第 27 页

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

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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 -"

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"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.

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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

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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 bright red eraser.

"It's a Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley," she said.

She rubbed hard on January first. Nothing happened.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing to find in there," said Ron. "Riddle just

got a diary for Christmas and couldn't be bothered filling it in."

Harry couldn't explain, even to himself, why he didn't just throw

Riddle's diary away. The fact was that even though he knew the diary

was blank, he kept absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages,

as though it were a story he wanted to finish. And while Harry was

sure he had never heard the name T. M. Riddle before, it still seemed

to mean something to him, almost as though

* 233 *

Riddle was a friend he'd had when he was very small, and had

halfforgotten. But this was absurd. He'd never had friends before

Hogwarts, Dudley had made sure of that.

Nevertheless, Harry was determined to find out more about Riddle, so

next day at break, he headed for the trophy room to examine Riddle's

special award, accompanied by an interested Hermione and a

thoroughly unconvinced Ron, who told them he'd seen enough of the

trophy room to last him a lifetime.

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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 time."

* 243 *

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.

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"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 late-

running 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

* 235*

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 bacon.

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!"

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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 look

* 236

ing 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.

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"Stay still!" grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry's bag and pulling