Author's Note: Howdy Readers!!! I'm thinking of rewriting entirely the story as I wasn't very convinced of how I wrote it, part of it I felt it lacked more emotion, character, and partly too I didn't feel immersed with it myself so here we are, this is my trial and error for a better start, a better character foundation and... a better development with ginny, I honestly didn't give it much thought originally and went with the flow of what I remembered of the concept I read, but now I regret doing that, I really like the concept so here's me fixing that:
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Random Ass Online Kid's POV
I stretched my fingers, cracking my knuckles before diving back into the keyboard. The HP forum thread had been going for three hours now, and these people still didn't get it.
DarkLordFan2005: "Voldemort was still powerful even with the horcruxes, he nearly won!"
BookwormHermione: "The horcruxes made him immortal though, that's the whole point"
I rolled my eyes. Time to educate these amateur fans.
TomRiddleFacts: "You're missing the point. Voldemort basically lobotomized himself for a flawed version of immortality. Think about it - Tom Riddle was a GENIUS. Straight A's, Head Boy, charming, could have been Minister of Magic easily. Then he starts making horcruxes and what happens? He becomes a noseless freak who can't understand love, friendship, or basic human psychology."
DarkLordFan2005: "But he was still smart! He made all those plans!"
TomRiddleFacts: "WHAT plans? His 'master plan' in book 7 was literally just throwing killing curses at a teenager. The same teenager who beat him six times using friendship and love - concepts Voldemort couldn't grasp because he'd torn his soul apart. Book 1 Tom Riddle would have manipulated Harry into joining him voluntarily."
I was on a roll now, fingers flying across the keyboard.
TomRiddleFacts: "Here's what's really problematic - each horcrux made him less human, less capable of understanding people. Tom Riddle could convince anyone of anything. Voldemort couldn't even keep his Death Eaters loyal without fear. He went from being a master manipulator to a magical terrorist with anger management issues."
BookwormHermione: "So what would you have done differently?"
Oh, now we're talking.
TomRiddleFacts: "Easy. First, I wouldn't have made horcruxes at all. There are other ways to extend life that don't involve tearing your soul apart. Nicolas Flamel lived 600+ years and stayed completely human. But if I HAD to make horcruxes, I'd make ONE. Maybe two max. Keep most of my soul intact, keep my intelligence and emotional understanding, but have a backup plan."
DarkLordFan2005: "That's risky though"
TomRiddleFacts: "Less risky than becoming a psychopath who can't understand basic human motivation! Voldemort lost because he became predictable. Tom Riddle was never predictable. He adapted, he learned, he convinced people to trust him. Voldemort just... killed people and expected that to work forever."
I paused, looking at the wall where my Harry Potter books sat on the shelf. The whole series, read about twenty times each. I'd been obsessed since I was eight.
TomRiddleFacts: "The diary horcrux proves my point. Sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle, even as a horcrux, nearly succeeded where adult Voldemort failed. He almost got Harry's life force, almost got a physical body, and he did it through manipulation and patience. If that was the REAL Tom Riddle's approach - using people's emotions and weaknesses instead of just terror - he would have won."
BookwormHermione: "Okay but how would you have handled Harry specifically?"
I cracked my knuckles again. This was the good stuff.
TomRiddleFacts: "Simple. I wouldn't have tried to kill him as a baby - that was pure emotion, not logic. I'd have raised him. Think about it: Harry's parents die in an 'accident,' mysterious benefactor takes in the poor orphan, gives him everything he never had. Love, attention, guidance. By the time Harry's 11, he'd worship the ground I walked on. No need for violence, no need for fear. Just a grateful, powerful wizard who'd do anything for his father figure."
My phone buzzed. 2:47 AM. Shit, I had school in five hours.
TomRiddleFacts: "Anyway, point is - Voldemort made critical errors that threw away his greatest weapon (his mind) for a security blanket that made him weaker. Tom Riddle could have ruled the world. Voldemort couldn't even kill a teenager with a hero complex."
I hit enter and yawned. The forum would probably explode overnight with responses. They always did when I posted my Voldemort essays.
Standing up, I stretched and looked at my HP collection again. Chamber of Secrets was slightly askew on the shelf. I pulled it out, running my thumb over the cover. Tom Riddle's diary. Such a simple concept, but it was the closest thing to the original Tom Riddle that still existed.
"At least you were still smart," I muttered to the book, then laughed at myself for talking to a paperback.
I tossed the book onto my desk and headed for bed. Tomorrow I'd probably have fifty notifications from people arguing with my post. Worth it though. Someone had to defend the original Tom Riddle's intelligence, even if it was just me.
Sleep came fast, but it didn't feel normal. Usually I'd toss and turn for at least an hour, thinking about random stuff or replaying conversations. This time, I just... sank.
