I'm sitting in the Room of Requirement, turning the diary over in my hands. Lucky me, it really was among those textbooks. I had the idea to chat a bit with Tom before his death. But it's scary. Although Ginny corresponded with him until Halloween before he took control of her. And she was constantly scribbling.
On one hand, I understand that curiosity killed the cat. And for me, it could also turn into possession, loss of magic, or even death. And I really don't want to die a second time. On the other hand, Tom is a treasure trove of information. Of course, it's not certain he'll share it with me...
I have two potential strategies for this:
First option: pretend to be the daughter of one of the Dark Lord's supporters. Perhaps an orphan, so Tom would empathize with me due to our similar childhoods. Show that I share his politics and all that... But this method requires too much time, which I don't have. Trust doesn't appear suddenly.
Second option: provocation. Show that I know everything, tell him what it will lead to in the future. Mock Tom and his stupid failures with Horcruxes... Banking on Tom blurting something out in anger. Even at a more respectable age, he loved to wag his tongue instead of immediately throwing an Avada at Harry. And here he's only sixteen.
I had already firmly resolved on productive communication when I suddenly went cold. Who gave me any guarantees that the notebook is actually a Horcrux? Was it so in the book? But that still proves nothing. Diagnostic charms glow red, but there are plenty of malicious charms in the world. This might just be a paired diary with compulsion charms, not a Horcrux at all. And by starting to chat with him, I'd spill deadly dangerous information to God knows who...
Can't do it. No matter how potentially useful it might be.
I sigh. So we move straight to the second stage. I already have a small dagger prepared, destined to become a Horcrux killer. Extremely carefully, I extract a vial of what's presumably Basilisk venom from the pile. Using telekinesis, I pull out the cork and dip the narrow blade into the poison. It'll be fun if, after all these preparations, I stab the diary and get no effect.
I take the knife with a dragon-hide gloved hand, raise it over the notebook... Occlumency shields at maximum. I concentrate... Forward! I sharply bring down the hand with the knife onto the diary, the blade easily enters the cover. A nightmarish howl of unbearably suffering human rings out. In horror, I recoil from the diary, falling on my backside, crawling further away on all fours. For some reason, I can't get up and run normally - I'm so demoralized. Black smoke begins to seep from under the knife at the puncture site. After some time, a terrible dark silhouette tears away from the diary and flies straight at me, but not reaching a couple meters, it sharply goes up and dissolves. I'm breathing like a hunted horse, pressing my wand hand to my heart. At this rate, a heart attack isn't far off. After sitting on the floor for another five minutes, I regained the ability to move. I extract the dagger from the diary and carefully put it away in a hermetically sealed case. Using telekinesis, I close the vial of poison. I tried to be careful before, but now that I know for certain how deadly this stuff is, I want to stay even further away from it. I put the vial in another impermeable case. What to do with it? Storing it with me is scary, leaving it here is a pity. For the time being, I bury it in the pile again. I need to wait for my owl's next arrival with school assignments and send the case with poison to Griphook, let him put it in my vault.
I wonder what will happen first - will I become an adrenaline addict and start enjoying all this, or will I have a nervous breakdown?
Night. I'm standing under a Disillusionment Charm in front of the sink with the snake in Myrtle's bathroom. Myrtle herself has whooshed off somewhere. With me are a broom, a shielded voice recorder with Parseltongue recordings, and an Undetectable Extension Charm bag. I'm wearing glasses with mirrored lenses. Going into the Chamber of Secrets in sunglasses is as convenient as going to a disco in them. But I hope this will help me petrify temporarily rather than permanently in the worst case. Under my pillow, I left a note about where I'm going and how to open the chamber. If I disappear, they'll surely search my things. I really hope this note won't be needed.
