The Fire You Touch

Chapter 29: Quit Me Quickly

AerynÂ’s head was whirling. She had always known that Hagrid had an unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures. It was easy to believe that if, as a boy, Hagrid had heard that a monster was hidden somewhere in the castle, he probably would have thought it was a shame that the monster had been cooped up so long, and thought it deserved the chance to stretch its many legs. Aeryn could just imagine the thirteen-year-old Hagrid trying to fit a leash and collar on it. But she was equally certain that Hagrid would never have meant to kill anybody.

Ron and Hermione were equally confused, making Harry repeat his story over and over again until Aeryn could almost recite it by heart. He had written in the diary, so he said, and the ink had been absorbed into the paper, almost as if he was speaking it, and then the diary started writing itself, as the collective memory of Tom Riddle. Riddle had said the diary held terrible memories, even the secret of the Chamber of Secrets itself.

"Riddle might have got the wrong person," said Hermione. "Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking peopleÂ…"

"How many monsters dÂ’you think this place can hold?" Ron asked dully.

"We always knew Hagrid had been expelled," said Harry miserably. "And the attacks mustÂ’ve stopped after Hagrid was kicked out. Otherwise, Riddle wouldnÂ’t have got his award."

Aeryn did not speak. She held the diary in her hands, running her fingers absently over the mundane cover. There was something she didnÂ’t like about this whole matter, and it wasnÂ’t just because her friend Hagrid was being accused. Hesitantly, she probed towards the diary with her mind, but was met withÂ…nothing. Not the nothing of an inanimate object, but the nothing as if a barrier had been thrown up before her mind, blocking out her thoughts. She frowned.

Hagrid as the Heir of SlytherinÂ…no, he couldnÂ’t beÂ…but if he opened the Chamber, he would have had to be, but IÂ’m almost certain he wasnÂ’tÂ…noÂ…and this Riddle fellowÂ…

"Riddle does sound like Percy," Ron said. "Who asked him to squeal on Hagrid, anyway?"

"But the monster had killed someone, Ron," said Hermione.

"And Riddle was going to go back to some Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts," said Harry. "I donÂ’t blame him for wanting to stay hereÂ…"

All the more reason for him to pin the blame on Hagrid,

Aeryn thought automatically, her fingertips digging into the thin spine of the diary. An easy target, the big, bumbling third year who has a tendency for troubleÂ…

The four of them fell silent.

"DÂ’you think we should go and ask Hagrid about it all?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

"ThatÂ’d be a cheerful visit," said Ron. "Hello, Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?"

In the end, they decided that they would not say anything to Hagrid unless there was another attack, and as more and more days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice, they became hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why he had been expelled. It was now nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been Petrified, and nearly everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, be it mutant or creature or wizard, had retired for good.

* * *

Aeryn quietly pushed open the door to the Potions master’s private chambers. A quick glance around the sitting room assured her that Snape was not there—still in class or at his office. She disappeared into the adjourning room and emerged carrying the cauldron as the trail of ingredients danced in a floating line behind her.

She had just sat down in front of the coffee table and started mixing the ingredients when the heavy oaken door creaked open and Snape slipped in, accompanied by the soft rustle of his robes.

"Hi, Professor," Aeryn said absently, sprinkling a spoonful of asphodel into the cauldron. She peered beneath the cauldron, checking that the magical flame was the correct height.

"You can stop preparing the mixture, Miss Blake."

The professor’s words were so quiet that Aeryn automatically threw a newt tail into the mixture before she realized what he had said. She laid down her spoon and turned to look at him. His face was oddly calm, and Aeryn’s heart gave a great leap in her chest. What if—

"What is it?" she asked cautiously, trying to keep her voice even. Her eyes followed the Potions master as he slowly walked across the room and sat down on one of the couches, his movements weary.

Finally, he turned his head to look at her, and a small smile graced his lips. "I donÂ’t need the antidote anymore." He spread his hands as if he had just completed a parlor-trick. "I stopped taking it yesterday, just to see how I would react, and I was fine. IÂ’m cured."

Aeryn stared at him. A very faint buzzing began to ring in her ears. "Oh," she choked finally.

Snape looked away from her, into the fire, and Aeryn drew a sharp, shaky breath. All the pent-up memories from the past eight months swept over her in a rushing floodÂ…all the late-night brewing sessionsÂ…the liesÂ…the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach that echoed with every footstep she had ever taken on the way to the Potions masterÂ’s chambersÂ…ItÂ’s all over, she said to herself.

