Dear Tom,

I hate school.

Why?

I hate the people around me. I try to be nice to them and they always look at me like I'm beneath them. The teachers always give me a disappointed look every time I try to do something. And then the stupid Potions professor always looks for excuses to take points from me. It's not my fault I'm stupid!

Is there anything you enjoy about school? Once, a long time ago…I remember going to school. I had my bad days, and I would always think about nice things to make it better.

I don't know if there's anything nice about school, Tom.

Don't you always marvel at how big and beautiful Hogwarts is? All of the moving paintings, and the grand staircases? Ever tried to carry on a nice conversation with any of the ghosts? I hear the Grey Lady is rather entertaining whenever she chooses to talk to anyone.

Well, yes, I suppose that's wonderful.

And the food and decorations are always quite nice, don't you think?

Sure. I suppose so.

You don't seem so convinced.

It's just food, Tom. Food and housing. How am I supposed to see anything nice in that?

Oh, how selfish of me. I forgot you grew up in a privileged Wizarding household.

It's not privileged, Tom; don't say that –

Imagine being a magical child being forced to grow up with Muggles.

I don't see where you're going with that, Tom. I know plenty of Muggle-born kids and they're always so much smarter and better than me –

Poor Muggles. During…wartime. Food is being rationed, and bombs are dropping everywhere. You're underage, so you can't even lift a finger to sate your own hunger or block out the sound of the explosions.

Tom…what are bombs?

Muggle devices used to kill masses of people at once. Like a Bombarda, but much bigger. They can level whole entire cities.

Oh, Tom…I didn't realize…when you put it that way, I suppose Hogwarts is not such a bad place after all. How do you know all this?

One of my friends was in this situation.

What was his name? Or her name, I suppose?

Coincidentally, her name was also Gertrude. And I loved her with all my heart.

You did, Tom? You really did?

At first I didn't know that she had to do this every summer. She never told anyone until the Muggle war was over. She knew that I would have offered to let her stay with me, and she didn't want to intrude or take advantage of my hospitality. She was always so sweet, and generous, and thoughtful – overly so. She was a lot like you, in a way, really. I have no idea where she is now, what happened to her, if she is still alive, even. It was all so long ago.

Oh, Tom. You've been trapped in here for such a long while, haven't you?

I should like to meet her again one day, if I could only get out of this diary. I suppose she has aged quite a bit, but I don't care. I still love her very much, and in my coldest, darkest days alone, I like to sit and imagine that I've escaped this diary and finally reunited with her…

Tom…

But maybe she has forgotten me. Maybe she has died.

Oh, Tom, don't say that! No one would ever forget someone like you!

I should hope not.

I bet that she's still sitting there, looking out the window, waiting for you, Tom! Don't give up hope!

Hope?...I will never give up hope.

That's the spirit, Tom!

Though the person who locked me in this diary never meant for me to escape, I desire to return to a body nonetheless.

Of course, Tom. I'll help you. I may not be the most powerful witch, but I can always be the most helpful!

Yes…that shall work well…

Tom? Tom?

(White bishop to c6, captures black knight.)

Artemis

He was laughing as he awoke in his sim-body at home.

That Love Potion had been a total accident, but how it had worked so well in his favor! If he had known this was going to be the result, he would have poisoned himself since the announcement of the Yule Ball.

Now no one would question him if he slept throughout the entire break…which meant all the more time to spend with Tom Riddle.

The monitors could feel it. He had not escaped the diary yet despite months of experimentation. Tom Riddle was hoarding energy. This meant that Tom Riddle was probably going for an instantaneous possession, or even a complete body this time, instead of the gradual process he had done with controlling Ginny Weasley. It seemed like Riddle had learned from his past mistakes. He was no longer wasting time purging the Muggle-born students from Hogwarts (since the Basilisk was dead, anyway).

This was only convenient for Artemis. If Tom Riddle went for an instantaneous possession it was likely that he wouldn't even need to sever the connection magically – Riddle would do it by himself.

(Black queen to c6, captures white bishop.)

Tom

One more entry.

One more entry, and that would be enough energy for him to overload the other girl's magic. It would practically transfer all of her power to him in as little as a few seconds. He was so close to a body. He was not going to mess it up now. The girl was about to return home for the break now, under a neglectful and busy household. Now was as good a time as any.

(White knight to e5.)

Tom –

Yes, Gertrude?

I need your help. You're always so smart and clever – can you help me?

What is it, Gertrude?

I feel really sick. Like, really sick. Not like a cold or throwing up or anything. But my head hurts painfully, and I can barely move – I'm lying down right now, I can't even lift my head. My hands are shaking – forget it, I can't even write anymore.

Oh, dear. That sounds serious indeed.

