Warnings: I forgot to do this in the last chapter, but I'll warn you now. This fic is most likely going to be quite dark. The rating may even go up to R, depending on how things play out.
Chapter One
Draco Malfoy sighed heavily before dropping to his bed in the Slytherin boy's dormitory. It was only the second week back and already he was more bored with Hogwarts than he'd ever imagined. For a very, very short span of time he had been amused by the look on Potter's face when it was announced that he was the new Slytherin Seeker. That excitement hadn't lasted long, especially after Granger's little insult about having to buy his way onto the team. He wasn't the type to let things like that get to him but she was just so annoying, so insolent. Draco hated her, he wanted to hurt her so badly that she'd never make another smart ass remark to him again.
His lips tightened at the memory of her waspish comments and he sat up again, reaching for his trunk and rummaging through. There had to be something his mother packed for him that would take his mind off things. Exploding Snaps, Wizard's chess, even a pathetic chocolate frog would suffice at the moment. Draco tossed things aside, an unused spell book thumping loudly to the floor and uncovering a leather bound book.
He picked it up and frowned before remembering why he'd taken it from the book shop only weeks earlier. It had been Voldemort's diary and at the time he had thought there was something important in it. But after spending hours pouring over it Draco had decided it was just a rubbish old book and had thrown it into his trunk and promptly forgotten about it. He had always wondered by the Dark Lord had kept a diary, of all things. A diary, for Merlin's sake . . . if that wasn't a horribly sissy thing to do then Draco didn't know what was. The Dark Lord's sixteen year old self had written in a diary.
"Can't be all bad then," he muttered closing the trunk and opening the book to the first page. His quill and ink sat on his beside table and he reached for them, nearly knocking over the inkwell in the process. If Voldemort had done it he could do it. Maybe it helped, maybe it would be better than sitting alone in the dormitory, stewing about Harry Potter and his annoying friends.
With another sigh, Draco dipped his quill into the inkwell, then scrawled his name across the top of the page. He paused for a moment, debating whether or not to scratch out what he had written when the ink seemed to shimmer and sink into the page. Draco blinked, then turned to the next page but it was as blank as all the others.
"Well, that's a benefit," he breathed. At least he wouldn't have to worry about one of his house mates finding the notebook and spreading around the school that Draco Malfoy wrote in a girly little diary. He flipped back to the first page and dipped his quill into the ink and set to work.
// 12 September, 1992
Don't know why I'm writing in this bloody thing. Suppose it's to take my mind off Granger and her bloody annoying comments. I never thought I'd be writing in a diary. It seems sissy, like something Potter would do. Writing stupid love poems about his stupid girlfriend.
This is silly. What the hell can a bloody book do for me? Make me feel better? Right.
You could always speak with me. //
Draco stopped writing and watched the words shimmer on the page for a moment before disappearing with his own. He had nearly dropped his quill when they had appeared on the page and it now hung between his middle and index fingers. There was someone in the book . . . someone who was writing back to him. Was he expected to write back?
// Don't you want to talk to me? //
Draco paused for a long moment, staring as the word vanished once more, then took up his quill and began to write.
// And who're you?
You know my name, Draco Malfoy.
How do you know mine?
You told me. Earlier.
I wrote my name in this book.
My book, Draco.
You're Tom Riddle?
I am Tom Marvolo Riddle. I've been trapped in this book for the past fifty years.
You weren't.
I . . . wasn't? I wasn't what?
You weren't trapped in this book. You were out . . . you were Lord Voldemort.
I was Lord Voldemort.
Yes. You ruled the entire wizarding world.
As far as this book goes I only made it to sixteen. I remember things and I know things, but I'm still only sixteen.
Wow . . . sixteen. You're not much older than I am now. Only three years. This is incredible. The Dark Lord is inside my book and only three years older than me.
I'm not just trapped, Draco. I have ways to see and hear what's happening. But things would be so much easier if you were willing to be my eyes and ears.
Me? Why me?
I know your family name very well. How are Lucius and Narcissa?
You know my parents?
Very well. They were two of my most faithful followers.
I knew that. They told me when I was very young, they were training me, I suppose.
Training you for what?
For the day you came back.
They thought I would come back, did they?
They still think it and hope for it.
You know what I am, Draco, what I'll become if I get out of this, don't you?
Of course I know.
I need help. I can't do it alone.
. . . Are you planning on getting out of the book?
Always.
And you need help?
Yes.
My help?
