Chapter 101

When on the fifth day, Harry finally felt pity enough to let the snitch get out of his pocket and let go of his 'put a timer on Quidditch' campaign, the Ravenclaw seeker just grabbed it out of mid-air and the entire crowd, regardless of house, burst out in relieved applause.

It took the school weeks to put the mess behind it and much to Hermione's horror, they'd only managed to revise the entire course twice instead of thrice.

Which was why Harry, Terry and Ron found themselves sitting at the Ravenclaw table, reassuring a hyperventilating Hermione on the morning of the exams.

"But so much of it is practical! I haven't even practiced the mouse to snuff box transfiguration yet! And what if they ask us to cast a Sonorus charm! I don't know how I'd do that! What do I do what do I do what do I do!"

"You'll be fine Hermione. Calm down. You've got to be the smartest witch in the school." said Ron with his mouth half stuffed with mashed potatoes.

"Yeah. The only person close to you is Harry and not even he can beat you at the theory. You'll do great!" Terry chimed in.

"But! But! Wha-" Hermione's brain was short circuiting. Noticing that, Harry quickly pulled up Hermione's window.

Hermione Granger Lv-7 (Status: Panic Attack -70% to Int and Wis)

HP:350/350

MP:200/200

He poured his mana into her and activated his healing ability.

Ping!

Do you wish to heal - Status: Panic Attack -70% to Int and Wis

YES/NO?

Harry pressed yes. Looking Hermione dead in the eyes, he said, "It'll be fine Hermione. Relax. Let's just go and do our best alright. Stop worrying about all that will come after."

"You're right." Hermione said, noticeably calmer. "You're right. Let's go."

And they went up to the seventh floor, where the theory exams were set up for all the first years in a giant hall like classroom.

It was sweltering hot in there and the no wands in the room rule meant that the teachers couldn't cast cooling charms to help out. Harry would use his Aeromancy skill once in a while to send a small breeze of cool wind through the classroom, eliciting many sighs of relief from the first year students.

After they'd finished with most of the theory papers that day, the next day involved all of the practical exams.

Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. He delightfully clapped when Harry's pineapple performed a pirouette and neatly bowed to him.

After displaying a few more basic charms like the Incendio and the red sparks spell Periculum, Harry was told to go to the Transfigurations practical, where Professor McGonagall watched him turn a mouse into a snuffbox. Points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, so Harry transfigured up a silvery snuffbox with the engraved depiction of Illyus the Brave casting his mouse patronus. McGonagall inspected it for whiskers and ran her fingers along the engraving before giving Harry a small smile and an approving nod that uplifted Harry's spirits a little.

And those uplifted spirits were necessary, for Snape's attempts at making them all nervous by breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion were a bit too effective for Harry's taste.

But it wasn't all gloom and doom. Harry was incredibly amused when Ernie Macmillan presented an empty cauldron to Professor Snape, insisting that he must have drunk the Forgetfulness potion he made since he didn't remember making it.

Their very last exam was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invented self-stirring cauldrons and they were free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Harry couldn't help but cheer with the rest.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

"I told you so." Ron and Terry said at the same time before giving each other a fist bump. Then they both got promptly smacked in the head by the vengeful girl.

Harry shook his head at the antics of his friends with a grin. His mind wandered a bit towards the subject of the stone.

Harry's earpiece hadn't activated for weeks now. Apparently, making an attempt on the stone while Dumbledore was present wasn't on Quirrell's to-do list anymore.

The headmaster's reputation as the only man Voldemort was ever afraid of must be truer than he'd suspected, because it looked as if so long as Dumbledore was present in the school, sitting in his office in the third floor right across the prohibited corridor, the Stone was safe from both Voldemort and Quirrell.

That thought brought a smile to his face.

Glancing at a tree they were passing, he frowned as he caught sight of Lisa Turpin all alone, writing something in her notebook. The memory of what Susan had said at the ball came back to him. Shaking his head, he decided to talk to her another day and joined his friends on their way to the black lake.

A flutter of curiosity echoed through the consciousness of the diary, then a small burst of hesitation. The living consciousness that resided in it aroused, wondering what woke him from his sleep.

A drop of ink fell onto his pages.

He absorbed it and latched on to the flutter of curiosity with a little bit of magic, giving a small tug. The curiosity grew tenfold. He felt a quill scratch his page.

My name is Lisa Turpin.

He started analyzing the handwriting.

A horizontal slant of thirty degrees written with a slightly shaky hand, indicated to him an innate nervousness and a distinct lack of adventure spirit while the little to no force on the paper with quill and the calligraphic handwriting indicated wizarding upbringing.

Not taking too much time, he willed the page to write back using the same ink that had been written on it.

Hello, Lisa Turpin. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?

And he waited for the reply, he keeping a vigilant watch on the emotions of the girl who was writing in his pages, using subtle compulsions to increase curiosity and inquisitiveness and eliminating hesitation and doubt. The reply came.

I found you in my school bag the day before my first-year exams, I don't remember ever picking you up though.

He felt a bit of curiosity as to why his Prime soul piece would leave his first soul container lying around for a little girl would find. Shelving that for later consideration, he wrote back a reply.

It's alright. Finders keepers is the rule that applies here, doesn't it Lisa? Would you be a dear and tell me what year is it?

Its 1992 Tom. I joined Hogwarts in 1991, she wrote.

It had been almost fifty years since his creation, he marveled. So much he must have missed. He'd have to get out and find his Prime soul piece.

So tell me about yourself Lisa.

A brief hesitation. About myself?

Yes. I am a diary after all. It is what I am made to do.

Curiosity and hesitation battled in the writer, but with his compulsions pushing her to write and believe in the diary, she didn't even consider not writing back.

But what are you Tom? How can you be a diary and write back?'

'I'm special Lisa. I'm a memory that was preserved. Preserved in more lasting ways than ink. You could equate me with a painting.'

With that the last traces of hesitation faded away; she told him of herself, her mother, how she'd read stories about Harry Potter and his exploits, and how she got to go to school with him now.

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