THE VERY SECRET DIARY
“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 sun-
set. 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, com-
pletely 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 sil-
ver 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 Dippet 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. “I’d much rather stay at Hogwarts
than go back to that — to that —”
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