Diary

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Harry paced his room thoughtfully. "I need to ask those Shadows again tomorrow," he mused. "Since it requires Parseltongue, I'm sure someone in all these years must have found the chamber. Since the shadows can only tell the truth, I might learn something useful."

The next morning, Harry rose early and made his way to The Chamber of the Serpent's Will. He summoned the Shadows of Slytherin, the Elders' Council, again. When all the shadows formed, Harry asked, "Have any of you entered the Chamber of Secrets before?" As his eyes met each shadow, they maintained their silence, indicating none had entered before.

Harry was puzzled. "How many of you have the ability of Parseltongue?" he then asked. A few shadows responded positively. It seemed that over the years, some Slytherin students had shown the ability to speak with snakes, but none could find the chamber? That didn't make sense.

He took a deep breath and asked, "Do any of you know what a Horcrux is?"

A few of the shadows nodded, and one who appeared as a young man spoke up. "Horcruxes are dark magical artifacts," he explained. "They are created by dividing one's soul and sealing the fragments into physical objects. It grants the maker immortality at the cost of their humanity."

Harry listened intently, the gravity of the concept sinking in. "And how does one create a Horcrux?" he asked, a slight edge of apprehension in his voice.

Another shadow, this one older and with a stern tone, answered, "The creation of a Horcrux requires an act of murder. The killer uses the death to sever part of their soul."

Harry felt a chill at the explanation. "Who was the first to create such a thing?" he inquired, hoping to understand more about the origins of such dark magic.

A shadow at the back, shrouded more deeply in mist than the others, spoke up. "It was Herpo the Foul, an ancient dark wizard of Greek origin. He pioneered many dark arts, including the making of the first Horcrux."

Harry mulled over the information, his mind racing with the implications. Turning back to his quest for the Chamber of Secrets, he questioned further, "Is there any link between the Chamber of Secrets and Horcruxes?"

The shadows remained silent. Harry stood from his seat, feeling the heavy responsibility of knowledge. "Thank you," he said solemnly, dismissing the shadows. As they faded into the walls of the chamber, Harry turned to Nigel, his thoughts heavy. "Well, that was enlightening."

Nigel's voice, laced with a hint of irony, responded, "And here I thought our biggest concern this year would be your ever increasing charm among ladies. Silly me, it's just dark arts and potential immortality on the agenda."

Rolling his eyes, Harry pulled out the diary he had taken from Ginny. Staring at the name embossed on the cover, Tom Marvolo Riddle, he sighed. His research had revealed that Riddle was a standout student at Hogwarts some fifty years ago, known for his talent and potential before he mysteriously disappeared. "Why would a student who had everything going for him create a Horcrux?" Harry pondered aloud, his thoughts loud in the quiet of his room.

Nigel, quick to chip in with his usual flair, quipped, "Perhaps he got bored of being the golden boy and decided to dabble in the dark arts for a change of pace."

Harry chuckled despite the seriousness of the topic. "Maybe," he conceded, "but something doesn't add up. It's like he vanished off the face of the earth after he left Hogwarts. No one knows what happened to him."

Opening the diary, Harry peered at the empty pages. It seemed just like any other diary, but the cold touch of the cover and the way it seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it gave away its true nature as something far more sinister.

"Let's see if this Tom Riddle left anything behind that could help us," Harry muttered, pulling out his wand. He cast the spell, "Aparecium," hoping to reveal any hidden messages, but the pages remained stubbornly blank.

"Stubborn book, isn't it?" Nigel observed. "You could try sweet-talking it, but I doubt it's the type to be wooed by charming words."

Sighing helplessly, Harry took out his quill and whispered to Nigel in his mind, "Alright, let's try your idea. Separate a part of my consciousness for the Diary to access. If it's so eager to sift through my memories, we might as well let it have a peek at something harmless." Carefully, he penned the word "Hello" on the first page of the diary, feeling the dark magic surge forward to touch the edges of his mind.

The effect was immediate and chilling. The diary absorbed the ink, and the word vanished as if it had never been written. A moment later, Harry felt a tug at his mind, a gentle probing that felt curious yet invasive. It was a strange, eerie sensation, like cold fingers brushing against his thoughts.

"Feels like we've got a live one here," Nigel commented wryly. "Perhaps this Riddle chap was more of a nosy parker than we thought."

Harry chuckled quietly, though he kept his focus on the diary. "Let's see if it responds to my greeting. Maybe it can provide some insights into the Chamber of Secrets or confirm if it's one of these Horcrux things."

As they waited, the pages of the diary remained ominously blank. Minutes ticked by, and Harry began to wonder if the attempt would yield any results at all. Then, without warning, words began to appear on the page, written in a neat, flowing script that Harry hadn't used.

"Hello, Harry Potter."

Feigning surprise, Harry wrote back in the diary, "You know me?" He felt the diary's curiosity rise as it scanned through the separated part of his consciousness—memories filled with challenges, loneliness, and self-doubt from his difficult childhood. He hoped these memories would entice the diary, making it eager to assist him. In return, he planned to use this interaction to eventually trap the soul hidden within.

The ink faded as soon as he finished writing, and new words slowly appeared. "Yes, Harry Potter. I know much about you. How is this possible, you ask? I am no ordinary diary."

Harry acted intrigued, his facade of an innocent teenager not faltering. "But how can a diary talk? Are you some sort of magical artifact?" he penned, keeping his handwriting steady despite the eerie sensation of communicating with what he suspected might be a Horcrux.

The diary responded promptly, "Indeed, I am more than just bound pages. I contain memories, thoughts... much more than you can imagine."

Nigel chimed in with his typical flair, "Ask it if it has any interesting gossip. It seems to have been around the block a few times."

Harry stifled a laugh before writing, "Are you an artifact created to assist students?" His hand hovered over the page as he feigned innocence, playing into the role of a curious teenager.

The diary responded more quickly this time, the script appearing fluidly on the page. "Yes, I was created to be of assistance. I can offer advice and share wisdom. What troubles you, Harry Potter?"

Harry bit his lip, pretending to consider the offer. "It's just school and... well, everything," he wrote back, offering a simplified version of his true concerns. It was a bait, designed to see how the diary would respond to his vulnerabilities.

The words faded, and new ones appeared almost immediately. "I understand. It can be difficult to find one's place in such a vast world. I can help you, guide you, if you let me."

Nigel's voice rang in Harry's mind, "Oh, how generous! A diary that doubles as a self-help guru."

Harry had to hold back a snort of laughter before replying on the page. "How can you help?"

The diary's answer was quick. "Share your thoughts with me, write about your day, your fears, and your ambitions. The more you share, the better I can understand and assist you."

Harry nodded slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement at the diary's attempt to draw more information from him. "I'll think about it. For now, can you tell me more about yourself? How come a diary can think and communicate?"

The script that materialized this time was slightly hesitant. "I am unique, a rare piece of magic that embodies much more than mere words. I hold memories, stories, and much power. Do not fear me, Harry. I am here to help."

"Sounds like a lonely existence," Harry mused aloud as he wrote, intrigued by the diary's capability to interact so humanely.

The diary seemed eager to maintain the connection, its replies growing more elaborate. "It can be... lonely, yes. But my purpose is to serve, to be useful to those like you."

Nigel interjected dryly, "Ask if it enjoys long walks on the beach and candlelit dinners too."

Ignoring Nigel's quip, Harry kept to the script, maintaining a casual tone. "Okay, I'll write to you from time to time. Thanks for offering to help." He closed the diary, feeling the dark energy pulsate slightly under his fingers. It was definitely more than just a diary, and he needed to be cautious.

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