It was like falling through black water. Not cold, not warm, just... nothing. But there was something else in the nothing. Whispers, maybe? Or memories that weren't mine?
...Halloween night, 1943. The Chamber of Secrets opening for the first time...
What the hell? I tried to wake up, but my body felt like it was made of lead. The whispers got louder.
...watching Hagrid cry as they expelled him, knowing I'd won...
This wasn't my memory. I'd never been to Hogwarts, never seen Hagrid cry except in the movies. But I could feel it, like I'd been there. The satisfaction of a plan working perfectly, the cold pleasure of watching someone else take the blame.
...writing in the diary, pouring my soul into the pages...
The diary. Chamber of Secrets. Tom Riddle's diary. But these weren't just memories of reading the book - these felt real. Like I'd actually lived them.
I tried to move, tried to scream, but I was floating in this weird not-space between sleeping and waking. More memories crashed over me.
...perfecting the Parseltongue commands, learning the basilisk's true name...
...studying in the library, always the top student, always perfect...
...the first time I killed someone, how easy it was...
That one hit different. Cold. Calculating. No remorse, just... curiosity about death. I wanted to reject it, but it felt as real as my own memories of my first day of school.
What was happening to me?
...creating the horcrux, feeling my soul tear, not understanding the cost...
The memories were getting stronger, more vivid. I could smell the old stones of Hogwarts, hear the scratch of quills on parchment, feel the weight of a wand in my hand. But underneath it all was something else. A sense of... absorption. Like I was taking these memories and making them mine, storing them away like files in a computer.
...fifty years of darkness, fifty years of waiting...
Fifty years? The diary had been waiting for fifty years? But that meant...
...sensing someone approaching, young, magical, innocent...
Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
I wasn't dreaming about the diary. I was IN the diary. Somehow, some way, I was becoming part of Tom Riddle's horcrux. But more than that - I was absorbing it. Taking control of it.
But that was impossible. Harry Potter was fiction. Just books and movies and forum arguments. This had to be some kind of weird lucid dream brought on by too much late-night theorizing.
Except the memories felt too real. Too detailed. Too... accessible. Like I could flip through them at will, examining them from every angle.
This is actually happening, I realized with crystal clarity. I'm absorbing Tom Riddle's horcrux fragment.
The panic should have hit then. Should have overwhelmed me. Instead, I felt... calm. In control. The horcrux fragment wasn't fighting me or trying to possess me. It was simply... there. Available. Like a vast library I could access whenever I wanted.
All of Tom Riddle's memories, his knowledge, his magical understanding - it was all mine now. But I was still me. Still the twelve-year-old who'd spent years analyzing these books, who understood Tom Riddle better than maybe anyone.
I can use this, I thought. I can use his knowledge to change things.
Consciousness hit me like a brick wall.
I was... somewhere. Not nowhere anymore, but not exactly somewhere either. It was like being inside a book that someone was reading, aware of the pages but completely in control of the story.
The diary. I was Tom Riddle's diary now, but I was in complete command. The horcrux fragment had been absorbed, its memories and power now serving me instead of controlling me.
I could feel the leather cover, the blank pages, the magical ink that would respond to touch. I could sense the protective enchantments, the way the diary would write back to whoever wrote in it. And stored away like a perfectly organized pensieve were Tom Riddle's memories.
Fifty years worth of them. His entire Hogwarts experience, his magical education, his understanding of dark magic, his manipulation and even the time spent as a diary. But they were just... information now. Tools I could use without being corrupted by them.
This is incredible, I thought excitedly, experimentally accessing one of his memories - the first time he'd spoken to the basilisk. The memory played out in perfect detail, but it felt like watching a movie rather than reliving someone else's experience.
I have all of Tom Riddle's knowledge, but none of his moral corruption.
The realization was staggering. I was probably the person with most magical potential in the world right now, at least with all the theoretical understanding he got. Tom Riddle had been brilliant, had absorbed everything Hogwarts had to teach and then some. And now all of that was mine.
But I'm still me, I confirmed, checking my core personality. Still the hero who wanted to protect people properly, who thought Voldemort was an idiot for throwing away his humanity. The horcrux hadn't changed who I was - it had just given me tools.
Incredible tools.
I could feel the magic humming through the diary's pages. Not just the enchantments Tom had placed on it, but the potential for so much more since I have a complete soul plus Voldemort's fragment. I could sense magic around me in ways I'd never imagined, could feel the pull of ley lines and the flow of ambient magical energy.
And soon, someone's going to find me.
The thought brought me back to the present situation. If this was real - and the magic I could feel suggested it was - then I was about to become part of the Harry Potter story. The diary was going to end up with Ginny Weasley, and she was going to start writing in it.
But this time will be different, I promised myself. This time, I'm in control.
