to be not to be~ draco malfoy ~ year two

tom riddle

"I am loved. I am loved."
-

Harry had told me earlier about a strange book he and Ron had discovered—one with completely blank pages. The way he spoke about it, cautious but intrigued, made my skin prickle with unease. A book with no writing? That was suspicious in itself, but at Hogwarts, something like this could mean far more than just a peculiar find. I agreed with Harry; there was something unnatural about it.

Still, before diving deeper into this mystery, I knew it was time to finally tell Camille and Abigail about what I'd been up to with the Golden Trio. I owed them that much.

When I broke the news, they exchanged glances before Camille folded her arms. "So let me get this straight. You, Harry, and Ron are running around, trying to uncover the Heir of Slytherin, and you only now decided to tell us?"

Abigail sighed, though her expression was more worried than frustrated. "You could've been hurt, Violet. You still could."

I gave them a reassuring smile, though deep down, I wasn't sure I could promise my safety. "I know it's dangerous, but this is bigger than us. We have to figure out who's behind all of this."

Camille sighed, rubbing her temples. "Fine. But if you get yourself killed, I'm bringing you back just to yell at you."

I chuckled, but Abigail still looked uncertain. "Just... promise you won't do anything reckless?"

"I promise," I said, though I wasn't sure how much I could keep that promise.

Later that evening, I made my way to the library, where Harry had asked me to meet him. The grand hall was dimly lit, filled with the soft rustling of pages and the faint scent of parchment and candle wax. I spotted Harry at a corner table, hunched over the mysterious book, deep in thought. When he saw me, he offered a quick grin, his fingers drumming against the leather cover.

I pulled out a chair and sat across from him. "So... do you have any idea where this thing came from?"

Harry shook his head, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "No clue. I even talked to Moaning Myrtle about it since I found it in the abandoned bathroom. But she wasn't much help."

I hummed thoughtfully, eyeing the book. It looked ordinary enough—worn black leather, slightly scuffed along the edges. But something about it felt... wrong.

Harry flipped through the empty pages, his brows furrowing. "Nothing. Not a single word," he muttered before closing it and flipping it over to examine the back. "But look at this."

He turned it so I could see the faintly embossed name:

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

I frowned. "So it belonged to this Tom guy? Maybe it's a diary?"

Harry seemed to consider it before dipping a quill into ink. "Only one way to find out."

He hovered the quill over the page, hesitating for just a second before pressing the tip against the parchment. But the second the ink touched the paper, it didn't sit there. Instead, it seeped in and disappeared.

We both stared.

"Whoa," I whispered.

Harry dipped the quill again and, this time, wrote a simple message:

Hello, my name is Harry Potter.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the ink vanished as if swallowed by the parchment itself. I leaned in, holding my breath.

A new line of text emerged, written in an unfamiliar yet precise handwriting:

Hello, Harry. My name is Tom Riddle.