The Young Padfoot *Book One*

Tom Riddle's Diary

After the Valentine's Day disaster, everyone had returned to their common rooms and in our most humble of homes, Fred and George decided to get a round of Harry's valentine poem, singing it and screaming it loudly over and over again, even getting other people to join in with them as they sang it. It was clear that they didn't realise who had written that poem and I had a feeling that if they did, their reactions may be slightly different. I was more than surprised that Harry remained in the room after the twentieth round of the song.

Attempting my potions essay, I rewrote the introduction for about the third time before chucking the quill on the paper.

"I give up. I actually give up," I groaned, kicking my feet up on Harry's lap.

"It can't be that bad," Harry said, picking up the crumpled up piece of paper. He opened it and read it quickly. "Actually—"

"Shut up, Harry," I interrupted him.

"Maybe if you hadn't left it to last minute," Hermione trailed off, glancing up from one of Lockhart's books.

"I didn't leave it to last minute! I've just been busy with every other damn essay we're being set," I defended.

"It's only gonna get worse. Might as well keep on top of it now," Hermione commented.

"Hermione, if you so much as speak like a teacher one more time, I am going to smash that window and throw myself out of it," Ron threatened.

Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't say anything as she continued reading her Lockhart book. The rest of the evening was fairly peaceful and very soon Harry and I were the only ones left in the common room par from Neville, who had dozed off on the sofa next to the fire. Harry had spent the evening looking through Riddle's diary, trying to find a way to extract information from it but once again he had been unsuccessful. By this point I was considering not even doing the essay but as I looked down at the piece of shit in front of me, I knew I wasn't gonna get anything better than that.

"Hey, Em, can I borrow your quill and ink, please?" Harry asked.

"Fill your boots," I replied, passing them over. "Not like I'm gonna come up with anything better anyway."

"Thanks," Harry said.

I leant back in my chair as I watched Harry dip the quill in the ink before leaning over the open diary and dropping a speck of ink on its empty pages.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Shh," Harry shushed me. "I think I'm on to something."

"Whatever you say, Harry," I shrugged, getting on to my feet and stretching. "Right, I think I'm gonna call it a night."

"Emery, look," Harry exclaimed, grabbing my wrist, and pulling me back over to the table.

"What? All I can see is a blank page," I told him.

"Exactly, a blank page," Harry smiled, turning to look at me.

"Have you been on the fire whiskey?" I accused.

"Em, look at it. I dropped some ink on it, remember? But the ink is gone," Harry said.

I looked at the page and my eyes widened when I saw what he meant. The speck of ink had indeed disappeared. But where could it have gone?

"How is that possible?" I asked, falling back into my seat, and shifting it closer to the diary. "Write something else."

"Okay," Harry nodded, his hand shaking from excitement.

He dipped the quill in the ink again and this time he wrote, "My name is Harry Potter." His writing shone on the page for a moment and just as I was about to be immensely disappointed, it disappeared.