The Diary

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Hermione remained in the Hospital Wing for several weeks. A flurry of rumors arose at her disappearance when the rest of the school came back, everyone thought she had been attacked.

Y/N, Harry, and Ron came to visit her every evening. When term started; they brough her each day's homework. One day, after visiting Hermione, they were on their way back to Gryffindor Tower when they heard an angry outburst from Filch on the floor above them.

"You don't think someone else's been attacked?" Ron said tensely.

As Filch's footsteps receded and they heard a door slam shut, they peaked their heads around the corner. They saw what Filch was yelling about. A flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and seemed to be seeking from under the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Now that Filch had stopped shouting, they could hear the wail's of Myrtle echoing off the bathroom walls.

"Now what's up with her?" Ron said.

"Probably had a relapse," Y/N whispered to him.

"Let's go and see." Harry said.

They went over to the bathroom, being careful to hold their robes to their ankles as they crossed the flooded corridor. They entered the bathroom and the sound of Moaning Myrtle crying was louder than before. The bathroom was dark, the candles having been extinguished by the rush of water.

"What's up, Myrtle?" Harry said as they made their way to her stall.

"Who's that?" Myrtle glugged miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"

"Why would we throw something at you?" Y/N said.

"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging from her stall. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me..."

"But it can't hurt you if someone throws something at you," Harry said reasonably. "I mean, it'd just go right through you, wouldn't it?"

He said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, "Let's throw all the books at Myrtle, because she can't feel it! The points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovey game, I don't think!"

"Who threw it at you, anyway?" Y/N asked.

"I don't know... I was sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head." Myrtle glared at them. "It's over there, it got washed out..."

They looked under the sink where Myrtle pointed. A small, thin book laid there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. Y/N stepped forward reluctantly to pick it up before Ron flung out his arm to hold him back.

"What?" Y/N said.

"Are you crazy?" Ron said. "It could be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Harry laughed. "Come off it, how could it be dangerous?"

"You'd be surprised," Ron said, looking apprehensively at the book. "Some of the books the Ministry's confiscated—Dad's told me—there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read the Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And—"

"All right, I've got your point." Y/N said, looking at the book unsurely. He remembered the Sorting Hat's words.

"Wouldn't hurt to at least take it," Y/N said and picked it up the floor.

It was a diary, and the faded year in the cover told him it was fifty years old. Taking a deep breath, and muttering a small prayer, he opened it. To his relief, he didn't have his eyes burned out.

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