Never Too Young To Die

Demon Book

~HAZELINE~

"Be gone, you stupid book!" I yelled, throwing the book at the wall in fury.

Water was pouring everywhere, flooding the bathroom again and I felt so weak I could barely move. I couldn't handle Tom anymore, he kept telling me to do stuff I didn't want to do. So, I came to dispose of the diary. I screamed, covering my ears as the water wet my feet.

"Why me!?" I yelled to nobody in particular. "What did I do to deserve this?"

I could hear people talking outside so I quickly wiped away my tears and ran out of the bathroom, to the hospital where Hermione was recovering from her "cat-state." Apparently she hadn't picked human hairs off the Slytherin girl, she'd picked off cat hairs. So, she was a cat, pretty much.

As I ran down the hallway I realised people were looking at me strangely because my shoes were soaking wet and so was the hem of my robes. I grunted in frustration, trying to focus on every step I took without falling. At least you got rid of the demon book, my thoughts said. But the thing is, I thought I would feel better, I thought I'd be okay now. But I didn't feel any better.

I burst through the large hospital doors, saying, "sorry I'm late."

My three best friends looked at me like I was some kind of ghost, I actually did resemble a ghost slightly.

"Where did you go?" Hermione croaked, well, she was getting better. She just had to loose the ears, the whiskers and the tail.

"Um, I was down by the lake," I lied, fiddling with my robes.

"Why?" Ron asked, I just shrugged.

Harry looked puzzled but he didn't talk about it.

"Well, Ron and I will leave you two to chat," Harry stated.

"See ya!" Ron said as they left the room.

Well, that wasn't as hard as I thought it would be.

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~HARRY~

I am almost certain Hazeline wasn't at the lake. But I didn't push her because she looked ready to collapse. She was ghostly white, her lips were blue, she had dark rings under her eyes and her hands were always shaking. I was really worried.

I heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom ahead, there were people arguing up ahead. I shot Ron a confused glance as we pushed past the disagreeing people. The bathroom was flooded again but the only thing in the room that caught my attention was a book bobbing in the toilet.

"Look, Ron!" I said, picking the book out of the water.

"That's groce, Harry," Ron muttered. "You're not supposed to go around sticking your hand down toilets. It's unhygienic."

As I read the first page I realised that it wasn't a book. It was a diary, belonging to someone named Tom Marvalo Riddle. But the rest of the pages were completely blank. I felt some small and vague connection to the diary so I shoved it in my robes telling Ron we should leave.

"Who do you think keeps flooding the bloody bathroom?" Ron asked as we made our way out, shoes dripping wet.

"Don't know," I replied.

"Did you bring the book?" He asked.

I nodded, taking the diary out of my robes, showing Ron the name.

"I know that name!" He exclaimed. "I saw it when I was doing my trophy-polishing detention!"

"Really?" I asked. "Who is it?"

"I don't know much but I know that that dude was rewarded a trophy for 'special services' fifty years ago." He shrugged.

"Should we go and show the others?" I asked.

"Yeah," Ron said. "Those two will know."

We walked down the halls, back to the hospital wing. Our shoes made awkward sloshing noises every time we stepped, earning weird looks from everyone around us. I pushed open the hospital doors, finding Hermione sitting up in her bed alone.

"Where's Hazel?" Ron asked, a tinge of annoyance sparking inside of me.

Since when did Ron call Hazel by her name? Let alone a nickname? He's gone from calling her a demon to calling her by her nickname. It just infuriates me.

"She went back to the dorms," Hermione answered. "She looks really ill."

"I know," I agreed. "What do we do about it? She won't go to the nurse!"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"Oh," I added. "We found this in the toilet."

"That's disgusting," she commented, taking the book in her hands. "I think this is the boy who caught the culprit fifty years ago! He got a trophy for service."

"I told him that," Ron said proudly.

"What was it doing in the bathroom then?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know."