Just over a week had passed since my first training session in the Room of Requirement. I'd been back three times since then.
I was making decent progress. I could now produce a Shield Charm without repeating the incantation five times, and it was holding up against the dummy's weaker spells more often. It still had a habit of collapsing at the worst possible moment, though.
Last time, I'd stopped three spells in a row.
The fourth had caught me in the shoulder.
Apparently, the dummy had no intention of letting me get comfortable.
I could learn to produce a shield in an afternoon. Casting it quickly enough when something was actually flying towards me took considerably more practice.
For now, however, I had something rather more mundane to deal with.
"Don't move."
I looked at Draco. He stood in front of me with his wand extended, frowning in concentration.
"I haven't moved for three minutes."
"Then stop talking."
"I didn't realise spells required silence from the target."
"Oliver."
"Draco."
Blaise sat on a nearby windowsill, watching us with obvious amusement.
"Could you hurry up? I'd like to have lunch at some point today."
"Then go."
"And miss this?"
I sighed.
In our last lesson, Flitwick had shown us how to attach a small light to an object rather than keeping it at the tip of a wand. Draco had insisted on getting some more practice, and I'd agreed to help.
I hadn't expected to become a permanent fixture in the corridor.
"All right. One more time."
Draco raised his wand, spoke the incantation, and made a short movement. A faint glow appeared beside my shoulder, then immediately went out.
He grimaced.
"Damn."
"You're finishing the movement too quickly."
"I know."
"Then why do you keep doing it?"
"Because apparently I enjoy annoying you."
"Well, you're very good at that."
Blaise chuckled.
Draco glanced at him, then back at his wand. This time, he performed the movement slowly, without the incantation.
I nodded.
"Better."
"I don't need your approval."
"Good, because I'm running out."
He rolled his eyes but tried again.
A pale point of light appeared on my sleeve. This time, it stayed there. I carefully moved my arm, and the light moved with the fabric.
Draco smiled in satisfaction.
"There."
"Congratulations. Am I allowed to move again?"
"Yes."
"How generous."
Blaise slid off the windowsill.
"Then let's go. Before he thinks of another exercise."
Draco removed the charm, and we headed towards the Great Hall.
On the way, he started telling us about his latest Quidditch practice. Apparently, Marcus Flint had very firm opinions about how many laps a Seeker should fly in a single session.
"At least you've got a fast broom," Blaise observed.
"That doesn't mean I don't have to practise."
"I didn't say you didn't."
"You sounded like you were implying it."
"You have a remarkable talent for hearing things nobody said."
I listened to them bicker with some amusement.
It was one of those quiet September days when Hogwarts felt like an ordinary school. Students talked about lessons, someone complained about homework, and two third-years were arguing by the stairs over a borrowed book.
A group of Gryffindors emerged from a side corridor. Among them, I spotted Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Harry raised a hand.
"Oh, hi, Oliver."
"Hi."
Ron nodded to me, while Hermione examined the book sticking out of my bag.
"Another book on spells?"
"Actually, yes."
"What sort this time?"
"Protective magic."
She looked interested, but before she could ask anything else, Ron reminded her that if they didn't hurry, there wouldn't be any seats left at the table.
She gave him an irritated look.
"Ron, we've got plenty of time."
"You said that yesterday."
"Because we had plenty of time yesterday!"
Harry just shook his head.
I smiled and was about to move on when something familiar flickered at the edge of my vision.
I stopped.
Draco and Blaise walked a few more steps before noticing I'd fallen behind.
"Oliver?"
I turned my head.
A few first-year Gryffindors followed the older students. Among them was a small red-haired girl holding the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder.
Ginny Weasley.
I focused my right eye on whatever had caught my attention.
Dark, densely intertwined lines of magic emerged around her bag. I couldn't see exactly what they belonged to, but their shape made me forget the conversations around me.
I'd seen something like that before.
At the end of last year, when I'd stood facing Quirrell.
Or rather, whatever had been hiding inside him.
Voldemort.
It wasn't an exact match. Back then, magic that wasn't his own had been bound to Quirrell's living body. Here, it was concentrated in a much smaller space inside the bag. Even so, certain twists and knots in the lines looked unpleasantly familiar.
Ginny. Second year.
Tom Riddle's diary.
So Lucius had slipped it into her things after all.
"Oliver?"
I blinked. Draco stood a few steps away.
"What happened?"
I glanced once more at the girl walking away.
"There's something I need to take care of."
"Now?" Blaise asked.
"Yes."
Draco sighed.
"Can't it wait until after lunch?"
"Not really."
"What is it?"
"I don't know how serious it is yet."
