stuff." I told them.
Hermione shut the book with a snap.
"I don't want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don't want to find out if it's Malfoy, I'll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in.'
"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be persuading us to break rules," said Ron. "All right, we'll do it. But not toenails, okay?"
"How long will it take to make, anyway?" said Harry as Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again.
"Well, since the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty-one days... I'd say it'd be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients."
"A month?" said Ron. "Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!" But Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously again, and he added swiftly, "But it's the best plan we've got, so full steam ahead, I say."
However, while Hermione was checking that the coast was clear for them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harry and me, "It'll be a lot less hassle if you can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow."
I woke early on Saturday morning thinking about the coming Quidditch match. I was nervous, mainly at the thought of having to pay against Harry. After half an hour of lying in bed I got up, dressed quickly, and went down to breakfast early, where I found the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table Gryffindor all looking uptight and not speaking much.
I nodded at Harry, Fred, and George before hurrying over to the Slytherin table and joining the rest of the team, who were also huddled and just as quiet.
As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium.
"You'll be great (Y/n)!" I heard a dreamy voice call to me as I walked down to wards the pitch. I turned to see Luna waving towards me sporting an emerald green scarf with a snake snitched along the length of it.
"Thanks Luna!" I called to her smiling.
It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish me a quick good luck before I entered the locker rooms.
I pulled on my emerald green uniform nervously along with the rest of the team.
"Alright." Flint barked at us. "It's the first match of the season, so we'd better start this off right. We have better brooms than they do so we should be able to out play them. The main thing we need to watch out for is Potter.
"That's your job Malfoy." Malfoy, who was looking extremely, nodded at this. "Weasley I expect to see you flying well out there you've shown a lot of promise at practice."
And with that we walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them; a mixture of cheers and boos. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.
"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three... two... one..."
With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky.
I soared up into the sky, getting to the quaffle first, grabbing it and speeding off towards the Gryffindor goals posts as a heavy black Bludger went rocketing past me.
I dodged it easily streaking towards to Gryffindor goal, easily outpacing the Gryffindor chasers, and easily throwing the quaffle past Wood and into the right goal.
A cheer erupted from the Slytherin's in the stand as the Gryffindor's groaned.
"That's Slytherin with the first goal, ten points to zero." Lee Jordan said bitterly. "(Y/n) Weasley is showing promise, seems like quidditch runs in the family, shame he's in Slytherin."
That's all I allowed myself to listen to as one of the Gryffindor chasers sped past me with the quaffle. I sped after them, zipping in front and knocking the quaffle from their hands, heading off back down the pitch, and scoring once more.
It wasn't too much longer that it started to rain; i could feel heavy drops fall onto my face. The score was one hundred to zero, and I had scored five of those goals.
Our superior brooms were clearly outpacing the Gryffindor's brooms, when Madam Hooch's whistle rang out calling for a time out.
"Weasley!" Flint barked at me grinning widely. "I knew I made a good choice picking you."
"Why'd they call a time out?" Malfoy asked sneering over at the Gryffindor's. "Must be scared to lose."
"Don't get cocky Malfoy." Flint told him sternly. "You haven't caught the snitch yet and we don't have enough of a lead for Gryffindor to get it."
"Play is about to resume." Madame Hooch said making her way towards us.
The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's whistle, I kicked hard into the air and saw a bludger whip right towards Harry.
I shot down the field towards Katie Bell, who had the quaffle, missing her by an inch, turning my broom swiftly and shooting back towards her, almost knocking her off her broom as I grabbed the quaffle from her.
Speeding back towards the Gryffindor goal post I was forced to pass to Flint and roll my broom to avoid having my head taken off, when suddenly I heard.
WHAM.
I swerved around to see Harry barley holding onto his broom, his right arm dangling limp by his side. He must've been hit by a bludger.
Suddenly he dived heading towards Malfoy below him, who swerved out of the way at the last moment.
I watched as Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch, before with a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle.
I sped down towards Harry, landing next to him and running over to him, checking to make sure he was still alive.
"Out of the way!" Lockhart cried pushing me out of the way and bending over Harry as people from the crowd rushed onto the field.
"Oh, no, not you," Harry moaned.
"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of people pressing around us.
"You know when people say no they mean no." I snarled at Lockhart, who just ignored me.
"Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."
"No!" said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks..."
He tried to sit up, but slumped back down almost immediately.
"I don't want a photo of this, Colin," he said loudly.
"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times —"
"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" said Harry through clenched teeth.
