Ron's set to be expelled within the next two weeks if things don't get sorted out. As for Goyle, he hasn't been let out of the empty classroom the Aurors deemed their interrogation room.

Harry's been a mess, though he thoroughly denied this fact. He'd been spending all his free time in the library, leaking into the dead of the night. Still, he hadn't found much— if any— information on the spell Ron casted. His Quidditch practices, twice daily now— Wood really, really wanted that cup, were also getting overwhelming. The mystery surrounding Dobby still hung over his head, as well as him being all but an outcast in the Gryffindor house because of his parseltongue ability.

It's exhausting.

But does not put a damper on his research.

Harry thought– hoped– that Ron would be a great asset to his book scouring but he proved more of a burden than not. He spent his time moping, being generally regretful, and voicing the occasional "well at least Malfoy's gone." Unhelpful and condemning himself; Tom would likely describe him as pathetic.

He'd asked Hermione to help but she said, "I've read all books on anti-spells to Dark curses that exist in the library—" Harry didn't know whether or not to believe her on that one, "— and I've never heard of the spell you speak of. It's likely in the Restricted Section, which I doubt you'll get access to." So Harry was left alone to try and find a solution.

He made no leeway until he, on Malfoy's advice (it made him so uneasy, knowing he was trapped Tom,) decided to go for what might be classified as secondhand information. He wasn't exactly sure how to go about it— a polyjuice potion could help him coax information out of his target, but it would take far to long to brew. He could use a glamour for the same purpose, but glamour's didn't change your voice. Veritaserum was also an option but, again, brewing time proved a problem.

It was Tom that suggested the idea he settled on. A part of him hugely protested— it was a Dark spell, an Unforgivable, for crying out loud. But he needed to get Malfoy out of the diary, to save Ron from expulsion. He only had three close friends, though he wasn't sure Tom really counted. He could not afford to lose even one.

So he pushed his morals aside and prepared.

It was difficult at first to find the situation to play out his plan, but it soon landed in his lap.

Two days after Tom gained a new not so friendly friend in his occupation, Harry was on his way to the library, alone. He stopped short when a huge, looming figure stood in the way of the next turn.

"Crabbe," said Harry, a much calmer tone than usual. Crabbe's face broke out into a malicious grin. It was obvious his intentions were along the lines of tourmenting for no good reason, but Harry was quicker to the draw. His wand in hand, he said, sternly, "Imperio." The rush of Dark magic, addicting, washed over him. He pushed away his guilt and focused on obtaining the information he needed.

Immediately, Crabbe melted to his command. He fought against the spell, however slightly, but he was not strong enough to overrule his magic.

"Tell me everything you know about 'Diario Diario murum reddamus pretium ut decidant'," he commanded. "Did Goyle tell you anything about it?"

Crabbe's face twisted into a grimance and he fought not to say anything, but the words spilled out of his mouth, "A-a week before Quirrell died, last year, Goyle got called into his office. He came out knowing the spell and that it's Dark, but not knowing where he heard it from. Which was ridiculous, as even I could put together that Quirrell told him about it."

"Quirrell, huh?" Voldemort... "Do you know anything else, Crabbe?"

"It roughly translates to, 'Diary, diary, on the wall, I pay this price to see them fall.' I don't know the exact translation." Latin never was his best subject, considering they never really taught it. Harry was able to get the gist of the phrase nonetheless.

Harry exhaled lightly, bitting his lip. He released his grasp on the boy, swiftly leaving the corridor and making his way to the library.

Something didn't... fit.

Something was off.

Why did Voldemort know a spell related to Tom's diary? It didn't make any sense. Nothing concerning this entire thing did.

(Somewhere, in the small depth of his mind, made a connection but it was not prominent enough to hold any real weight— thoroughly ignored in reality.)

He was glad for the encounter, even if he had to go against his morals to get it and made little sense. It gave him another sliver of information, another puzzle piece that made up the full picture that would get Mafloy back.

He's at the library before he realizes it. He ignores the books around him, too preoccupied to consider reading them. He sits, pulls out his diary and holds a quill over the parchment—

Only, he's unsure how to state the things he'd learned. It's simple, it should be, anyway: "Goyle got the spell from Voldemort. Who either got it from a follower or his own research, OR created it himself." ... And that last thought was disorienting in the greatest sense of the word. It implied that Voldy over here was somehow connected to the dairy, knew about it or made it himself....

He trusted Tom, though. Tom was his friend. Perhaps Voldemort created the dairy as a prison, and Tom had gone against him? But that didn't explain why Tom wouldn't have told him that, or why Voldy made it so others could be added. Tom wouldn't lie to him, after all.

With a sigh, Harry set about writing what he'd learned, hoping that either of them would be able to out together what he could not.