The silence of Hogwarts during the Christmas holidays was a profound and welcome thing. The usual clamor of the corridors had been replaced by a deep, stone quiet, and the few students who remained, including Harry Potter and the Weasleys, were mostly cloistered in the Gryffindor Tower. The castle was mine to explore.
My first destination was Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
Under the cloak of a powerful Disillusionment Charm, I slipped into the second-floor girls' lavatory. The air was cold and damp, and a miserable, spectral wailing echoed from the last stall.
"Who's there?" Myrtle's voice sobbed. "Did you come to throw another book at me?"
"Not at all, Myrtle," I said, allowing my voice to be heard while my body remained unseen. "It's me, Tom. I've come to visit, as promised."
The ghost floated through the stall door, her gloomy face lighting up with a flicker of surprised pleasure. "Tom! I didn't see you. You're so quiet."
"I find it's better to move unseen these days," I said, allowing the charm to fade, my form shimmering back into view. "With all the talk of monsters and heirs, one can't be too careful."
I spent another twenty minutes engaged in conversation, listening to her laments and offering carefully crafted words of sympathy. My patience was rewarded. She eventually drifted off to sulk in her favorite U-bend, leaving me alone.
Now, it was time. I approached the row of copper sinks, my eyes immediately falling upon the one she had pointed out weeks ago. Etched into the side of the tap was a tiny, elegant serpent. It was so small, so unassuming, that no one would ever notice it unless they knew precisely what to look for.
I leaned in close, my gaze fixed on the carving. I took a deep breath, marshaling the strange, new syntax that Cadmus had helped me synthesize. I focused my will, not on a spell, but on a single, clear command.
A low, sibilant hiss escaped my lips. § Open. §
The effect was instantaneous. The tap glowed with an emerald light, and the entire sink began to sink into the floor, revealing a large, dark pipe wide enough for a man to slide into. A wave of cold, foul-smelling air, an ancient stench of decay and dark magic, washed over me.
//Legendary Location Discovered: The Chamber of Secrets// [Reward: +100 Achievement Points] [World Questline Initiated: The Heir of Slytherin's Legacy]
I didn't hesitate. I conjured a length of sturdy rope, secured it to a nearby pillar, and lowered myself into the darkness.
The pipe twisted and turned, a long, slimy slide that plunged deep into the castle's foundations. I finally emerged in a dark, damp tunnel littered with the bones of small animals. I cast a quietLumosspell, the light of my wand revealing walls of rough-hewn stone that seemed to pulse with a faint, malevolent energy.
I followed the tunnel, my wand held at the ready. After several minutes, I came to a solid wall engraved with two intertwined serpents, their eyes set with glittering emeralds. This was the second lock.
§ Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four. § I hissed, reciting the password I remembered from the books.
The emerald eyes of the serpents glowed, and the wall slid apart, revealing the chamber beyond.
The sight was breathtaking. I was standing in a long, high-ceilinged room, its walls lined with towering, serpent-carved pillars that were draped in eerie green banners. A sickly green light filtered down from an unseen source high above, illuminating a path that led to the far end of the chamber. And there, against the back wall, stood a colossal statue of a wizard's face, ancient and simian, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the floor. It was Salazar Slytherin himself, immortalized in stone.
The air was heavy with the weight of centuries, thick with powerful, dark magic. This was a place of immense power, a temple dedicated to the dark ambitions of one of the world's most powerful wizards.
And it was utterly, completely empty.
There was no Basilisk.
I walked the length of the chamber, my footsteps echoing in the vast, silent space. My mind raced. Had the Basilisk already been killed? Had the diary-Horcrux lied? I ran a diagnostic spell, the one Andros had taught me. The results were clear. There was a massive, dormant magical signature here, a creature of immense power, but it was... sleeping. Hibernating.
Then I saw it. At the base of the great statue, almost hidden in the shadows, was a small, leather-bound book.
It was a simple, black diary. Its pages were blank.
I knew at once what it was. It was the Horcrux. The memory of the sixteen-year-old Tom Marvolo Riddle.
But it wasn't supposed to be here. It was supposed to be with Ginny Weasley, corrupting her, using her to open the Chamber. My presence, my actions, my very existence had altered the timeline. Lucius Malfoy, in his haste and anger during our confrontation in the Entrance Hall, must have abandoned his plan to slip the diary into Ginny's cauldron. Perhaps Dumbledore's presence had spooked him.
Whatever the reason, the instrument of Voldemort's return was here, inert and waiting.
I picked up the diary. It felt cold to the touch. This was the source of my name's curse, the ghost of the boy I was trying so hard not to become. It held his memories, his power, his secrets. It was a weapon. A teacher. A terrible, irresistible temptation.
A notification from the System, stark and severe, flashed in my vision.
//WARNING: Soul Fragment of [Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort)] detected. Proximity poses extreme risk of soul corruption and identity loss. It is strongly advised to destroy this item immediately.//
I stared at the diary, then at the massive statue of Salazar Slytherin. The System was right. The logical, safe move was to destroy it. To use a powerful curse and erase this piece of Voldemort from the world forever.
But since when had I ever chosen the safe path?
This diary wasn't just a threat. It was an opportunity. It contained the memories of the boy who had discovered this place, who had tamed the Basilisk, who had delved into magics that Dumbledore himself feared.
I needed that knowledge. I needed that power.
A slow, calculating smile spread across my face. I opened the diary to its first blank page, drew my wand, and let a single drop of ink fall onto the parchment.
The ink vanished, and new words, written in an elegant, familiar hand, began to bleed across the page.
Hello. Who are you?
I dipped my quill. My name, I wrote, is Tom Riddle.