But that realization did not come with overwhelming joy, as she had expected it would, butÂ…strangelyÂ…with nothingÂ…

With fingers that had suddenly become quite clumsy, Aeryn began to gather the oh-so-familiar bottles of ingredients. The spider bile, nightshade, henbane, all floated away into the other room in a gently bobbing line to rest on the dark, quiet shelves. Aeryn ran a hand across the back of her neck. ItÂ’s over.

The coffee table was now clear. Aeryn laced her fingers together and her eyes skittered nervously across the Potions masterÂ’s face as she rose to her feet. She cleared her throat awkwardly, the sound echoing loudly in the still air of the room. "Have you found any evidence that links LockhartÂ…" Unable to finish the question through the lump in her throat, her voice trailed off hopefully.

SnapeÂ’s mouth lips were compressed in a tight line. He curtly shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the heart of the fire. "There has been a new addendum to the Lockhart saga, Miss Blake."

AerynÂ’s hands instantaneously clenched into fists.

"It has nothing to do with you, so donÂ’t fret," the Potions master was quick to reassure her.

Aeryn swallowed with difficulty. "SoÂ…what does it have to do with?"

Snape shrugged and slowly rose to his feet, a mixture of puzzlement and frustration beginning to etch his features. "I can’t prove that it’s any more than a fleeting suspicion, really—but I’ve been trying to get into Lockhart’s confidence now, hoping he will show me where he keeps his supplies for the Berserker’s Mead." He clasped his hands behind his back and paced towards the fireplace.

"Certain details in our conversations have made me suspect," he said, his voice dropping until Aeryn had to strain to hear him, "that LockhartÂ…however ludicrous it soundsÂ…may somehow be behind the attacks on the school."

Knowing what she already knew about the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Aeryn would not have been surprised if Snape had told her that Lockhart was actually Voldemort in disguise. She bit her lip and frowned, noticing the taut muscles and the frustrated frown of the Potions master. SomethingÂ…a memoryÂ…something vague and indistinct began stirring in her mindÂ…LockhartÂ…she could almost rememberÂ…or suspectÂ…

"Are you serious?" she asked after a moment.

Snape dragged a long finger along a deep whorl on the mantel. "Nothing is concrete, you understand—merely a few chance phrases and some inflected words—but I can’t shake off this suspicion." His coal-black eyes turned towards her, unreadable as ever. "If he’s not linked, we’ll find out soon enough—but if he is, I don’t want to accuse him and arouse a wrath that he’ll turn against the school." He ran a hand through his oily black hair, the gesture taut and jerky. "The accusation will have to wait until I can determine a course of action."

HeÂ’s backing out on telling Dumbledore.

A dull, sickening ache thudded in AerynÂ’s stomach as though a baseball bat had smacked her. She should have known. The knot in her throat constricted, and she shrugged lightly. "I understand." A small smile tugged her lips. "After allÂ…there might be an attack at any time. ItÂ’s important toÂ…" She could hear the quaver creeping into her voice, and she fought it back, tossing her head carelessly, "Â…make sure that the studentsÂ…are safeÂ…"

The words were sour in her throat and quickly trailed off. She turned her head away so he would not see the gathering tears in her eyes. Once again, sheÂ’d thought there was a chance for the nightmare to finally be over, only to have it snatched from herÂ….

Snape’s hand fell gently on her shoulder. "I am not going back on our bargain, Miss Blake." His voice was quiet. "Merely postponing it." His fingers curled reassuringly against her shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. "I will still tell the Headmaster—and the Ministry—my entire guilt in the previous matter."

Aeryn sucked in a breath and batted a clinging tear from her eye. I shouldn’t believe him, she thought quickly, but the uncommon warmth in his words swiftly dampened the anger in her heart that had grown strangely cool. As much as she wanted to run to Dumbledore and tell him the entire story, to put this horror behind her, she realized the Potions master had a point. Whether Snape was lying or not about his suspicion towards Lockhart, the attacks upon the school—and the Chamber of Secrets—were of utmost importance. The culprit—the true culprit—had to be caught soon, before someone innocent was accused.

Poor Hagrid.

She exhaled slowly and turned to face the Potions master. He was standing very close to her, and as always, she had to tilt her head backwards to look up at him. The fevered flush that had for so long stained his cheeks had fled, returning his skin to its normal sallow color. His breathing no longer rasped in his chest like sandpaper, and his oily hair was free from sweat.

