Elijah took advantage of Draco's momentary collapse of will, sliding into the boy's psyche and seizing total control.
He didn't launch an attack. The Basilisk could wait. He had a far more pressing concern: loose ends.
Dobby had stolen the diary from Ginny to give it to Draco, but Ginny still carried months of intimate memories of "Mr. Riddle."
If Dumbledore—a master of Legilimency—ever peered into her mind, the game would be over before it truly began.
I must find out how much she told the others, then modify their memories, Elijah decided.
Returning to Ginny as a diary was no longer necessary. He had transcended the original script. As long as he eventually led her into the Chamber to set the stage for Harry's "heroic" confrontation, he was free to improvise.
However, his plan to move quietly was derailed within minutes.
Elijah had barely stepped around the first corner away from the Slytherin common room when four figures lunged from the shadows.
"Expelliarmus!"
Four voices barked the spell in unison. Ron's wand backfired with a wet bang, throwing him backward, but the other three charms hit with surgical precision.
The hawthorn wand was wrenched from 'Draco''s hand, clattering onto the stone floor.
Elijah wasn't helpless—he could cast without the wood—but as he looked at the trio standing over him, a different opportunity presented itself.
"Malfoy! Give Ginny's diary back!" Hermione snapped, her wand tip glowing with a dangerous heat.
"Hurry up," Ginny added, her voice trembling with fury. "Don't bother lying. Harry saw you writing in it in class."
Ron scrambled up, rubbing his bruised backside and trying to look intimidating. On Valentine's Day, Harry had noticed Malfoy scribbling in a familiar black notebook. It had taken a few days of observation to confirm it was the one Ginny had lost, leading to this desperate ambush.
Elijah looked at the three wands pressed against his chin and didn't blink. He adopted an earnest, weary expression and lowered his voice.
"Wait—I'm not Malfoy. It's me, Riddle."
The wands wavered. Ginny's eyes went wide, her anger replaced by a sudden, frantic hope. "Mr. Riddle? Is it really you? You... you possessed Malfoy?"
"So you are Tom Riddle?" Hermione asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
"I am," Elijah said, nodding calmly. "I helped you steal the ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion while I was with Ginny. You remember."
"It really was you," Ron muttered, impressed despite himself. "But how did Malfoy get a hold of you?"
"We thought the Heir stole the diary," Harry said. "But Malfoy isn't the Heir. Why would he take it?"
"Because he wanted to serve the Heir," Elijah explained, weaving the lie effortlessly. "He realized I was looking for the culprit—that I was a memory, not Ginny—so he stole me to stop my investigation. He didn't expect that I could forcibly seize his body from the inside."
Hermione's brow furrowed, clearly unsettled by the ethics of possession, but Ron and Harry looked delighted.
"I have to say," Ron said, stepping forward to clap Elijah—or rather, Draco—on the shoulder, "you look a lot better with that expression than Malfoy usually does. Say... I heard you helped Ginny with her homework?"
"A few times. Her potential was being wasted on those assignments."
"Right, right. See, I've got this pile of Transfiguration essays—"
"Ron!" Hermione pulled him away.
Ginny stepped closer, her face falling. "But if you had Malfoy's body... why didn't you come find me?"
Elijah had originally intended to say he was coming to wipe her memory, but the words shifted into a more palatable shape. "It was too dangerous, Ginny. The Heir knows I'm onto him. If I returned to you, I would have made you a target. By staying in Malfoy, I remained hidden in plain sight."
"I'm not afraid of the Heir," Ginny insisted.
"Neither are we," Harry added.
Elijah looked at them for a long time, playing the part of the reluctant protector before finally nodding. "Very well. I agree to let you help. But first... Ginny, who else have you told about the diary?"
"No one. Just Harry, Ron, and Hermione."
"Good. Then I must modify your memories. Just this part—just the fact that I am a diary." Elijah held up the hawthorn wand. "If the Heir uses Legilimency on you and sees my true form, he can destroy me easily. I must remain an enigma to him."
"You promise you're only changing the diary part?" Ginny asked stubbornly. "You won't make us forget you entirely?"
"I promise. Only the diary."
The memory modification was swift and clean. Once the mental fog cleared, Harry and the others were left with the conviction that "Riddle" was a ghost-like ally currently inhabiting Malfoy, but they no longer recalled the object that bound him.
"So, Mr. Riddle," Harry said, his green eyes burning with intensity. "Do you know who opened the Chamber fifty years ago? Ginny said you caught him."
"I did. But I'm afraid the truth is difficult to believe."
"We need to know!" Harry urged. "There has to be a connection. Please."
"Very well. I won't tell you—I'll show you."
Elijah led them to a quiet, abandoned classroom. He had retrieved a cracked Pensieve from the Room of Requirement—a "toy" he had supposedly been repairing for Draco—and placed it on a dusty desk.
"What is that?" Ron asked. "Are you going to wash your face?"
"It's a Pensieve," Hermione whispered, her eyes wide. "It stores memories."
Elijah pressed his wand to his temple, drawing out a shimmering, silver thread of thought. He dropped it into the basin, where it swirled into a transparent glassiness. "This is the night I caught the Heir. Follow me."
Elijah vanished into the liquid. One by one, the others followed, plunging through a dark vortex until they landed in a circular office lined with snoring portraits.
"This is Dumbledore's office," Harry whispered.
"But that's not Dumbledore," Hermione noted, pointing to the shriveled, white-haired Wizard behind the desk.
"That is Professor Dippet," Elijah explained as the others looked around nervously. "The Headmaster fifty years ago. Don't worry—they can't see us. We are shadows in a recording."
A knock sounded at the door.
A sixteen-year-old boy entered, tall and handsome, with a silver Prefect badge gleaming on his chest. He was the image of the man standing beside them.
"He's much better looking than Lockhart," Ron muttered, nudging Hermione, whose face went pink.
In the memory, Dippet looked up from a letter. "Ah, Riddle. Sit down."
The young Riddle sat, his hands clasped tightly. He looked pale, his anxiety palpable.
"My dear boy," Dippet said kindly. "I cannot allow you to stay at the school for the summer. Surely you would prefer to go home?"
"No," Riddle said instantly. "I'd rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that—that—"
"You stay in a Muggle orphanage, don't you?"
Ginny looked at Elijah with sudden, piercing sympathy. "Mr. Riddle... you never told me."
"I don't want pity, Ginny," Elijah replied softly. It was the only honest thing he had said all day.
Harry felt a surge of kinship. The orphan, the boy who found his only home within these stone walls—they were the same.
In the memory, Riddle confessed his status as a half-blood, his mother's death, and his father's absence. Dippet sighed, looking genuinely pained.
"The thing is, Tom... under the current circumstances, the special arrangements we planned for you are impossible. Because of the attacks."
Riddle's eyes widened. "Is it because of the tragedy, sir? The girl who died?"
"Precisely," Dippet said. "The Ministry is discussing closing Hogwarts. We have no clue as to the source of these horrors."
Elijah turned to Harry as the memory Riddle sat in stunned silence. "I didn't want the school to close," Elijah said calmly. "It was my only home. So I had to find the culprit—even if he didn't intend to kill."
Harry could very well understand the thoughts of Riddle in the memory.
Hogwarts always provided the warmest refuge for those who were homeless.
This was the first home he knew, the best home. He and Mr. Riddle, and other abandoned children, all found a home here…