wled. "M-Millicent Bulstrode
*225*
m-must have a cat! And the p-potion isn't supposed to be used for
animal transformations!"
"Uh-oh," said Ron.
"You'll be teased something dreadful," said Myrtle happily.
"It's okay, Hermione," said Harry quickly. "We'll take you up to the
hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions ......
It took a long time to persuade Hermione to leave the bathroom.
Moaning Myrtle sped them on their way with a hearty guffaw. "Wait
till everyone finds out you've got a tail!"
ermione remained in the hospital wing for several weeks. There was a
flurry of rumor about her disappearance when the rest of the school
arrived back from their Christmas holidays, because of course
everyone thought that she had been attacked. So many students filed
past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of her that Madam
Pomfrey took out her curtains again and placed them around
Hermione's bed, to spare her the shame of being seen with a furry
face.
Harry and Ron went to visit her every evening. When the new term
started, they brought her each day's homework.
"If Id sprouted whiskers, Id take a break from work," said Ron, tipping
a stack of books onto Hermione's bedside table one evening.
"Don't be silly, Ron, I've got to keep up," said Hermione briskly. Her
spirits were greatly improved by the fact that all the hair had
* "21 *
194
gone from her face and her eyes were turning slowly back to brown.
"I don't suppose you've got any new leads?" she added in a whisper,
so that Madam Pomfrey couldn't hear her.
"Nothing," said Harry gloomily.
"I was so sure it was Malfoy," said Ron, for about the hundredth time.
"What's that?" asked Harry, pointing to something gold sticking out
from under Hermione's pillow.
"Just a get well card," said Hermione hastily, trying to poke it out of
sight, but Ron was too quick for her. He pulled it out, flicked it open,
and read aloud:
"To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned
teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class,
Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner
of Witch Weekly's Most- Charming-Smile Award. "
Ron looked up at Hermione, disgusted.
"You sleep with this under your pillow?"
But Hermione was spared answering by Madam Pomfrey sweeping
over with her evening dose of medicine.
"Is Lockhart the smarmiest bloke you've ever met, or what?" Ron
said to Harry as they left the infirmary and started up the stairs
toward Gryffindor Tower. Snape had given them so much
homework, Harry thought he was likely to be in the sixth year before
he finished it. Ron was just saying he wished he had asked Hermione
how many rat tails you were supposed to add to a HairRaising
Potion when an angry outburst from the floor above reached their
ears.
"That's Filch," Harry muttered as they hurried up the stairs and
paused, out of sight, listening hard.
* 228*
195
"You don't think someone else's been attacked?" said Ron tensely.
They stood still, their heads inclined toward Flich'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 they heard a
distant door slam.
They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had clearly been
manning his usual lookout post: They were once again on the spot
where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. They 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, they could hear Myrtle's wails echoing off the
bathroom walls.
"Now what's up with her?" said Ron.
"Let's go and see," said Harry, and holding their robes over their
ankles they 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?" said Harry.
"Who's that?" glugged Myrtle miserably. "Come to throw something
else at me?"
Harry waded across to her stall and said, "Why would I throw
something at you?"
*229*
"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more
196
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?"
He 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, I don't think!"
"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 them. "It's over there, it got washed out ......
Harry and Ron looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A
small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as
wet as everything else in the bathroom. Harry stepped forward to
pick it up, but Ron suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back.
"What?" said Harry.
"Are you crazy?" said Ron. "It could be dangerous."
"Dangerous?"said Harry, laughing. "Come off it, 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
*2%0*
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 -"
197
"All right, I've got the point," said Harry.
The little book lay on the floor, nondescript and soggy.
"Well, we won't find out unless we look at it," he said, and he ducked
around Ron and picked it up off the floor.
Harry saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover
told him it was fifty years old. He opened it eagerly. On the first page
he could just make out the name "T M. Riddle" in smudged ink.
"Hang on," said Ron, who had approached cautiously and was looking
over Harry's 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. "That was the one I burped slugs all
over. If you'd wiped slime off a name for an hour, you'd remember it,
too."
Harry peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely blank.
There wasn't the faintest trace of writing on any of them, not even
Auntie Mabel's birthday, or dentist, half-past three.
"He never wrote in it," said Harry, disappointed.
"I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?" said Ron curiously.
Harry turned to the back cover of the book and saw the printed name
of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.
*231 *
"He must've been Muggle-born," said Harry thoughtfufly. "To have
bought a diary from Vauxhall Road ......
"Well, it's not much use to you," said Ron. He dropped his voice. "Fifty
points if you can get it through Myrtle's nose."
Harry, however, pocketed it.
198
Hermione left the hospital wing, de-whiskered, tail-less, and furfree, at
the beginning of February. On her first evening back in Gryffindor
Tower, Harry showed her T. M. Riddle's diary and told her the story
of how they had found it.
"Oooh, it might have hidden powers," said Hermione enthusiastically,
taking the diary and looking at it closely.
"If it has, it's hiding them very well," said Ron. "Maybe it's shy. I don't
know why you don't chuck it, Harry."
"I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it," said Harry. "I
wouldn't mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special services
to Hogwarts either."
"Could've been anything," said Ron. "Maybe he got thirty O.WL.s or
saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered Myrtle; that
would've done everyone a favor .....
But Harry could tell from the arrested look on Hermione's face that
she was thinking what he was thinking.
"What?" said Ron, looking from one to the other.
"Well, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, wasn't it?"
he said. "That's what Malfoy said."
"Yeah. . ." said Ron slowly.
"And this diary is fifty years old," said Hermione, tapping it excitedly.
*232*
a so?
.
"Oh, Ron, wake up," snapped Hermione. "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
199
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, Hermione," said Ron, "with just one tiny little
flaw. There's nothing written in his diary."
But Hermione was pulling her wand out of her bag.
"It might be invisible ink!" she whispered.
She tapped the diary three times and said, "Aparecium!"
Nothing happened. Undaunted, Hermione shoved her hand back into
her bag and pulled out what appeared to be a