Their eyes locked, and for a long moment they stared at each other. Aeryn was suddenly aware of the bags beneath the professorÂ’s eyes, and the fine wrinkles edging his features. She could feel a bead of drying sweat on her upper lip, and she was acutely conscious of a strand of hair that had fallen across her face to tickle her nose. A thousand questions zipped through her mind, and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him, to sayÂ…

Finally, she held out her hand to him, not knowing what else to do.

"See you in Potions, Professor," she said quietly.

Snape stretched out a hand and gently clasped hers. His fingers were warm, and Aeryn was surprised at the smoothness of his skin. He had an acid-stain on his index finger.

"See you in Potions, Miss Blake," he murmured, his coal-black eyes bright.

Aeryn gently stepped away from him and headed from his chambers without a backward glance.

* * *

"ItÂ’s your move, Aeryn," Anna said.

Her words jerked the older girl out of her reverie, and Aeryn sat forward in her chair, trying to focus her mind on the game of Jump-In Uno she, Anna Dubois, Maria Rosseter, and several other fifth-year girls were playing. But as she absently threw a yellow six on the discard pile, her mind immediately began to wander.

It was the week after the Easter holidays, and now that she was no longer bound to the daily trip to Snape’s chambers to prepare the antidote, Aeryn’s thoughts had been free to wonder about the odd circumstances surrounding T.M Riddle’s diary and the Chamber of Secrets—and, more importantly, her new-discovered distrust towards Lockhart and his suspected involvement.

She was unable to ignore the comment that Snape had made during her last trip to his chambers. No matter how ludicrous anyone else might find it—and they would, for on the outside there was no obvious reason why the seemingly benign Lockhart would jeopardize his position with such an involvement—the Potions master’s words rang true in her ears. After all, he and she knew better than anyone else the capability for mischief that lurked behind the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor’s handsome façade.

"Aeryn?" Persephone NeroÂ’s voice jerked her back to the present. "Wake up, girl," the fifth-year said teasingly as Aeryn quickly tossed a card on the discard pile.

And then there was the diary. No matter how she looked at it, she couldnÂ’t swallow the notion that Hagrid was the Heir of Slytherin. Aeryn bit her lip and fiddled with the cards in her hand. Something was not right with the whole scenario, and the more she thought about it, the more she felt the need to talk to Tom Riddle.

She had asked Harry a few days ago, just as a passing question, if she could see the diary and write a few things in it. Of course, Harry had he wanted to know why she needed to speak with Riddle, and Aeryn had quickly steered the conversation away from the potentially volatile subject. If she told him her suspicions against Lockhart, then she would have to tell him the entire story, and thenÂ…

But I canÂ’t ask Hagrid about it, IÂ’m absolutely certain he wouldnÂ’t tell me,

she thought, chewing on her lower lip. And the only person that would is locked up in a fifty-year old diaryÂ…

"Earth to Aeryn!"

Aeyrn looked up from her cards and noticed all the fifth-year girls staring at her. "The gameÂ’s over," Melissa Michalizek said, riffling the cards in her left hand. "WhatÂ’s up? YouÂ’re totally not with us."

IÂ’m sure not.

Aeryn tossed her cards onto the table and stood up. "You know, IÂ’m really not adding much to this right now," she said with an apologetic smile. "You guys have fun."

"Suit yourself," Melissa said, shrugging.

Aeryn headed for the staircase to the dormitory as the other girls began another game. Maybe if I get some sleep, she thought to herself, trudging up the stairs. Sure, it’s Friday night, but still, there’s a Quidditch match tomorrow and maybe after I’ve rested—

She halted on the stairs as if she had been stung as a thought ripped through her brain. Slowly, Aeryn looked around her. She was standing on the fork in the staircase that split off, one way leading to the boys’ dormitory, the other to the girls’ dormitory. For a very long moment, Aeryn stood where she was, looking up the two staircases. Then she very carefully and quietly turned towards the left and started up the stairway to the left—the boys’ dormitory.

The doorway to the second year dormitory was open, and Aeryn, guilt churning her stomach, gingerly peeked her head into the room. It was deserted—everyone was either at Quidditch practice or in the common room. Before she could lose her nerve, Aeryn slipped into the room, shutting the door softly behind her. Her eyes flashed around the room and located Harry’s four-poster—the unmade one with the scarlet-and-gold Quidditch robes hastily tossed atop the rumpled covers.

