HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 43: Voldemort's Diary

"It was Hagrid. Fifty years ago, Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets," Harry said breathlessly to Draco.

It was a Monday in mid-February, and they stood in the castle courtyard. Draco had just finished a grueling Quidditch practice. Facing the trio of Harry, Hermione, and Ron, who had stopped him in his tracks, a barely perceptible flicker of surprise crossed his usually impassive face. "What? What makes you think that?"

Harry fell silent. It wasn't that he didn't trust Draco—otherwise he wouldn't have told him at all. He simply didn't know how to explain it, nor whether Draco would believe his bizarre experience.

Draco was nothing like Ron, who was so easygoing he believed nearly everything Harry said. Draco was calmer, more mature, and more rational than the average wizard his age, which made him far more difficult to persuade.

Ron, on the other hand, had no such reservations.

Their entire purpose in stopping Draco was to tell him this news, wasn't it? So Ron finished Harry's sentence for him: "Harry found a diary, and the diary told him everything."

Draco looked puzzled as he turned his gaze to the most rational of the three—Hermione.

Hermione didn't say a word. She only nodded at him, her expression a mixture of confusion and seriousness. Her attitude made Draco understand this wasn't a joke, despite his lingering doubts.

"That diary is extraordinary," Harry said eagerly. "It showed me a memory that explained everything!"

Typical Harry Potter-esque reckless behavior!

Completely unaware of the danger, blindly following the advice of an enchanted book. Suddenly, Draco felt a dull ache pulse through his body.

He recalled being injured by Harry's Sectumsempra curse in sixth year. Harry had supposedly picked up the spell casually from an old Potions textbook. Had Professor Snape not intervened in time, Draco might have died.

Young wizards often possessed boundless curiosity, blind to the dangers of unfamiliar magical objects and far too trusting of them. Harry's terrible habits could prove fatal.

Draco silently observed Harry's innocent yet excited face, privately wondering how Harry had managed to survive to seventh year unscathed in his previous life. He'd been extraordinarily lucky. Should Draco try to convince Harry to abandon these dangerous habits as soon as possible?

However, at this moment, there were more pressing matters to address.

"A diary?" His pale gray eyes sharpened as they fixed on Harry, who held a thin, battered black book. The sight of it gave Draco an unsettling sense of déjà vu.

"That's not what matters. What matters is that we've discovered the truth: Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets, and the monster wasn't a basilisk—it was a spider." Harry pulled the diary behind his back protectively.

"Everything matters," Draco said gravely. "You need to tell me exactly how you learned this information."

Harry saw determination in Draco's unwavering gray eyes, along with a fleeting flash of worry. He knew Draco wouldn't believe him so easily.

He could only patiently explain to Draco how he'd obtained the diary, how he'd communicated with it, and how it had shown him memories from fifty years ago.

Despite having heard the story several times already, Hermione and Ron listened with rapt attention. Even long after Harry finished speaking, they continued marveling at his extraordinary experiences, peppering him with questions about every detail.

"Was that an Acromantula in that box? Based on your description, it must be an exceptionally rare species to grow that large. Hagrid would only keep the most dangerous variety," Draco said thoughtfully.

He had no doubt about that. Given the gamekeeper's peculiar fondness for dangerous magical creatures, if Hagrid were to keep spiders, he would definitely choose the deadliest kind.

"However, I don't believe it could be the Chamber's monster. It's probably just Hagrid's pet, like that Norwegian Ridgeback he kept last year. First, I've never heard of any spider that can Petrify victims. Second, as far as I know, Slytherin had... particular tastes. Spiders are hardly elegant creatures," he said dismissively.

Ron nodded unconsciously beside him. He despised spiders.

"Are you certain?" Harry challenged. "The diary's contents are thoroughly documented, complete with vivid memories. You've said yourself that the basilisk is only a possibility, not a certainty, haven't you?"

Draco frowned. He knew perfectly well there was no Acromantula in the Chamber of Secrets—the Grey Lady's information was accurate. Hagrid might have an unfortunate habit of collecting dangerous creatures, but regarding the Chamber of Secrets, he was completely innocent.

Now this mysteriously appearing diary pointed its finger directly at Hagrid, even offering flawless memories as evidence. It was deeply suspicious.

The diary itself was suspicious. According to Harry's description, it possessed independent thought, could converse with people, and could even transport someone into preserved memories.

It was far from an ordinary magical artifact. Spreading rumors and sowing discord among Hogwarts students—it might very well be something created by the mastermind behind the attacks, inextricably linked to the Chamber's opening.

"Harry, why would you trust a stranger—a magical object of completely unknown origin—over your friend Hagrid?" Draco asked pointedly. "How can you be certain it isn't some form of Dark magic?"

Harry exchanged uncertain glances with his two friends.

