— — — — — —
"What do you mean, hand me over to someone who can deal with me?"
"You'd really give me up?"
Inside the diary, Voldemort's soul grew agitated.
He was still only fifteen—this fragment of "little Voldy" hadn't yet developed the ruthless calm of his older self. When Tom acted outside his expectations, panic easily slipped through.
「Tom, I think we can talk this over. I mean it, I'm sincere. You have to believe me.」
The words scratched themselves onto the page in a rushed, messy scrawl.
Tom didn't even bother looking. He slid the notebook across the desk to Dumbledore.
"Thank you."
Dumbledore inclined his head, then studied the diary. Lifting a quill, he wrote slowly in the blank space:
"Tom, I never imagined we'd meet again like this. Looking at you now, I'm reminded of the brilliant, handsome Head Boy from fifty years ago."
The ink sank into the parchment.
As the diary absorbed the words, Voldy instantly sensed the writer wasn't Tom. That familiar presence—it made his fragmented soul shudder in dread.
「Dumbledore!」
"That's me."
Dumbledore calmly admitted it, then wrote again: "An extraordinary achievement. If I recall, you were only in fifth year then?"
"To create something so terrifying at such a young age… you really were Hogwarts' most gifted student, Tom Marvolo Riddle."
At that, Dumbledore glanced up at the other Tom, who was busy glaring at Fawkes in some silent staring contest. With a faint smile, he bent over the diary again: "Forgive me. I should be precise—it's better to say you used to be our most gifted student."
This time, Voldemort didn't reply. Dumbledore waited, but when no response came, he sighed, closed the diary, and sealed it with the same magic Tom had used.
Tom finally withdrew his gaze.
Dumbledore stroked the diary's cover. "Fate loves its little tricks. Just when you think you've seen the end, it tosses you a surprise—as if reminding us it's all one long joke."
"Tom Riddle… such a peculiar name."
He looked at Tom. "When I saw it again on the enrollment list, I couldn't resist the urge to check for myself. After all, fifty years ago, I personally welcomed that Tom Riddle into our world."
"And later, that boy took on a far darker name—one we all know, though few dare speak aloud. Voldemort."
"He's… Voldemort?!"
Tom's expression was the picture of shock. In the past, he wouldn't have dared try acting before Dumbledore. But now? He played the role so perfectly, his face and mind in flawless sync.
"Yes." Dumbledore sighed. "Such brilliance is rare, even at Hogwarts. Voldemort was the brightest star of his generation… until he strayed from the path."
"In school, Tom Marvolo Riddle was the model student—handsome, clever, polite. Compared to you, he was far gentler. Before graduation, he even asked Headmaster Armando for the chance to stay on as DADA professor. But at my suggestion, Headmaster Armando refused."
"After that, he vanished. Traveled the world, dug deeper and deeper into dark magic until he became unrecognizable. By the time he reemerged as Voldemort, only a handful of people knew the truth—that the Dark Lord was once a Tom Riddle."
"I suddenly feel like changing my name," Tom muttered, then frowned. "Wait, why should I be the one to change it?"
"He should be the one to change, not me."
"That hardly matters," Dumbledore chuckled, shaking his head. "Perhaps only you and I would dare call him by that name to his face."
Then he glanced at the clock. "It's getting late, Tom. You should head back and rest. Leave the rest to me."
Tom nodded. Before leaving, he walked over to Fawkes, patted the phoenix's head, and only then turned for the door.
In the original timeline, Dumbledore had only retrieved a destroyed Horcrux. This time, he held something far more dangerous—a Horcrux that still thought and spoke. Who knew what kind of ripples that would cause?
Still, Tom reasoned, even if Dumbledore now knew how to open the Chamber, he wouldn't move against the basilisk yet. Not with the students still at school. With the diary safely in his possession, Dumbledore would surely wait until summer when the castle was empty.
That was one of the reasons Tom had dared to hand the diary over.
Something told him that when the next Twelve Trials task came, the challenge would either be tied to the basilisk… or the phoenix.
"..."
After Tom left, Dumbledore studied the diary again. He touched it with the Elder Wand and whispered spells, probing carefully.
When he finally lowered the wand, his expression shifted—first relief, then grim heaviness.
"Dumbledore, what did you discover?" asked Armando Dippet.
"A Horcrux." Dumbledore exhaled softly. "Voldemort made one when he was only in fifth year. Remarkable… and terrifying."
Most of the portraits looked blank, even Armando and Phineas. Only a few reacted with horror.
Dilys Derwent shrieked, "A Horcrux? How dare he!"
Derwent, one of the rare female headmistresses in Hogwarts history and former healer head at St. Mungo's, knew far more about obscure magic than most.