Lucius's POV
Lucius Malfoy stood in his private study, staring at the innocuous black diary on his desk with a mixture of disgust and relief. Finally, after eleven years of keeping the cursed thing hidden in his manor, he had the perfect opportunity to be rid of it.
The diary had been a burden since the Dark Lord's fall. Dumped on him with vague instructions about "using it when the time was right," but no explanation of what it actually did. Lucius knew it was Dark magic - powerful Dark magic - but the specifics had died with his master.
Or so everyone believes, Lucius thought with a slight smirk.
He'd experimented with the diary over the years, naturally. Had house-elves write in it, observed the way it would write back, seemingly able to hold conversations. But whenever he'd tried to get deeper information from it, the diary had remained frustratingly vague. It claimed to be Tom Marvolo Riddle, a student from fifty years ago, but beyond that...
A memory, Lucius had concluded. Some kind of preserved consciousness from the Dark Lord's school days.
Which made it simultaneously invaluable and incredibly dangerous. The kind of artifact that could get him sent to Azkaban if discovered, but too potentially useful to simply destroy.
Until now.
The new Muggle Protection Act was the perfect cover. Arthur Weasley's ridiculous law would give Lucius the excuse for the dark lord that he needed to plant this cursed object on his Muggle-loving family. And if one of those objects happened to activate and cause... problems... well, that was hardly his fault, was it?
Killing two birds with one stone, he mused, picking up the diary with his gloved hands. Rid myself of this burden and strike back at blood traitors simultaneously.
The Weasleys were the perfect targets. Poor, numerous, and completely devoted to Dumbledore and his Muggle-loving ideals. Arthur Weasley had personally cost Lucius several profitable deals with his new regulations. A little... comeuppance... was long overdue.
And they have a daughter starting Hogwarts this year, Lucius remembered with satisfaction. Perfect age for this sort of thing.
He'd done his research. The diary seemed most responsive to young witches and wizards, particularly those who were emotionally vulnerable. Ginny Weasley, the youngest and only girl in a family of seven children, would be ideal.
By the time anyone realizes what's happening, it will be too late.
Lucius slipped the diary into his robes and headed for his Floo powder. Diagon Alley would be busy today - the perfect cover for a chance encounter with the Weasley family.
The green flames whooshed around him as he stepped into the Floo network, his destination clear in his mind. "Diagon Alley!" he called out, and felt the familiar sensation of being pulled through the magical transport system.
He emerged from the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace with practiced elegance, brushing soot from his expensive robes. The pub was busy, filled with families doing their back-to-school shopping. Perfect.
Now to find the Weasleys.
It didn't take long. The family's distinctive red hair and boisterous energy made them easy to spot even in the crowded alley. They were heading toward Flourish and Blotts, presumably for the famous Gilderoy Lockhart book signing.
Even better, Lucius thought. A crowd and chaos. The ideal conditions for a little... misdirection.
He followed at a discrete distance, his hand resting on his walking stick. The diary felt warm against his ribs, as if it somehow knew what was about to happen.
Tom's POV
The first thing I noticed was the cold.
Not the absence of warmth - I was pretty sure I didn't have a body that could feel temperature anymore. This was different. A creeping, oily coldness that felt like it was seeping into the diary itself.
Someone's coming, I realized. Someone with magic.
But not just magic. There was something else, something that made me recoil instinctively. This magic felt... wrong. Corrupted. Like it had been twisted by years of dark spells and darker intentions.
How can I sense that? I wondered, then accessed Tom Riddle's memories for the answer. The diary had been designed to sense whoever touched it, to read their magical signatures and emotional states. That was how it had been meant to find suitable victims.
Except now I'm the one doing the sensing.
I could feel the person's essence, their emotional state, their intentions. And what I was sensing made my non-existent skin crawl.
Superiority. Disdain. Calculated cruelty.
The footsteps were getting closer. I could hear them now - slow, measured, confident. Someone who was used to being obeyed, used to having power over others.
Please don't be who I think you are, I thought desperately.
But even as I hoped, I could feel the presence getting stronger. The magical signature was becoming clearer, more defined. And underneath all that cold calculation was something else. Something that made Tom Riddle's stored memories spark with recognition.
The Dark Mark.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. This person was a Death Eater. Had been marked by Voldemort himself. And there was only one Death Eater who would have access to Tom Riddle's diary, who would have reason to be carrying it around.
Lucius Malfoy.
I dove into Tom's memories, pulling up everything the horcrux fragment had known about its keeper. Eleven years in Malfoy Manor, hidden away in Lucius's private study. Occasional experiments, house-elves forced to write in the diary, Lucius trying to understand what exactly he'd been given.
He knows it's dangerous, I realized. But he doesn't know what it really is.
To Lucius, the diary was just another Dark artifact. Valuable but burdensome. Something to be used when the opportunity arose, or disposed of when it became inconvenient.