Complex emotions warred across all three faces: doubt about the diary, shame at having been so trusting, and desperate hope that Hagrid was innocent.

"More than anything else, I'd like to examine that diary you're holding—if you don't mind," Draco said, studying the book Harry clutched tightly.

The more he looked at it, the more it resembled one from his own collection of confiscated items at home.

The thought terrified him.

Harry hesitated for a moment before handing it over.

"Right, there's no doubt about it. It's definitely the same one." Draco stared at the damned inscription "T.M. Riddle" inside the diary, feeling both amused and exasperated.

He'd never expected the Malfoy family to become entangled in this mess! Could his family actually be connected to Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets?

In a flash, he suddenly remembered something: in his previous life, the Dark Lord had once been furious with Lucius over some cursed diary.

Was this it?

The Chamber—the diary—the Dark Lord. What possible connection could exist between these three? Countless terrifying possibilities flooded his mind, sending chills down his spine.

What role had the Malfoy family played in all this?

When had his father smuggled the diary into Hogwarts? Draco had no idea whatsoever.

Given the circumstances, it would be monumentally foolish to admit the diary had come from the Malfoys.

If the Board of Governors discovered the Malfoys were involved with the Chamber of Secrets and suspected of harming Hogwarts students—no matter how wealthy the Malfoys were, those reputation-obsessed old traditionalists would expel them from the Board immediately.

This would be disastrous for the Malfoys. Lucius had worked tirelessly for years to secure his position on the Board of Governors. He needed to exercise greater caution. So many Board members were watching for any opportunity to undermine him. A single misstep could destroy everything. Had his father truly been foolish enough to hand his enemies a weapon? Draco shook his head inwardly.

Thinking about it now, in his previous life, his father had indeed resigned from the Hogwarts Board of Governors at the end of second year, though he'd never told Draco the reason.

Now everything made sense—it was because of this diary.

His father must have done something reckless and been caught red-handed.

Draco turned the diary over and over in his hands, his mind churning with troubled thoughts.

Meanwhile, Harry stared at him anxiously, afraid Draco might damage the precious diary. That instinctive protectiveness toward an unknown magical object was precisely the kind of dangerous impulse Draco had warned him about.

"Where did you get this?" Draco asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"I found it in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," Harry replied.

Of course—the girls' bathroom on the second floor. The very location where the Chamber's entrance lay hidden. How convenient.

"Harry, this diary is extremely dangerous," Draco said seriously, meeting his eyes. "You need to stop using it immediately and hand it over to Professor Dumbledore."

Harry reluctantly nodded, though his expression suggested he had no intention of parting with it anytime soon.

"Listen to me carefully," Draco continued. "This could be a Horcrux or some other form of extraordinarily Dark magic. Objects that think for themselves should never be trusted."

Harry silently lowered his head, stroking the name on the diary's cover without speaking.

"I don't know where you really found this diary, but I strongly advise you to avoid any further interaction with it. It would be best to give it to Professor Dumbledore," Draco said worriedly, repeating his warning before they parted ways.

Harry nodded hesitantly. He was reluctant to surrender the diary—Tom Riddle seemed gentle, refined, and remarkably persuasive.

"See? What did I tell you? Even Draco thinks you should give it to Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said. "I didn't say a word to him or drop any hints. Anyone thinking clearly can see how dangerous that diary is."

"You're right, Harry. If this diary is fabricating dubious memories to deceive you and frame Hagrid, that's absolutely despicable," Ron added.

Draco walked back toward the castle carrying his broomstick, his steps heavy, his heart troubled.

He still wasn't certain how deeply the diary was involved in the Chamber incident, but it clearly wasn't innocent.

The die had been cast. This dangerous diary had already left the Malfoy family and found its way to Hogwarts, causing serious harm.

The Malfoy family needed to distance themselves from this diary completely.

A Malfoy always knew when to advance and when to retreat. Tonight he would write to his parents immediately, inquiring about the diary's origins and warning them against any further reckless actions or drawing attention to themselves at Board meetings.

In this situation, maintaining a low profile was the Malfoys' best strategy.

After Herbology ended on Tuesday afternoon, Draco searched the greenhouse several times before finding Hermione. She stood near an enormous Umbrella Flower, talking to Susan Bones and Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff, looking rather pleased with herself.

"Hermione," he said, hurrying over. "I need your help with something."

She turned, half the irritation vanishing from her face as her eyes brightened slightly. "Wait! Stay right there, don't come any closer."

Draco looked bewildered but remained where he stood beside one of the greenhouse's support pillars, watching her in confusion. She carried several thick books and wore a serious expression. After exchanging a few hurried words with the Hufflepuffs, she strode toward him.

"What happened? Were they bothering you?" he asked, studying her face carefully.

