At the sound, Ian's eyes narrowed slightly, doubt flickering across his features. He instinctively scanned the luxurious, dimly lit dormitory, searching for any sign or clue.
"No! This can't be happening!" Malfoy scrambled out from beneath the bed, hair tousled, panic etched across his pale face. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hands trembled as if caught in a freezing wind.
"It's all over! If he notices anything's wrong, he'll retaliate, for sure! Against … against my mum and dad!"
Malfoy might not have fully grasped the true nature of the diary, but he certainly knew who it was tied to.
"Like a fox with more than one den," Ian mused aloud, "he probably hasn't noticed your little betrayal yet. More likely, he intended to hide it all along. And since you passed that crystal orb, you led right to your doorstep."
"Betrayal!?"
Malfoy didn't register anything else. That single word echoed through his mind like a curse. His face turned deathly pale, as though he might faint on the spot.
"If the diary's still within Hogwarts, I'll find it, no matter how deep it's buried."
Ian's voice was calm, resolute. If it ca to it, he could use Legilincy on the entire school. Though such thods tread an ethical line, there was always Dumbledore. Ian wouldn't mind nudging the Headmaster to scan a few minds under the guise of student safety.
"What do I do now?" Malfoy's head swam with panic, his thoughts a whirlwind.
"Carry on as if it's business as usual." Ian reached into his robes and retrieved a silver pendant, gently slipping it around Malfoy's neck.
He never went back on a promise.
"This charm will shield you from three magical attacks. And if it's triggered, I'll Apparate straight to you." Ian's voice was firm, grounding.
"But that… that's the Dark Lord…" Malfoy swallowed, visibly struggling.
He saw the steady, unwavering calm in Ian's gaze.
"It'll protect you even from him. Three tis. He can't hurt you. And I will get to you in ti." Ian spoke as though Voldemort himself was rely a troubleso student.
"You…"
Malfoy opened his mouth, uncertain, sothing clearly on the tip of his tongue. But the mont their eyes t, the words dissolved.
That confidence… it wasn't arrogance. It was certainty.
"…Alright."
In the end, Malfoy nodded. His eyes remained unfocused, the weight of the situation still bearing down on him.
"Let know if anything else goes wrong." Ian gave Malfoy a reassuring pat on the shoulder before whistling softly. A black phoenix shimred into existence, rising from the air like ink dropped into water. Ian grasped its talons, and the two vanished.
Malfoy stared at the empty space where Ian had stood.
"Maybe… maybe Father really was wrong again." He thought back to their last conversation, and it finally made sense, why students from other Houses seed to be drawn toward Ian.
"When has your father ever been right?" A cold voice laced with mockery rang out behind him.
Malfoy froze.
A chill crept down his spine as he forced himself to turn as a tall figure now stood quietly behind him.
Faintly translucent. Not entirely a ghost, yet not quite alive either. A young boy, tall and upright, perhaps thirteen, dressed in Slytherin green. His presence radiated icy confidence.
"Wh-who are you…?"
Malfoy's voice cracked. He shook uncontrollably. A dreadful feeling clawed at his chest, and the figure's soft chuckle confird his fears.
"You've been talking to every day, rember?" The boy smiled, a charming, well-practiced smile, but his eyes glead with sharp, calculating malice.
"Thud~"
Malfoy collapsed backwards onto the floor. His face was ashen, and he frantically grabbed the pendant Ian had just given him.
"A masterful bit of enchantnt." The young Tom Riddle's gaze flicked to the pendant around Malfoy's neck. He seed more impressed than offended.
"That fellow was right. Even at his peak, Voldemort would've failed to break it three tis." Riddle gave a thoughtful nod, even raising a thumb in admiration.
Seeing Malfoy huddled there like a kicked Kneazle, he let out a small laugh.
"Co now, don't tremble so. Relax. You only betrayed Voldemort. No need for theatrics. Everyone does eventually." His tone was light, almost teasing.
"Truth be told, you and I, we're practically in the sa camp now."
There was an odd wistfulness in his voice. Even Tom Riddle seed to find it curious.
