Chapter 186: Hello Tom Riddle, I’m Tom Riddle (Bonus)
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Ginny’s quiet sobs echoed in the room. Astoria and Luna were just as stunned by Tom’s blunt words.
It was the first time Astoria had ever seen him bully someone this openly. Still, she wasn’t about to argue on Ginny’s behalf—Ginny had nearly caused a disaster, and in her eyes a little punishment was only fair.
Luna, on the other hand, trusted her instincts. She sensed that Tom wasn’t truly out to harm Ginny. The way he needled her felt more like intimidation—or perhaps the same mischievous cruelty he’d shown toward Luna earlier. Either way, Luna wasn’t especially worried.
"Stand up." Tom’s tone was cold as he shook the diary in his hand, making the message clear.
Ginny obeyed, moving stiffly like a puppet with its strings pulled.
Tom slipped a slim notebook into her hands.
"I’ve taken one Riddle diary from you. I’ll give you another."
Then, as if on a whim, he tossed one to Luna as well and gestured for Astoria to explain how they worked.
Slowly, Ginny’s dazed expression cleared. Fascination replaced fear as she tested the magical notebook, trading lines back and forth with Luna and Astoria.
"Who made this?" she asked in disbelief.
"Of course it was Tom," Astoria answered before Tom could, her pride practically glowing. "Doesn’t matter if you’re both at Hogwarts or back home—these books let you chat anytime."
Ginny wrinkled her nose. "But Luna and I live in the same village. One up the hill, one at the bottom. It only takes a few steps."
Astoria froze, cheeks flushing. "Still, it’s easier than climbing a hill. Don’t act like it’s not useful."
Ginny nodded, and even smiled faintly. She and Luna had known each other long before Hogwarts, though things had changed after the accident. Luna had grown stranger, quieter, hiding away at home. Only once they came to school had they truly reconnected.
But when Ginny’s eyes slid back to Tom, a new, unsettling thought struck her. Did every Tom Riddle excel at making diaries?
"You like pouring your heart out to people, don’t you?" Tom interrupted her thoughts, his voice like ice. "From now on, you’ll report to me every single day. What you did, what you learned, when you ate, when you slept. Who you slept with? Uh, forget that one. But miss even once of the others—or hide something from me—and..."
He left the threat hanging, but the cold smile on his lips was enough.
Ginny flinched, nodding miserably. "You won’t tell the professors? Or the Headmaster?" she whispered.
Surely this nightmare was over now that the diary was out in the open?
But Tom shook his head without hesitation. "No chance. Dumbledore has to know. He’ll probably keep it quiet from the other professors, though."
That, at least, Ginny could live with. If her family and classmates never found out, she still had a shred of dignity left.
"Enough. You can go," Tom dismissed them with a flick of his hand. "Lovegood, you helped me today, so I’ll return the favor soon."
Ginny grabbed Luna’s arm and all but bolted from the room. Strangely, once she was outside she felt lighter. The secret was out. No more endless nights of dread. It wasn’t perfect, but it was... bearable.
She glanced back. The strange door had vanished, leaving only smooth stone wall.
...
Inside the Room of Requirement, Tom didn’t immediately crack open the diary to examine the other Riddle. Instead, he spent time showering Astoria with praise until her cheeks turned scarlet. Only then did he coax her into drinking a few vials of potion.
It wasn’t as strong as true strengthening potions, but it would harden her body bit by bit. Made from Re’em blood and dragon blood, it was perfect for a girl who couldn’t even sprint across the courtyard without running out of breath.
After Astoria rested, the two finally left the Room and headed back to the Slytherin common room.
The atmosphere there was suffocating. Gryffindor had just forced a draw, and the lions were celebrating wildly—they’d been behind anyway, so a tie felt like victory. Slytherin, though, had thrown away a winning position, and no one was in the mood to smile.
All blame had landed squarely on Malfoy. Bad plays were unforgivable in Slytherin, and even he couldn’t argue.
Tom spotted him sulking in the corner with his cronies, but offered neither comfort nor advice. They were Slytherins; reality was their true nature.
Across the room, Daphne stood with her arms crossed, glaring at Tom and her sister. "Where did you two disappear to this time? Why didn’t you bring me?"
Her suspicion had been building for days. Tom and Astoria whispered constantly, out of sight of her and Hermione. And now, after the match, first her sister had vanished, then Tom, both gone for hours... only to reappear together, flushed and evasive.
If they didn’t explain themselves tonight, she’d cry right here and force them to. Daphne
Tom and Astoria exchanged a glance. Neither looked eager. Finally, Tom shrugged. "She’s your sister. You handle her." With that, he slipped away, leaving the mess behind.
He had promised Ginny to keep her secret from everyone except Dumbledore—but that didn’t extend to Hermione or Daphne.
Astoria hurried over and clasped her sister’s hand. "I was helping Tom with something important. We only just finished."
Daphne puffed up like an angry cat. "Then why couldn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped too! You should’ve come to me first, not him."
Even jealous of her own sister. Typical Daphne.