That, at least, was true. I had a good idea of what we'd find in Ginny's bag. I didn't know how long she'd been using it.
And that might matter.
"Go on without me. I'll see you later."
Draco looked ready to object, but Blaise put a hand on his shoulder.
"Come on. If he really has something to deal with, we're not getting anything out of him now."
"I'm not that nosy."
We both looked at him.
He grimaced.
"All right, never mind."
"See you later."
I turned and headed in the opposite direction.
Only once I was around the corner did I slow down.
I knew what the diary did. Ginny would write in it, Riddle would gain her trust, and then he would gradually take control. The Chamber of Secrets, the basilisk, petrified students. In the end, Harry would destroy the Horcrux and save her.
That was how it happened in the book.
I had no reason to assume things would turn out just as well here. The events surrounding Quirrell had already unfolded differently. All it would take was one student looking the basilisk directly in the eyes instead of seeing a reflection.
And Ginny was carrying something that intended to drain the life out of her.
I stopped beside a window. In the courtyard below, someone was trying to catch sheets of parchment snatched away by the wind. Further out on the grounds, a few students were walking towards the lake.
Why the hell would I let any of it happen?
I didn't need the diary. Nor was I going to take it from Ginny only to be left wondering what to do with a piece of Voldemort's soul.
A few floors above me was someone far better equipped to deal with objects like that.
All I had to do was go to him.
I stepped away from the window and headed towards the Transfiguration classroom.
Professor McGonagall was just leaving the classroom with an armful of parchment when I found her.
"Professor?"
She stopped.
"Mr Peverell. Is something wrong?"
"I'd like to speak to Professor Dumbledore."
She looked at me over her glasses.
"What about?"
"One of the students might be in danger."
Her expression changed immediately.
"Which student?"
"Ginny Weasley."
"What has happened to her?"
"I think she has a dangerous magical object with her."
McGonagall studied me for a moment.
"Dangerous in what way?"
I glanced at the students passing on the other side of the corridor.
"I'd rather not discuss it here. But it might have something to do with Quirrell."
Her lips tightened.
"Come with me."
She set off at once, asking no further questions in the corridor.
Dumbledore was sitting at his desk when we entered his office. Fawkes rested on his perch, while the components of several silver instruments turned slowly on a nearby table.
The headmaster looked up.
"Minerva. Oliver."
McGonagall closed the door behind us.
"Albus, Mr Peverell believes he has discovered something that may pose a threat to Miss Weasley. He mentioned a connection to Quirrell."
Dumbledore set down his quill.
"What did you notice, Oliver?"
I moved closer to the desk.
"Whatever was hiding inside Quirrell… there was something distinctive about it. Today, I recognised something similar near Ginny."
McGonagall stiffened.
"Surely you're not suggesting—"
"Not in her," I explained quickly. "In something she was carrying in her bag."
Dumbledore watched me closely.
"You mean Voldemort's magic?"
"Yes."
"Did you see the object itself?"
"No. Only where it was coming from."
"Have you spoken to Miss Weasley?"
I shook my head.
"Did you touch her bag, or anything belonging to her?"
"No, sir. We passed each other in the corridor. I came here straight afterwards."
He nodded.
"Did you notice anything troubling about her behaviour?"
"I haven't paid enough attention to her before to judge."
He was silent for a moment.
"How close was the resemblance?"
I considered how to answer without describing the lines of magic.
"It wasn't identical. It was different with Quirrell, but I recognised something. Clearly enough that I thought I should come to you."
Dumbledore glanced at my eyes.
"I see."
I had no doubt he wanted to ask more. I waited for him to do it.
Instead, he turned to McGonagall.
"Minerva, would you bring Miss Weasley here? As discreetly as possible."
"Of course."
At the door, she looked back at me.
"Mr Peverell, please don't discuss this with anyone for the time being."
"I wasn't going to."
She left, and I remained standing in front of the desk.
Dumbledore indicated a chair.
"Sit down, Oliver."
I sat.
For a moment, all I could hear was the soft whirring of the instruments and the rustle of Fawkes's feathers.
"Aren't you going to ask how I recognised it?"
The headmaster regarded me over his glasses.
"Would you like to tell me?"
I hesitated.
"Not really."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"I thought as much. For now, let us see what Miss Weasley has in her bag."
I felt a little of the tension leave me.
That was why I'd come here. I didn't need someone who would immediately believe every word I said. I needed someone who would take the warning seriously and find out whether I was right.
Dumbledore offered me tea. I accepted.
We waited perhaps fifteen minutes.
I held the cup in both hands, wondering how far Riddle had got. Ginny had only just started school. A new place, older brothers busy with their own lives, Harry, whom she could barely speak to.