"Oh, quite the opposite," Hermione said breezily. "I was teaching Ernie not to believe every rumor he hears. You know he doesn't mean any harm—he's just a terrible gossip. Susan says he has an overactive imagination, and I completely agree. He jumps to conclusions and can spin a hundred different versions of the same story."

Draco glanced at her silently. Seeing she appeared to be in good spirits, he didn't press further.

"What did you need my help with?" Hermione asked as they walked out of the now nearly empty greenhouse.

"I need you to ask Hagrid something for me," Draco said. "Ask him everything he knows about Tom Marvolo Riddle. Since Hagrid knew him, he should know who Riddle really is, whether he had any other names, and what he's doing now."

"I can ask, but I don't understand why you won't ask him yourself," Hermione said, preoccupied with her half-finished Herbology essay.

"Hagrid isn't forthcoming with everyone. He's only truly patient and honest with you three. In his eyes, I'm probably just another unlikable Slytherin—a scheming little brat from a Dark wizard family," Draco said lazily as he led her through the vegetable patch.

Hermione disagreed. "You're underestimating Hagrid. He's incredibly kindhearted. He'd like you if he knew what you've been doing behind the scenes—but you always insist we keep it secret."

"I've only done something small and insignificant. Nothing worth mentioning," Draco said dismissively.

Draco preferred to avoid too much contact with Hagrid.

Every time he saw Hagrid, he was reminded of how he'd deliberately targeted the man in his previous life. Even though he'd abandoned that cruelty in this life, he had to admit he and Hagrid had little in common. He'd never understood Hagrid's fascination with dangerous magical creatures.

Every time he saw Hagrid's hut, he remembered the towering flames that had consumed it the night Dumbledore fell—just as Draco's entire life had been reduced to ashes and left in ruins.

He didn't want to remember that terrible version of himself, nor did he want to needlessly approach anything that might trigger those suffocating images. The fact that he could suppress his memories with Occlumency didn't mean he wouldn't be hurt all over again when yesterday reappeared before him.

In truth, anything or anyone that could trigger memories of his previous life caused him pain.

"All right," Hermione said, adjusting the books in her arms and glancing at him. "I'm rather curious myself, actually. Should I go alone? Where will you wait?"

"Give those to me," Draco said, taking the stack of books from her and settling onto a large boulder beside the path to Hagrid's hut. "I'll wait here. I'm not going anywhere."

And so he watched her leave—watched this girl who could hurt him without even realizing it, watched her walk away.

Hermione was blissfully unaware of her own capacity to cause him pain. She had no intention of hurting him whatsoever. She glanced back at him, smiled, and continued happily down the path.

Her small figure was bathed in the warm crimson glow of the setting sun. He watched her intently, even though the sight burned his pale eyes.

She walked farther and farther away. He set the books on the stone, stood up restlessly, and followed her receding form with his eyes. Eventually she knocked on Hagrid's door, slipped nimbly inside, and disappeared into the oak-framed entrance like a small squirrel vanishing into its burrow.

He could no longer see her, but he couldn't simply sit still. He paced back and forth in front of the boulder.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Just last night, as Astronomy class ended, Draco had stood atop the windswept Astronomy Tower when he suddenly remembered something. He'd heard a similar name before, somewhere important.

Also in a tall tower, one comparable in height to the Astronomy Tower—the Ravenclaw Tower.

That night, amid the howling wind, the Grey Lady had told him about Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem. In her excitement, she'd even mocked the Dark Lord:

"The Dark Lord? Ha! That self-aggrandizing title makes me want to retch! Fifty years ago, he wasn't called the Dark Lord at all. He made me call him Tom. Back then, he was just an ordinary student—rather handsome, actually. Charming and sympathetic, very understanding..."

Tom. T.M. Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, who was likely the very "Tom" the Grey Lady had mentioned, was the Dark Lord—and also Slytherin's Heir.

This revelation had shocked him to his core.

All the coincidences seemed simultaneously too incredible and far too obvious.

The Dark Lord possessed immense magical power and revered blood purity. No one embodied Slytherin's ideals more completely than he did.

Draco knew he might have stumbled upon the truth.

Out of caution, he needed more evidence to confirm his theory.

Hagrid was a crucial witness. Since he'd been exposed—or rather, framed—by the young Tom Riddle, he must know more about him.

In less than fifteen minutes, the girl's small figure emerged from Hagrid's hut and rushed toward him along the path.

He couldn't make out her expression yet, only her brown hair shimmering in the crimson sunset. She ran toward him with everything she had, growing closer and closer, until Draco could finally see her face clearly. She was breathing hard, her face pale, her large brown eyes filled with fear.

"Draco, we have to get that cursed diary to Professor Dumbledore right now!" she cried out the moment she reached him. "It could very well be You-Know-Who's diary!"

Of course—that wretched diary!