Harry paused for a fraction of a second and then wrote two letters.
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The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June. Mouth hanging open, Harry saw that the little square for June thirteenth seemed to have turned into a miniscule television screen. His hands trembling slightly, he raised the book to press his eye against the little window, and before he knew what was happening, he was tilting forward; the window was widening, he felt his body leave his bed, and he was pitched headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of color and shadow.
He felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred shapes around him came suddenly into focus.
He knew immediately where he was. This circular room with the sleeping portraits was Dumbledore’s office. but it wasn’t Dumbledore who was sitting behind the desk. A wizened, fraillooking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair, was reading a letter by candlelight. Harry had never seen this man before.
“I’m sorry,” he said shakily.” I didn’t mean to butt in.”
But the wizard didn’t look up. He continued to read, frowning slightly. Harry drew nearer to his desk and stammered, “Er. I’ll just go, shall I?”
Still the wizard ignored him. He didn’t seem even to have heard him. Thinking that the wizard might be deaf, Harry raised his voice.
“Sorry I disturbed you. I’ll go now,” he half-shouted.
The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past Harry without glancing at him, and went to draw the curtains at his window.
The sky outside the window was ruby-red; it seemed to be sunset. The wizard went back to the desk, sat down, and twiddled his thumbs, watching the door.
Harry looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix. no whirring silver contraptions. This was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it, meaning that this unknown wizard was Headmaster, not Dumbledore, and he, Harry, was little more than a phantom, completely invisible to the people of fifty years ago.
There was a knock on the office door.
“Enter,” said the old wizard in a feeble voice.
A boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver prefect’s badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than Harry, but he, too, had jet-black hair.
“Ah, Riddle,” said the Headmaster.
“You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?” said Riddle. He looked nervous.
“Sit down,” said Dippet.” I’ve just been reading the letter you sent me.
“Oh,” said Riddle. He sat down, gripping his hands together very tightly.
“My dear boy,” said Dipper kindly, “I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?”
“No,” said Riddle at once.” Id much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that. to that.”
“You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?” said Dippet curiously.
“Yes, sir,” said Riddle, reddening slightly.
“You are Muggle-born?”
“Half-blood, sir,” said Riddle.” Muggle father, witch mother.”
“And are both your parents.?”
“My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me. Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather.”
Dipper clucked his tongue sympathetically.
“The thing is, Tom,” he sighed, “Special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances . . . .”
“You mean all these attacks, sir?” said Riddle, and Harry’s heart leapt, and he moved closer, scared of missing anything.
“Precisely,” said the headmaster.” My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy … the death of that poor little girl …. You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the er. source of all this unpleasantness . . . .”
Riddle’s eyes had widened.
“Sir. if the person was caught. if it all stopped.”