Chapter 58: The Black Diary (Part 2)

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"Another attack! Penelope Clearwater from Ravenclaw has been petrified!"

This news spread throughout the school the day after Jane found the diary.

Her roommate wept while holding Penelope's rigid hand in the hospital wing:

"Penelope left early yesterday... I hadn't seen her since Defense Against the Dark Arts class. I thought she'd gone to Professor Flitwick, but when she hadn't returned by curfew, I knew something was wrong!"

The Heads of Houses and professors further tightened student supervision, moving curfew up to 8 PM and requiring students to move in groups of three or four.

"Given the school's unsafe condition, Headmaster Dumbledore has been temporarily suspended by the Board of Governors."

During detention that day, Snape, his back to Jane as she chopped daisy roots, seemed to be communicating with someone.

This news immediately stirred up a storm in her mind.

Even with the Headmaster suspended, she still couldn't get expelled?

"The gamekeeper Hagrid—due to his previous record, has been taken by the Ministry."

Snape continued, inadvertently revealing more information.

He stood up, suddenly seeming to remember Jane's presence behind him, and immediately fixed her with a fierce glare:

"Detention is over for today!"

He announced that her future detentions would start right after dinner to avoid breaking curfew.

What did Hagrid have to do with this?

Jane couldn't make sense of it.

She decided to attend one of Lockhart's classes, as his teaching performance and Valentine's Day behavior were incredibly stupid, completely contradicting his persona as a brave fighter of magical creatures.

It reminded her of "soul possession" plots from xianxia novels she'd read before.

After all, if Voldemort could attach himself to the back of Quirrell's head, who knew if Lockhart wasn't being controlled similarly?

But she soon regretted her decision, as Lockhart kept her and Harry after class.

"Miss Yu," he shook his head mysteriously, flashing a knowing smile, "and Harry, I really shouldn't have influenced you this way—"

He clicked his tongue, circling them:

"I understand you both. When I first heard about the Chamber, I knew you'd do this—"

"Tasted fame, haven't you? I understand wizards your age, becoming addicted to being the talk of the school."

"Heir of Slytherin—quite a title, isn't it? Though not as impressive as winning Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, but you've made a start. I understand, I do."

He winked, leading them to his office.

Jane examined the room carefully, noting countless framed photos of Lockhart on the walls, each with a candle beneath—presumably his method of lighting the photos to make his skin appear whiter. His desk was covered with photos and colorful envelopes, apparently from admirers.

Everything visible seemed normal.

She placed her stack of Lockhart's "works" on the desk.

"I can give you an early taste of fame!" Lockhart exclaimed excitedly, as if bestowing a great honor, "Not everyone gets to address my mail!"

He moved mountains of letters before them:

"Here we go! First one to Veronica Smethley—a devoted fan!"

Jane mechanically wrote names and addresses, her mind wandering to the drawers under the desk.

Could there be secrets hidden there?

Time ticked by, with Harry frequently shooting her desperate looks.

She understood why—her hand was cramping too, but Lockhart kept hovering over them.

"Knock knock knock—"

The door suddenly sounded.

"Excuse me." Snape's cold face appeared, "A word, if you please."

Lockhart scratched his head in confusion and left, leaving Jane and Harry alone.

"My hand's about to fall off," Harry immediately dropped his quill, shaking his stiff hand. "Yu, remember what I told you? That weird voice? I heard it here last time—"

He was interrupted by crackling in the air as a house-elf appeared before them, looking at Harry with sorrowful eyes.

"The plot unfolds, the Chamber has been opened—"

"Harry Potter didn't heed Dobby's warning... he insisted on staying... Dobby must do this, sir."

He began wreaking havoc in the office, first tearing up their carefully addressed envelopes, then overturning the desk, scattering letters everywhere. The framed photos crashed to the floor, glass shattering; the Lockharts in the photos lost their smiles and began moaning; Jane's books were soaked with ink, staining the pages.

"No!" Harry shouted futilely, "Stop! Dobby! You'll get us expelled!"

Jane almost wanted to whistle in appreciation!

Well done!

Her eyes quickly searched the floor, and she soon spotted a notebook among the scattered letters from the desk.

Picking it up, she rapidly scanned its contents.

"Troll story, collection location... time... characters... Yeti story..."

Now she understood!

Lockhart wasn't possessed—he'd stolen other people's experiences!

The man was a fraud!

But just then Dobby snapped his fingers and vanished. They heard the door opening, and Jane quickly closed the notebook.

"You! What are you doing!" Lockhart shrieked, "My photos! My letters!"

"You're jealous—jealous of my fame!"

But when he saw the notebook in Jane's hand, his expression instantly turned anxious.

He strode forward and snatched it away.

"Get out! You have no business here!"

...

Jane returned to her dormitory with her ink-soaked books.

Lockhart's suspicions were cleared, leaving only the mysteriously arrested Hagrid and that house-elf as remaining clues.

As she pondered this, she spread the wet books on her desk.

But the black diary had somehow appeared among them.

She must have accidentally grabbed it from her wardrobe in her rush before class.

Something strange happened.

The diary's pages were completely clean, without a single ink spot, totally different from the other blackened books.

She considered for a moment, opened the diary, took out an ink bottle, and poured a little on it.

The ink was absorbed into the paper, disappearing without a trace.

Words suddenly emerged on the page:

"Hello, I'm Tom Riddle. Who are you?"

Jane's internal alarm bells went off!

The Sneakoscope in her robe suddenly went crazy—glowing and spinning!

Danger!

Could this be the wizarding world's version of a phone scam?

If the diary was a computer and the ink was an instant message... with a sixty-year-old man chatting with you from the other side...

If this wasn't a scam, what was it?

Look at this Hogwarts distinguished graduate, Special Award for Services to the School recipient—

Nearly 50 years after graduation, running a scam operation!

How times had changed, how morals had declined!

How dire must the wizarding job market be to drive a former good student to this!

If Slytherin himself knew about this in his grave, he'd probably rise from the dead to berate this disgraceful student!

Perhaps she should try to guide this person back to the right path...

So she picked up her quill, dipped it in ink, and wrote below the line:

"I am Salazar Slytherin."