IÂ’m only going to look for it,

she told herself firmly, making a beeline for the trunk at the foot of the bed. She probed quickly into the lock and tripped open the lid of his trunk. IÂ’m not going to do anything to it, I just want to make sure where it is, just in case I ever want to find it. HarryÂ’s trunk was full to the brim with his schoolbooks, assorted robes, and various other objects. Aeryn sifted her hand through the mess, her brow furrowing as she lifted a shimmering, silver cape that spilled through her fingers like water. Very carefully, she gathered the material and laid it on the floor next to her.

He sure keeps it in a safe place,

she thought, beginning to remove things from the trunk and placing them around her, making sure to notice where they had been. Of course, thatÂ’s the point, so people canÂ’t find itÂ…

She lifted Harry’s copy of Gadding with Ghouls and found Riddle’s diary beneath it. Compared to the glossy, brightly colored cover of Lockhart’s book, Riddle’s diary looked shabby and inconsequential, like a birthday present from your Aunt Mildred who hasn’t seen you for seven years but continues to send you gifts. Aeryn carefully lifted the diary from its resting place, nearly jumping at the blank feel as her fingers grazed the faded cover. She placed the book in her lap and began to place Harry’s things back into his trunk. If she did it correctly, then he would never know anything was missing, and then she could return Riddle’s diary later without him ever knowing that it was gone—

There was a sudden clatter on the staircase.

Instantly, Aeryn was on her feet, spilling the objects in her hands all over the floor. For a second she froze, hoping that the sound had just been her imagination, but as she heard a distant sound of footsteps coming towards her, she panicked. Riddle’s diary flew into her hand and she bolted for the door, throwing an illusion of invisibility over herself. There was nothing she could do about Harry’s things—hopefully he wouldn’t notice—

She raced down the stairs and very nearly collided with Neville Longbottom at the fork of the staircase. At the last second she levitated herself to the ceiling, breathing a prayer of thanks for her invisibility as the second year passed beneath her, totally oblivious to her presence. Once the boy had disappeared up the stairs, Aeryn dropped back to the ground and turned right around, running up the right-hand staircase until she reached the second year girlsÂ’ dormitory.

What am I doing?

she asked herself frantically as she dropped to her knees beside her trunk, flipping open the lid with ease. A thin sheet of sweat beaded her brow as she shoved RiddleÂ’s diary tightly into a corner and pushed five of her robes atop it. I shouldnÂ’t be doing this, heÂ’s my friendÂ…but she firmly shut her trunk and locked it with sure fingers before she even knew what she was doing.

Her ears were buzzing slightly as she shakily sat down on her four-poster and settled back against the pillows. Her body felt very light, and she wasn’t certain whether she should scream, cry, or laugh hysterically. She had just broken into her friend’s personal things and taken a magical diary that she wasn’t certain was friend or foe. The whole situation rang of a Moliére farce.

I canÂ’t do this.

She was on the verge of sitting up, grabbing RiddleÂ’s diary out from her trunk, and marching back to HarryÂ’s room with an explanation when the door of the dormitory opened and Hermione, Ron, and Harry burst into the room.

"Aeryn!" Hermione gasped in a horrified whisper. "Someone took RiddleÂ’s diary!"

AerynÂ’s heart dropped like a stone. "What?" she croaked, pushing herself up from the pillows.

Harry sat down next to her on the bed. "My room—it’s trashed—" He waved his hands helplessly in the air. "I’ve looked everywhere, but it’s gone. Someone took it."

Aeryn tried to look aghast. "But—" she sputtered after a moment, shame burning her cheeks "—only a Gryffindor could have stolen—nobody else knows our password—"

"Exactly," said Harry, his face serious.

All of a sudden, Aeryn felt very, very sick.

* * *

Aeryn stared down at her still-full plate at breakfast the next morning, guilt wracking her stomach until the smell of her scrambled eggs made her queasy. It was a beautiful morning, clear and cool and perfect for Quidditch, but Aeryn was in no mood to watch the game. Out of the corner of her eye, she nervously regarded Harry as he peered down the row of Gryffindors, his face screwed up in concentration as he scanned the students, apparently looking to see which one might have taken RiddleÂ’s diary.

She had been unable to open RiddleÂ’s diary last night after she went to bed. Twice, she had nearly been ready to run down the staircase and knock on the boysÂ’ dormitory, giving Harry back the diary with a rushed explanation. But the thought of LockhartÂ’s vicious leer reined her back. The diary was currently sitting beneath the mattress of her unmade bed.

