Francesca

When it began, it did so with simple ink, paper, and an introduction.

My name is Harry Potter.

Harry knows few positive emotions, he never enjoyed a mother's love or a father's embrace, he was not privileged to own a closet full of clothes or have lots of toys, and shamefully, he didn't know his own name for many years either. 

He knows too little and doesn't even know if what he feels is right, still distrustful of the Weasleys' affection or Hermione's friendship. He also doesn't understand, to this day, why Professor McGonagall gave him a gift last year; so most of his actions are driven by the instincts he has perfected throughout his life and, in addition, his uncontrollable curiosity.

The notebook in his hands is clearly old, with yellowed page edges and a dusty cover, even after finding it lying on the wet bathroom floor. Nevertheless, the notebook is nice, and Harry wants to be alone for a while. 

After the events at the dueling club, he can barely walk down the corridors without receiving looks full of terror and hatred. The Hufflepuffs, moreover, seemed determined to show just how dark he could be, throwing simple spells at him to trip him up in an attempt to get a reaction out of him, only to be disappointed when, contrary to their wishes, he ended up falling. Harry is fed up with how voluble and changeable the emotions and perspectives of his peers can be; one moment they adore him and are happy to see him and the next he is the worst person in the magical world. He can't help but feel disappointed, because if he wished to feel like a good-for-nothing, he'd be better off staying with the Dursleys. At least there are three of them and not a castle full of vicious teenagers.

Harry doesn't want to admit it, but he also finds himself a bit betrayed. Ron was (is?) the first friend he made when he entered this world that promised to be his home, but doesn't feel like it. Despite the redhead's obvious efforts, Harry perfectly notices the slight tremor in Ron's hands when he is near him, the looks full of momentary suspicion that soon transform into denial, as if Harry somehow proves Ron's ideas wrong. Hermione, on the other hand, is full of determination to prove that Harry is innocent, looking for evidence and books to back up her stance, as if Harry's words are not enough to believe in him. As if Harry himself is incapable of defending himself. 

He definitely feels much better there, sitting on the wet floor of the girls' bathroom that no one enters because they claim a ghost resides in its walls, scribbling in a notebook where the ink disappears as soon as it touches the page. 

That's why, perhaps, he jumps in his place when words he didn't write begin to form on the paper.

Hello Harry Potter, my name is Tom Riddle.

Harry blinks momentarily, slightly incredulous, partly frightened, because even with the existence of magic he has yet to come across responsive notebooks. Maybe some student dropped it and it's a form of communication? Is there another notebook just like it somewhere else in the castle and he's talking to someone? 

Refusing to be called a thief, as if all the talk about him in the corridors wasn't enough, Harry picks up his quill again and sets out to answer in the clearest way possible.

Hello, Tom Riddle. Sorry for writing in your notebook, I found it lying on the floor and from the look of it I thought it didn't belong to anyone, my mistake, because I just noticed the initials engraved on the cover. I am very sorry you lost it, and I am willing to deliver it immediately. If you don't want to talk to me in person because you don't want to be seen together, I understand, I can give it to your head of house and that way we avoid misunderstandings or any strange rumors spreading. I didn't steal the notebook, besides, in case you thought that was the issue.

Harry anxiously curls his toes, leaning his jaw on the notebook resting on his knees close together against his chest. The answer takes longer than he expected, and for an instant he thinks the bathroom door will open and dozens of students will point at him shouting thief and then....

The words begin to form again on the paper, and Harry holds his breath.

No problem, Harry. This notebook is a journal that I value highly, and I'm very relieved that it ended up in the hands of someone as thoughtful and kind as you. I confess to you that I would feel very uneasy if the professors had my journal, for obvious reasons. I don't quite understand why you think I would hate to meet with you in person, the truth is I would love to, but I just can't do it. You see, Harry, I am a student who walked the halls of Hogwarts many years ago and who, after concluding my academic life, decided to create this notebook to give advice to younger students having trouble adjusting to Hogwarts. This notebook holds my conscience from back then. Previously, I found myself assisting young Miss Weasley, do you know her?

Harry has time to digest the revelation until the words disappear again. The truth was that Ginny had seemed too sad and even ill for the first few weeks of the term, but recently the color seemed to have returned to her pale cheeks and she was now walking quietly around the castle with a Ravenclaw, instead of always moving alone like a ghost.

Don't worry, Tom. I'll take good care of the notebook until I find someone who needs the advice you offer. To answer your question, I do know Ginny. Now knowing that you have been helping her, I understand better why she seems to be feeling better. She used to look depressed and seemed to be too affected by being away from home, but fortunately she is happier. You must feel too much sympathy for Hogwarts students, to go to the trouble of creating a diary like this, are you from Hufflepuff?

