"Big sis, after dinner, call Hermione over. I'll explain everything to you then."
The little witch lowered her voice, her lips practically brushing against Daphne's ear. "It's about the Chamber of Secrets. We've already found the culprit."
Daphne's eyes went wide in shock, but Astoria was ready for this. Her tiny hand shot out and clamped firmly over her sister's mouth.
"See, this is exactly why Tom didn't want to tell you yet," Astoria scolded, her tone sharp but hushed. "He knew you'd react like this."
Daphne pried her sister's hand off, rolling her eyes with exasperation. What a cheeky little brat—now you're even daring to lecture your big sister?
No matter how Daphne pressed her with questions afterward, Astoria stubbornly refused to say more. She knew full well that Hermione would have to hear the whole explanation later anyway. Saying it now would just be wasting words.
By the time dinner rolled around—actually, even before they had finished eating—Daphne impatiently dragged a confused Hermione out of the Great Hall.
At first Hermione had no idea what was going on. But the moment she heard "Chamber of Secrets," it was her turn to seize Daphne's arm and break into a run.
The three witches finally tucked themselves away in an abandoned classroom, whispering in hurried voices until it was nearly curfew. Only then did the "meeting" reluctantly break up.
Meanwhile, in Tom's dorm…
That night, before bed, Ginny had practically sent him a full-blown essay. From the moment they had parted ways, she had written down every detail—where she had gone, what she had done, even exactly how much she'd eaten for supper.
And Tom's response? Just two words: "Read. Noted."
Ginny nearly exploded. She was so furious she almost tore her magical notebook, WhatsApp, into shreds. But of course… she couldn't bear to part with something so useful.
If Riddle the bastard refused to give her attention, then fine—she'd just talk to Luna.
So Ginny once again hugged her enchanted notebook and started a late-night conversation. And as always, Luna Lovegood—perched somewhere in Ravenclaw Tower—responded seriously to every line Ginny wrote.
Luna's mind was unlike anyone else's. She didn't care if others ignored her, but she could never refuse the warmth of someone reaching out.
The two girls marveled at how miraculous WhatsApp was, chatting back and forth until they finally drifted to sleep far too late.
…
The next day, Hermione spent the whole day buried in the library, then even went rummaging through the Trophy Room. At last, she gathered enough scraps of information to rush back to her friends.
"That Riddle boy—he lived fifty years ago," Hermione whispered urgently. "I found his name in The List of Former Head Boys. He even received a 'Special Award for Services to the School.' And fifty years ago…" she drew a sharp breath, "…was the exact time Professor Binns mentioned—the Chamber of Secrets was opened for the very first time."
"So he was rewarded for that?" Daphne scowled. "All that glory, when in truth he was the one who opened the Chamber in the first place? The whole thing was his twisted little play?"
"Exactly," Hermione nodded, her voice trembling with outrage. "He's the Heir of Slytherin. Even after so many years, he's still causing chaos with nothing more than a notebook."
Astoria tilted her head thoughtfully. "But where is he now? I mean—anyone who could make something like that while still a student… Even if he isn't Tom's equal, he's not far behind. There's no way someone like that would just disappear without a trace."
The truth was, most of the older generation did know Voldemort's secrets. But none of them would ever casually reveal such things to the younger ones. Mrs. Greengrass certainly wouldn't tell her daughters—it would only sour their relationship with Tom.
So Astoria's ignorance was only natural.
"What's Tom planning to do with the diary?" Hermione asked carefully.
Astoria replied, "He said he wants to study it first, and then hand it over to Dumbledore."
Daphne added, "He's been hiding away in that little pocket-world of his all day today, researching it. No idea how far he's gotten."
…
In truth, Tom had already finished his preparations.
Among all Horcruxes, this diary was the strangest. It contained not just a memory of Riddle at fifteen, but also strange powers—absorbing life force, manipulating souls…
To think a fifteen-year-old could manage this. Even Tom had to admit, it was staggering.
He compared it to his own methods. Yes, he could replicate most of it now—but where Riddle had literally split his soul, Tom relied more on alchemy. The results were similar, but intelligence-wise, the diary's version might be sharper.
That was the thing—Voldemort had been ruthless beyond belief. Who knew how much of his soul he had carved away to create that first Horcrux?
Caution first. Tom summoned his two spectral mentors—one dark, one light—to investigate the diary without alerting it.
To his surprise, it wasn't Grindelwald, the master of dark magic, who identified it first—it was Andros.
The old sorcerer's face twisted with disgust the moment he recognized it. "A Horcrux. Damn that Herpo the Foul—it all goes back to him. I destroyed dozens of these abominations myself in my time. Back then, creating Horcruxes was practically a dark wizard's fashion trend."
His voice dripped with scorn. "But what kind of man is left, once his soul is torn to pieces? They're no longer human—just slaves to their own magic."
Grindelwald shifted uncomfortably, eyes sliding away. A moment ago, he had been entertaining the idea of making a Horcrux himself—maybe restoring his body, returning to his prime…
But now, with Andros spitting such venom, he'd have to shelve that idea. At least publicly. Secretly, though… he wasn't about to give it up.
At their level of power, temptations like this could never truly be ignored.
Once Tom had checked that his Occlumency and mental defenses were perfectly sealed, he finally dared to open the diary.
And for the first time in fifty years, two Tom Riddles prepared to face each other.
"Friend, stop playing dead. I know what you've done."
The ink shimmered briefly, then vanished—swallowed into the page.
Moments later, words bled out across the parchment.
"Hello, schoolmate. I think you've mistaken me for someone else. My name is Tom Riddle. I haven't done anything. How did you even get hold of my diary?"
Tom could feel the subtle tug of something prying into his mind. He chuckled darkly, dipping his quill.
"Hello, Tom Riddle. I am Tom Riddle."