"Derwent, what is a Horcrux?" Phineas demanded irritably.
Great, now you know something evil that I don't. But why do I feel bad?
"You fool! What did you even do while you were alive? Spend all your time tormenting students?"
Her scolding made Phineas shrink back, while the other ignorant portraits looked away in embarrassment.
"Enough, Derwent," Dumbledore said mildly. "Horcruxes are rare. It's natural most have never heard of them."
Mordicus Egg cut in, smoothing things over. He explained the purpose of Horcruxes and the general idea of how one was made. By the time he finished, every painted face had gone grim.
Armando Dippet's face turned deathly pale.
A student had committed such a monstrous act right under his nose. And he hadn't noticed a thing—worse, he had admired young Voldy deeply.
"I was wrong. I judged him so very wrong…" The old man's voice shook, though his words came out through gritted teeth.
"No, it wasn't only your mistake," Dumbledore said gently. "I was there as well and never suspected. This isn't the time to dwell on blame. What matters now is how we handle it."
"Handle it? That's simple," Phineas burst out. "Destroy the Horcrux, then kill what's left of Voldemort. Right now he's nothing more than a scrap of soul—not even worth as much as a stray dog."
"Horcruxes aren't so easy to destroy," Derwent muttered. "Let me think… The Killing Curse might work, though it's risky. Fiendfyre could do it as well."
"No need to rush," Dumbledore said, setting the diary down. "This is a rare opportunity. Through this diary, I can learn far more about Voldemort's mind. Tom has done me quite a service…"
A small smile tugged at his lips.
He had long suspected Voldemort of making Horcruxes. Now he had proof. In a sense, he was holding half of Voldemort alive in his hands. With patience, he might draw out many secrets.
But at the same time, unease gnawed at him.
Tom had explained how Ginny Weasley had come by the diary, which meant almost certainly that Lucius Malfoy had slipped it into her books. Likely in revenge for Arthur Weasley's raid on Malfoy Manor that summer.
But Lucius couldn't have known what the diary truly was. Dumbledore knew Voldemort—he would never share the secret of immortality with anyone. And if Lucius had understood the diary's true nature, would he really have dared use it as a petty weapon?
Dumbledore also knew the hierarchy within the Death Eaters. Lucius, with his money and influence, had a place in the first ranks—but trust? No. He was never one of Voldemort's innermost circle.
So why would Voldemort entrust him with a Horcrux?
Dumbledore drew a deep breath. There was only one conclusion.
This diary was not the only Horcrux.
"You never make things easy for me…"
---
Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dormitory, Tom himself had his own headache.
Someone else had decided to be troublesome.
『Laos Wilkinson』: Boss, classes here are boring as hell. Don't you have anything more exciting for me?
『Tom Riddle』: Isn't teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts exciting enough? Don't forget, that position is cursed.
『Laos Wilkinson』: Please. I'll just quit before a year's up. But seriously, boss, school life is dull. You're the only one who knows how to stir things up—the way you've had the pure-blood families jumping is brilliant.
『Tom Riddle』: If you're that desperate for excitement, gather me some dirt on the pure-blood families in North America. I don't have many channels there.
In his quarters, Laos perked right up. That sounded fun.
『Laos Wilkinson』: Good idea. I do know plenty, especially about the Graves family. But honestly, their influence isn't big enough to be listed among the great houses, right?
『Tom Riddle』: True. But when the Twelve Auror Families band together, they can match a Sacred Twenty-Eight house.
『Laos Wilkinson』: Boss, you're brilliant. Then please, make sure you include the story of Grindelwald impersonating Percival Graves—and also the time I slept with Robert's wife. That'll secure me a place in history, yeah?
『Tom Riddle』: ...…
Sometimes Tom thought Laos might actually be scarier than the Dark Lord. The man never dropped his grudge—morning, noon, and night, it consumed him.
And after all he put Robert Graves through, he still wasn't satisfied. At this point, "the Grudge Lord" fit him better than his real name.
『Tom Riddle』: Fine. As long as you can survive Robert's wrath, I'll write it in.
『Tom Riddle』: And if you're still bored, then go stir up the students. Don't you think the wizarding schools have been far too isolated from each other? Use your contacts at Ilvermorny, see if you can pull together an exchange. That'll definitely cause some chaos.
Laos lit up with excitement.
Back when he was a student, Ilvermorny had always bragged about being the world's number one wizarding school, though internationally it never held much weight—how could it, with Dumbledore's name overshadowing all others?
But if Hogwarts and Ilvermorny students actually crossed paths?
The fights would be glorious.
Tom, of course, had no idea he'd just flipped the switch on Laos. Before long, even he would find himself dragged in as part of the man's "entertainment."
.
.
.