Harry waits for the answer slightly excited, even if at such times the Hufflepuff's are not entirely to his liking, he can't deny that many of them do justice to his values.

Oh, I'm glad to hear that Miss Weasley is doing well. I imagine my answer will come as too much of a surprise to you, but I'm actually a Slytherin.

Harry grimaces slightly in disgust, and looks stupidly at the notebook not knowing exactly what to answer. Fortunately, it is Tom who continues the conversation. 

Given your lack of response it is clear to me that my house is not to your liking. I take it you're a Gryffindor, right? Even over the years, my house prejudice doesn't seem to go away, but I expected more from a boy as nice as you.

Harry's eyes widen, surprised and slightly embarrassed. Immediately, he picks up the quill and begins to write. 

You're not wrong, I've had bad experiences with Slytherin's all my life. My classmates hate me, their head of house seems to want to pulverize me with his eyes, and one of them wanted to kill me. I'm sorry if I don't have the best of opinions regarding them.” Harry watches the words fade away, and quickly adds. “But you're nice, so I guess you're different from them.

Tom responds instantly.

I am distressed by the repeated clarifications of how insecure you feel around the rest of your classmates and professors, Harry. I'm glad to know that your kindness and nobility outweighs the stupidity of the rest of the Gryffindors, enough to admit that you are partially wrong and that you consider me a good person, regardless of my house. I thank you for that. As a token of my appreciation, I'd like to offer you my advice and friendship, because I feel you need it as much as Miss Weasley once did. what do you think?

Harry deliberates silently, with the sound of water drops falling from the tap in the distance. Part of him wants to refuse immediately, clinging to his pride childishly, trying to prove that everything is perfectly fine even though everything feels perfectly terrible. Another part, however, remembers Ginny's wide smile as she walked arm in arm with one of her classmates. 

If he accepted Tom's help, then would Harry, just like Ginny, be able to smile like that?

Almost desperately, Harry writes his response. Thank you for considering me, Tom. It pains me a little to admit it, but I'm in a bit of a rough spot right now and...I like talking to you. I feel calmer. I'd love to be your friend.

Tom's response causes a smile, however small, to form on Harry's face.

Of course, Harry. We can talk as long as you need to, as often as you wish. Just remember, please, that my existence is a secret and I only work for those who need me. I am excited to share my advice with you.

x

Harry writes, almost religiously, every night. He tells Tom about his day, about his classmates, and about his classes; always receiving responses full of enthusiasm and genuine interest. Soon, Tom offers not only companionship, but tutoring as well. 

Harry finds himself more than once receiving clarifications, explanations and advice on several of his subjects in great detail; and discovers that perhaps he is not as bad at studying as he thought. He doesn't want to admit that his initial interest was born out of Tom's congratulations on his charm homework, wishing to be congratulated again. What started with a desire to feel recognition for his efforts turned into real interest in learning. Harry wrote in great detail about Hermione's reaction when she found him studying on his own in the library and Snape's reaction when he answered each and every one of his questions perfectly, even though he received no points for it. 

The excitement of talking with Tom in the night made Harry's days easier. The hateful stares of his classmates no longer bothered him as much and the initial dislike of him decreased dramatically when nothing happened after Mrs. Norris's petrification. The non-existent messages on the walls and the lack of victims once again made Harry the beloved savior of the magical world, rather than the heir to Salazar Slytherin. Many Gryffindor's preferred to pretend they didn't hear Harry chatting with the little snakes slithering on the corridor floors, as if pretending they didn't hear him made it any less real that Harry was indeed a Parselmouth. 

Tom had explained to him some time ago that Parseltongue was not a bad thing, that it was actually one of the most valued gifts in the ancient magical world, and that the rejection of the language was a recent thing, strongly driven by prejudice. The conversation erupted into the first fight between the two, after Tom tried to convince Harry that dark magic wasn't much different from light magic, and that he couldn't agree with every single one of Dumbledore's views, because he too made mistakes. 

It took Harry three days to write to Tom after that. Yet the tightness in his chest and the guilt were getting the better of him. 

When he wrote to him again, it was the first time Harry saw Tom.

In his eagerness to prove his point, Tom had done something different that time. As Harry waited for Tom's reply, a strange light enveloped the paper, Harry was internally grateful for the privacy spells Tom had taught him, because he was sure that in other circumstances the blinding light would have woken everyone in the room. 

Blinking rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the sudden light, Harry can't help the look of complete disbelief that forms on his face because he is suddenly standing on the edge of the lake.

“Hello, Harry.” 

Startled at the unfamiliar voice, Harry quickly turns around. 