Breakfast was soon over, and she left with Harry, Ron, and Hermione to go and collect HarryÂ’s Quidditch things. But the second she placed her foot on the white marble staircase, Harry suddenly shouted aloud. The other three jumped away from him in alarm.

"The voice!" said Harry, looking over his shoulder. "I just heard it again—didn’t you?"

Aeryn looked at Harry strangely while Ron shook his head, wide-eyed.

"Aeryn, can’t you hear it?" Harry asked frantically, "I mean—with your powers—"

"Uh—" Aeryn answered, slightly confused.

Hermione suddenly clapped a hand to her forehead. "Harry—I think I’ve just understood something! I’ve got to go to the library!"

And she sprinted away, up the stairs.

"What

does she understand?" Aeryn asked distractedly. She closed her eyes quickly and probed out with her mind. Staircase—through the corridors—through the walls—

"Loads more than I do," said Ron, shaking his head.

—there was something there, she was certain, but she couldn’t—

"But whyÂ’s she got to go to the library?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged and accidentally knocked Aeryn with his arm. Startled, she opened her eyes, and the presence slipped from her grasp.

"Because thatÂ’s what Hermione does," said Ron. "When in doubt, go to the library."

Harry looked at Aeryn. "CanÂ’t you hear anything?" he asked hopefully.

Aeryn probed out again with her mind, but it was too late. The presence had fled. She glanced over at Harry and shook her head.

"You’d better get moving, Harry," Ron said. "It’s nearly eleven—the match—"

Harry looked as if he would rather disagree, but he nodded and sprinted up the steps towards Gryffindor Tower. Aeryn watched him go, her brow furrowing in frustration. There was something there—she was so close—but—

"Come on, ‘Ryn," Ron said, tapping her on the shoulder. "All the good seats might not be taken yet."

Reluctantly, Aeryn followed Ron out to the Quidditch field. The stadium was emblazoned with scarlet and gold on the Gryffindor side, and black and yellow for the Hufflepuffs. Ron and Aeryn made their way up the stands and sat down.

"WhereÂ’s Hermione?" asked Aeryn, looking around her. The brown-haired girl was nowhere to be seen.

"DonÂ’t worry, sheÂ’ll be here," Ron said, leaning back in his seat and fixing his eyes on the field. "She wouldnÂ’t dare miss a Quidditch match."

The teams walked onto the field and Aeryn clapped halfheartedly, unable to get the presence of the—something—out of her mind. Hermione, apparently, understood clearly what was going on, which was more than Aeryn could say for herself. She was so close…but, along with the frustration came an ounce of trepidation. Whenever Harry heard the voice in the walls, it was never followed by something good…

Suddenly Professor McGonagall came half marching, half running across the field, carrying an enormous purple megaphone.

"The match has been cancelled," Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone. A protesting roar arose from the Quidditch fans, both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and the Quidditch teams stared at the deputy headmistress as if she had suddenly grown two heads. Even from her vantage point in the stands, Aeryn could see the frantic look on Oliver WoodÂ’s face.

"All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information," Professor McGonagall shouted over the ruckus. "As quickly as you can, please!"

As she lowered the megaphone, the students began to buzz unhappily amongst themselves. Professor Vector and Professor Sprout appeared to herd the students from their seats, and the crowd grudgingly began to siphon from the stadium.

"They cancelled the match?" Ron exclaimed as they rose from their seats. "But—the cup—"

Aeryn stared out onto the Quidditch field, trying not to be pushed over as students walking by jostled her. Professor McGonagall had beckoned Harry over to her side. "She’s talking to Harry—"

Their gazes locked and Aeryn read in RonÂ’s eyes the same sudden alarm that coursed through her veins. As one, they detached themselves from the crowd and hurried over to Harry and Professor McGonagall, who had set off towards the castle.

The deputy headmistress turned around as Aeryn and Ron came running up towards them. Her features, taut with tension, relaxed slightly at the worried look on their faces. "YesÂ…perhaps youÂ’d better come tooÂ…"

With a sickening feeling growing in her stomach, Aeryn followed Harry, Ron and followed Professor McGonagall back into the school and up the marble staircase. But they werenÂ’t taken to anybodyÂ’s office this time.

"This will be a bit of a shock," said Professor McGonagall in a surprisingly gentle voice as they approached the infirmary. "There has been another attackÂ…another double attack."