And in her bag, someone who had time to listen to everything.
He didn't have to start with orders. All he had to do was answer.
The door opened before I finished my tea.
McGonagall entered first. Ginny followed, gripping her bag strap with both hands. She looked around the office with obvious apprehension. When she noticed me, she hesitated.
Dumbledore smiled gently.
"Hello, Ginny. Please, sit down."
"Hello, Professor."
She took the chair beside mine and rested her bag on her lap. McGonagall stood to one side of the desk.
The headmaster asked how she was settling into school. Her answers were brief, but after a while her grip on the strap loosened.
Only then did he turn to the matter at hand.
"Ginny, we need to check something that may be in your bag. Are you carrying an enchanted object that didn't come from your parents or a teacher?"
Her fingers tightened around the leather again.
"What sort of object?"
"Perhaps something you found, or were given before coming to school. Something that behaves unusually."
She looked down.
Dumbledore didn't rush her. After a few seconds, she spoke quietly.
"Have I done something wrong?"
"You're not here because you're in trouble. We are concerned, however, that you may have something unsafe."
Ginny glanced at me, then at McGonagall.
"Tom isn't dangerous."
Silence fell.
Dumbledore didn't move.
"Tom?"
She looked as though she regretted speaking at once.
"That's his name."
"Whose name, Ginny?"
She ran a hand over her bag.
"He's in the diary."
So she'd already been talking to him.
Dumbledore rested his hands on the desk.
"Does he answer when you write?"
She slowly nodded.
McGonagall exchanged a look with the headmaster.
"Where did you get this diary?" he asked.
"I found it in my things. After we went shopping in Diagon Alley."
"Would you show it to me?"
Ginny didn't move straight away.
"You won't hurt him?"
"First, I need to examine it."
She watched Dumbledore for a moment. Then she opened her bag and took out a small book with a black cover.
I'd known what I would see. Even so, my stomach tightened.
Tom Riddle's diary lay on the lap of the girl sitting beside me. A worn cover, yellowing edges to the pages. Nothing that should have drawn much attention.
Ginny ran a finger over one corner, then handed it to the headmaster.
Dumbledore accepted it carefully. He placed it on a clear part of the desk and drew his wand.
His first movement produced a faint silver glow above the cover. It trembled, then contracted sharply.
I focused my right eye.
The dark lines shifted in response to the spell. Their tangled pattern tightened, but I couldn't tell whether that was a reaction from the object itself or from whatever lived inside it.
Dumbledore made another, slower movement. The silver magic surrounded the diary and became still.
For several seconds, he studied the little book.
"Minerva, please take Ginny to Madam Pomfrey."
Ginny looked up.
"The hospital wing?"
"I'd like her to make sure you're all right."
"But I feel fine."
"I'm glad. Even so, we should be cautious."
McGonagall approached her chair.
"Come along, Ginny."
The girl stood, but her eyes remained on the desk.
"Professor?"
"Yes?"
"Tom said I mustn't tell anyone about him."
Dumbledore set down his wand.
"You haven't done anything wrong by telling us."
Ginny lowered her head. McGonagall placed a hand on her shoulder and led her out of the office.
I watched the closed door for a moment.
This was already more than writing in a notebook she'd found. Riddle had convinced her to keep him secret.
I was glad I'd noticed him now.
When I turned back to the desk, Dumbledore was carefully opening the diary. He turned a few blank pages, then went back to the beginning.
A name was written on one of the first pages.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
The headmaster went still. For a moment, he stared at the inscription. Then he closed the cover.
"Professor?"
He looked up.
"Was I right?"
"Yes, Oliver. This object is connected to Voldemort."
I glanced at the diary.
"Some sort of curse?"
Dumbledore took a moment to choose his words.
"It is very dark magic. Exceptionally vile. I must examine it more closely, but I can already tell you that it should never have come into Ginny's possession."
"What exactly was it doing to her?"
"I'll be able to answer that once I've spoken to her properly and heard Madam Pomfrey's findings."
I nodded, though I wanted to ask more. I was curious about what he'd already recognised. Had the name merely confirmed a suspicion, or had it only just put him on the right track?
Dumbledore noticed my expression.
"If you intend to ask how this object was created, that is not a discussion we shall be having today."
"Not even in general terms?"
"You are twelve years old, Oliver. There are some branches of magic you are not yet old enough to study."
I grimaced slightly.
"Had to try."
"So I noticed."
He raised his wand again. A transparent barrier formed around the diary, threaded with fine silver lines.
I studied them more closely.