Behind him, in Slytherin robes, tall, pale, and with wavy short black hair, stands a handsome boy Harry doesn't know at all. However, judging by the confident smile and teasing look, Harry can finally put a face to his confidant. 

“Tom?”

“Who else, Harry?” The question causes Harry's cheeks to flush red, completely embarrassed. 

“Why were we writing all this time if we could talk like this?” he asks, genuinely curious. 

Tom looks at him with interest, before averting his gaze to the lake. “You're the first person I can talk to like this.” He admits, mumbling. 

“Didn't you offer this opportunity to other students?”

Tom looked at him again, this time smiling broadly. “No, Harry.” Stepping closer, Tom reached out to touch his forehead, Harry couldn't help but shiver as his skin felt as cold as ice. “You see, you and I have a special...connection. My nature is in communicating in words on paper and when there is more trust, I show them my memories so I can...offer some advice where I have experienced a similar situation, but I couldn't interact with anyone directly on this existential plane. You are different".

“Oh.” Harry says, confused. “But is it a bad thing? Why can you have a conversation with me?”

“It's not a bad thing.” Tom hurries to answer, lowering his arm. “It's different...but just because something is different doesn't mean it's bad, Harry. We just have a stronger friendship than the friendship I had with the others, we have a stronger connection, which allows me to communicate differently with you. Aren't you happy?”

“Yes, I am.” He replies. “I'm glad to finally have a face to picture when I write to you.” 

“Why would we keep writing if we can talk this way?” he asks, crossing his arms. “Unless, of course, you don't want to. Considering your complete refusal to experience new things and accept different points of view, I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted to avoid being here.”

Harry rolled his eyes, annoyed. “You're even more arrogant and demanding this way, by Merlin.”

“I'm not the one who refused to contact the other for three days.” He shot back, an expression of fury crossing his face, before he calmed his features. 

“You were refusing to understand my point.” Harry said, crossing his arms as well. “Dumbledore is a good man. He's helped me too much. And not all Muggles are horrible.” 

“Dumbledore is a good man when it suits him to be a good man.” He replied, calmly. “And Muggles aren't even worth considering in this conversation, Harry. I'd rather spend my time with you on relevant topics.” 

“Honestly, Tom, I don't understand why you hate them so much.”

Tom looked at him, a calculating expression on his face, before replying. “I think it's best if you see for yourself, maybe then you'll understand my thinking. We can talk after that, do you agree?”

Harry hesitated, before nodding suspiciously, and Tom snapped his fingers. 

Immediately, the beautiful panorama of Hogwarts changed to turn into the streets of London. Harry hadn't been to London's downtown many times, but he had managed to look at it from a distance when the Dursleys were watching the news on television. However, the streets seemed much older, with a gloomy aura. 

The sound of a gun in the distance made him flinch, clinging tightly to Tom's robe. The boy let out a dry laugh before speaking. “'Easy there, Harry. This is just a memory, and no one here can hurt you.”

His words are not entirely comforting, and the sound of the gun is so loud that his ears hurt. Harry wonders how a memory can feel so real, but he doesn't forget that the diary is a magical artifact. Embarrassed, he releases Tom's robe. Before he can answer, a boy runs past him, being chased by a man with a belt in his hand. 

“You damned leech, stealing from me again!” the lord's voice is full of fury, and his face reddens. “Come back here and return the food, before I report you to the headmistress again!”

The boy turns around, with a terrified expression. In his arms is a pair of blood-stained apples after contact with the injured skin on his forearm.

“Uhm...that really hurt.”

“Tom?” Harry asks, semi-incredulous, looking at the boy walking off into the distance and the student next to him, who doesn't take his eyes off the kid. Harry speeds up his pace quickly, as Tom begins to chase after him. “Is that you?”

“Yes.” He replies simply. 

“But...why did he hit you? Why are you stealing food? You were a kid!”

“I was eight. And it was war.” Tom looks at him, disinterested. “There was little food, a lot of stealing. It mattered very little how old you were, you were scolded just the same. The orphanage where I lived received very few donations, the food wasn't enough. And the director didn't want me, so I usually starved. I did what I could to survive.”

“Tom...I'm so sorry.” Harry said, dismayed. Tom snorted. 

“Harry, that's a long time ago.” When they reached the little boy, he was hiding behind a tree in a church, desperately devouring the apples. “Really...how disgusting to see this. It pains me that you see me this way, but maybe then you can see how monstrous Muggles can be.” 

“Tom...”