Astoria sighed, dragging her toward a quiet corner, away from curious ears. "After dinner, we’ll sit down with Hermione too, and I’ll explain everything. But keep your voice down." She leaned so close her lips nearly brushed Daphne’s ear. "It’s about the Chamber of Secrets. We’ve found the culprit."
Daphne’s eyes went wide. Astoria, prepared for exactly this reaction, clamped a hand over her sister’s mouth before she could squeal.
"See? This is exactly the reaction Tom expected. That’s why he didn’t want you to know."
Daphne yanked her sister’s hand away, scowling. Her bratty little sister, daring to lecture her now?
No matter how much she pressed, Astoria refused to say another word. She knew she’d just have to explain everything all over again to Hermione later, so why waste her breath now?
By the time dinner rolled around—actually, before dinner was even properly finished—Daphne had already dragged a bewildered Hermione out of the Great Hall.
At first Hermione had no idea what Daphne wanted with her, but the second she heard the words "the Chamber," she was the one dragging Daphne at a sprint.
The three of them huddled in an abandoned classroom, whispering furiously until nearly curfew, and still they broke up reluctantly, like they’d only just begun.
---
Meanwhile, on Tom’s side of things, Ginny had written him what might as well have been a small essay before bed. Every single detail: where she’d gone after they parted, what she’d done, exactly what she’d eaten, even the times she’d eaten them. Tom’s only reply was a "K."
Ginny nearly lost her mind. She almost tore the magical notebook in half. Almost. In the end, it was just too useful to give up.
If Riddle wasn’t going to talk to her, well, Luna certainly would.
So Ginny went back to scribbling with Luna instead, and Luna—being Luna—responded with her usual dreamlike seriousness. She didn’t mind isolation, but she couldn’t turn away the warmth of real friendship either.
The two of them marveled at how magical and convenient the magical notebook was, staying up until far too late before finally falling asleep.
---
The next day, Hermione practically lived in the library, and even made a trip to the Trophy Room. At last she came back to share what she’d uncovered.
"That Riddle was a student fifty years ago. I found him listed under ’Past Prefects’—and he even won a ’Special Award for Services to the School’. And fifty years ago is exactly when Professor Binns said the Chamber first opened."
"So he probably got the award for "solving" that mess," Daphne muttered darkly.
"Except he was the one who started it." Hermione’s voice grew sharp. "He was the Heir of Slytherin. The whole thing was staged by him from the beginning."
"Then what’s he doing now?" Astoria wondered aloud. "I mean, to make a magical object like that while still in school... even if he’s not as good as Tom, he can’t be far behind. It makes no sense that he’d just vanish into obscurity."
Of course, the older generation knew Voldemort’s true history, but none of them ever spoke of it to their children. Lady Greengrass least of all. No way would she risk poisoning her daughters’ relationship with Tom.
"What’s Tom planning to do with the diary?" Hermione asked.
Astoria shook her head. "He wants to study it for a while, then hand it over to Dumbledore."
"He’s been shut up in that little pocket-world of his all day, working on it," Daphne added. "No clue what he’s found."
In truth, Tom had already finished his preparations.
The diary was unlike any other Horcrux—it didn’t just contain a memory of Voldy at fifteen, but all sorts of sinister abilities: draining life force, seizing control of souls.
To pull that off at fifteen? Unthinkable.
Tom weighed it against himself. He could manage the same now, but his methods leaned on alchemy rather than Voldemort’s vicious soul-rending. Functionally similar, but not as... "wise."
That was the difference: Voldemort’s sheer ruthlessness. Who knew how much of his soul he carved off for that first Horcrux?
Cautious, Tom summoned both of his "old men"—one dark, one light—to investigate, without tipping the diary off.
To his surprise, it wasn’t Grindelwald, master of dark magic, who recognized it first. It was Andros.
The old wizard’s lip curled in disgust. "Herpo damned us all. That foul man started this plague. I destroyed dozens of Horcruxes myself back in the day. For a time, every ambitious dark wizard thought they needed one."
"Shatter your soul for power... at that point you’re no longer even yourself. Just a slave bound to your own magic."
Grindelwald shifted his gaze aside, expression unreadable. Moments earlier he’d been half-tempted to make one himself, restore his body, seize back his prime. But with Andros denouncing it so plainly... well, it wasn’t enough to dissuade him. It only meant he’d have to be discreet.
Once Tom was sure his Occlumency and mental defenses were solid, he finally opened the diary. For the first time, across fifty years of time, a Tom Riddle met another Tom Riddle.
Tom —our Tom— wrote: "Come on, stop playing dead. You’ve been exposed."
The words shimmered and sank into the page, vanishing without a trace.
Then new ink bled through.
「 Hello, classmate. I think there’s been some kind of mistake. My name is Tom Riddle, but I haven’t done anything. How did you find my diary?」
Tom felt that odd, prying sensation again. He grinned, and his quill scratched across the page: "My bad."
"Hello, Tom Riddle. I’m Tom Riddle."
.
.
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