For the rest of the Christmas break, Neville, Hermione and Colin debated what they had learned and whether there was anything else they could do. Colin was all for repeating the Polyjuice plan and interrogating Lucius Malfoy, but Hermione and Neville refused to go through the whole thing again. They could not count on getting away with it again, even if they had some way of getting near the elder Malfoy. Besides, it would take far too long to produce more Polyjuice potion.
Neville felt neither Hermione nor Colin were taking the situation seriously enough. They didn’t seem to appreciate that their lives were really in danger. If he thought there was any chance of them agreeing, he would have tried to persuade them to leave. Hermione had too much faith in Dumbledore and the other teachers to protect them, and Colin was enjoying Hogwarts too much.
Neville had dreaded the beginning of term and the return of his schoolmates. When the time came around, he was pleasantly surprised that their antagonism against him had eased somewhat. They were still very suspicious of him, but most of them now kept their doubts to themselves, and Neville learned to cope with the silences around him.
Through the new term, as winter slowly began to break around Hogwarts, Neville retreated more into himself, and concentrated on trying to learn something from his classes, something he felt he’d neglected towards the end of last term. He spent a lot of time close to Hermione, ostensibly to keep on top of his homework, but really, though he didn’t admit it to himself, to keep a watch over her.
He also resumed work alongside Professor Sprout on taking care of the Mandrakes, something he kept quiet from most of the school. As the weather was beginning to get warmer, the Mandrakes were maturing rapidly, but Sprout predicted they would still not be ready until late May. Neville really enjoyed those evenings alone in the greenhouses, being useful, working on something he loved, away from the pressures of the world.
Returning to the common room one evening in late January, he found it fairly quiet. Hermione wasn’t there, nor were Harry or Ron. Dean and Seamus were sitting in a corner, but they ignored him, so Neville went straight up to the dormitory. He found it empty, and went over to his bed. He checked on Trevor in his box; he was fine. He turned to lie down on the bed.
There was a book on his bed. It was lying on the duvet, right in the middle. Clearly it had been placed there, but Neville didn’t recall leaving a book there. Having said that, this was the sort of thing he was inclined to forget, so he picked it up and examined it. It was an old, dog-eared book with a blank cover. Neville flicked through its pages. They all seemed to be empty. It seemed to be a notebook or diary, but unused.
Why had someone left him a book? Hermione? But surely she would have mentioned it to him? It could have been any Gryffindor really, the dormitory could not be locked. Perhaps it had been placed on his bed by mistake, perhaps it was meant for Harry, Ron, Dean or Seamus. He would have to wait until they got back to find out. He placed the book on his bedside table and settled down for a nap.
He soon found he couldn’t settle. He found himself tossing and turning, scratching at itches that weren’t there, and generally feeling uncomfortable. Something was nagging at him that he couldn’t place. He sat up and took out his Remembrall, but for once the smoke did not turn red, so it couldn’t be something he’d forgotten. He rechecked that Trevor was okay, he smoothed down his sheets, he tidied the mess around his bed, but nothing seemed to help. Eventually he gave up and sat back down, wondering what else he could do. Absently he picked up the mysterious book again and turned it over in his hands. He scratched his forehead and opened the book once more.
The pages were rough and crinkled, bearing signs of wear, which only made their blankness all the more strange. Neville examined the pages carefully, seeing if he could make out any marks on the paper, but he couldn’t find any. Maybe there was something wrong with the paper. He went over to the desk and grabbed a quill and ink. Hoping whosever book it was wouldn’t mind, he turned to the back page and wrote a small capital letter A in one corner.
A moment after he had done so, it vanished, fading into the paper. Neville blinked in surprise, but then an instant later in the centre of the page a capital letter B appeared. It was written in an ornate, old-fashioned script. Almost as soon as it appeared however, it faded again. Puzzled, Neville took his quill again and wrote a C on the page. It too vanished, but it was not replaced by a D, rather a whole sentence.
We could keep this up all night if you want.
Neville stared open-mouthed for a moment. He glanced around to check the room was still empty. With a trembling hand he wrote, “Hello?” into the book.
Hello replied the book.
“Can you understand what I’m writing?”
Why, yes of course I can. I have had an excellent education.
“Whose book is this?”
Mine. My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, you can call me Tom if you like. This is my diary. I kept it all through my years at Hogwarts, then left it behind when I departed into the world.
“So where are you now?”
The real me? I have no idea. I preserved the memory of myself in these pages at the age of sixteen, some fifty years ago. I do not know what became of me since then. Have you heard of me? Do you know?
“I’m sorry, I don’t. I’ve never heard of a Tom Riddle before. How did this diary come to be lying on my bed?”
I don’t know. Who are you? Where exactly am I?
Neville hesitated for a moment. He was fascinated by this strange magical object, he had never seen anything like it before. It didn’t seem dangerous, though, and this Tom Riddle seemed happy to talk to him. He inked his quill once more. “My name is Neville Longbottom. You’re in Gryffindor Tower.”
Gryffindor Tower, really? Never thought I’d find myself there. I was a Slytherin at Hogwarts. I hope you won’t hold that against me, Neville. I haven’t talked to anyone in a very long time. What’s it like at Hogwarts now?