“Do you know what this place is?” he asks, suddenly. “It's the church of the holy brothers. The headmistress used to make us come every day to clean up the garden, hoping that some good, catholic family would want to adopt us. Sounds wonderful, doesn't it? It's nothing but pure garbage. Maybe it was an option for others, but not for me.” Tom said, looking at the church doors, an expression of utter hatred adorning his face. “You see, people like us are not welcome in their world. Our magic is a curse to them, they don't understand it, so they fear it. They fear what they can't control, and anything they don't control is evil. That's the way the world works, Harry. Do you really think they are good people, when they chain a seven year old boy to an old bed, while torturing him trying to exterminate the demon inside him? Accidental magic to them is the manifestation of the devil himself, they were convinced I was possessed. Hundreds of faithful believers listened to me scream, and none of them bothered to check if their accusations were real.” 

Harry looks at him in horror, not knowing exactly what to say. “...Are you all right?”

“Of course I am.” Tom said, looking at him again. “Their worthless existences are now nothing more than a memory. I am a superior being than them.” Tom snapped his fingers, transporting them to an old, unkempt room. “Albus Dumbledore came to visit me in this place, sweet, isn't it? Any decent adult would have been shocked at the condition of my room, in comparison to everyone else's. I was doing my best to keep it clean, but I couldn't do much about the mold growing on the walls and the foul smell it gave off. I was hopeful that this amazing man would be my ticket to freedom, but his opinion of me was awful from the start. He found out I had stolen, and instead of asking why I did it and listening to my side, in his eyes I was as evil as I was in the priest's eyes. It didn't help at all that, in my idiocy, I confessed to him that I could understand snakes.” 

“But Tom, Dumbledore knows I speak Parseltongue too, and he never treated me any different!”

“Are you sure, or is that what you prefer to believe?” Tom retorted. “Harry, the Muggles will never be able to understand and accept us. Dumbledore is too blinded in his stupid ideals of protecting them to understand what people like me suffer at their hands. People like you, too, don't the Dursleys treat you horribly?”

“No, but, they...”

“You know perfectly well that what they do isn't right, but your pride prevents you from accepting reality. Your relatives abuse you, face it. Those Muggles are scum.” 

“Just because they are that way doesn't mean that...”

“No? Really? What about your teachers, the neighbors, your cousin's friends? Did any adult worry about you, call the authorities, or think ‘wow, this kid looks different than his cousin, something must be wrong with him’? What about the idiot kids who chased your obese cousin around like some kind of leader and picked on you until night fell, huhm?”

“I didn't tell you any of that so you could throw it in my face.” Harry snapped back, furious.

“No, you told me because I'm the first person to really listen to you. And because you trust me.”

Harry looked at him, breathing rapidly. “Hermione is a muggleborn. Her parents are good people.” 

Tom grimaced lightly. “Your little friend, despite her...unfortunate ancestry, is still a witch. Why don't you ask her how her old classmates treated her, uhm?” 

They looked at each other in silence for a few moments, until Harry averted his gaze. “I think it's time for me to go to sleep, Tom. I'll think...I'll think about what you said, okay, but also try to understand that your point is somewhat extreme. There are bad people in the magical world, too. Death Eaters, Tom. The Dark Lord. Neville lost his parents to them, I lost mine. Muggles and wizards alike have failed me.”

Tom looked at him, with an expression Harry couldn't understand. “Go to sleep, Harry.” 

When Harry blinked, he was back in the quiet Gryffindor room. 

x

“Harry, are you all right?”

Looking up from his plate, Harry stares at Hermione, who doesn't take her eyes off him in complete concern. 

“I'm fine Hermione, why do you ask?”

“Honestly Harry, are you still asking?” Ron cuts in, sitting next to him, his mouth full of food. “I'm concerned about the fact that you're suddenly some kind of genius that rivals Hermione, but she seems to love that. So her concern is obviously about how sick you look - didn't you see yourself in the mirror this morning? You're pale and your lips are cracked. Neville asked me if you had a cold, but no one's heard you cough. maybe it's better if you see Madam Pomfrey?”

Harry reflexively puts his hand to his mouth, feeling the bruised skin on his lips. “I'm fine, really. I don't feel sick at all.” Noticing that it doesn't convince either of them, he adds. “Maybe the wind at night got to me a little. I stayed up checking my transfiguration homework, so I didn't sleep very well either. Don't worry too much.” 

Hermione changed her expression to one of complete joy, talking incessantly about her own homework, delighted to finally be able to share her passion for studying with her friends. Ron watches them silently, semi-bored. “Oh, Harry! We can go over the next Charms project together, and thus help Ron with his own homework!” her smile fell slightly, and nervously she spoke. “'Course, if you'd like to join us...you've been spending a lot of time alone lately - have we done something wrong, perhaps?”

Harry silently admits that he has distanced himself from both of them. After Tom's advice on how to deal with the student body's shunning, Harry decided to spend all his attention on improving his skills, unconsciously avoiding accompanying his friends on day-to-day adventures. Harry smiled back, apologetic. “No, not at all. It's just...things have been a bit strange lately, I don't feel very comfortable in crowded places. I'd love to come with you, Ron?”