"But you… you're…" Malfoy choked on his words. He wasn't stupid. Their conversation last night had already told him more than he wanted to know.
"You're quite sharp." The young Riddle arched an eyebrow. His expression didn't change, but sothing behind his eyes stirred.
"Then again… who says one's past self must follow the path of their future self?"
He smiled, small and barely perceptible. But it was enough to chill the room.
Yet that smile held no warmth; rather, it sent an icy chill down one's spine.
"Voldemort is a madman; he sold himself, and all of us, to forces that cannot be betrayed."
"Who in their right mind would choose to be a slave at his side?" The boy's voice was calm, almost conversational. "Draco, I'm doing what I must to survive, just like you."
One had to admit, Voldemort, for all his madness, had a remarkable way of forging twisted bonds.
"We're not in the wrong. We're all trying to stay alive, to avoid eting a terrible end." There was a strangely sincere empathy in his tone as he looked at Malfoy.
It was difficult to judge how much of it was real.
"But Prince, he's just a second-year..." Malfoy gritted his teeth, his voice thick with uncertainty. "Wouldn't it make more sense to ask for help from Dumbledore? Or maybe Potter... he's the one who defeated the Dark Lord, after all."
"You don't understand his power."
The young Tom Riddle shook his head slowly, reading Malfoy's thoughts as easily as a book. Yet he clearly didn't think Malfoy's instincts were correct.
"Dumbledore has grown old and soft in the head," Riddle said flatly. "He's cruel, Draco, and colder than he lets on. If you go to him, you won't just put yourself at risk, you'll endanger your family. And , of course. He'd relish the chance to erase entirely."
There was no concealnt in the boy's expression, only candour. He made his disdain for Dumbledore known. And the reason he had asked Malfoy to hand over the crystal ball to Ian.
"Only a madman can match a madman. Voldemort's unhinged, we need soone even madder to stand a chance against him."
There was no hint of irony in his voice. He was utterly serious. The certainty in Riddle's words only deepened the unease twisting through Malfoy's chest.
"If I rember rightly, you were sealed up in my house for ages," Malfoy muttered, mustering what little courage he had. "How d'you know more about Prince than I do?"
He didn't dare rise from the floor. He could barely et the boy's eyes.
"Simple. Because of childhood trauma," said Tom Riddle lightly, as though discussing the weather. "That's where my edge over Voldemort lies. He wiped away his humiliation. But , I still rember that afternoon."
His voice echoed eerily in the empty dormitory, full of lancholy.
The cryptic reply left Malfoy baffled, unsure what Riddle ant, but he didn't dare ask.
Before he could collect his thoughts,
"Oh, right."
The young Tom clapped his hands once, the sound sharp in the silence.
"Don't get any clever ideas about turning in. I may be short on allies, but I'm certainly not short on ways to take you down with ." His tone remained breezy, even cheerful, as he issued the threat.
Gulp,
Malfoy instinctively clutched the pendant Ian had placed around his neck, his knuckles white with fear.
Only Ian's promise gave him any sliver of reassurance.
"That little charm is impressive," Riddle said, entirely unbothered. "But it can't stop from doing sothing drastic."
His eyes glinted as he snapped his fingers toward Malfoy.
"You see, since last night, I've been with you the entire ti. That pendant, it can shield you from outside harm, yes. But it can't do a thing if the danger cos from within."
There was a mocking lilt in Riddle's voice now.
His form began to shimr, becoming translucent, ethereal.
Then,
Malfoy's vision swam and before he knew it, clarity returned, but he was no longer in the dormitory.
He stood in the bathroom, blinking. He had no idea how he'd arrived there.
"AHH!!"
His eyes dropped to the knife in his hand, its blade sared faintly with blood that shimred with a serpentine hue.
It was pressed against his neck.
A thin line, just a warning cut.
"I love a good lie," said a voice in the mirror, soft as a whisper.
Malfoy's head jerked up.
In the glass stood another him, smiling a smile that twisted unnaturally, like a reflection that had never quite learned how to be human.
But the words never reached Malfoy's ears. Instead, they resounded in his mind...
(End of this chapter)
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