Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 325: The Lost Diary

With Mrs. Norris’s piercing scream, the crowd of young wizards swarmed the scene. Hidden under his Disillusionment Charm, Kyle watched silently from the back as events unfolded just as he remembered: Filch and Harry were found near the scene and suspected of being tied to the attacks. Professors soon arrived, escorting Filch and Harry away while prefects began herding the rest of the students back to their common rooms.

When the corridors finally emptied, Kyle realized an awkward truth—he had nowhere to go. He couldn’t just waltz back to his dormitory; he was months behind his time. Living incognito in the castle for that long seemed impossible.

With no other options, Kyle wandered down to the eighth floor. Myrtle was still in the bathroom, and a return to the Chamber of Secrets was out of the question for now. Perhaps the Room of Requirement… It seemed the only safe place he could possibly stay.

“I need a place to rest,” he murmured as he walked along the blank wall.

A door appeared, and Kyle stepped inside, his worries melting away as he took in the room. It was magnificent. A massive four-poster bed, triple the size of his dormitory bed, sat at the center, soft and plush. In front of it was an expansive desk, stocked with parchment, quills, and ink. Beyond, he found additional rooms—a dining room, a bathroom, a study—each thoughtfully equipped with everything he could need.

In another room, he discovered an assortment of magical pastimes: a crystal wizard chess set, Exploding Snap cards, even a selection of broomsticks. Though the models were a bit dated, with the Cleansweep Five as the best option, it didn’t matter. Who needed a broom indoors anyway?

The ceiling was enchanted like that of the Great Hall, but here he could control it. He could fill the room with endless sunlight, gaze at stars from his bed, or listen to the gentle patter of rain while reading. It was perfect. Meals, he discovered, were easily arranged; the House-elves could deliver food directly here.

With everything so ideally arranged, Kyle began to think a few months might pass too quickly. If possible, he would have loved to stay in this room until graduation—perhaps even return as a professor and live here indefinitely. Though that, he admitted, was a far-fetched fantasy.

Feeling reassured with his new setup, Kyle decided to search for the diary. He eventually found Peeves on the sixth floor, gleefully painting turtles on a suit of armor.

“The diary?” Peeves tilted his head, pretending to ponder. “Oh, I tossed it away! Real handy, that thing—made the brat scream loud enough to wake the castle.”

Kyle’s eye twitched. “Where exactly did you throw it?”

Peeves shrugged. “Can’t say I remember.”

Kyle sighed. “A box of Dungbombs?”

Peeves shook his head. “Still don’t remember. I don’t keep track of things I throw away! Try looking around yourself. Might be on the third floor… or the fifth… or maybe the seventh…”

Kyle spent the rest of the night searching floor after floor, dodging professors as he went, but as dawn approached, he had to admit defeat. He returned to the Room of Requirement, exhausted and empty-handed.

As he sat at the desk, he mulled over Peeves’s last words.

“The little red-haired brat fell over in fright, Potter threatened to fetch the Bloody Baron, and I ran. Nasty little villains…”

Red hair and Potter… That had to be Ron, and if Peeves’s story was accurate, either Harry or Ron must have picked up the diary.

Kyle lay down on the soft bed, piecing together the events. He’d suspected he might be the heir, but it seemed that wasn’t the case. The Basilisk’s sudden appearance in the bathroom earlier was likely a result of his earlier summoning in the Chamber of Secrets. The entrance had probably been left open after the Founders appeared and distracted him.

And then there were Riddle’s cryptic words, mocking a “cowardly… weak… servant of the future.”

Only one person seemed to fit those descriptions perfectly: Ron’s rat, Peter Pettigrew. Could it really be him?

...

During the weeks that followed, Kyle settled into the Room of Requirement, keeping a low profile. Life in the castle remained quiet and peaceful, just as he remembered. The days passed quickly, and soon it was November.

When the first Quidditch match arrived—the same day Professor Charity Burbage would be attacked—Kyle left the Room of Requirement early and went to the Chamber of Secrets. He expected to wait until nightfall, but only a couple of hours later, a rustling noise reached his ears from outside.

Kyle swiftly concealed himself in the shadows by the door.

The door creaked open, and Riddle’s ghostly form floated in, followed by a rat scurrying at his heels.

“Peter… you really ought to get yourself a wand,” Riddle murmured in a low, silky voice. “I can’t understand how someone who managed to master Animagus transformation can’t change back without a wand.”

The rat froze, twitching, and began to repeatedly bump its head against the floor in a frantic gesture.

“Calm yourself, Peter. I don’t know what the future holds for me, but for now, you have nothing to fear.” Riddle’s voice softened. “You’ve done well. You’ve been a faithful follower.”

He gestured toward the diary, and the rat scrambled up onto it. As its fur brushed against the diary, its color darkened slightly, and Riddle’s figure grew more distinct, almost solid.

“As a reward…” Riddle spread his arms wide, his face alight with anticipation. “Close your eyes, Peter!”

The rat obediently ducked its head, trembling.

Riddle let out a sharp, hissing command, summoning the Basilisk. “Go, cleanse this school of its filth. Hunt down the Mudbloods!”

Under the cover of his Disillusionment Charm, Kyle had already slipped out of the Chamber of Secrets, undetected by either Riddle or the rat. The noise of the Basilisk slithering into motion masked his exit completely.

So it was the rat—Peter Pettigrew—who had come into possession of the diary after all.

Without pausing, Kyle hurried back into the castle, heading straight for the site of the second attack on the third floor.

Meanwhile, Professor Charity Burbage, who hadn’t attended the Quidditch match, was walking toward her office, carrying a bundle of papers and muttering about her latest lesson plans. She was halfway there when she heard an unusual scraping sound, like something massive slithering across the floor. The sound was coming from a corridor just ahead.

Curious, and unaware of the danger, Professor Burbage quickened her pace, eager to investigate the source of the noise.