The redhead looks defeated, but nods. “Well, if you both want to chain yourselves to the library table, there's not much I can do to change your minds. I miss my friends, why not indulge Hermione for once? Next time, please, I suggest she join us to play Quidditch.” 

The witch makes a sound of annoyance, but doesn't refuse. Rising from the table, Harry and Ron follow her out of the Great Hall. 

A pair of Hufflepuffs walk past them, nervously raising their hands in greeting. Harry stares at them without responding, before averting his gaze. 

“Look at them, they're all acting innocent.” Hermione snorted. “A week ago they were convinced you were the evil incarnate, and now they want to pretend like nothing happened, the nerve!”

“The Hufflepuffs get on my nerves, but the older Gryffindors?” Ron added, startling Harry. “They wouldn't say anything in front of Harry, but when he wasn't around they wouldn't stop talking about how maybe he was being influenced by You-Know-Who.” 

“I never thought I'd see the day when Ron would criticize the Gryffindors.” Hermione scoffed. “Harry, are you okay?”

Harry stops his pacing, realizing that this is how Tom must have felt when he was repeatedly subjected to exorcisms. With no one to believe in him. A wave of sadness swept through his body.

“Yeah, I'm all right. I must have gotten a little dizzy, you know, considering I, ah, didn't sleep very well last night.”

Hermione nodded, picking up her pace. “But don't you think it's strange? The petrifactions stopped all of a sudden, and nothing bad has happened since they found Mrs. Norris.”

“Hermione, I don't know about you, but I'm very glad nothing is happening. On the contrary, for Merlin's sake, keep it that way.”

“I don't mean that I want anything to happen, Ron. It's just...it's very strange. Harry, you haven't heard strange voices in the walls again?”

“No.” He admitted. “I haven't heard anything, and I haven't had any detentions, so I haven't walked around the castle at night.” 

“I can't believe you're now some kind of model student that even Snape can't give you a detention. I'm not complaining, mate, I'm happy for you. But...well, it's weird, you know?”

Harry lifted his shoulders. It was clear that Ron was having a hard time adjusting to his new habits, but Harry wasn't about to lower his performance again to make Ron feel good. He'd done that before with Dudley, he didn't want to project his cousin onto Ron. 

“By the way, Harry.” Hermione said, more quietly this time, once they were seated at the table. “What are you doing for Christmas? My parents decided to go to the family home this year and I'm going with them.”

“Charlie's coming to visit.” Ron interjected. “I want to see him, so I'm going back home with my siblings this year. But we don't want to leave you alone in the castle, do you want to join us?”

“You can come with me too, Harry.” Hermione added quickly. “My mother's family will be going, but they're all too nice. None of them know anything about magic, though.”

“Don't worry.” Harry replies, happy to notice his friends' genuine interest and concern. “I'm going to stay at the castle. There are some books that caught my attention and I wish to learn more about the magical world. We'll see each other when you get back.” Harry looked at Hermione, an idea suddenly crossing his mind. “Hermione, by any chance...did your family ever treat you differently because of...uhm, accidental magic?”

The witch blinked in surprise at the sudden question. “Not really. They found it odd that weird things happened if I got angry or happy, but nothing out of the ordinary. Why the question?”

“What about at your school, your classmates?” Harry insisted. Hermione's expression changed.

“Why the question?” she repeated, her tone slightly irritated. Ron looked at them without understanding what was going on. 

Harry was quick to justify his question. “Oh, uhm...I was looking for a book on accidental magic due to the fact that I noticed the Dursleys' reaction was...strange. I think there's something wrong with them, I wanted to know if...this had been experienced by anyone else?”

Hermione seemed reluctant to answer, but finally lowered her gaze to her book, playing with the edge of the page. “It's not a secret that people in general dislike me. Kids would call me intense, teachers at some point would get annoyed with me. If your question refers to whether they picked on me at school, yes Harry, they did.” She spoke firmly, raising her head. “If you are suggesting that they treated me that way because they are Muggles, I would be very very disappointed with you. After all, you of all people know how cruel wizards and witches can be too, don't you? Ron was a jerk in the beginning too...”

“Hey!”

“Did I lie?” Hermione asked, annoyed. Ron shut his mouth immediately. “So, Harry?”

“No, Hermione, of course.” Harry replied, causing the witch to gradually calm down. “You're right. Regardless of whether they're witches, wizards, or Muggles, horrible people do exist.” 

