Chapter 79: There Won’t Be Any More Attacks

Harry found himself in a particularly sour mood today. He had made the alarming discovery that Riddle's diary had mysteriously disappeared from his possession.

Ever since he last communed with the apparition of Riddle, using the memories within the journal to discover that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets had once been opened under the suspicious circumstances pointing towards Hagrid, Harry had taken it upon himself to securely stow the diary away in his drawer.

However, when he dared to peer into the compartment, he was met with the sight of its perplexing absence. Riddle's journal had inexplicably vanished. In the midst of this confusion, he found solace in sharing his worry with Ron and Hermione in the common room.

"Do you reckon Riddle's ghost within the diary decided to skidaddle away himself?" Ron ventured, somewhat ludicrously, "After all, it's been more than two months since you last chatted with him, he must've been dying of boredom."

Harry was at a loss for words.

"It's a diary, Ron, not a hare. How could it run away? Someone must've nicked it."

At this conveniently timed moment, Neville happened to amble past their huddle. Ron, never one to shy away from forthrightness, casually inquired,

"Neville, you didn't see Harry's diary stashed away in his drawer, did you?"

Neville seemed decidedly flustered at the sudden attention, stuttering a hurried,

"No, I...I haven't seen anything."

Then, without further ado, he quickly scuttled off.

Ron observed Neville's hasty retreat with a peculiar look and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Neville did seem a bit cagey."

Harry merely returned a languid reply,

"Cut it out, Ron. I'd sooner suspect a house-elf of robbing me than Neville."

Ron simply shrugged, having only been half-serious. He knew well enough that Neville, timid as he was, could hardly muster the nerve to steal anything. While their banter continued, Hermione appeared engrossed in a sizable book, her gaze flicking to and fro over the content.

"You've been hiding behind that enormous book for days now, Hermione," Harry began, "What secrets does it hold, then?"

Closing the book with a sharp snap, Hermione returned his remark with a pointed glare.

"I'm researching the kind of details you two are certain to overlook." She rose from her seat decidedly. "And now, I'll be off to return this book to the library. Care to accompany me?"

As Harry and Ron exchanged glances, they mirrored the unspoken refusal in each other's expressions.

"Ahh we're actually kind of busy ourselves. Wood's expecting us for our last Quidditch practice before the match," Harry explained apologetically.

They exited the Gryffindor common room together, only to part ways near the corridor. The weather outside was encouragingly pleasant, an auspicious sign for their impending Quidditch match. While making their way to the game, Harry and Ron continued to muse over the missing diary.

"Should we clue in the professors about this?" Ron postulated.

Retorting with a shake of his head, Harry pondered over their predicament. "They wouldn't care, now would they. It's a diary, not an ancient relic. Although, if we spill the beans about its history, there's a probable chance of Hagrid being wrongly accused."

In spite of dealing with unwelcome suspicion himself, he wouldn't dare inadvertently cast doubt on Hagrid. As they descended the staircase, their eyes were drawn towards two figures engaged in conversation around the corner of the third floor.

Professor Forester and Professor Flitwick. The stark contrast in their heights was nearly comedic in nature, with Sherlock having to bend considerably to keep eye contact. Using this opportunity to eavesdrop, Harry tugged at Ron's robes and they surreptitiously concealed themselves behind a corner.

"Are your preparations for the final exams going smoothly?" Professor Flitwick, always concerned about the academic affairs at Hogwarts, asked Sherlock, who had been swamped with his investigations into the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets. Despite learning about the heir of Slytherin from Dumbledore, the diary's whereabouts remained an enigma.

"Almost done, thankfully. Setting practical exams is no great hurdle; it's crafting the actual exam papers that's time-consuming. Creating separate sets for all five years does rather hinder the process," Sherlock confessed, sounding slightly weary

Professor Flitwick nodded, adding "This period of the year is always chaotic, but the summer vacation that follows is a welcomed reprieve. Although, the unresolved predicament of the attacker is quite worrisome. There's no telling if the final exams will proceed smoothly this year."

This ominous revelation sent a shiver of apprehension down Harry and Ron's spines. However, before they could so much as react to it, Sherlock spoke again.

"It's already been a while; there shouldn't be any more attacks. The attacker doesn't seem to harbor straightforward intentions."

Detecting Harry and Ron's pale faces as they emerged from their hiding spot, Sherlock couldn't resist teasing them, "What's happened to the two of you? You look like you've swallowed a Cockroach."

Harry, deeply distressed by the thought of the impending student attack, could only manage a feeble,

"Uh-nothing, Professor. Just a bit of a stomach ache is all."

Upon scrutinizing Harry's face and then Ron's, who seemed similarly afflicted, Sherlock appeared bemused.

"Both of you have a stomach ache? At the same time?" Professor Flitwick queried, analyzing their expressions. "Seems like something you ate didn't agree with you. If it's too severe, it might be wise to see Madam Pomfrey."

"Actually, no need. It's just a mild discomfort, should pass soon enough. We've got the Quidditch match soon. Should be on our way!" Harry rushed, seeing an opportunity for a quick escape, and hurriedly ushered Ron before leaving an utterly perplexed Flitwick and Sherlock behind.

"What on Earth did they mean by slightly pained? They looked terrible." Sherlock mused to himself.

Once safely out of sight, Ron frantically raked a hand through his hair and bemoaned, "We're doomed! Professor Forester said it, so there'll be another attack!"

Harry paced anxiously nearby, mirroring his concern, "And it's turned a chatoic, hasn't it? With Malfoy being targeted, it could well be anyone in the castle now. Isn't there something we can do?"

Despite their best efforts, Harry and Ron, being only thirteen-years-old, could hardly formulate a plan due to their limited experience. They were left uncomfortably in the dark about how to proceed. Just as the weight of the situation was beginning to overwhelm Harry, a chillingly familiar voice echoed throughout the corridor.

"Kill you... kill you... kill..."

Feeling a sudden surge of terror, Harry immediately seized Ron's arm, "Did you hear that voice, Ron?"

However, to his confusion, Ron looked back at him, utterly perplexed.

Although Harry strained his ears to discern the direction of the voice, it had vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. He felt a despairing grimace tug at his features.

"It's begun again, Ron. Whenever there's an attack, I hear that voice. Coupled with Professor Forester's prediction, I'm certain someone's about to get attacked!"