Tom, can you write…bigger? My vision…it's swimming…I can't see well…you're writing too…small…

Well, Gertrude, I suggest you close your eyes and rest.

No, Tom, this…is…serious…I can't even do…a little magic…at first…I…thought I was…just…dumb…but then…now…I can't even…do a Hover Charm…I think…I'm sick…I think…I've been sick…for a while…because…I used to be…really good at…some things…I had my O.W.L.s…

Yes, it should have seemed odd that you passed an O.W.L. exam and couldn't even muster a Troll in a N.E.W.T. class no matter how hard you tried, hmmm? If you made it to N.E.W.T. level then there is no reason why you should fail so horribly, unless you just never did your homework.

Oh, thank…goodness…I was afraid…you wouldn't…believe me…but you…believe me…don't you? I am…sick…not just…stupid…

Does it feel like you're out of magic? That you have no power left? Does it? Does it?

Yes…it does…how did…you know? Tom…you're…so…smart…

Yes, I am, aren't I?

Or maybe, you are just unfathomably stupid.

Tom? Tom? What are you saying? Tom…what…

Go to sleep, Gertrude. It will be the most rest you'll ever get for…let's see…forever?

Tom? Tom –

(Black queen to c7.)

Tom Riddle felt his power returning to him in torrents. That silly girl had stood no chance. This time, there was no one to stop him from regaining a body. For the first time in decades, he was finally, completely solid, no longer dependent on the diary. Now, if anyone ever tried to destroy him, they could no longer use the diary. They would have to go through him directly.

Turning on his new feet, Tom Riddle examined his surroundings.

He frowned.

Something was not right.

He had had no idea what the Hufflepuff girl's room would look like, but he could tell that this definitely wasn't it. Instead of the expected nice and soft furniture and girlish decor, there was only a white plastic cube next to which his diary rested. Instead of thick stone walls, he saw marble tile, also the same shade of white as the cube, with a large mirror spanning one end. Instead of warm, soft torchlight, the ceiling was spanned with odd, translucent, glowing rectangles. He realized with a start that these were Muggle lights. He had only seen them in the public school that he had been forced to go to before Hogwarts; the orphanage had been too old and poorly funded to replace its incandescent bulbs. He did not like them. They were white – too white – and artificial. Sharp and bright. No light was this glaring, not even from normal spells. The light looked like someone had taken the silver sparks that had flown from his wand the first day it chose him, multiplied them, and then concentrated them all into one box.

Either Hogwarts had seriously been overrun by Mudbloods since he was locked back into the diary – which couldn't be, because his other self was still alive – or –

With a horrified yelp Tom Riddle saw the body lying on the ground. He could feel the void where there was once magic – obviously, it was this person's magic he had drained. He had not frozen in terror because of guilt or disgust, but in shock.

The girl – well, at least that part was true – was conventionally pretty. Long blonde hair, large blue eyes, fair skin not yet pale enough to be considered sickly, tall shapely nose, perfectly formed mouth, nice enough body, he supposed – and – wait – were those muscles? A girl with those muscles?

She didn't look at all like the type to be bullied constantly. Maybe someone would have made fun of her muscles, but a girl like that probably would have punched her oppressors, not gone crying to some diary. Though Tom had never really cared for girls – or for anyone, really – he knew that many of the boys at Hogwarts during his time would have been tripping over their own feet trying to get to her, no matter how annoying or just plain horrible she had been. Just because he did not care much for beauty didn't mean he wasn't a good judge of it. He had to be aware of the power of appearances, after all.

Calm down, he told himself. She was probably just faking or exaggerating her sentiment, just to get some attention –

But even as he said this, her features began fading. The sinking horror he had been feeling in the pits of his stomach only grew heavier as her irises disappeared, leaving only pupils, and her blonde hair lost all color and began falling out –

Posession had never been so unattractive the last time he did it – maybe it was just a side effect of stealing magic so quickly –

– but then her face lost all distinctive features – so did her body, in fact – just a plain, round face, with no color, no shape – just a formless, shadeless mass of flesh – She was dissolving.

Into nothingness.

There was no Gertrude – had been no Gertrude – no ugly, pudgy, pear-shaped, insecure, bespectacled girl –

A mannequin.

No – it couldn't be –

But it was –

Just a white, expressionless body –

Do you like it? said a mysterious voice. It's the human body at its most basic level, with none of the tiny portion DNA – none of that tiny percentage of genetic material that makes all human beings different – but of course you wouldn't know about that, would you? Those discoveries were all after you went insane.

Him?

Go insane?