She pushed the infirmary door open, and Aeryn bit back the agonized scream that rose in her throat. Madam Pomfrey was bending over a fifth-year girl with long, curly hair, and on the bed next to her was—

"Hermione!"

Ron groaned.

Blood thundered in AerynÂ’s ears, and she opened her mouth to protest, that this couldnÂ’t be happening, not to her friends, not to Hermione, but the only sound that passed her lips was a low, anguished moan.

"They were found near the library," said Professor McGonagall. "I donÂ’t suppose any of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to themÂ…" She held up a small, circular mirror.

Numb with shock, Aeryn could only stare at HermioneÂ’s motionless figure on the bed. Her open eyes were glassy, like the lifeless eyes of a mannequin.

"I will escort you three back to Gryffindor Tower," said Professor McGonagall heavily. "I need to address the students in any case."

~*~*~*~*~*~

"All students will return to their House common rooms by six oÂ’clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

Professor McGonagall rolled up the parchment and said in a somewhat choked voice. "I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward."

She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors began talking immediately. Lee Jordan leapt atop a chair and began railing against the Slytherins to the assembled Gryffindors like an irate Enjoras addressing his student revolutionaries, but Aeryn barely heard him. Her ears were still ringing with shock. How could this have happened—to Hermione, of all people? And Hogwarts…

"It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught."

Hogwarts closing? Aeryn shut her eyes at the thought. If the school closed, she had nowhere else to go—save back to Little Whinging, back to the mundane day-to-day task of cleaning houses, back to the ever-present growing hatred against the mutants…and not even just her, but Harry, he would be forced back into the clutches of the Dursleys if the school folded.

Tom Riddle had turned in Hagrid because he was faced with the prospect of a Muggle orphanage if the school closedÂ…

Her fists clenched against the denim of her jeans reflexively as the unhappy Gryffindors began to mill about the common room, pacing the floor like caged lions at the zoo.

She had to talk to the diary.

"Aeryn."

Harry stood at her shoulder, his jade-green eyes startling in his white face. Aeryn quickly scooted over and let the boys sit next to her at the table. Harry leaned towards her, keeping his voice low. "WeÂ’ve got to visit Hagrid tonight, find out what we can about the creature."

"YouÂ’re coming with us, right?" Ron asked. His words were taut with concern.

Slowly, Aeryn shook her head. "No, IÂ…I canÂ’t." As Harry and RonÂ’s faces twisted in sudden protest, she quickly leaned forward and put her hands over their mouths before they could say a word.

"Two people might be able to sneak out of Gryffindor Tower, but three would definitely be pushing it, even without the tightened security," she murmured. She dropped her hands from their lips but kept her serious gaze fixed on them, and they remained quiet. "You guys go. Let me know what you find out—I’ll be waiting for you in the common room when you get back."

"But—" Harry began.

"Just go," Aeryn said quietly, and the boys did not press the matter further.

~*~*~*~*~*~

In the silence of the deserted common room, Aeryn placed an eagle quill and a bottle of ink on the table next to T. M. RiddleÂ’s diary. She had gone to bed at the usual time, waited until the second year girls had stopped discussing the Chamber of Secrets and finally fallen asleep, and then quietly slipped the diary from beneath her mattress and headed to the common room.

She looked around the room, her eyes flickering over the shadows half-shrouding the familiar chairs and tables, molding them into misty objects of a midnight ghost story. Her palms were sweating, and she wiped them on the sides of her nightdress.

Carefully, she cracked the diary open to the first page. January 1 was written across the top of the paper, but other than that, the leaf was smooth and white as if it had never been touched. Aeryn ran a finger hesitantly down the blank page and shuddered slightly as she metÂ…nothing. The same unnatural, tangible blankness that she had felt before.

For a long moment, she sat there unmoving, staring fiercely at the diary as if her gaze could penetrate the blank leaves and see the memory of the fifty-years gone Tom Riddle. Then she drew a deep breath and picked up her eagle quill. She dipped the nib into the ink and swiftly wrote on the first page:

Well met, Tom Riddle.

Her pen hovered over the words after she had written them. The words shone momentarily on the page and then, as though they were being sucked into the page, vanished. Aeryn held her breath, waiting for a response.

Suddenly, words Aeryn had never seen before oozed up across the page.

"How intriguing. Your handwriting is unfamiliarÂ…feminineÂ…somewhat older than a schoolgirlÂ’s awkward scrawlÂ…I donÂ’t believe IÂ’ve ever read your writing before, yet you know my name. Who are you?"