“That's right.” Hermione says, glaring at him. “Being Muggles isn't the reason your relatives are horrible people, Harry. They are that way because that's how they chose to be. Their blood doesn't determine who they are; it's their actions. Your relatives are terrible because they are terrible. It's as simple as that. It's not your fault, nor is it the fault of billions of Muggles out there. Just like it's not Neville's fault, for example, that wizards like Draco Malfoy exist. Do you understand?”

Harry understands, of course. Tom, maybe not so much. 

x

Tom listened to Harry without interrupting him, and that was already a victory. He didn't add any comments and instead decided to change the subject entirely, but at least that time he didn't seem to be completely opposed to what Harry was thinking, so that was progress. 

Harry spends most of the Christmas break in his room, in Tom's world. Walking the corridors, sitting in front of the lake, discussing magical theories and with Tom tutoring Harry.

Harry doesn't know much about positive emotions, but he's sure happiness must feel like seeing Tom sitting much more relaxed compared to the first time he saw him. When all they did was write, Tom always gave off a closed and intimidating, and at times, suffocating aura. Lately, Tom's rare smiles were more frequent and Harry can't help but think something is changing. 

They've been silent for too long, but the awkwardness isn't there. Tom's voice is low and serene when he decides to interrupt the quiet. “Today...I think today is my birthday.”

Harry's eyes widen in surprise, looking at the Slytherin, “Today is December 31st.” Harry says, slowly. “Today is your birthday?”

Tom turns to look at him, his expression shifting between denial and apprehension. “Today is my birthday.” He repeats, as if the idea is inconceivable. “It's the first time...I've ever felt happy on this day.” 

“Congratulations, Tom.” Harry says, genuinely. Turning slightly to give him a quick hug. Tom seems to freeze at the touch, and Harry is surprised to feel his skin less cold than usual. “I'm so happy to have met you, I really am.” 

Tom looks up at him, and Harry could swear he sees a tear slide down his cheek. But as quickly as he sees it, it disappears. “So am I, Harry. So am I.”

x

“Harry!”

Hermione's voice full of desperation causes him to open his eyes, the light hurting him suddenly.

“Mr. Potter, don't try to get up.” Madam Pomfrey's stern voice makes him stay in place. “I can't believe it! How can they let a student in such a state of health play? I expected better things from you, Minerva!”

Harry doesn't understand what's going on, and blinks several times so he can get used to the light. Someone pushes the glasses on his face, allowing him to see around him. Ron is beside him, looking at him as if he's seeing a ghost, Hermione's face is covered in tears, while Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall are arguing quietly a few steps away from him. 

“What happened?” he asks, genuinely dismayed. 

“What happened, Mr. Potter, it all happened!” Madam Pomfrey paces back and forth, flicking her wand around him. She is furious, and when Harry frowns he can feel a stabbing pain in his head, at his wince, Pomfrey seems to grow more enraged. “I can't believe it...it can't be!”

“Can someone explain to me what's going on?” Harry asks, feeling distressed.  

“You were...you were playing Quidditch, and everything was going great, great! but you started chasing the Snitch with Malfoy and you caught it and everything was happiness but then you fell off your broom trying to avoid a Slytherin beater who was furious with the outcome of the match, you tried to stop the fall with your arm but it got tangled in your uniform and you fell on your head and...” Hermione's quick explanation stops, bursting into tears. “And you hit your head! It was horrible, Harry! And then...then Professor Lockhart tried to help you but instead of doing that he made it all worse and you lost consciousness!” 

“Miss Granger...”

Hermione must have been in shock, because she ignored Dumbledore's voice and kept talking. “They brought you to the infirmary and started treating you, they didn't know the extensions of your injuries so Madam Pomfrey had to do a deep diagnosis and in the name of Merlin, Harry James Potter, why do you look like you're dying?”

“Miss Granger, that's enough.” McGonagall's stern voice causes her to remain silent, but she continues to stare at Harry. 

“What Miss Granger meant to say, Mr. Potter, is that you suffered a serious head injury and thanks to it we were able to diagnose a health problem of concern.” Madam Pomfrey intervened, Harry looked at her in alarm. “Of course I find it worrying how many times your bones have been broken...”

“I've fallen down a lot.” Harry interjects. Hermione and Ron look at him shocked, knowing full well that he is hiding the real reason. The fulminant look he shoots Hermione causes her friend to remain silent. “Many times.”

“Assuming I believe your lie, Mr. Potter...there is another matter that draws too much of my attention.” Madam Pomfrey continues. “Your magic is too destabilized. It is beginning to affect your health. I am too surprised that you can stand and speak coherently. Have you been experiencing some sort of problem with your magic, Mr. Potter?”

“Harry's been sleeping badly.” Ron says, hesitantly. Harry turns to look at him in shock. “Since before Christmas, there are days where he wakes up paler.”