I check the Marauder's Map - no one nearby. Well, God help me. I press the recorder button. Hissing sounds. Pause. The sink moves aside with a low rumble, revealing a dark tunnel downward. Yes, flying on a broom through this is quite tight, but possible. I light my wand with Lumos, climb on the broom, and slowly begin the descent. After a couple meters, I stop, press play - another hiss and the passage behind me closes. I immediately rewind the tape a little. I descend for quite a long time, side passages occasionally branch off from the main descent. It smells... well, how else can it smell in a sewer. I'll need to learn the Bubble-Head Charm. Finally, I see the end of the tunnel. I listen so intently that my ears start ringing. I understand that the Basilisk should be peacefully sleeping now, but it's still scary. Very slowly, I fly into a large dark hall. Very humid, water dripping somewhere. I stay under the ceiling and carefully fly around its perimeter. No one's there, only a giant skin lying around. I fly closer - it seems time hasn't affected it at all. Or does this mean the Basilisk woke up not so long ago? The doors leading to the hall with Slytherin's statue are closed. And I'm definitely not going in there. I descend to the floor, thin bones crunch under my feet. Poor, poor Basilisk, if with such size he has to feed on rats. A cow would suit him better.
I spent the next several hours packing the skin. Cut it into pieces with diamond-coated scissors, rolled it up, put it in the bag. By morning, I was soaked with sweat and dirty as hell knows what. My hands and back are simply falling off. Good thing today is Saturday. How I got out of the Chamber of Secrets and made it to bed is already vaguely remembered.
Meanwhile, Ginny organized a Harry Potter fan club at school. Besides her, it included little paparazzi Colin Creevey and several other students from first and second years. The main activity of the fan club consisted of stalking Harry Potter.
The other girls were in Lockhart's fan club. Considering he really is handsome, I can't judge them harshly. But the fact that being in love with the hero affects their ability to think not in the best way is sad. Susan and Hannah also fell victim to this contagion and decorated his lectures with hearts.
Snape was a member of a secret society whose members wanted to kill Lockhart. From time to time, as far as I can tell, the club was joined by one teacher or another whom Lockhart annoyed to the core.
I genuinely enjoyed his lessons. Free theater with circus elements. And laughter, by the way, prolongs life. Despite Lockhart being an amateur, he had a tendency toward theatrical art. The only practical lesson with pixies fell to Gryffindor and Slytherin. The writer, having suffered complete fiasco, decided not to take risks anymore and focus on theatrical performances. Our group had no celebrities like Harry, so boys participated in performances by turns, and they seemed to even enjoy it. Except Neville. Lockhart once tried to make him play a water spirit, but Neville was so shy and confused that even our impenetrable handsome man decided to leave him alone.
When I approached to sign permission for the Restricted Section, I jokingly suggested to Lockhart that he organize a drama club, since he has obvious talent. Lockhart got fired up. His elective broke all popularity records within a couple of weeks. Now for Christmas, we'll watch a play about how Lockhart treated a werewolf, based on his book "Wandering with Werewolves." I'm waiting with anticipation. And praying that Snape doesn't find out who gave our handsome man this idea. He'll bury me somewhere on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, because after the first successes of the club, Lockhart became even more unbearable, and Snape gets the worst of it.
However, despite Lockhart genuinely amusing me, one mustn't forget that he erases people's memories. And completely at that. This is the most terrible thing that can happen to a person, not counting death. And for someone, perhaps this is even worse than death. He's a criminal without any discounts, and one can't relax around him. In this reality, he shouldn't have reason to erase children's memories (I hope), but still...
Well, for studying combat spells, I went to Flitwick. He supervised the first few times, then sent me to work on them independently. We already agreed that in third year, I'll take his elective. Then I practiced spells with Neville and Harry. While you explain and show them, everything finally settles in your own mind. Harry caught everything on the fly, while Neville had to struggle. He became slightly more confident after getting a suitable wand, but still very timid. You can't reproach me for not offering to anyone else. Because among the second-years, except for us three, most continued to believe that Lockhart is a superhero. Although the boys simply didn't like him, I didn't find out what specifically they thought about his heroics.
