— — — — — —
Inside the Room of Requirement
Tom hadn't gone to watch today's Quidditch match.
His patience with that Voldemort guy had already run thin. If he didn't put the little Dark Lord in his place today, the guy might really think that just because they shared a name, Tom would go easy on him.
"Let's try this curse."
Unfortunately, the Cruciatus Curse had long since lost its bite. Voldemort was a ruthless bastard—he could endure the agony of tearing apart his own soul just to make Horcruxes.
Crucio could hurt him, sure, but it could never break him.
Tom opened the diary and set it on the desk.
"Anima Pestis." (Soul Plague)
From the tip of his wand, faint wisps of violet mist began to spill out. Slowly, painstakingly, the mist drifted through the air, gathering at last into the shape of an arrow—then shot straight into the diary.
This was the spell Grindelwald had taught him, a curse every bit as vicious as the Unforgivable Curses. It spread like a plague, corrupting the soul itself, leaving its victims to die screaming in endless torment.
Even Andros, when he'd first heard of it, had shuddered. Wizards in this "modern" era might not match the raw power of those in his own ancient age, but the dark magic they invented was crueler by the day.
Grindelwald had quickly washed his hands of the blame—this wasn't his creation, but something taken from Durmstrang's restricted section.
For the only school in the world that openly studied dark magic, if they still locked it away in the forbidden archives, that was all the proof anyone needed of how terrifying it was.
The moment the arrow pierced the diary, a sickly green aura seeped out—but was swiftly tainted by the plague, turning it purple.
「What is this?! Such an amazing curse.」
「Ahhhh— Stop! Tom, we can talk this out!」
Words scratched themselves frantically across the page. Voldemort could already feel his soul being eaten away.
Normally, a Horcrux was the strongest possible shell for a soul. But the diary was different. He hadn't forged it in the same way as his other Horcruxes.
It was more of a symbol—a milestone.
The proof that "Tom Riddle" had shed his skin, reborn as "Lord Voldemort," heir to Slytherin's legacy. That was why he'd crammed so many of his memories and powers into it… enough for the diary to spawn its own will. Its own thoughts. Its own emotions—the last thing it should ever have had.
He could think. He could rage. He could suffer. And now, faced with death, he could fear.
「Stop this! Destroy me and you gain nothing!」
Tom kept his distance; the plague mist didn't distinguish friend from foe. He raised his wand like a quill and scribbled in the air:
"Voldy, I've given you plenty of chances. But you think you've got me cornered. That's not who I am. I may not always get what I want—but I'll never be blackmailed."
He sneered. "So today, I'm ending this. I chose this curse especially for you. When your soul's fully consumed, you'll be nothing but a mindless monster, screaming until you collapse. Enjoy it, Voldy."
「Wait! I surrender!」
「Tom! I'll take you to Slytherin's Chamber. The true legacy is there! I didn't destroy it—I couldn't. I didn't have the power! The basilisk, the legacy—it's all yours, if you just stop this damned spell!」
"Oh, you're still bargaining?" Tom snorted.
But he did stop.
「Only one condition. I want to see Harry Potter. If you're the one who defeats my future self, I could maybe accept it. But him? Why him?!」
「Unless you agree, even if you destroy me, I'll never tell you anything more.」
The words faded. Voldemort fell silent, waiting.
"See Harry? Hah. That I can manage. He's your greatest enemy after all—you should meet him properly."
「Good. Then here's how to enter the Chamber… But I said see him, Tom. So I'll need…」
...
By the time Tom left the Room of Requirement, the match had already ended.
Gryffindor students were dragging their feet, faces long. Their chance at the Quidditch Cup was gone for good.
Clearly, Hufflepuff had won, but there was no celebration. Harry had collapsed in the middle of the match, then Cedric caught the Snitch with ease, but even he admitted the victory felt hollow.
"..."
When Tom heard the story, he was speechless.
He knew about Harry's earlier fainting spells—the headaches, probably triggered by the resonance from the Cruciatus Curse he'd used. But this time he hadn't even cast Cruciatus, and he'd gone to the Room of Requirement to avoid doing just that. He had no enmity with Harry, no reason to hurt him.
Could it be that whenever and wherever Voldemort's fragment grew agitated, Harry felt it too?
Either way, Tom felt a little guilty. He hadn't meant to drag Harry into this—but once again, the boy had taken the hit. And worse, tonight, he was going to drag him in again.
Well.... there was no helping it. Harry was in the hospital wing now, and sneaking someone out of there was a whole lot easier than dragging him from the Gryffindor Tower.
Dumbledore was out of the castle too, off with Fudge to meet the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. If Tom didn't use this chance, he'd be wasting it.
---
Eight o'clock.
The students were back in their common rooms. The castle had gone quiet.
Harry was lying in bed, listlessly flipping through the Daily Prophet. When he saw Tom, he nearly jumped.
"T-Tom? What are you doing here?"
"I heard you fainted. Thought I'd check on you." Tom pulled up a chair beside his bed. "How're you feeling now?"
