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 (“Good thing, too, or it'd be even
bigger and Id still be polishing it,” said Ron). However, they did find Riddle's
name on an old Medal for Magical Merit, and on a list of old Head Boys.
“He sounds like Percy,” said Ron, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Prefect, Head
Boy... probably top of every class—”
“You say that like it's a bad thing,” said Hermione in a slightly hurt voice.
The sun had now begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again. Inside the castle, the
mood had grown more hopeful. There had been no more attacks since those on Justin
and Nearly Headless Nick, and Madam Pomfrey was pleased to report that the Mandrakes
were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving childhood.
“The moment their acne clears up, they'll be ready for repotting again,” Harry
heard her telling Filch kindly one afternoon. “And after that, it won't be long
until we're cutting them up and stewing them. You'll have Mrs. Norris back in no
Perhaps the Heir of Slytherin had lost his or her nerve, thought Harry. It must
be getting riskier and riskier to open the Chamber of Secrets, with the school so
alert and suspicious. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was even now settling
itself down to hibernate for another fifty years...
Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff didn't take this cheerful view. He was still convinced
that Harry was the guilty one, that he had “given himself away” at the Dueling Club.
Peeves wasn't helping matters; he kept popping up in the crowded corridors singing
“Oh, Potter, you rotter...” now with a dance routine to match.
Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the attacks stop. Harry
overheard him telling Professor McGonagall so while the Gryffindors were lining
up for Transfiguration.
“I don't think there'll be any more trouble, Minerva,” he said, tapping his nose
knowingly and winking. “I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time.
The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Rather
sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on him.
“You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster. Wash away the memories
of last term! I won't say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing...”
He tapped his nose again and strode off.
Lockhart's idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast time on February
fourteenth. Harry hadn't had much sleep because of a laterunning Quidditch practice
the night before, and he hurried down to the Great Hall, slightly late. He thought,
for a moment, that he'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. Harry went over to the Gryffindor
table, where Ron was sitting looking sickened, and Hermione seemed to have been
overcome with giggles.
“What's going on?” Harry asked them, sitting down and wiping confetti off his
Ron pointed to the teachers' table, apparently too disgusted to speak. Lockhart,
wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. The teachers
on either side of him were looking stony-faced. From where he sat, Harry could see
a muscle going in Professor McGonagall's cheek. Snape looked as though someone had
just fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro.
“Happy Valentine's Day!” Lockhart shouted. “And may I thank the forty-six people
who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little
surprise for you all—and it doesn't end here!”
Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched
a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all
wearing golden wings and carrying harps.
“My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” beamed Lockhart. “They will be roving around
the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm
sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask
Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it,
Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than 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 would be force-fed poison.
“Please, Hermione, tell me you weren't one of the forty-six, 51 said Ron as they
left the Great Hall for their first lesson. Hermione suddenly became very interested
in searching her bag for her schedule and didn't answer.
All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines,
to the annoyance of the teachers, and late that afternoon as the Gryffindors were
walking upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarfs caught up with Harry.
“Oy, you! 'Arty Potter!” shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing
people out of the way to get to Harry.
Hot all over at the thought of being given a valentine in front of a line of
first years, which happened to include Ginny Weasley, Harry tried to escape. The
dwarf, however, cut his way through the crowd by kicking people's shins, and reached
him before he'd gone two 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 and pulling him
“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 bottle smashed over everything.
Harry scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing,
causing something of a holdup in the corridor.
“What's going on here?” came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Harry
started stuffing everything feverishly into his ripped bag, desperate to get away
before Malfoy could hear his musical valentine.
“What's all this commotion?” said another familiar voice as Percy Weasley arrived.
Losing his head, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around
the knees and brought him crashing to the floor.
“Right,” he said, sitting on Harry's ankles. “Here is your singing valentine:
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.”
Harry would have given all the gold in Gringotts to evaporate on the spot. Trying
valiantly to laugh along with everyone else, he got up, his feet numb from the weight
of the dwarf, as Percy Weasley did his 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 to class, now,”
he said, shooing some of the younger students away. “And you, Malfoy—”
Harry, glancing over, saw Malfoy stoop and snatch up something. Leering, he showed
it to Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry realized that he'd got Riddle's diary.
“Give that back,” said Harry quietly.
“Wonder what Potter's written in this?” said Malfoy, who obviously hadn't noticed
the year on the cover and thought he had Harry's own diary. A hush fell over the
onlookers. Ginny was staring from the diary to Harry, looking terrified.
“Hand it over, Malfoy,” said Percy sternly.
“When I've had a look,” said Malfoy, waving the diary tauntingly at Harry.
Percy said, “As a school prefect—” but Harry had lost his temper. He pulled out
his wand and shouted, “Expelliarmus!” and just as Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so
Malfoy found the diary shooting out of his hand into the air. Ron, grinning broadly,
“Harry!” said Percy loudly. “No magic in the corridors. I'll have to report this,
But Harry didn't care, he was one-up on Malfoy, and that was worth five points
from Gryffindor any day. Malfoy was looking furious, and as Ginny passed him to
enter her classroom, he yelled spitefully after her, “I don't think Potter liked
your valentine much!”
Ginny covered her face with her hands and ran into class. Snarling, Ron pulled
out his wand, too, but Harry pulled him away. Ron didn't need to spend the whole
of Charms belching slugs.
It wasn't until they had reached Professor Flitwick's class that Harry noticed
something rather odd about Riddle's diary. All his other books were drenched in
scarlet ink. The diary, however, was as clean as it had been before the ink bottle
had smashed all over it. He tried to point this out to Ron, but Ron was having trouble
with his wand again; 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
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
“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.
“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 who'd 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 the girl 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 growing dark. When he looked back at the diary, he saw
fresh words forming.
“Let me show you. “
Harry paused for a fraction of a second and then wrote two letters.
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, frail-looking 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.
“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.
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.