These words faded away into nothingness, and Aeryn let out the breath she had been holding. Quickly, she loaded her quill and scribbled back:

My name is Aeryn Blake.

"Ah, Harry PotterÂ’s friend," the diary wrote back. "He has spoken of you."

Aeryn hadnÂ’t been expecting that. Harry had spoken to Tom of her? She bit her lip, wondering exactly how much Harry had told the diary about her, and paused, trying to find the words to best approach the unseeable being. IÂ’m glad to hear that, she wrote finally. ItÂ’s very nice to meet you, Tom.

"The feeling is mutual." For the first time, as she pressed her fingertips to the paper, Aeryn could feel a faint trace of—something—indistinct, but there, as if from a presence far, far away. "Tell me, Aeryn—pronounced ‘Erin,’ am I correct? I am quite intrigued as to how you came across my journal. Last I remember Harry was in possession of me."

I asked to borrow you, Aeryn wrote, the premeditated words flowing from her pen with a practiced ease. The thought of delving into the mind-recesses of someone from fifty years ago seemed too absorbing a prospect to pass up. IÂ’ve always been interested in sociology.

The diary was quiet for a moment, and then ink spilled across the blank page with surprising speed. "Those are very pretty words, Aeryn, but for some reason I donÂ’t quite believe them."

Aeryn stopped breathing.

"Let us dispense with these clumsy, pseudo-polite fumblings at niceties. You are writing to me because I know about the Chamber of Secrets."

No, I donÂ’t, Aeryn began, alarmed, but as she wrote the words, ink began to flow from the diary beneath her fingers and across the page.

"Aeryn, Aeryn, Aeryn, do you think me as two-dimensional as this paper? Rest assured that I am far from insulted that the Chamber of Secrets would be the reason you wish to speak to me—that is the reason I locked my memory in this diary, so I could preserve the events of what happened so future generations could learn from the sad tales of the past. Unless we learn from our mistakes, history is doomed to repeat itself."

Tom RiddleÂ’s words paused, and then continued with cold, clipped strokes. "But I do not like falsehoods, Aeryn. Next time, it would be best if you told me your intentions directly."

Aeryn chewed on her lower lip. This was going to be harder than she had expected. She tossed her head, shaking the hair from her face, and curled forward over the diary. YouÂ’re quite astute, Tom. Yes, I want to know about the Chamber of Secrets.

"I already showed Harry the events leading up to the eventual capture and expulsion of the culprit."

AerynÂ’s fingers spasmed against her eagle quill, and it was a second before she could write the words.

Rubeus Hagrid.

"Your handwriting is extremely tense, Aeryn." RiddleÂ’s words flowed across the page, light and quick. "Your loops are tight and tiny, and you press down hard on the paper with your quill. Something is bothering you."

Aeryn gritted her teeth as anger welled up in the back of her throat. But she swallowed and moved her quill across the page. Forgive me for being naïve or easily misled, Tom, but for some reason I can’t believe Hagrid would do such a terrible thing as unleash the creature of the Chamber upon Hogwarts. He’s rough-cut, not ruthless.

"The bumbling gamekeeper cannot be the only reason for the tautness in your handwriting," responded the diary. "You are either under extreme duress or you naturally enjoy gripping writing utensils so tightly that your hand seizes up. Talk to me, Aeryn. What inner turmoil wracks you?"

The image of Hermione lying motionless on the infirmary bed sprang into AerynÂ’s mind, and she held back the tears that leapt unbidden behind her eyes. A good friend of mine was attacked this afternoon, Tom, she wrote, trying to keep her quill steady. IÂ’m more than a little distraught.

"I am truly sorry to hear that, Aeryn."

Aeryn wasnÂ’t sure whether or not to believe his sincerity, but for the sake of the game, she wrote: Thank you. The problem is hitting closer to home than I ever would care for it to.

"Of course. It is always difficult to see terrible things happen to our close friends." There was a break and the words sunk back into the paper, and for a second, Aeryn was afraid that Riddle had decided to stop speaking to her. She quickly dipped her quill in the ink and was on the verge of asking him to come back when new words arose on the page, starkly vibrant against the white paper. "Harry has mentioned that—feeling helpless when his friends are in some sort of trouble—for some reason, Aeryn, I believe he was speaking of you. To what was he referring?"