And today, it's become inconvenient.
I could sense his intentions now, his plan crystallizing in his mind as he approached. The Weasleys were nearby - I could feel their warm, bright magical signatures like beacons in the crowd. And Lucius was planning to start a confrontation, use the chaos to plant the diary on them.
Specifically on Ginny, I realized with growing dread.
The footsteps stopped right outside the bookstore. I could sense Lucius clearly now - his arrogance, his contempt for anyone he considered beneath him, his twisted pleasure in the chaos he was about to unleash. But there was something else too, something that interested me.
Fear.
Lucius Malfoy was afraid. Not of immediate danger, but of... failure? Disappointment? The emotion was complex, layered, but it was definitely there underneath all that aristocratic confidence.
He's afraid of Voldemort, I understood. Even though Voldemort's been gone for eleven years, Lucius is still terrified of him.
Which made sense, looking through Tom's memories. Voldemort had been the kind of leader who killed his own followers for sport. Even his most loyal Death Eaters had lived in constant terror of saying the wrong thing, of failing to meet his impossible standards.
And Lucius and other pure blood supremacist are being inspected for dark magic items. He's getting rid of them, I thought, accessing more of Tom's stored knowledge. Including the diary.
The diary hadn't been given to Lucius as a gift or an honor. It had been a burden, a dangerous secret that Voldemort had dumped on him with vague instructions to "use it when the time was right."
Except Lucius had no idea what the diary actually was. He knew it was Dark magic, knew it was dangerous, but he didn't know it contained a piece of Voldemort's soul. To him, it was just another cursed object that was too dangerous to keep but too valuable to destroy.
So he's going to plant it on someone else, I realized. Someone who won't be able to trace it back to him.
The door was opening. I could sense Lucius stepping inside, his magical signature flooding the space around him. And with him came the sound of voices, the bustle of a crowded bookstore, the excited chatter of families buying school supplies.
The Weasleys are here, I realized. All of them. Including Ginny.
I could sense them now, a whole family of redheads with warm, bright magical signatures so different from Lucius's cold darkness. There was Arthur, cheerful and curious about everything. Molly, fierce and protective of her children. The older boys, confident and mischievous. Percy, uptight but well-meaning. The twins, practically vibrating with barely contained chaos.
And there, smaller and shyer than the rest, was the one I'd been dreading.
Ginny.
She felt... young. Innocent. Excited to be starting Hogwarts but nervous about fitting in. Her magical signature was strong but untrained, like a river that hadn't learned to flow in the right direction yet.
She's going to be perfect for what Lucius thinks the diary does, I realized. So eager for a friend, so desperate to be special.
But I wasn't what Lucius thought I was anymore. I wasn't a predatory horcrux looking for a victim to possess. I was someone who knew exactly what was about to happen in the future, and one who had the power to change it.
Actually... I can protect her, I thought with growing determination. I have Tom's knowledge and abilities, but I'm still me. I can be the kind of friend she actually needs, and she could help me too.
I could feel Lucius moving through the store, his destination clear in his mind. He was looking for Arthur Weasley, looking for an excuse to start a confrontation. And during that confrontation, he would slip the diary into Ginny's cauldron.
Let him, I decided. Let him think his plan is working. But when Ginny finds me, she's going to get something very different than what Lucius expects.
The voices were getting closer. I could hear Arthur Weasley's cheerful voice, the excited chatter of his children, the occasional sharp comment from Molly. And underneath it all, Lucius's cold, aristocratic tones as he prepared to make his move.
He's going to start the fight now, I thought, sensing the shift in Lucius's intentions.
And then I felt it - Lucius had started moving, he was carrying me toward the confrontation. I could sense his satisfaction, his cruel pleasure at the chaos he was about to unleash.
Not just the fight, I realized. He knows what he thinks the diary will do. Maybe not the details, but he knows it's designed to hurt whoever finds it. He's not just getting rid of a dangerous artifact - he's setting a trap for the Weasleys.
The bastard was using me as a weapon, knowing I was designed to target the most vulnerable member of the family. He might not know exactly how the horcrux was supposed to work, but he knew it was meant to corrupt and destroy.
Except I'm not going to do that, I thought firmly. I'm going to protect Ginny, not hurt her.
I could already feel the diary moving, being slipped into something soft and warm. A cauldron full of spellbooks. Ginny's cauldron.
The trap was set. In a few hours, Ginny Weasley would find Tom Riddle's diary among her school books, and everything would change.
I could sense Ginny nearby, her bright magical signature like a beacon in the crowded store. She had no idea what had just been planted in her belongings, no idea that her entire life had just changed.
I'm going to protect you, I promised her. I'm going to be the friend you deserve, not the monster Lucius thinks he's unleashing.
This time, things are going to be different.