“Harry said he was studying magic at night.” Hermione quickly added. “Maybe he's been overworking himself.”

“And you waited three months to share this with an adult, you stupid children?” Snape said, slightly annoyed. “Considering your friends' recent confessions, Potter, have you been practicing magic you can't control?”

“No!” Harry says, feeling shocked. He looks at Hermione and Ron, a furious expression on his face. “It's only theoretical! I don't practice anything I don't know, I'm not stupid!”

“Harry, my boy. Your magic can strongly affect your health and your life. If you have something to share with us, you must say so now.” Dumbledore said, trying to make eye contact with him. Harry immediately averted his gaze to a spot on the ceiling, feeling tears slide down his eyes. 

Harry has a theory. A theory he doesn't want to test because he would feel even more betrayed than he already does, after Ron and Hermione's words. Harry has a theory but refuses to say it out loud, because Harry wants to believe with all his heart that he is wrong. 

Pressing his lips tightly together, letting the tears leave his eyes, Harry says. “I have nothing to say.” 

The silence is suffocating, and Harry just wants everyone to go away and leave him alone. Madam Pomfrey clears her throat, and says softly. “I'm going to give you a couple of potions, Mr. Potter. And you can leave for the day and rest in your bed. Tomorrow, your head of house will escort you back here and we can talk...in a calmer, more civilized manner.” 

Harry doesn't answer, because no matter what he says, everyone has already decided for him. Madam Pomfrey assures him that the hit on his head has healed, and that the pain will persist for a few more hours until it disappears completely. She gives him specific instructions not to use his magic excessively, and lets him go. 

The walk to Gryffindor tower is silent. Ron and Hermione follow him from behind, with hurried steps, trying to keep a considerable distance. McGonagall's presence at his side feels immensely suffocating. 

When he finds himself in the tower, Harry makes his way through the sea of his classmates, who are tossing questions endlessly. He can feel Ron running after him, and even with the throbbing pain in his head Harry throws himself on the bed, grabs his wand and casts every privacy spell he knows, making it impossible for them to open his curtains. 

Harry momentarily enjoys the silence, before looking away to the diary lying under his pillow. Harry wants to cry. 

Bringing his hand close to the notebook, he feels its magic resonate with that of the journal. As soon as he opens it, Harry finds himself face to face with Tom, who looks at him in complete panic and concern. 

“Harry?” he says, slowly approaching, Harry reflexively takes a few steps back. Tom stops abruptly, adopting a shocked look. “Harry, what happened? Why do you look like that? It's too early, you should be eating dinner.” 

At Harry's lack of response, Tom begins to grow impatient. “Harry!”

Harry looks at him, noticing how the color of his robes looks more vibrant than the previous times, how the paleness of his skin disappeared, how his eyes seem to glow when they looked like dark pits before. His heart begins to beat rapidly. 

“Are you making me sick, Tom?” he asks in a trembling voice. “Am I sick, like Ginny was, when you were in her possession?”

Tom denies, trying to move closer. The sound of stress Harry makes stops him completely. “I don't know what you're talking about, Harry.”

“Can you be honest with me, please?” Harry says, starting to cry. “I'm sick of thinking I can trust people only to be betrayed the next moment. If you're going to break my heart do it head on, you coward.” 

His words seem to affect Tom severely, his handsome features contracting in anger. “You're talking in anger, Harry. You're going to regret your words.” 

“Stop lecturing me and talk.” Harry insists. “Are you making me sick, Tom?”

Tom closes his eyes, and puts his hands to his head. “Stop it Harry, stop it!”

“Answer me!”

“Yes, Harry, I'm making you sick!” He shouts, his voice sounding colder and harsher than usual. Harry holds his breath, Tom's warm eyes turned blood red. “Just like I made that filthy blood traitor sick! So what?”

“Why?” Harry asks, his voice cracking. 

“Because that's what I do!” he replies, viciously. “That's what I live off from...magic, from the souls of the fools who open the pages of that journal.” Harry tries to pull away as Tom approaches him, but he can't move. “Where do you think you're going? This world is mine, everything happens here the way I want it to, kid. Stand still, I'm going to do what I should have done from the first moment.” 

“No...NO! Tom, let go, let go!” Harry screams, terrified. 

“You will die and Lord Voldemort will rise again!” Tom's voice is full of madness. Harry takes advantage of the slight manic moment to break free of his grip and run, though he knows he won't be able to hide for long.

His head hurts, he doesn't fully understand what is happening, but he must not be a genius to understand that the diary he so treasures is a possession of Lord Voldemort. He cries inconsolably, remembering each and every moment they spent together.

I'm glad I met you, Tom.

So am I, Harry. So am I. 

