[Tom, you won't believe this, there's a rumour going around Hogwarts that You-know-who's name is the same as yours!]
My hand trembles as I write, the ink blotting slightly on the yellowed page. I don't want to believe it. My best friend, the one who always listens, who helps me with homework, who never makes fun of me when I tell him all my woes, couldn't possibly be the Dark Lord. But the Hogwarts register doesn't lie. Only one Tom Riddle has attended this school in the last hundred years. Still, I need to give him a chance to explain.
I wait with bated breath, eyes locked on the page as the ink begins to curl and reform into new words.
[… I see. That is quite the coincidence, but understandable. The name Tom is rather common, even the owner of the Leaky Cauldron shares it.]
My heart sinks at his answer, I immediately realise he's deflecting. But I can't leave it like this, I need to force him to confess.
[I know, but his full name was Tom Marvolo Riddle, and the name on the cover of your diary says Tom M. Riddle, that can't be a coincidence, can it?]
There's a pause. Then a long line of dots, as though he's thinking.
[.... Alright, I must admit, that really surprised me. Quite the frightening coincidence! But my middle name is Marcus, not Marvolo.]
He's lying! My chest tightens. He leaves me no choice, since he didn't take the chance to confess, I will have to expose him.
[Tom, I checked the Hogwarts register. There's only one Tom Riddle who's ever attended Hogwarts. Stop lying to me!]
As the diary absorbs the ink, the page stays blank for several seconds before his next words appear.
[... Sigh~ You caught me. As soon as you mentioned the Dark Lord's name, I guessed it was me. But I was afraid you'd stop talking to me, and I didn't want to lose your friendship. Please, Ginny, hear me out. This diary only contains the memories of my seventeen-year-old self. I didn't want to believe I could become someone evil either. From what I remember, I never did anything terrible. My greatest dream after graduation was to become a teacher and stay at Hogwarts forever…]
That… makes sense. Tom has never been cruel to me. He's patient, kind, always ready to listen when no one else will. He helps with my essays, comforts me when I feel invisible. That isn't something You-Know-Who would do.
Something must have happened to change him, something awful enough to twist a sweet boy into a monster.
[Then what do you think happened for you to become a dark lord?]
[... I don't know. But it must have been something terrible. I've never used violence in my life, even when I was bullied during first year, I just learned ways to hide better. I'm a bit ashamed to admit it, but I was a coward.
Still, you shouldn't go investigating, Ginny. If the wrong people discover you're digging into the Dark Lord's past, it could put you in danger. And… I'm not sure I want to know, either. What if something happened to my friends at the orphanage? Or to Mrs. Cole, who was like a mother to me. The thought alone terrifies me.]
His words make my heart ache. He seems so scared and vulnerable. And it's true… there's no way a teenager could be a Dark Lord. Something dark must have forced him down that path. Maybe even a curse or something.
I am really curious, but Tom's right, it could be dangerous and I shouldn't be meddling in You-know-who's business. That should be left for Harry Potter to handle, after all, he's the hero, I'm just his best friend's little sister…
[You are right Tom, I won't look into it, I'm just a first-year. I should focus on my studies.]
[Thank you, Ginny. That eases my mind. You're very clever, you know. And I'll always be here if you need help with your homework, it's not like I have anything else to do.]
I smile faintly at the words appearing in elegant script across the page.
Yes, Tom is my friend. Whatever became of him later has nothing to do with the boy in this diary.
Nothing at all.
…
September 5, 1992, Saturday.
I open my eyes with a groan and fumble for my wand on the nightstand. "Tempus." The glowing digits hovering above my bed make me blink in surprise. Noon already?
Unacceptable. I'm an early riser by nature, discipline carved into habit. A man of my reputation must never be seen with under-eye shadows or tousled hair. But last night, I'd stayed awake far later than usual, keeping Aurora company during one of her stargazing sessions.
A strategic decision, or so I'd thought. I was expecting a romantic evening under the stars. Instead, I got a six-hour lecture on constellations, planetary influence on potion-making, and the subtle relationship between Mars and magical wards. Fascinating, I'm sure, if one is Aurora Sinistra.
Honestly, I deserve a medal for endurance. I didn't interrupt, didn't brag, didn't even fake expertise, I actually listened. Me, Gilderoy Lockhart! And my reward? Not even a kiss on the cheek. Tragic. Clearly, a new tactic is needed, since appealing to her intellect and interests has backfired spectacularly.
After a quick shower, I run through my grooming charms until I look perfectly radiant. No trace of sleep deprivation remains. I feel in a Ravenclaw mood today, so I choose a dark blue robe with bronze trim, stylish yet academic, and head to the Great Hall for lunch.
The timing is impeccable. At the staff table sits precisely the man I'd hoped to find: Silvanus Kettleburn, the ever-disheveled Professor of Care of Magical Creatures.
His appearance is… memorable. Short silver hair, an eye patch over his left eye, a wooden prosthetic arm, half a left leg, and an entirely artificial right one. His résumé of injuries reads like a warning label: Do not try this at home.
Still, there's a gleam in his remaining eye that reminds me of Hagrid, that dangerous mix of curiosity and poor self-preservation. Unfortunately for the man, he doesn't have the half-giant's resilience, resulting in the loss of most of his limbs.
"Hello, Professor Kettleburn!" I greet him with a radiant smile.
"Gilderoy!" he booms cheerfully. "I was hoping to talk to you this year! I'm quite curious about the Yeti you mentioned in your book, fascinating creatures, though so rare! Information about them is scarce, you know."
Ah. That book. My masterpiece of educated guesswork and inspired exaggeration. A delicate blend of research, imagination, and outright fabrication.
Time for Gilderoy's Secret Technique No. 4: Deflection.
"Oh, yes, the Yeti! Truly marvelous creatures," I say smoothly. "Speaking of rare creatures, I wanted to ask, I'm preparing a third-year class for Monday, and I find myself in need of a Hinkypunk. Would you happen to have one?"
That does the trick. Kettleburn scratches his chin thoughtfully with his wooden fingers. "Hmm. Dark creatures aren't part of my syllabus, but I know a chap who might lend you one for a few days. Bit shady, but he owes me a couple of favors."
"Perfect! I'd appreciate that greatly."
"Don't mention it," he chuckles. "It's good to see a teacher showing students the real creatures instead of relying on textbook pictures like everyone else. Now, about that Yeti…"
"Ah, yes, the Yeti! How about we have a drink some other evening and talk about it then? I've just remembered I have something urgent to handle. But don't forget about that Hinkypunk, will you? You're a lifesaver!"
Before he can reply, I stand and sweep dramatically from the hall.
Behind me, Kettleburn eyes my untouched plate of mashed potatoes and lamb chops, shrugs, and pulls it toward himself.
"Well, waste not," he mutters before digging in.
…