Running Year 2

Chapter Ten

He hadn't expected Riddle to get so angry. Granger had seemed like an obviously good target. She was close to the-Boy-Who-Lived, a mudblood, far too outspoken for her own good, but apparently that was why she shouldn't have been chosen. Apparently, nobody should have.

Riddle was so infuriated he'd revealed his true identity. Lord Voldemort himself.

He'd shut the diary for a few days after that. He was terrified. He'd angered the Dark Lord Voldemort. Ever since opening that cursed book he'd been feeling weaker and weaker, but it was worth it to have such a powerful weapon by his side. But then Riddle wasn't letting him use the weapon so he just went ahead and did it. But even if he was trapped in a book, couldn't this version of Voldemort still punish him for going against him?

It was after a full week had passed that he finally returned to the diary. The Dark Lord seemed so much calmer. That was scarier.

He had to do exactly as Voldemort said from now on. They would have to lie low. Now that someone so close to Harry Potter had been targeted, chances were everyone would be on high alert.

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Harry woke up in the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey had given up on trying to get him to sleep in his own house and had offered him a free bed in the wing. He refused to leave Hermione's side. He'd missed every class, ignored every teacher, blanked every student who had come by with get well wishes, he just sat by watching over her. He barely felt the week pass him by.

Hermione was lucky, he'd been told - petrified, not dead. She'd been carrying a small mirror with her. Obviously. Harry knew that already. They'd been careful to do so - not knowing who had the diary had made it even more imperative to keep their guard up. Yet, here they were, sitting in the hospital wing. Professor Sprout had promised a new batch of mandrakes would be ready soon. Harry still hadn't said a word to her, nor to any professor.

He was furious.

Hermione would be ok, he knew she would. She had to be. But when he saw her lying there like she was dead, Harry had felt his whole world fall apart around him. He barely remembered walking to the hospital wing, he'd just followed her body as it was carried through the hallways. But this was someone's fault.. The Weasleys, Voldemort, Snape, Dumbledore, Lucius, Molly, Ginny... he chanted their names in his head like a curse. Over and over. Everyone was at fault here, either actively or complicitly and he wasn't going to let them get away with it.

And then the hissing began again.

§ Kill...kill...kill...§

Harry's head perked up. He had a job to do. Dumbledore himself told him so.

After he'd very unceremoniously bumped into the elderly professor during the night, he'd been dragged up to his office. Harry was already exhausted as it was; he didn't have the energy to argue and couldn't really think of a reason to refuse when the alternative was likely detention. They sat in Dumbledore's office and Harry once again had to refuse a lemon drop.

"Harry, my dear boy," Dumbledore smiled at him, not noticing Harry cringe at the way he was being addressed, "When I gave you that cloak, I didn't expect you to break school rules with it. Especially during such a dangerous time." Harry raised an eyebrow, confused.

"Then, what did you expect me to do with it?"

Dumbledore simply laughed heartily, "I suppose I should've realised, so like your father. I'm sure you've now become aware of the slightly stricter conditions at Hogwarts." Slightly? Harry thought to himself, ignoring the comment about his dad. The place was practically a prison with the constant spot checks, bag searchers and patrolling elves.