 large purple bubbles were blossoming out of the end,
and he wasn't much interested in anything else.
Harry went to bed before anyone else in his dormitory that night. This
was partly because he didn't think he could stand Fred and George
singing, "His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad" one more time,
and partly because he wanted to examine Riddle's diary again, and
knew that Ron thought he was wasting his time.
Harry sat on his four-poster and flicked through the blank pages, not
one of which had a trace of scarlet ink on it. Then he pulled a new
bottle out of his bedside cabinet, dipped his quill into it, and dropped a
blot onto the first page of the diary.
The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it
was being sucked into the page, vanished. Excited, Harry loaded up
his quill a second time and wrote, "My name is Harry Potter."
The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank without
trace. Then, at last, something happened.
Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words Harry
had never written.
"Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my
diary?"
These words, too, faded away, but not before Harry had started to
scribble back.
"Someone tried to flush it down a toilet."
He waited eagerly for Riddle's reply.
"Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink.
But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this
diary read. "
"What do you mean?" Harry scrawled, blotting the page in his
excitement.
*240*
206
'I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things that were
covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and
Wizardry. "
"That's where I am now," Harry wrote quickly. "I'm at Hogwarts, and
horrible stuff's been happening. Do you know anything about the
Chamber of Secrets?"
His heart was hammering. Riddle's reply came quickly, his writing
becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying to tell all he knew.
"Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my day, they told us it
was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie. In my fifth year, the
Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally
killing one. I caught the person whod opened the Chamber and he was
expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing
had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given
out that thegirl had died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny,
engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I
knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the
power to release it was not imprisoned. "
Harry nearly upset his ink bottle in his hurry to write back.
"It's happening again now. There have been three attacks and no one
seems to know who's behind them. Who was it last time?"
"I can show you, if you like, "came Riddle's reply. "You don't have
to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night
when I caught him. "
Harry hesitated, his quill suspended over the diary. What did Riddle
mean? How could he be taken inside somebody else's memory? He
glanced nervously at the door to the dormitory, which was
*241*
growing dark. When he looked back at the diary, he saw fresh words
forming.
207
"Let me show you. "
Harry paused for a fraction of a second and then wrote two letters.
(40K.55
The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind,
stopping halfway through the month of June. Mouth hanging open,
Harry saw that the little square for June thirteenth seemed to have
turned into a miniscule television screen. His hands trembling slightly,
he raised the book to press his eye against the little window, and
before he knew what was happening, he was tilting forward; the
window was widening, he felt his body leave his bed, and he was
pitched headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of color
and shadow.
He felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred
shapes around him came suddenly into focus.
He knew immediately where he was. This circular room with the
sleeping portraits was Dumbledore's office - but it wasn't Dumbledore
who was sitting behind the desk. A wizened, fraillooking wizard, bald
except for a few wisps of white hair, was reading a letter by
candlelight. Harry had never seen this man before.
"I'm sorry," he said shakily. "I didn't mean to butt in -"
But the wizard didn't look up. He continued to read, frowning slightly.
Harry drew nearer to his desk and stammered, "Er - I'll just go, shall
I?"
Still the wizard ignored him. He didn't seem even to have heard him.
Thinking that the wizard might be deaf, Harry raised his voice.
*242*
"Sorry I disturbed you. I'll go now," he half-shouted.
The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past
Harry without glancing at him, and went to draw the curtains at his
window.
208
The sky outside the window was ruby-red; it seemed to be sunset.
The wizard went back to the desk, sat down, and twiddled his thumbs,
watching the door.
Harry looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix - no whirring
silver contraptions. This was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it,
meaning that this unknown wizard was Headmaster, not Dumbledore,
and he, Harry, was little more than a phantom, completely invisible to
the people of fifty years ago.
There was a knock on the office door.
"Enter," said the old wizard in a feeble voice.
A boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver
prefect's badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than
Harry, but he, too, had jet-black hair.
"Ah, Riddle," said the Headmaster.
"You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?" said Riddle. He looked
nervous.
"Sit down," said Dippet. "I've just been reading the letter you sent me.
"Oh," said Riddle. He sat down, gripping his hands together very
tightly.
"My dear boy," said Dipper kindly, "I cannot possibly let you stay at
school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the
holidays?"
"No," said Riddle at once. "Id much rather stay at Hogwarts than go
back to that - to that -"
* 243*
"You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?" said
Dippet curiously.
"Yes, sir," said Riddle, reddening slightly.
209
"You are Muggle-born?"
"Half-blood, sir," said Riddle. "Muggle father, witch mother."
"And are both your parents -?"
"My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the
orphanage she lived just long enough to name me - Tom after my
father, Marvolo after my grandfather."
Dipper clucked his tongue sympathetically.
"The thing is, Tom," he sighed, "Special arrangements might have
been made for you, but in the current circumstances . . . ."
"You mean all these attacks, sir?" said Riddle, and Harry's heart
leapt, and he moved closer, scared of missing anything.
"Precisely," said the headmaster. "My dear boy, you must see how
foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when
term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy ... the death of
that poor little girl .... You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As
a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about
closing the school. We are no nearer locating the er - source of all
this unpleasantness . . . ."
Riddle's eyes had widened.
"Sir - if the person was caught - if it all stopped -"
"What do you mean?" said Dippet with a squeak in his voice, sitting
up in his chair. "Riddle, do you mean you know something about
these attacks?"
"No, sir," said Riddle quickly.
But Harry was sure it was the same sort of "no" that he himself had
given Dumbledore.
*244*
Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed.
210
"You may go, Tom ......
Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Harry
followed him.
Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to the
gargoyle in the darkening corridor. Riddle stopped, and so did
Harry, watching him. Harry could tell that Riddle was doing some
serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed.
Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off,
Harry gliding noiselessly behind him. They didn't see another person
until they reached the entrance hall, when a tall wizard with long,
sweeping auburn hair and a beard called to Riddle from the marble
staircase.
"What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?"
Harry gaped at the wizard. He was none other than a fifty-yearyounger
Dumbledore.
"I had to see the headmaster, sir," said Riddle.
"Well, hurry off to bed," said Dumbledore, giving Riddle exactly the
kind of penetrating stare Harry knew so well. "Best not to roam the
corridors these days. Not since . . ."
He sighed heavily, bade Riddle good night, and strode off. Riddle
watched him walk out of sight and then, moving quickly, headed
straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Harry in hot
pursuit.
But to Harry's disappointment, Riddle led him not into a hidden
passageway or a secret tunnel but to the very dungeon in which
Harry had Potions with Snape. The torches hadn't been lit, and when
Riddle pushed the door almost closed, Harry could only just
*2 45 *
see him, standing stock-still by the door, watching the passage outside.
211
It felt to Harry that they were there for at least an hour. All he could
see was the figure of Riddle at the door, staring through the crack,
waiting like a statue. And just when Harry had stopped feeling
expectant and tense and started wishing he could return to the present,
he heard something move beyond the door.
Someone was creeping along the passage. He heard whoever it was
pass the dungeon where he and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a
shadow, edged through the door and followed, Harry tiptoeing behind
him, forgetting that he couldn't be hear