Harry stops abruptly in the hallway.

No.

Really, the Sorting Hat wasn't wrong at all. The impulsiveness and courage coursing through his body can only be possessed by a Gryffindor. Tom is standing just a few feet away from Harry, and Harry cannot help but notice the trembling in Tom's hand, nor the slight expression of distress that escapes in his gaze.

Harry has spent months studying Tom's face. That's not his Tom.

“Tom.” Harry says, hesitantly. Merlin, if he's wrong, he could die right then and there. 

I'm glad I met you, Tom.

Well, it would have been worth it. 

“Tom...you don't want to do this.”

Tom throws his head back, laughing, but soon his laughter turns to a desperate cry, muttering. “I don't...I don't want to...I was trying not to hurt you. But I can't...I can't...”

“Why can't you, Tom?” Harry asks, softly.

“The diary...the diary wants to...”

“Tom, you're the diary. You're...it's you, Tom.” Harry says. He doesn't know exactly what he's fighting, but one thing is certain. The person in front of him...

“Tom, you are not Lord Voldemort.” Harry says, feeling his heart beat in a rush. “I don't imagine Lord Voldemort sitting next to me in front of the lake, talking about magic and life. I don't imagine Lord Voldemort looking at me fondly when...when I congratulate you on your birthday. Tom Riddle is different from Lord Voldemort, why would you do what Voldemort would do? Why wouldn't you do what you would do? You are Tom...”

His words are cut off abruptly, Tom is immediately in front of him, his eyes again warm and bright, no trace of the red that haunts him in his worst nightmares. Tom cups Harry's face, resting his hand on the scar on his head. “I'm so sorry, Harry...I'm so sorry. I'm going to do better, I'm going to do better.”

Harry feels a horrible pain, a pain so strong it tears through his chest. He can hear a loud, desperate scream in the distance, an inhuman voice, and Tom's choppy breathing. 

“Open your eyes Harry, get out of here...” he says, quickly. “Open your eyes, Harry...OPEN YOUR EYES!”

When Harry does, he is surrounded again by Dumbledore and Ron. The Professor looks at him in disbelief, and Harry feels something warm slide down his head, touching his forehead, Harry can see the pile of blood on his fingers. 

Harry quickly watches as Dumbledore averts his gaze to the diary, which is firmly closed. Harry hurries to grab it and hug it tightly against his chest. “I'm not going to give it to you, Professor.” 

“Harry...”

“You don't understand!” Harry yells, feeling extremely tired. “I know what you're thinking and I'm not going to let you destroy Tom.” He clenches the diary tightly, ignoring a very confused Ron. 

“Why won't you make me understand, Harry?” Dumbledore says after a few moments. Looking at Harry as if all the answers in the universe can be found in him. He waves to Ron, who reluctantly leaves the room. “Take your time, my boy, I'm going to listen to you.”

Harry does. Harry talks about Tom and how amazing he is, how infuriating he gets, how arrogant he is when he talks, how beautiful his smile is when he is genuinely happy. Harry talks about his memories, how difficult his life has been, faces Dumbledore and claims he was wrong, that Tom needed a mentor, not another enemy. Harry talks non-stop, talks about birthdays, spells, books, and finally, talks about the boy who let him go. 

“Tom is not Voldemort.” He says, firmly. Staring at the diary, sad that he can't feel his magic resonate. “Professor, Tom is not Voldemort.”

Dumbledore looks at him, an expression of complete agony. He slowly brings his hand to Harry's forehead, and...he feels nothing. “It's just a scar.”

“Professor?” Harry says. 

“It's just a scar.” He mutters, incredulous. “Oh Harry, you're absolutely right...Tom is not Voldemort.” 

“Tom is special to me, Professor. But the diary...part of the diary wants to hurt him, but he is the diary. I don't understand...”

“This is no time for you to worry about it, dear boy.” Dumbledore says. “I'm sure Tom is fine, he's just sleeping. I promise I will take very good care of the diary, because I cannot allow it to leave the castle, Harry. If it falls into the wrong hands, Tom could be in great danger, do you understand?”

Harry looks at him doubtfully. “Can I see Tom whenever I want to?”

“You can check that the diary is in perfect condition. But I can't let you talk to Tom until your magic stabilizes, Harry, can you wait?”

“Of course.” He nods hurriedly, feeling the discomfort return to his body. 

“Why don't you rest, Harry?” Dumbledore says, looking at him calmly. “I will assure your friends that you are well. When you wake up you can talk to them, okay? They're very worried about you, don't be too hard on them.” Harry feels his eyes close, hearing Dumbledore speak in the distance. 

In his dreams, he can see Tom.

End of Chamber of Secrets, continue in Prisoner of Azkaban.