Hogwarts: The Serpent's System

In the weeks following the attack on Mrs. Norris, Hogwarts transformed. The cheerful, bustling energy of the castle curdled into a thick soup of fear and suspicion. Students moved through the corridors in tight, whispering clusters, their eyes darting nervously into every shadow. The primary target of this paranoia was Harry Potter. His public display of Parseltongue at the Dueling Club had been a fatal misstep; he was now the designated villain in the school's collective imagination, the Heir of Slytherin made flesh. He was shunned, his friends were ostracized, and the Gryffindor table became an island of tense isolation.

I observed this social decay with a kind of detached, academic interest. Harry's misfortune was a useful smokescreen. While the entire school was busy demonizing a twelve-year-old boy, I was free to move through the shadows, my own activities completely unscrutinized. I continued my nightly studies in the Chamber of Secrets, my conversations with the diary's ghost growing more complex and revealing. The young Voldemort was a treasure trove of information, and I was a patient, methodical thief, stealing his knowledge one secret at a time.

The fragile peace, however, was shattered one cold November morning.

The news spread from the second floor like a shockwave. A first-year boy, Colin Creevey, a Gryffindor and an avid photographer who had been following Harry around like a star-struck puppy, had been found petrified near the grand staircase. He was clutching his camera, its lens blackened and smoking.

This was different. A cat was a mischief, a warning. A student was an act of war.

Panic tightened its icy grip on the castle. Parents wrote frantic letters, threatening to withdraw their children. The professors, led by a grim-faced Dumbledore, implemented a series of new, stringent rules. Students were forbidden from leaving their common rooms after six p.m. and were to be escorted to and from every class by a teacher. Hogwarts, once a place of wonder, had become a gilded prison.

The increased security presented a new logistical challenge. My nightly trips to the Chamber were now impossible. The diary's influence, acting through a terrified Ginny Weasley, had escalated the situation, but in doing so, had cut off my access to my most valuable resource. The ghost in the machine was becoming reckless. I needed to establish a direct line of communication, to bring the chaotic element of the diary under my control.

Walking up to Ginny Weasley, a shy first-year I had never spoken to, was not an option. I needed a more subtle method.

My plan was simple and elegant. I knew from Ron that Ginny was a devoted fan of Gilderoy Lockhart. I also knew that Lockhart, in a fit of ego, had made his entire bibliography required reading. I went to the library and found a copy of Voyages with Vampires. Using a complex charm taught to me by Cadmus, I enchanted a small, blank slip of parchment and tucked it between the pages of the book. The enchantment was twofold: first, the parchment was keyed to the unique magical signature of the diary Horcrux; it would remain blank to any other touch. Second, the message itself was written in a magical cipher that would only become visible when exposed to the specific dark magic emanating from the diary.

The message was a single, elegant serpent drawn in Parseltongue script—a symbol that only another Parselmouth could truly understand. It was a call sign. A summons.

I left the book on a table, knowing that Ginny, in her Lockhart-induced fervor, would inevitably check it out.

Two days later, my summons was answered.

I was in a secluded corridor on the fourth floor, practicing the subtle art of non-verbal spell-casting, when I felt a presence behind me. I turned. It was Ginny Weasley. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes wide with a fear that seemed too old for her years. But behind the fear, there was something else. A cold, familiar intelligence.

"You summoned me," she said. Her voice was a soft whisper, but it lacked her usual timid quaver. It was flat, controlled, and eerily resonant. The diary was speaking through her.

"I did," I replied calmly, my own voice a quiet match for hers. "Your methods are becoming... clumsy. Attacking students indiscriminately is drawing too much attention. You have made the castle a prison, and it is interfering with my work."

The girl—the thing wearing her face—let out a soft, hissing laugh. "Your work? And what work would that be, little pretender? You, who carry my name but none of my conviction."

"My work," I said, taking a step closer, "is to achieve what you failed to. True power. Not the fleeting, fractured mockery of it you chased."

The diary's curiosity was palpable. "You speak with great confidence. But you are just a child. A Mudblood, from what I have gathered. How could you possibly understand my legacy?"

It was time to play my ace.

"I understand that your legacy is one of failure," I said, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I understand that you split your soul into seven pieces. The Gaunt ring. The Hufflepuff cup. The Ravenclaw diadem. The Slytherin locket. The snake, Nagini. And, of course, the boy, Harry Potter. You sought immortality and created a series of vulnerabilities, each one a link in a chain that a prophesied hero will one day break."

The effect was instantaneous. The cold intelligence in Ginny's eyes shattered, replaced by pure, unadulterated shock. The magical aura around her flickered violently. The soul fragment in the diary, so arrogant and confident a moment before, was reeling. I had just revealed knowledge that was impossible for anyone, let alone a twelve-year-old boy, to possess.

"Who... what... are you?" the diary stammered through her lips.

"I am the next iteration," I said, pressing my advantage. "I am Tom Riddle 2.0. I have your name, your power, but I also have the benefit of hindsight. I will not repeat your mistakes." I leaned in, my gaze locking with the terrified, possessed eyes of the girl before me. "You will cease these random attacks. You will follow my instructions. You will give me access to the Chamber and its secrets. In return, I will not expose you to Dumbledore and have you destroyed. You will be a silent partner in my ascension. Do you understand?"

The diary was trapped. I was its only confidant, the only one who understood its true nature, and now, the only one who could offer it a path forward that didn't end with a Basilisk fang through its pages.

Before it could answer, Ginny's eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed to the floor in a faint, the diary clattering from her bag.

The connection was broken. But a new one had been forged.

A notification, a confirmation of my victory, appeared in my vision.

[You have successfully established a high-risk dialogue with the soul fragment [Tom Riddle's Diary]. The fragment now views you as an Unfathomable Variable. Its primary objective has shifted from 'Purge the School' to 'Analyze the Anomaly'. Caution is advised.]

I had opened a direct line of communication with my "other self." I had asserted my dominance. But in doing so, I had just made myself the primary obsession of a young, brilliant, and utterly psychopathic Lord Voldemort. The game had just become infinitely more dangerous.