꩜ .ᐟ Tom Marvolo Riddle

You didn't know how or what exactly had happened, you just knew that something dangerous was in your hands.
It had been a simple day, not very busy, even a little boring, until you found yourself in a lost bathroom on the sixth floor, there was detritus everywhere, dust and dirt accumulating together and sticking to every surface, it seemed like just any abandoned place in Hogwarts, but, there was something, something that scratched the magic under your skin, like a tug, something guiding you, and by instinct you followed. And now in your hands, buried by several tiles was a diary, old, ancient, its cover even cracked as if it had been bashed, but the initials "TMR" were strongly marked on the hard leather, and when you flipped it over, the pages were clean, yellowed by time, but still in strangely good condition.
You took it back to your room with you. And now, sitting on your bed, its curtains closed tightly with spells both protective and silencing, in your hand was a quill pen, the dark ink glowing at the tip, and in your lap, clutching the first page, was the diary you had found, something inviting you to write in it as if hands were holding yours.