Yes. Will you be my eyes and ears, Draco?
. . . Yes.
Are you certain?
Will it help you?
Very much so.
And will it . . .
Will it what, Draco?
Will people get hurt?
. . . I don't know. I can't promise that they won't.
I don't care. I'll help you.
Do you promise, Draco?
I promise.
Thank you. Thank you.
Tom . . .
. . .
Tom, are you still here? \\
Draco rocked backward on his bed and put his quill on the bedside table, staring at the remaining words before they disappeared into the page. He had spoken with him, with Tom Riddle, the boy who would become Lord Voldemort. And he was going to be his eyes and ears. He would show Tom the entire castle from top to bottom, exploring every single crevice that he wanted to see. If he could find a way to bring him back . . . things would be far more perfect than ever before. If Draco could bring Tom back from the diary he would be hailed as the mere child who helped in the return of Lord Voldemort.
A sly grin crossed Draco's face. He couldn't wait to begin.
*
Blaise Zabini sighed and tucked her legs under her on the leather couch in the Slytherin common room. Barely three weeks had passed at Hogwarts and already she was floundering under a pile of text books and homework assignments. It was only her second year and she was already feeling the pressure from her teachers about her O.W.L.s. It didn't help that she was in Slytherin and half the people in her year (and more than half in the years ahead of her) spent the majority of their time trying to copy her homework.
"Sod off!" she snapped as Tracey Davis snuck her oversized nose into Blaise's scroll for what seemed like the tenth time that evening.
Tracey glared at her. "All I wanted was a little help, Blaise."
"Well, if you'd paid attention in Potions you wouldn't need help, Davis," snarled Queenie Greengrass from where she sat across from them.
"I didn't ask you, Queenie," Tracey said briskly, but got up and flounced over to another chair anyway.
Blaise watched her go, and then flipped the ends of her red hair over her shoulder. "I don't know why she thinks we want her around," she said softly, her eyes shifting to the Potions book in front of her. "We're not exactly nice to her, are we?"
Queenie shook her head, light waves falling over her face. She brushed them back impatiently and made a note of something in the book. "She's a stuck up little brat who thinks she can get anything just because she's a pureblood."
Blaise glanced up, a slightly amused grin on her face. "Queenie, you're a pureblood."
Queenie smiled. "I know. But I'm not a stuck up brat."
The friends fell silent and went back to working on their essays. The common room was crowded enough that the low murmur of voices was comforting, but not too crowded that it became annoying. Crabbe and Goyle were watching a particularly violent game of Wizard's chess between Draco Malfoy and another first year boy that Blaise didn't know. With a smirk, she realized the reason why Crabbe and Goyle always watched rather than played.
"Too thick to start your own game, boys?" she called sweetly to them.
Draco's eyes flashed toward her, pining her down with his gaze. She hadn't even been addressing him and he still had the gall to stare at her like she'd insulted him personally.
"They're just your goons, Draco," she said. "You don't need to protect them all the time."
A smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he turned back to the chess game, letting Crabbe and Goyle work out for themselves exactly what Blaise had said to them.
"Was that a . . . y'know, an insult?" Crabbe asked.
Goyle shrugged his thick shoulders and went back to staring blankly at the chess board as Draco's bishop ruthlessly smashed the younger boy's king.
"They're idiots," Queenie breathed, still staring at her homework. Her dark eyes flashed briefly in the direction of Draco and the others but she seemed to think them unworthy of even her gaze. "How do they get passing grades in all their classes? They never do any work."
"Snape," Blaise murmured, referring to their Potions professor and the head of Slytherin house. "He favours Malfoy and if he favours Malfoy he has to favour his goons. It's a big chain of favouritism."
"I sure wish he favoured me," Queenie grumbled, staring at her essay. "Three feet of essay and we're not even finished the first month."
Blaise nodded, her eyes darting back and forth between her half finished essay and Draco's game. Draco was currently collecting his winnings from the first year . . . it looked like at least ten sickles. She rolled her eyes; it was disgusting what some kids would do with the money their parents gave them for the year. Since they couldn't go into Hogsmeade yet most of it was spent betting on chess games or Quidditch matches and the rest went into a healthy supply of Zonko's tricks bought for them by the older kids.
"Are you watching him again, Blaise?" Queenie asked, following her friend's gaze.
Blaise jumped slightly, then shook her head guiltily. "What? No. I'm not."
"You're lying."
"Queenie, I wasn't watching him."