This was no ordinary Shield Charm. The magic formed several distinct layers around the little book, each seemingly linked to the next. I couldn't work out what they did, but the way the protection took shape was worth watching in itself.
Dumbledore finished before I could examine all the connections.
"It can't hurt anyone now?" I asked.
"These protections will keep it from reaching the students. Then I shall deal with it permanently."
"Can it be destroyed?"
"Yes."
"Good."
The headmaster moved the enclosed diary to a separate table, away from the other objects. Only then did he turn his attention back to me.
"You did the right thing by coming here."
"I thought I'd better not try to find out what it was myself."
"Quite right. Please tell me if you remember anything else, or notice similar magic elsewhere."
"I will."
Dumbledore nodded.
"Thank you, Oliver. You've allowed us to intervene before this became considerably more serious."
For a moment, I wasn't sure what to say.
"Just let me know when it's over."
"I will."
I glanced once more at the black cover.
I still had questions. Plenty of them. But the diary was safely contained in Dumbledore's office now, and Ginny could no longer reach it.
For the moment, that was enough.
By the time I left the office, lunch was over.
My stomach immediately decided to remind me.
Wonderful. I'd taken an object belonging to Voldemort out of circulation, and my reward was having to find my own food.
Fortunately, I knew where the kitchens were.
As I went down the stairs, I tried to make sense of how quickly it had all happened. Not long ago, Ginny had been taking the diary to lunch. Now she was in the care of McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, and Riddle had ended up with someone who would be much harder to convince that he was her friend.
I hadn't needed to follow her around or wait for writing to appear on a wall.
All I'd needed to do was tell the right person.
I felt relieved, though only now did I realise how tense I'd been.
Students passing me talked about lessons and the upcoming match. Someone was laughing on a landing. A teacher's voice drifted through an open classroom door.
Good.
That was how I wanted the day to go.
On the way to the kitchens, my thoughts turned to Lucius.
I'd been in his home. He'd spoken to me politely and helped me find information about my family. Then he'd slipped an object belonging to Voldemort into Ginny's belongings.
I didn't know how much he understood about its true nature. At the moment, I didn't particularly care. He didn't need to know every detail to realise he wasn't giving the girl an ordinary diary.
Draco, of course, had nothing to do with it.
But the next time his father was pleasant to me, I would do well to remember this too.
I returned to the common room late that afternoon.
Draco sat by the fire with a book on his lap. From the way he was staring into the flames, I suspected he hadn't read a word for several minutes. Blaise occupied the chair beside him.
Both looked up when I came in.
"Oh, our missing scholar," Blaise observed.
Draco closed his book.
"Where were you?"
"Taking care of that business. Then I had to find something to eat."
"Was it serious?"
I considered for a moment.
"Yes."
Blaise stopped smiling.
"Everything all right?"
"Dumbledore's dealing with it."
Draco watched me closely. He seemed to be deciding whether to try to get more out of me, but eventually he just sighed.
"All right. At least tell me you're not going to disappear again tomorrow."
"I've got lessons tomorrow."
"After lessons."
"I was going to practise."
He rolled his eyes.
"Of course."
I settled into an empty armchair.
"Protego?" Blaise asked.
"Protego."
"How's it going?"
"Getting better."
Draco straightened a little.
"So when are you going to show me how to cast it?"
I smiled.
"Maybe soon."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I need to learn not to get hit when the dummy decides to attack me."
"I thought you said you were getting better."
"I get hit less often."
Blaise laughed.
"Progress."
"That's what I thought."
Draco reached for his book.
"Once you decide you're ready, I want a go."
"I remember."
We sat quietly for a while. Someone at the next table was talking about Quidditch. A few first-years were playing Exploding Snap, while an older student tried to persuade them to move further away from his essay.
I settled more comfortably into the chair.
I had lessons, books, and a wooden dummy that was still better at attacking than I was at defending.
I could start with that.
That evening, as I sat on my bed with an open textbook, an older Slytherin looked into the dormitory.
"Peverell. Message for you."
He handed me a folded piece of parchment and left before I could ask who had sent it.
My name was written on the outside. I only discovered the sender when I unfolded it and saw the signature.
Oliver,
The diary has been destroyed. Miss Weasley remains in Madam Pomfrey's care, and we have also spoken to her parents.
Thank you for your vigilance. Please keep this matter to yourself.
A. Dumbledore
I read the message again.
"What do they want?" Draco asked from across the room.
"Just letting me know that thing from earlier has been dealt with."
"Good."
He went back to talking to Blaise.
I folded the parchment and slipped it between the pages of my notebook.
Goodbye, then, Tom.
I adjusted the pillow behind my back and picked up my textbook again.
I still had two chapters to read before bed.