Harry was touched someone had come. He smiled faintly and nodded. "I've been getting these headaches a lot lately. Honestly, I'm used to them. Once I wake up, they're usually gone."
He sighed. "But the timing… today's match was ruined."
At first, Harry had been spooked by Tom's name. But eventually he realized—names meant nothing. Just a coincidence.
If Tom hadn't saved him last year, Quirrell and Voldemort would've killed him. How could he ever doubt Tom?
So now, when he looked at Tom, his attitude had gone back to what it was before—calm, almost trusting.
"That's good," Tom nodded. "I was worried you couldn't handle what's coming."
"I can handle it…" Harry started to smile, then froze. "Wait—handle what?"
"Give me a moment to put it into words." Tom shook his head, thinking, then said, "Let's start with your scar."
"Your headaches are tied to Voldemort. You know that much, right?"
Harry blinked. "Of course. Last year, the moment I touched Quirrell it felt like my head was splitting open. I figured these recent spells were because Voldemort was up to something again."
He lowered his voice, unable to hold back his excitement. "Tom, I'll tell you a secret. Fifty years ago, when the Chamber of Secrets was first opened… I think it was Voldemort."
Tom nodded. "Then I'll tell you a secret too. Fifty years later, it's Voldemort again."
"What? He's at Hogwarts?" Harry shot upright in shock.
Tom pulled out the diary. "No. Not him personally. This is his diary from his student years. Everything that's happened came from here."
"Through it, he can manipulate whoever writes in it—sometimes outright control them. That's how the Chamber was opened."
"I get it now." Harry's eyes widened. "So he possessed whoever had the diary…"
He stopped mid-sentence. His gaze locked on Tom, horrified.
Tom grinned.
...
Moments later, the silent corridor echoed with soft footsteps. Harry's body, petrified, floated in the air behind Tom, who muttered almost conversationally, "It involves someone's privacy, so I can't tell you who actually opened the Chamber. But it definitely wasn't me."
"I'm not working for Voldemort either. We just have a deal, and you're part of it. Don't worry—with me around, you won't die."
Harry's eyes bulged, his mouth frozen shut. 'Won't die? With you here, I'm dead for sure!'
In Harry's mind, Tom was clearly under Voldemort's control and was dragging him to his death. When they floated past the sign for the girls' bathroom, despair filled him.
'So this is it? Murdered in a toilet? Voldemort, you're disgusting.'
Tom stopped in front of the circular sink. He found a brass tap, cleared his throat, and let out a strange hissing sound.
Parseltongue, the language of serpents.
The sink blazed with white light and spun, faster and faster, until the basin sank away, revealing a massive pipe.
Tom tilted Harry upright and dropped him in first, then jumped in after.
The chute spat them out deep underground into a wide stone tunnel. Animal bones littered the floor, and a shed snakeskin the size of a tent lay twisted along the wall.
Tom had already placed a charm on himself to shield his eyes from the basilisk's gaze, and he cast the same protection on Harry before pressing on. Soon, a solid wall blocked their way, carved with two entwined serpents.
"Open," Tom hissed in Parseltongue.
The snakes slid apart, and the wall cracked open, vanishing like a pair of sliding doors.
Tom carried Harry inside.
It was a long, dim chamber. Stone columns lined both sides, carved with coiling serpents, holding up a ceiling even higher than the Great Hall's.
At the far end loomed a colossal statue, nearly as tall as the chamber itself. Its face was wizened and monkey-like, with scraggly whiskers. It was ugly enough to seem almost inhuman.
"Typical Slytherin…" Grindelwald and Andros, watching through the mental link, were at a loss for words at the grandeur.
"All this effort for a secret chamber?" Andros clicked his tongue. "The place is obviously expanded with spatial magic—and kept stable for a thousand years. Why not use that power to enlarge the Great Hall instead?"
Grindelwald offered a fairer take. "The four founders probably never expected Hogwarts to have so many students. Beauxbatons faced the same problem. They've had to expand into two castles."
The two old men carried on chatting until Tom remembered Harry was still petrified. He released the spell.
Harry collapsed to the ground, but almost immediately cast a spell with his wand.
"Expelliarmus!"
To his delight, the spell hit.
And then… nothing.
The spell fizzled away as if it had never been cast. Tom's wand didn't even twitch in his hand.
"…Really? You didn't listen to a word I said, did you?" Tom sighed. That attack hadn't even scratched his defenses, so he hadn't bothered dodging. "I brought you here to fulfill Voldemort's last request. Just cooperate, Harry. I'll make it worth your while afterward."
"You—you're not possessed by Voldemort? Really?" Harry asked, swallowing hard.
For the first time, he wondered if maybe Tom was telling the truth. Deep down, he wanted to believe it, because he knew he couldn't win.
"Stay put. Don't move. You'll understand everything soon."
Tom pulled out the diary—and a bucket of dragon blood.
The blood spilled out in a fine stream, splashing over the diary. The book drank it up like a starving sponge, greedily sucking every drop.
A thick green haze billowed into the air, slowly taking shape. At last, it condensed into the outline of a human figure.
.
.
.