"You had such a crush on him last year-"
"I did not!" Blaise cut her off irritably. "I thought he was . . . interesting."
"Which is just your complicated way of telling me that you think he's cute."
Blaise pursed her lips and studied her essay very carefully, avoiding the steady gaze of her friend. She hated when Queenie stared at her, it was like having someone probe inside her mind. Her friend's dark gaze was very unnerving.
"You know you can tell me," Queenie said softly.
"He's interesting," Blaise snapped. "That's all."
Queenie shrugged. "Okay. If you don't actually have a crush on him you won't care that I overheard Andrea Moon talking about Gwendolyn Languir."
Blaise's eyes snapped upward. "What about Gwendolyn?" She knew Draco's father rather fancied Gwendolyn's family as the perfect purebloods besides his own and even at thirteen there had already been talk of arranged marriages and things like that. It drove Blaise crazy. She was pureblood, as were Queenie and half the other girls in Slytherin. What was so special about Gwendolyn Languir?
Queenie smiled slightly. "Andrea said that Gwendolyn's father is trying to resist the whole marriage thing. He doesn't think the Malfoys are as pureblood as they claim to be."
Blaise snorted. "Explain to me please what's so wonderful about Gwendolyn?"
Queenie's smile was wiped off her face and her look suddenly became very serious. "Haven't you ever listened to the rumours, Blaise?"
"What rumours?"
"About Gwendolyn and her family."
Blaise shook her head. "I've never heard anything other than the arranged marriage stuff. Why? Should I have heard more?"
Queenie's voice dropped even lower and she moved over the sit on the same couch as her friend. "Since she started here last year there've been rumours about her family. Her mother and father both went to Hogwarts but she's not really a pureblood."
"Then why would Draco's father want his son marrying her?"
"Shh," Queenie said quickly. "Don't talk so loud. It's really strained . . . her mother's father's father was a muggle, or something like that. It goes back to her great grandparents."
"So?"
"So have you ever really looked at her?"
"Gwendolyn? Sure, she's my Herbology partner."
Queenie sighed. "You don't get it, do you?"
"If you'd stop beating around the bush and just tell me maybe I would get it," Blaise snapped.
Queenie sighed again. "Her mother's maiden name was Riddle before she married Gwendolyn's father."
"Yeah . . . and?"
"Tom Riddle," Queenie hissed, her voice dropping lower still. "You-Know-Who."
Blaise snorted. "You're telling me that because Gwendolyn's mother's maiden name was the same as Voldemort's there's some connection?"
"Look at her very closely next time you see her, Blaise," Queenie said haughtily. "She has the same strong features, the same dark hair and the same green eyes. She looks cold."
"We all look cold," Blaise said.
"She's different. I believe it."
"You believe that Gwendolyn Languir is Volde-"
"Stop saying his name," Queenie said sharply.
Blaise sighed and continued. "You really believe that Gwendolyn is You-Know-Who's grand daughter?"
Queenie nodded. "I really do. She looks so much like he did before . . . well, before Harry Potter defeated him. And the name . . . it's just too much to be a coincidence."
"Well, believe whatever you want. I don't think it's true. There's absolutely no evidence that Vol- er, You-Know-Who had any children."
"But there's no evidence to prove that he didn't."
Blaise shrugged. "There's also no evidence to prove that I'm not a flesh eating werewolf by the light of the full moon, but are you going to believe that?"
"I might," Draco drawled, collapsing into the couch on Blaise's other side.
"Sod off," Queenie said, collecting her things and sitting back in her original chair. "We're having a serious discussion here."
"About what?" Draco asked.
Blaise opened her mouth to tell him, but Queenie silenced her with a glare.
"None of your business, Malfoy," she said as Blaise shrugged apologetically.
Draco smiled. "Well, your loss. I happen to be a great conversationalist."
"Big words," Blaise said, a hint of a smile on her lips. "I'm surprised you know words like that when you have friends like them." She gestured in the direction of Crabbe and Goyle.
"And aren't you always the pleasant little princess?" Draco asked.
Blaise's smile froze. "Do you expect everyone you drop to their knees around you, Malfoy?"
He grinned and squeezed her shoulder. "Just you, Zabini. Only you." He stood up and sauntered away, motioning for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him.
"He is such a jerk," Queenie hissed venomously. "I don't get what you see in him, Blaise."
Her brown eyes followed Draco across the room and Blaise shrugged deeply. "Neither do I, Queenie."
End Chapter One