Ron dropped his voice. "It just so happens that we also want to tell you something about… Riddle."
Harry's stomach tightened. He'd been waiting for this since he'd first spotted them at Florean Fortescue's. Whatever Ron and Hermione knew, it wasn't the sort of thing meant for ice cream and summer crowds.
They finished their sundaes quickly, guiltily, and slipped back to the Leaky Cauldron. It felt ridiculous to sneak like criminals when Ministry posters were plastered everywhere and Aurors were searching relentlessly.
Yet here they were—three third-years acting as Mr. Riddle's unofficial defense committee.
Upstairs in their room, Ron slammed the door and whirled on Hermione. "You're wrong! You're planning to cover for him!" He jabbed a finger at her.
Hermione flinched, then squared her shoulders. "Don't be like this, Ron. You know Mr. Riddle isn't bad."
Ron slumped into a chair. "I don't think so either," he muttered.
"He didn't hurt any of us!" Hermione turned to Harry, eyes pleading, as if afraid of betrayal. "Harry, you've seen the news? Aurors are hunting him—he's in danger. I don't know how we can help." Her voice softened. "Ginny's worried too."
"Dad and Mum are more worried," Ron said. "Ginny's miserable. They're afraid she'll bolt to find him."
Ron's ears reddened, his face uneasy. "But do you really think Riddle is… I mean… Vold—you know? I keep thinking Dumbledore's wrong."
Harry felt the familiar tangle of fear, anger, confusion, and something he couldn't name. He spoke quietly. "Speaking of that… I got a letter from him. On my birthday." He paused. "Ehm.. From Mr. Riddle. He prefers Elijah."
Ron and Hermione shouted at once—Ron in raw outrage, Hermione for entirely different reasons.
"He wrote to you?"
"Where is it?" they chorused.
"After I read it, it burned itself," Harry said. "Only this is left."
He pulled out the moving Quidditch card.
Ron's eyes widened like he'd been handed a priceless relic. "It's Viktor Krum!" He clutched it reverently. "I take it back. He's a good man."
Hermione ignored him, flipping the card to read the back. "Expecto Patronum. A silvery guardian… Harry, this is a spell."
"He said I might need it this year, so learn it early." Harry replied, a strange note of pride in his voice.
Hermione looked half-disbelieving, half-exasperated, as if ready to shake him. "This isn't for our age! It's the Patronus Charm."
"It is?" Harry blinked.
"Yes." She rushed on. "Used against Dementors."
Ron shuddered; his chair creaked—the same reaction he usually reserved for Voldemort or spiders.
"Dementors?" Harry asked. "What are they?"
"Azkaban's guards," Ron said in a low voice. "Ask Hagrid. He was there for months last year—came back like all the happiness had been wrung out of him."
"I thought it was Aragog and Acromantulas," Harry said.
Ron shot him a look. Hermione, still studying the card, glanced up sharply. "Why would Mr. Riddle think you need a Patronus? Dementors at Hogwarts?"
"How should I know?" Harry said. "He's full of secrets."
He recounted the letter: the apology to Ginny, the warning about the diary's secrecy, the omens, Divination, prophecies. Surprisingly, neither Ron nor Hermione pushed him to tell Dumbledore.
Ron fidgeted, eyes on the card. "I think he really is different," he admitted grudgingly. "Who sends a Krum card?! That's a collector's piece, you know? I mean.. That diary backup… didn't see that coming. Maybe he expected Dumbledore."
Hermione nodded, troubled.
They might have argued in circles all afternoon, but footsteps echoed in the corridor. Mrs. Weasley swept in with Ginny behind her.
Ginny looked thinner, hollow-eyed, sleep-deprived. Her smile at them didn't reach her eyes.
Ron bolted upright. "Right. Scabbers' tonic." Hermione chimed in about buying an owl. Harry started to add something, but Arthur appeared in the doorway, as if perfectly timed.
"Harry," Mr. Weasley said gently. "Come here, boy."
Harry followed him to a quieter room. Arthur shut the door, his face uncharacteristically serious.
"Molly may not want me telling you," he began, "but you should know. You might've heard it's…"
"You mean Tom Riddle?" Harry blurted. "I know he escaped."
Arthur shook his head. "No. Not that. This is about Sirius Black."
