The Missing Diary

Thursday, five in the morning.

Gavin practically shot out of bed.

He had dreamed about the Basilisk again.

And he finally remembered what he had forgotten.

The diary.

Last night, before going to sleep, he had felt as though something had slipped his mind—

Not homework, or feeding the toad.

He had forgotten to hand a diary containing a fragment of sixteen-year-old Voldemort's soul to the greatest white wizard alive.

His priorities needed work.

Before he had even put his shoes on properly, he found the Dragon Hide Bag lying on the floor. It held old parchment, assorted books on dark magic, a Self-Writing Quill, and the Crest wrapped in gloves—but not the black leather diary.

He opened one compartment, then another.

He piled everything on the corner of his desk and went through it all. He pulled back his covers and checked under his pillow, then searched the gap between the mattress and the bed frame.

He searched the entire dormitory and found nothing.

Nothing at all.

Ernie poked his head out from the top of his block-shaped covers like an owl woken too early. His hair stuck up at a right angle, and his eyes were still offline.

"What are you looking for?"

"A book."

Gavin heard his own voice come out a little higher than usual.

He raced through the recent timeline in his head. The diary had still been in his bag on the evening of the thirty-first. He had seen it before the feast and meant to give it to Dumbledore afterward.

But that night, he had been so caught up thinking about Tilo that the diary had slipped his mind.

Yesterday had been a long day, too. The question of the real and Fake Lockhart had filled his head, and he had forgotten it