Neville was about to reply when he heard footsteps on the staircase outside. “Someone’s coming,” he wrote hurriedly. “I’ll talk to you in a bit.” He closed the book and dropped it under his bed, just as Harry entered the room. Ron and one of the Weasley twins (Neville didn’t know which) were loitering at the door.
“Hi, Neville,” he said. “Just forgot something.” He went over to his bed, took something from a drawer and left quickly with the others. Neville, grateful to be left alone again, took out Riddle’s diary once more. They continued their strange conversation through the evening. Tom seemed a sympathetic listener to Neville, and bit by bit Neville found himself sharing his problems with Tom. It was easier talking to a diary than a person, Neville thought. Real people always brought their own problems and complications, Tom did not. Neville could be himself without the prospect of being judged.
From what little that Tom told Neville about himself, Neville gathered that he had been something of a high-flier and academic success at Hogwarts, but he didn’t seem conceited about it. They agreed Neville should keep the diary secret, in case it was stolen or confiscated; Riddle wasn’t sure if his creation of the diary had broken school rules or not. It was only when his roommates came up to bed that Neville put the diary away at last.
The next morning he woke up in a better mood than he had felt in weeks. He had a nagging feeling he might have dreamt the whole thing, but the diary was still there in his drawer. Reluctantly he left it behind as he went off for another school day. He wasn’t thinking about work however, but getting back to talk to Tom.
During the lunch break, a worrying thought occurred to him. How did he know if Tom had been telling the truth to him? Was he really as successful as he made out, or had he been subtly boasting? Neville had an idea and went up to the trophy room on the third floor, which he’d visited last year, to see what he could find. Sure enough, amongst the long list of Head Boys on the wall, there was the name of Tom Riddle, next to the date 1944-45. Neville felt relieved. Here at least was proof that Tom had existed, and that he had left a mark on Hogwarts School. Neville wondered what great things he had gone on to.
He was just turning to leave when something else caught his eye in one of the display cases. He could have sworn he saw the name ‘Riddle’. He walked over to the case to look more closely. Amongst the various cups and shields on display was one shield prominently displayed, gleaming gold. The legend across the top read: “Special Award for Services to the School.” Below was engraved the name “Tom M Riddle.” Obviously Riddle was more modest than Neville had given him credit. This was clearly a highly prestigious accolade.
That evening, when he had the dormitory to himself again, he opened Tom’s diary again. After a few minutes conversation, he asked the question he had been dying to ask: “Tom, I went to the trophy room today and I saw you’d won an award for services to the school. What was that about?”
Ah yes, my finest hour. It happened late in my fifth year. Tell me Neville, have you ever heard of something called the Chamber of Secrets?
Neville gasped. Quickly he wrote “Yes I do. What happened? It’s really important.”
It was opened in my fifth year. In fact, I can show you what occurred. Let me take you to June 13th 1943.
The book fell from Neville’s hands onto the table and sprang open to a particular page in the middle of the book. The page shimmered and faded, transforming into a sharp image, like a wizarding photograph. As Neville leaned closer to examine the image, it seemed to grow wider and wider, filling his vision, engulfing him. Before he knew what was happening he found himself standing on a stone floor, inside the picture itself.
He recognised his surroundings immediately, for he had been there a month before. He was in the Slytherin common room. It seemed to look much the same as in Neville’s time. Neville felt acutely self-conscious, a Gryffindor plainly standing in the Slytherin common room, as himself this time, but he needn’t have worried. Though the room was full of students, none seemed to have noticed him or paid any attention to his presence. He walked unobserved through the crowd. They all seemed to be waiting for something. This was truly astonishing. Was he really in the past?
The door to the common room opened and a portly, middle-aged wizard entered. He wore a short waistcoat that did nothing to cover his enormous belly. He scratched at his luxuriant blond moustache and the expression on his face was full of concern and worry. “Listen up, please,” he called hoarsely to the room. “There has been, um, a, um serious incident. For now I would ask you all to remain within Slytherin dungeon until otherwise instructed. During school hours, you will all be accompanied between lessons by myself or another teacher, to ensure your safety. I have to inform you however that things do not look good. I’m sorry I can’t say any more.”
The room burst into a hubbub of noise from dozens of different discussions. The teacher turned to leave, but one of the students hurried up to talk to him. This boy was tall and thin, with neat, dark hair and a confident bearing. Neville noted a prefect’s badge on his robe. “Excuse me, Professor Slughorn,” he said quietly. “Could I have a word in private?”
“Of course, Tom,” said Slughorn. “Let’s step outside for a moment.” They left the common room and Neville followed. So this was Tom Riddle. He too did not see Neville. Neville felt like he was standing on a theatre stage, while actors performed around him. Slughorn coughed, then spoke. “What is it, Tom?”
“Rumours are spreading through the House, sir. Is it true? Has a student been killed?”
“I really don’t think it’s my place to say, Tom.”
“Please sir, it’s important. I need to know.”
Slughorn hesitated and took a deep breath. “Very well, Tom. Yes, there has been a death. A Ravenclaw girl, so I am informed.”