Harry's stomach sank; the name closed around him like cold fingers. Arthur sat, leaning forward.
"Fudge insists Black and Riddle are together," he said tightly. "But there's no connection. Black escaped half a month before Riddle."
Harry listened, baffled why Black's story seemed to involve him so personally.
Then Arthur said it: "Sirius Black was a brutal Death Eater under You-Know-Who. Blew up a street, killed a dozen Muggles. If he's out, Harry, it's to find you."
Harry's chest hollowed.
Arthur watched him closely. "Promise me something."
Harry's mouth twisted. "Stay in the castle?"
"Not exactly." Arthur's tone sharpened. "Never go looking for Black."
Harry stared, stunned. "Why would I seek someone who wants me dead? Might as well say don't hunt Tom Riddle."
"Dumbledore thinks Riddle won't return to Hogwarts soon," Arthur said carefully. "If you were his target last year, he had chances. He didn't take them."
His voice firmed. "Black's different. Promise me."
It wasn't just concern—there was urgency, pressure, as though he were holding back a larger truth.
Harry trusted the Weasleys. He nodded. "All right. I promise."
Arthur's shoulders eased, as if he could finally breathe.
Back with the others, Ron and Hermione had returned, mid-argument. Hermione held an ugly orange cat, smug in its ugliness, her eyes flicking to Ron's pocket where Scabbers hid. Ron looked ready to hurl the creature out the window.
Harry shared Arthur's warning and his promise. Ginny listened, quiet and tense. They puzzled over his intensity, but Harry sensed a withheld piece—everyone else in silent accord.
Dinner should have been a relief. Instead it landed like a punch.
Arthur opened a letter, scanned it, and his face changed. He eyed Ginny, then Harry, Ron, and Hermione—like he was weighing how much truth burdened children could carry.
Finally, he sighed and opened his mouth, "Letter from the Ministry. They say they have found traces of Tom Riddle. It seems he was seen in Little Hangleton County not long ago."
The table froze.
...
The isolated Little Hangleton has not welcomed many guests in the past few decades, but in recent days, outsiders have been arriving one after another.
The Ministry of Magic's Aurors were formally dressed, questioning nearby residents about whether they had seen a young man named Tom Riddle. The person in charge of the cross-examination was John Dolores, the man who had sent Elijah to Azkaban more than two months ago.
Now that Elijah has escaped from prison, Dolores is feeling the heat. Although the escape had little to do with him directly, the Ministry is looking for a scapegoat, and he knows he needs someone to take the blame.
In addition to him, there were several Aurors dressed similarly, as well as two misfits.
Mad-Eye Moody leaned heavily on his cane. His scarred, uneven face resembled a toad's, and the bulging magical eye in his left socket moved oddly, spinning with a life of its own.
"Do you really think Tom Riddle has appeared in this town?"
Standing next to Alastor Moody was a tall woman with bubblegum-pink hair. She seemed restless, her feet tapping an impatient rhythm on the dusty ground. "As my first Auror mission, I would rather be out there participating in the capture of Sirius Black."
"First of all, you are not an Auror. It's just that Dumbledore asked me to investigate Tom Riddle's affairs, so I brought you along," Moody said, not sparing her any face. "In addition—Sirius Black? He's not some ordinary criminal. I'm afraid he'd kill you the moment you crossed paths. Don't think for a second that a man who became a Death Eater will care about your family relation to him."
Tonks pulled a disgruntled face behind Moody's back. However, her curiosity quickly got the better of her.
"By the way, who is this Tom Riddle? I heard he was the culprit behind the Chamber of Secrets incident at Hogwarts years ago. But surely even that wouldn't bring you out of retirement to find him?"
"I'm afraid he's a revenant," Mad-Eye said through gritted teeth. Dumbledore had not explicitly revealed the man's true identity to him, but Moody was a born investigator.
Fifty years ago, there was a model student at Hogwarts named Tom Riddle. Although he was raised as a Muggle, he was likely a half-blood. He had monopolized nearly every award the school had to offer. Such a person should have had a brilliant, high-profile career after graduation.
But the trail went cold. Tom Riddle's name hadn't been heard in the wizarding world since he left school. It was as if he had simply vanished into thin air.