The moment Riddle's writing faded, the diary's yellowed pages seemed to lighten, as if they were losing color. Almost immediately, a messy scrawl in what looked like frantic, uneven handwriting appeared across the paper. Kyle squinted, trying to make out the words:
[Don't ever give this diary to Dumbledore... I mean, Professor Dumbledore is the person I admire most, and I'd rather visit him in person than have just a memory go to him. I'm sure I'd feel the same way even fifty years from now.]
As Kyle read, that unsettling sense of prying crept back, stronger than before. This time, he could even hear a faint whisper in his mind, gently urging him to believe Riddle's words, nudging him toward obedience. However, thanks to Occlumency, the subtle hint became clear and almost crude, more like a blunt command that he was supposed to follow.
Can he use the Confundus Charm on top of Legilimency? Kyle mused to himself. Either that, or he's just really laying it on thick.
Raising an eyebrow, Kyle feigned obliviousness and wrote with a calm expression, "You're right, Tom. I was careless."
"I think Headmaster Dumbledore would also prefer it if you showed him the diary yourself."
[Exactly, you're absolutely right.]
Riddle's handwriting returned to its usual neat form.
[So, you must promise not to show him the diary, okay?]
"Since you put it that way... alright," Kyle responded, agreeing without hesitation.
Following this exchange, Riddle became unusually restrained, focusing exclusively on his role as Kyle's "tutor," as though terrified Kyle might change his mind and take the diary to Dumbledore after all. But despite Riddle's compliance, the experience grew frustrating for Kyle.
Riddle's handwriting, once a bold black, had faded to a dull gray, and each time Kyle asked a question, it grew lighter. Eventually, as Kyle posed yet another question about the arrangement of magical words, Riddle stopped responding altogether. A single, faint line appeared:
[I'm afraid I can't continue studying with you for the time being.]
"Why?" Kyle wrote back, appearing anxious. We're so close to finishing the section on basic arrangements, he thought bitterly. Why stop now?
[The diary's magic is almost depleted.]
"Magic?" Kyle wrote, confused. "But... I thought it was like the portraits in the castle. They never stop talking."
[It's not the same,] Riddle explained. [Hogwarts is a uniquely magical place, practically brimming with ambient magic. The portraits are linked to the castle itself, so they don't need additional power. But I'm just an ordinary diary; I rely on stored magic to talk to you.]
"So... what can I do?" Kyle replied, feigning distress. "Can I bring you to Hogwarts and hang you on a wall?"
Kyle continued, "I know of a really flat wall near the library on the second floor. Although, some Gryffindor students do tend to throw Dungbombs at it, but the caretaker, Mr. Filch, always cleans it up and sprays perfume, so it never smells."
The diary was silent for a moment.
Riddle, likely unfamiliar with Dungbombs, could infer from the name alone that it wasn't pleasant. Are students really this unruly these days? he probably wondered.
[No, hanging my diary on a wall wouldn't work,] he eventually wrote, his handwriting fading further, as though to ensure Kyle could read it.
[I can recover on my own, but it may take some time. In the meantime, I won't be able to answer your questions.]
Kyle glanced at the enchanted box beside him, crafted by none other than Nicolas Flamel, a box designed to block and contain magic. If he stored the diary inside, it might take ages for it to recharge—or perhaps it wouldn't at all.
"I still have a lot to share with you as a new friend."
Riddle seemed to have been waiting for this prompt. His response appeared quickly:
[If you have questions that need my help, you can use fresh... dragon blood as ink. That should help me recover faster.]
"Dragon blood?" Kyle was momentarily taken aback. He'd expected Riddle to ask for something more trivial—perhaps a small magical charm—but dragon blood? That was hardly a small request.
"But Tom... I remember the twelve uses of dragon blood, and none of them involve replenishing magical energy."
[That's true for wizards, but I'm a diary now, and I can absorb the magic from dragon blood...]
The truth was, Riddle would have preferred the blood of a unicorn, as its unique properties would have allowed him to recover even faster, free from the curse he would incur as a living being. But he sensed that requesting unicorn blood might raise too many questions, so he opted for dragon blood as a less suspicious choice.
"So, restoring magic in special objects... Is that the thirteenth use of dragon blood?" Kyle wrote, adding a touch of admiration. "Incredible, Tom. Even Headmaster Dumbledore didn't notice this."
[That's likely true,] Riddle replied, brushing off the mention of Dumbledore, clearly uninterested in discussing him further.
[The diary's magic is running low. Let's talk about something else.]
Kyle raised an eyebrow and wrote, "Tom, maybe it's just my imagination, but it seems like you're a little... afraid of Headmaster Dumbledore."
There was a pause, and then Riddle's response appeared:
[Alright, I admit it—I am a little. But isn't that only natural? He's the most powerful wizard of all.]
If the words hadn't faded so quickly, Kyle would've liked to save that sentence as a trophy—Voldemort himself admitting he feared Dumbledore would surely make headlines on the front page of The Daily Prophet.
"You're mistaken, Tom," Kyle wrote thoughtfully. "Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard twelve years ago. But not anymore."
[What do you mean?] The response appeared quickly, and the handwriting was noticeably messier, almost frantic.
"Twelve years ago," Kyle continued, "someone killed a dark wizard who was supposedly on the same level as Dumbledore—without even using a wand."
[What was his name...? I mean, this dark wizard,] Riddle wrote, a hint of desperation creeping into the letters.
"Something like Lethimort or Vortiswoop... I'm not sure. But it doesn't really matter."
Kyle then wrote his final message, closing the interaction abruptly. "Alright, Tom, you rest up. I'm off to see if I can find some fresh dragon blood, and we'll talk again next time!"
As he closed the diary, he thought he glimpsed another message forming, the ink dark and bold. But he didn't pause to read it. Instead, he tossed the diary back into the enchanted box, snapped the lid shut, and set it aside.
Turning to the parchments littered across his desk, he began organizing them, carefully reviewing each one with the Explanations of Runic Symbols beside him.