Riddle hung his head in sorrow. “I was afraid so.” Slughorn looked at him, puzzled. “Do you know what will happen?”
“I honestly don’t know,” said Slughorn. “I don’t think Headmaster Dippet wants to close the school, but he may have no choice. Parents will want to ensure the safety of their children.”
“I don’t have any parents to be worried about me,” replied Riddle. “They’d send me back to the orphanage, you know.”
“I know,” said Slughorn kindly. “I’m sorry.”
Riddle seemed to debate something for a moment. “Who’s in charge of the investigation, sir?”
“Deputy Headmaster Dumbledore. Why?” asked Slughorn, more confused.
“I’m going to have to see him,” said Riddle. “There’s something I have to do.” Without a further word, he suddenly dashed off down the corridor.
“Stop,” yelled Slughorn. “Where do you think your going? It’s not safe out there!” But Riddle didn’t heed him and had already run on out of sight. The vision faded in front of Neville’s eyes, then almost immediately reformed. It seemed to be some time later. Riddle was walking now, through corridors of the castle. Seemingly he knew where he was going. Neville followed
They turned a corner. At the end of a corridor, a tall boy, much taller than Riddle, was standing at a door he had evidently just closed. He turned, and was evidently shocked to see Riddle advancing on him. Riddle had taken out his wand and had it pointed towards the boy. “Stand aside, Hagrid,” said Riddle firmly.
“Hagrid?” cried Neville, astonished, but there was no denying the identity of the boy, even as a teenager Hagrid was distinctive. Hagrid stood to bar the door, but Riddle continued to advance.
“Stand aside,” Riddle repeated. “It’s over, Hagrid. You have to know that. I have to stop you. I only regret I waited so long.”
“But, but he didn’t do it,” protested Hagrid. “He wouldn’t.”
“A girl is dead, Hagrid. The monster has to be destroyed. Now stand aside.”
“No!” cried Hagrid, still blocking the door, but Riddle pointed his wand and the door behind Hagrid exploded off its hinges. Hagrid was thrown to the ground. Behind the door was a small cupboard with a wooden box in its centre. The lid of the box sprang open and something leapt out. Neville backed away in horror. The creature scrabbled for purchase on the stone floor, all eight of its legs splayed. It was a spider, but no ordinary arachnid. This one was the size of a dog, with a thick, hairy body. It recovered its feet and scuttled off at immense speed, just as Riddle aimed a curse at where it had been.
It ran right at Neville who, though he should have known he could not be harmed, pushed himself tight against the wall and let it past. It shot off down the corridor and vanished out of sight before Riddle could aim another curse. Riddle turned back to Hagrid, who was slowly getting to his feet. “I hope for your sake it’s caught, Hagrid,” he said. “They’ll have you out of this school.” Suddenly the sight of Riddle and Hagrid shrank before Neville’s eyes, as if disappearing down a long tunnel. The world folded in on itself around Neville and he found himself once more in his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, back in the present.
Neville shook his head vigorously in an attempt to clear and focus his mind. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen, yet somehow he knew he had witnessed the truth and no fabricated, false memory. Hagrid? Hagrid was the Heir of Slytherin and responsible for the attacks? He had to admit he did not know Hagrid all that well, but from what little he had encountered of him, he seemed a pleasant, kind and gentle man, if a little odd at times. Had he really meant to attack those people or was it some colossal mistake? He knew Harry and Ron were quite good friends with Hagrid and he found it hard to believe Harry would make friends with anyone evil or cruel.
He picked up the quill again and asked Tom, “What became of Hagrid?”
His wand was snapped and he was expelled. I don’t think he understood what he had done, he kept protesting his innocence. Last I heard, he got a job as assistant gamekeeper. You don’t know what has happened to him, by any chance?
Neville hesitated, then wrote, “No.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell Tom the Chamber was open again, and that Hagrid was still on the grounds. After all, there was nothing Tom could do about it now.
They continued their written conversation for the rest of the evening and the next few days, but Neville steered clear of the subjects of the Chamber of Secrets and Hagrid. In a funny sort of way, though he didn’t realise it, he didn’t want to frighten Tom, or scare him away, as he was just about the only friend bar Hermione he had at the moment. Though Harry would look out for him when he could, mostly he was off with his own friends, cementing his reputation as a popular rogue.
Time passed and spirits grew higher in Hogwarts as spring approached and there were no further attacks. Some began to believe that the danger was passed and the Heir of Slytherin had mysteriously disappeared once more, but not Neville. He continued to be nervous and vigilant, waiting for the next strike. Only to Tom did he confide his troubled state of mind, but not why it was troubled.
Then one evening as February waned, he returned to the dorm after supper and opened the drawer in which he kept the diary. It was not there. The clothes under which he had hidden the diary and all been messed up and rearranged, as had much of his stuff in other drawers. The diary had been taken, seemingly by someone who knew what they were looking for. Tom Riddle had gone from Neville’s life as mysteriously as he had entered it, and Neville felt for the first time he had lost a friend.
Neville Longbottom and the Chamber of Secrets by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which Neville finds a diary left on his bed and learns of events fifty years ago.