"He should really, Professor," said a muddy Wood, who couldn't help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. "Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, I'd say —"
"Is this really the best time Wood?" I asked him.
"Stand back," said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves.
"I really didn't think that's the best Lockhart." I growled at him.
"No — don't —" said Harry weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry's arm.
I stared in disbelief as the bones in Harry's arm seemed to have disappeared, as his arm swung useless at his side.
"You blithering idiot!" I screamed at Lockhart.
"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing — ah, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, would you escort him? — and Madam Pomfrey will be able to — er — tidy you up a bit."
"How stupid can you be!" I shouted at Lockhart. "Can you even do magic!" I felt an anger rising inside of me.
"Look look now that's just uncalled for, it was a simple mistake-" Lockhart started, but he didn't get to finish as the anger inside me reached a boiling point and I shoved him as hard as I could into the mud.
I stepped over Lockhart, and grabbed Harry's arm helping him towards the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey was not pleased when we got there.
"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up the sad, limp remainder of what, half an hour before, had been a working arm. "I can mend bones in a second — but growing them back —"
"I told him we should have." I told her bitterly, still upset at Lockhart.
"You will be able to, won't you?" said Harry desperately.
"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," said Madam Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas. "You'll have to stay the night..."
Hermione waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed while Ron and I helped him into his pajamas. It took a while to stuff the rubbery, boneless arm into a sleeve.
"How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?" Ron called through the curtain as he pulled Harry's limp fingers through the cuff. "If Harry had wanted deboning he would have asked."
"Anyone can make a mistake," said Hermione. "And it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Harry?"
"Doesn't hurt? Are you serious Hermione! He's got no bones!" I said to her angrily.
"Well it was no cause to push him!" Hermione shot back angrily.
"Believe me I would've done a lot worse if he was alone." I retorted.
As Ron and I helped Harry swing himself onto the bed, his arm flapped pointlessly, Hermione and Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey was holding a large bottle of something labeled Skele-Gro.
"You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business."
Still tut-tutting about dangerous sports and inept teachers, Madam Pomfrey retreated, leaving Ron and Hermione to help Harry gulp down some water. "We won, though," said Ron, a grin breaking across his face.
"What do you mean 'we'?" I asked Ron.
"Well you know what I mean (Y/n)." Ron said to me. "And you had some pretty spectacular goals anyway. And Harry that was some catch you made. Malfoy's face... he looked ready to kill..."
"I want to know how he fixed that Bludger," said Hermione darkly.
"We can add that to the list of questions we'll ask him when we've taken the Polyjuice Potion," said Harry, sinking back onto his pillows. "I hope it tastes better than this stuff..."
"If it's got bits of Slytherins in it? You've got to be joking," said Ron.
The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry. "Unbelievable flying, Harry," said George. "I've just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn't seem too happy."
They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice; they gathered around Harry's bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting,
"This boy needs rest, he's got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!"
And so we parted ways, everyone wishing Harry a speedy recovery as Ron, Hermione, and the Gryffindor team heading up towards the Gryffindor common room, and I headed down towards the dungeons.
A few people congratulated me on my goals, while most were upset about the loss. Once I had showered and changed into my pajamas I climbed into bed and pulled out the old diary Ginny had asked me to keep.
I had been writing to Tom almost every night since I had first found Tom replied to me.
Are you there Tom?
Yes I am. How was the match?
Not bad we lost sadly, Harry was just too good.
Harry? Harry who?
My friend Harry Potter.
Interesting. I'm sorry you lost.
Yeah it's annoying, but not as annoying as Lockhart.
Who's that?
One of my teachers Gilderoy Lockhart. He's such a fraud he can't even teach.
I can always teach you a few spells, things you could actually use.
That would be amazing.
Well then let's get started.
I felt myself lift up off the bed, almost as though I was being sucked into the diary.
I found myself standing in a deserted classroom next to who I assumed was Tom Riddle.
"Flipendo!" Tom said holding his wand out in his hand.
I understood what Tom had meant by teaching me spells, and I pulled out my own wand mimicking what he was doing.
...
I spent what felt like hours practicing spells with Tom, a few were simple, such as Flipendo and Incendio, while others I couldn't seem to get the hand of. I had particular trouble with what Tom called the Knee-reversal hex.
When I finally felt myself lift out of the diary I found myself lying on the bathroom floor, the diary next to me, unable to recall how I got there.
Getting up a little uneasily I snatched up the diary and made my way stealthily back to the dungeons and into bed.