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Chapter 168: The Mysterious Notebook
Riddle's gold award medal had been polished to a brilliant shine and displayed prominently inside a glass case. There was no explanation whatsoever regarding why the award had been given.
"This is strange," Harry said excitedly. "Awards are usually accompanied by a reason. That's the whole point of an award."
"Exactly," Hermione said firmly. "That can only mean the reason couldn't be made public. And that year just happened to be the year the Heir of Slytherin was expelled and a student died. What could be more deserving of a Special Award for Services to the School than that?"
A student had died, the school had fallen into chaos, and someone had apparently resolved the crisis. It was precisely the sort of event that would warrant a special award, yet the details had been deliberately omitted from the plaque.
They continued searching and found Riddle's name on the list of Head Boys. They also located an old merit medal that had belonged to him.
"He looks a lot like Percy," Ron said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Prefect, Head Boy... he was probably top of his class too."
"Watch your tone," Hermione snapped immediately, her pride as an outstanding student thoroughly offended.
"What's wrong with being top of the class?"
"Nothing!" Ron replied quickly, sitting up straight. "I just mean... maybe George could help us figure something out."
He had wisely chosen to change the subject.
"That's not a bad idea," Harry agreed. "Since we're not getting anywhere on our own, we might as well ask an expert."
George appeared to be in an unusually good mood.
Whatever had happened during Christmas break seemed to have lifted his spirits. Rather than burying himself in old memories, he was leisurely reading mythology and ancient legends.
As Harry explained the situation, George closed the thick book in his hands.
On the worn cover, Harry could barely make out several faded words:
Chronicles of Life and Death in the Underworld.
Harry recognized every individual word, yet together they made no sense whatsoever.
The Underworld?
Since when did the wizarding world have an underworld?
It sounded more like something from a fairy tale.
"So," George said calmly, "you found a magical book that may contain the secrets of the Heir of Slytherin."
"We've tried everything," Harry said, producing the battered diary from his pocket. "But we can't uncover its secret."
He hesitated before adding,
"Still... I have a strange feeling about it. It doesn't seem ordinary. Somehow, it feels connected to me."
At those words, George's expression changed slightly.
"Harry, that's exactly the right attitude."
He reached for the notebook.
"Wizards aren't ordinary people. Intuition often has meaning for us. Never ignore your instincts."
Then he opened the diary and began examining it.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched him closely.
What would he find?
A moment later, all three of them froze in terror.
Their mouths fell open, and they instinctively covered them to stop themselves from screaming.
George's eyes had burst into flames.
Real flames.
Black flames.
His entire gaze was filled with burning darkness.
There were no pupils.
No whites of the eyes.
Only black fire dancing within his sockets.
Under the gaze of those terrifying flames, the battered diary seemed to become isolated from the world around it.
It began to flicker.
Smoke rose visibly from its pages.
Even Harry could see it.
The black smoke condensed into twisting shapes that silently resisted George's gaze. The two forces collided and annihilated one another soundlessly.
Although no noise was produced, Harry could feel the immense magical power generated by their clash.
The atmosphere itself seemed to tremble.
After several moments, George smiled faintly.
"I've found something interesting."
He looked at them.
"Would you like to see it?"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances.
If George said it was safe, then it probably was.
After all, they had come to him precisely because they wanted answers.
Backing down now would defeat the entire purpose.
They nodded.
George raised a hand and gently waved it.
Instantly, endless darkness swallowed them.
The sky turned upside down.
The world twisted.
Harry felt as if he had fallen into a maze of shifting light and color.
Then suddenly his feet touched solid ground.
He immediately looked around.
Hermione and Ron were nowhere to be seen.
A flicker of panic rose within him, but he quickly calmed himself.
George had sent them here.
There was no reason to believe they were in danger.
They would probably meet up again soon.
As Harry examined his surroundings, realization slowly dawned on him.
He stood inside a circular room lined with portraits of sleeping witches and wizards.
There was only one place in Hogwarts that matched that description.
The Headmaster's Office.
But something was wrong.
Dumbledore wasn't there.
Instead, an elderly wizard sat behind the desk.
He looked frail and withered.
Only a few wisps of white hair remained on his bald head.
Harry had never seen him before.
The old wizard sat beneath the candlelight reading a letter.
His attention was completely absorbed by the parchment.
"Excuse me," Harry said nervously.
"I didn't mean to come in."
There was no response.
The wizard didn't even glance up.
It was as though Harry didn't exist.
"Can I leave now?" Harry asked.
Still nothing.
"Sorry for interrupting," Harry said louder.
"May I go?"
No answer.
Harry frowned.
"Can he not hear me?"
He cautiously reached toward a book on the desk.
His hand passed straight through it.
Like a ghost.
He couldn't touch anything.
At that moment, the old wizard sighed softly.
Folding the letter, he stood up and walked directly past Harry without noticing him.
He crossed the room and pulled back the curtains.
Outside, a magnificent crimson sunset painted the sky in shades of gold and red.
The scenery was beautiful and mysterious.
The wizard returned to his seat and quietly stared toward the door.
Waiting.
For someone.
Harry continued observing the office.
There was no phoenix.
No silver instruments.
The room looked subtly different from Dumbledore's office.
This must be a memory.
A scene preserved within the notebook from fifty years ago.
Harry had no idea how a diary could record memories, but he finally understood why George had sent them here.
They were about to witness the past.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A knock sounded at the office door.
"Come in," the old headmaster called weakly.
The door opened.
A handsome boy of about sixteen stepped inside.
Removing his pointed hat, he bowed politely.
A shining silver prefect badge gleamed on his chest.
He was much taller than Harry.
His black hair was neat and glossy.
The moment Harry saw him, he knew exactly who he was.
Tom Riddle.
(To be continued...)