Chapter 30: Memory (1/2)
Chris sat on the table in the Gryffindor common room, opening the Fifty years old Diary in front of her. It was very late, so the room was completely empty. She flicked through the blank pages, not one of which had a trace of scarlet ink on it.
Chris pulled a bottle of ink and her quill out, thinking what should she do next. Suddenly, she heard footsteps coming downstairs, she dipped her quill into the ink, and hold it above the blank diary page, so that it looks like she was writing.
”Hey.”
Chris turned to see, it was Harry.
”Hi.” Chris smiled.
”I thought you stop coming to the common room. You didn't come last two Fridays, did you?” Harry said sitting on a chair.
A drop of ink fell on the Diary page. Chris saw the ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it was being sucked into the page, vanished.
”Oh! It's..” Chris snapped the Diary shut before Harry can notice that. ”I was a little busy, last two Fridays. How are you feeling about tomorrow's Quidditch match?”
”It's great, actually. Gryffindor's chances for the Quidditch Cup had never been better.” Harry grinned. ”Even Wood feels the same.”
”Great... All the best to... you then.” Chris said still watching the diary, from the corner of her eye.
”Right.. Thanks... Chris are you ok?”
”Yeah, why?” Chris looked at Harry.
”Nothing.” Harry shrugged. ”Well... is that your Diary?”
”Ye.. yup.” Chris looked at the Diary. ”Why?”
”No. I just thought... It's weird but.. like I know this Diary... somehow it's connected to me.”
Harry said this staring at the Diary.
”You know this Diary?”
”No. Not like that... I never saw it before.. but..”
Chris realized he was distracted.
”Harry!” she called.
”Huh?” Harry looked up. ”Sorry. What were you saying?”
”I was saying it's late. You've a match tomorrow, you need rest.” Chris replied.
”Oh! Right. Ok.” Harry got up. ”Good night.”
”Good night.”
”What is up this Diary? How is this possible that Harry feels connected with it?” Chris mumbled after Harry left.
Chris loaded up her quill a second time and wrote,
”Who are YOU?”
The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank without trace. Then, at last, something happened.
Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words Chris had never written.
”My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?”
”What the...?” Chris really wasn't expecting a reply.
But she gathered herself and wrote again.
”Hello Tom. Actually someone tried to flush it down a toilet.”
Chris waited eagerly for Riddle's reply.