Aeryn’s hand rested against the page and a sudden surge of raw emotion flowed through her as the words spread across the page. She jerked her skin away from the diary as if she had been burned and stared down at the now-blank paper. It had been craving, Tom’s desire for—something—a feeling so intense that it made her skin crawl. Awkwardly, trying not to touch the diary, Aeryn started to write again. Tom, I don’t really want to—

"Please indulge me, Aeryn." The intrigue, the desire to know was more subdued, but still there, tangible in his sinuous words. "I’ve been mouldering in a box for fifty years—and it’s been such a long time since I last spoke with a girl."

She had to get away from this dangerous ground. Tom, may we discuss the Chamber of Secrets?

Her words faded into the paper of the diary, and the sheet was blank save for the January 1 atop the page. Aeryn waited, but Riddle did not respond. She slumped back against her chair and winced, feeling for the first time the knotted muscles beneath her shoulders.

"Methinks the diary doth protest too much," she muttered through clenched teeth, and her fingers tightened against the quill yet again. If this was the only way she could get him to speak with her, then so be it.

This school year has not been very easy for me. As she wrote the words, she wondered again how much Harry had told Riddle. A lot of things happened here at Hogwarts that I hadnÂ’t been expecting.

RiddleÂ’s answer spilled immediately over the page. "Friend troubles? Teacher troubles?"

You might say that.

"Please enlighten me."

Eagerness spread through her fingers resting against the page, and Aeryn suppressed a shudder. Something was wrong with this—he was too keen, too desirous for her to tell him…a small prickling of alarm stirred the hairs on the back of her neck, but Aeryn pushed the thoughts away and forced her quill to move. The Potions master—Professor Snape—he and I tend to have extreme conflicts of interest. It has not been an easy road.

"The understatement of the century," Aeryn whispered to herself.

"I understand completely," Riddle replied. " The Arithmancy professor during my time never seemed to entertain my point of view, and I spent many a long night arguing my marks to the place where they should be."

Aeryn sourly wondered whether Perfect Prefect Tommy had ever received a mark lower than an A-minus. She bit back the words she wanted to say and bent her mind around the task at hand. But enough about my life, she wrote, trying to keep her quill strokes light. What about—

The portrait of the Fat Lady swung open suddenly, and AerynÂ’s hand flew up from the diary, splattering ink everywhere. Frantically, she tossed a hasty illusion across the tabletop, slamming the diary shut and shoving it down the front of her nightdress. An instant later, a silver cloak flashed in the half-lit common room, and Harry and Ron appeared in the entrance to the common room.

As they crawled through the portrait-hole, the look on both their faces made AerynÂ’s heart stop in her chest. "WhatÂ’s up?" she asked, rising to her feet.

Harry stumbled over to where she sat. "HagridÂ’s been taken to Azkaban," he said hoarsely.

His words hit Aeryn in the stomach like a sledgehammer. "No," she whispered, sinking back into her chair. "You can’t be serious—he can’t have done it—"

Harry buried his face in his hands. "We were watching from the corner, beneath my Invisibility Cloak." His words were muffled, and Aeryn could feel him struggle to keep his voice even. "Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, had orders to take Hagrid into custody—"

AerynÂ’s heart twisted sideways in her chest. "ButÂ…"

"And DumbledoreÂ’s been taken away," Ron murmured.

For a moment, Aeryn thought she had heard the boyÂ’s words incorrectly. She turned and stared at him disbelievingly, feeling a horrible coldness siphoning through her blood. "What?" she choked finally.

Ron’s eyes were hollow as he sunk into the seat next to Aeryn. "An Order of Suspension—the governors, all twelve of them voted to suspend him—" He cleared his throat, and the sound rattled in the silent air. "Said he had failed to stop the attacks—"

Aeryn pressed her hands to her mouth, holding back the horrified scream welling in her throat. In the back of her mind she could hear the Potions master’s cold, detached voice: The accusation will have to wait until I have determined a suitable course of action, but now the Headmaster was gone, and there was no suitable course of action, no way to resolve the matter, and now— "No," she moaned. "No, no, no, no."

"They may as well close the school tonight," said Harry, running a hand through his jet-black hair. "ThereÂ’ll be an attack a day with him gone."

You cannot quit me so quicklyÂ…

An image of Gilderoy Lockhart grinning evilly before her in the flickering lamplight filled AerynÂ’s head with startling life, and a mournful ringing echoed in her ears as a slow, deadly terror began to leach through her body.