In the dimly lit chamber, a voice echoed.
Draco, mistaken for Harry Potter, didn’t bother to correct the assumption.
He glanced at Ron Weasley, lying motionless a short distance away, uncertain whether he still drew breath. Then his gaze shifted to the mysterious figure who had taken him for the so-called savior. For now, Draco chose to remain in the shadows.
He was curious to hear what other secrets this man might reveal...
“How tedious, listening to a fool whine about his childish troubles.”
As expected, the unidentified speaker seemed to delight in sharing his schemes. Draco didn’t have to prompt him; the words spilled out freely.
From this, Draco gathered that the man had reached Ron Weasley through a diary.
“But I humored him, replying with kind and understanding words. In Ron’s eyes, I was compassionate, someone who understood him. Little Ron practically adored me. ‘Oh, Tom, no one understands me the way you do. I’m so glad I have this diary to confide in, it’s like having a friend I can carry in my pocket...’ Hahaha! How utterly pathetic.”
The cold, piercing laugh rang out, echoing in the chamber. It was not the laugh of a child, and it sent a chill crawling across Draco’s skin.
Unease stirred deep in Draco’s soul. That name the stranger used... it carried a strange magical resonance.
“Tom?”
It sounded familiar...
But while Draco pondered, the one calling himself Tom kept speaking, as if the entire situation was firmly under his control. He spoke with the confidence of someone certain nothing could surprise him.
“I’m not boasting, Harry. I’ve always had a gift for beguiling others.”
His voice was low and hoarse.
“So Ron bared his soul to me—and his soul was exactly what I needed. I fed on his deepest fears, his most guarded secrets. My appetite grew greater and greater.”
The more he spoke, the more his voice rose with excitement, becoming all the more unsettling.
“I grew stronger, far stronger than little Mr. Weasley, strong enough to share a few secrets of my own and even reveal a fragment of my soul to him...”
Tom stretched his arms wide and inhaled deeply, his ecstatic expression like that of a prisoner finally stepping into the sun after years in darkness.
Draco lowered his voice and asked quietly,
“So... you used him?”
“Of course. At first, Ron had no idea, and that made it all the more amusing. I wish you could read some of his diary entries.”
Though “Harry Potter’s” voice sounded a little odd, Tom’s arrogance kept him from noticing. Instead, he began reciting entries in a mocking tone.
Had Ron Weasley been conscious, he surely would have fought to the death to stop him.
“I think I’m losing my memory. My robe is covered in chicken feathers, and I don’t know how they got there. Dear Tom, I only wanted Percy to stop tattling to Mum, but then this happened, and Peeves, who always teases me, also got into trouble.”
“...”
“Listen to this one. Isn’t it amusing? On Halloween, that poor cat was just unlucky. The real target was Ron’s hated Draco Malfoy. But it was precisely that intense hatred that made him so easy for me to control.”
“...”
“If I get the chance, I must thank Mr. Malfoy properly.”
Unaware that the boy before him was Draco Malfoy himself, Tom stepped slowly out of the shadows, finally revealing his form...
...
Black hair.
A boy.
From his height, he looked to be around sixteen, but his expression was far older—cold and cruel.
Stranger still, even under the light, his figure appeared blurred, as though seen through misted glass.
This oddity made Draco suspicious.
“A ghost?... No, not quite.”
As Draco studied him warily, Tom kept walking closer.
“I knew you would come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter.”
“What questions?”
“For instance, how did a mere infant with no remarkable magic defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with only a scar, while Voldemort’s power was destroyed?”
As he spoke, a strange red gleam flickered in his wolf-like eyes. Draco finally realized who he was.
Only one wizard would be so obsessed, so intimately aware of what had happened that night.
“So it was you...”
“Oh, I thought you’d need a little hint to recognize me. My mistake—I underestimated you.”
As Tom spoke, he drew Ron Weasley’s patched-up wand from his robe and gave it a casual wave in the air.
In his hands, the wand was far more obedient than it ever was with Ron. At the very least, it didn’t lash out at its wielder.
But Draco’s eyes weren’t on the wand. They were fixed on the glowing words forming in the air...
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
With another flick of the wand, the letters twisted and rearranged themselves.
I Am Lord Voldemort!
“Voldemort is my past, my present, and my future!”
The declaration, spoken almost like a chant, carried a strange power. Draco noticed that the once-blurred outline of the boyish Voldemort before him was becoming sharper, more solid.
Draco’s eyes narrowed at the sight.
Was this... the return of his power?
Or resurrection itself?