Ginny continued stalking Harry. She made no more friends besides Colin. And with him, the main topic was the same Potter. One evening, I pulled her out of the Gryffindor common room and took her to the kitchen for juice and pastries. Ginny didn't know about this place. And this with such brothers! We talked about... well, of course, about the great Harry Potter, hallowed be his name now and forever...
I said she was wrong to spy on him, it makes Harry nervous because he doesn't understand what she wants from him. With guys, it's better to be more concrete: go up and friendly invite him to keep you company eating éclairs in the kitchen, because it's more fun with two. Or ask him to help you with Wingardium Leviosa. While learning, you'll also find some common ground. Ginny smiled dreamily. Probably already imagining Harry teaching her. But it's not certain she'll gather the courage to approach him.
Due to good weather, I decided to take my run not in the Room of Requirement today, but outside. Running around the Quidditch pitch, I saw the Slytherin team led by Coach Hooch. I was about to turn to another path to avoid trouble, but Malfoy called out to me.
"Hey, Granger, look at these brooms!"
"Sorry, Malfoy, but I don't understand brooms and don't plan to. You'll have to show off to someone else," I stopped, "I see you can be congratulated on your place on the team?"
"Yes, I'm Slytherin's new Seeker. And my father bought the whole team the best brooms. Now Gryffindor has no chance!"
"Wonderful. Want some smart advice?"
"What good can a mudblood advise?" Flint interjected where he wasn't asked.
"A mudblood can advise you a good dentist. You'll have a smile like Lockhart's. Interested?" I would have said he's crooked-toothed, but there are many of them and only one of me. And Hooch, if anything, can pretend she didn't notice anything.
"You're lying, stupid mudblood, there's no such way!" It seems I hit a nerve.
"You really can't show so openly how sore a subject this is for you, Flint... So, Malfoy, advice. Hold back the information about the brooms a bit. First announce that you have a new Seeker, and in a week you can reveal that a member of the Board of Governors bought the best brooms for the whole team. I readily believe you can fly, but you know yourself how tenderly they love Slytherin at Hogwarts... People will say your father simply bought his son a place on the team. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
"She's making sense, I bet that's exactly what will happen."
This seems to be Pucey? I don't see the point in memorizing all the Slytherins. Flint is still making a complicated face. I won't wait for him to figure out how to answer me.
"Alright, Malfoy, good luck with your Seeker career," I wave and run away.
I learn the next day from Harry that my advice about brooms didn't help Malfoy. The Gryffindor and Slytherin teams still didn't share the field that day, Malfoy was accused of buying his place, and Ron blessed himself with slugs. Ron urgently needs a new wand. Harry is ready to sponsor him. Hell, I'm ready too, because Ron is now like a monkey with a grenade. But everything comes down to Ron! He's afraid to admit it. And never mind that his wand spits out spells wherever and whatever it wants, regardless of what its owner intended.
I confess, a few days later I secretly pulled Ron's broken wand from his pocket and hid it in the nearest abandoned classroom. Now Ron will have to tell the dean willy-nilly, and McGonagall will take him to Ollivander's.
I had almost given up searching for the diadem, and when I suddenly found it, I was completely confused. Actually, I found it purely by chance. Walking between the rows, I heard someone's quiet whisper and felt my earrings getting warm. Playing hot-and-cold with the diadem depending on the strength of the whisper, I eventually came right to it. I spent a couple of days mentally preparing to repeat the experience of destroying a Horcrux. The last time was too creepy, I still get goosebumps when I remember it.
Strangely enough, this time everything went easier. The situation repeated exactly, but I already knew what to expect. The diadem was practically undamaged. The central stone cracked and the setting around it deformed slightly. The diagnostic spell showed nothing. Along with the Horcrux, Rowena Ravenclaw's charms also dissipated.
I hid the diadem deeper in my backpack. It will come in handy.