So much white –

He had been tricked –

All of the feelings of happiness that had come from regaining a body drained out of him more quickly than a Dementor could have sucked out a soul. How could they have done that? He felt the magic! He felt it! He touched his own face, stared at himself in the mirror spanning the wall. No, he was real! He was solid! He picked up the diary and fanned through it…no, no connection, nothing! The diary was completely empty; nothing, nothing, nothing! He was his own person now; he was solid; he was real!

And yet there had been no Gertrude. How could he have sucked her magic, then? He felt her emotions; he felt her tears; he felt her power transferring over! How could he have mistaken those feelings?

Magic, magic, magic…Tom could feel the magic coursing through his veins, and yet, when he tried to call it, it would not budge. With horror, he saw strands crawling up his hands – violet so dark it was nearly black – and they curled into tiny words that read all sorts of horrible things, like "seal" and "chain" and "trap."

"Was it all fake?" Tom screamed at nothing in particular.

Interesting. You truly have earned your reputation as one of Hogwarts' best and brightest.

Tom whipped around, trying to find the source of the noise, but there was none. "Where are you?" he yelled. "Who are you?"

The voice laughed, and not in a friendly way. Why don't you look for it?

The voice was metallic. Robotic. Tom still understood enough about Muggle technology to recognize a radio voice – or something of that nature – when he heard it. Picking up the cube, Tom rotated it until he could see the dotted, circular speaker. Ah, you have found me. Well done.

Tom frowned. Even though he had discovered where the voice was coming from, he still did not know how the person was observing him. And then it hit him. The mirror. He glanced over to it again. "That's a one-way mirror, isn't it?"

Full marks.

"Why am I here?" he asked, trying to calm himself down. All right. He was calm. He would not give his mysterious assaulter the benefit of seeing him angry. He had already lost his temper once with the brats in the Chamber, and it had not ended well for him. If he could just act like the calm, reasonable young man that everyone knew him as, then maybe…he tried to turn off the lights in the room, so that he could get rid of the advantage the person on the other side of the glass had, but it didn't work. Maybe the lights were magically hooked up to something. He wasn't about to shatter the glass just yet; he had no idea what was on the other side. He wasn't stupid.

Hasn't Gertrude told you?

"Don't pretend," he said coldly. "She's fake. I know that. Tell me how you did it."

As much as I admire your calm façade, you really are in no position to be acting superior or making demands.

Tom grit his teeth, but flashed a charming smile nonetheless. "Please?"

I am not as dumb as your teachers, Tom. Everyone knows the real you, now.

"All right then." Tom sat down against the wall opposite the mirror, leaning his back against it, trying to keep his smile as smug as possible despite the fact that he was, for the first time in a long time, feeling actual, cold, hard fear. "Will you at least tell me what your reason is for having me here?"

Gertrude may have been a fake identity, and her sob stories may have been completely made up, but rest assured, the things she told you about yourself was not.

Tom paled. "So, Lord Voldemort…?"

Has been defeated since you met Ginny Weasley, all those decades ago…His magic has been permanently drained from him. And he has been sentenced to life in prison, under the very enchantments that hid the locket of Salazar Slytherin…with a few added Aurors, of course.

Tom felt his composure slipping, but forced himself to retain the neutral mask. "The locket of Salazar Slytherin? So it wasn't lost, then?"

The voice paused. Ah, that's right. You are only his sixteen-year-old self. You would not have known yet.

"Known what?"

The Horcruxes, Tom.

Tom kept his face steady. This was not a good situation, but he would not slip. He would not. Could not. Well, it made sense anyway. So his other self had fallen from grace, and now the world probably knew about his past. Which meant that if he went out right now, someone would recognize his school picture, most likely, and there was nothing he could do –

It took all of his self-control not to howl in anguish.

Instead, he asked again, cursing himself when his own voice involuntarily trembled, "And what about them?" Horcruxes. Plural. So it had been possible, then.

Just as he said this, the wall to his left dissolved into a window. On the other side, there was also another identically white room. In the center, a tall, elevated dais held a large, golden locket, the size of an egg, with an S embedded in the surface with glittering emeralds. Enthralled by its beauty, Tom's appreciation of it was cut short when he realized that he was still trapped inside his side of the white room. Was the mirror unbreakable? Probably. Tom didn't have a wand with him, and he did not want to know what would happen if his attempt at wandless magic failed and left him drained and even more at the mercy of his captor.

Your Locket was a Horcrux. You made multiple ones, and we haven't found them all. We went through a great deal of trouble just to retrieve the Locket. You really were a brilliant wizard, Tom; I daresay no one will have been able to even come close to touching the other ones. I had to sacrifice so many Sim-Bodies, Tom. They all started out perfectly white like the one lying at your feet right now, and they ended up charred blacker than coal. Needless to say, no one except for you and I can ever retrieve them at this point. Naturally, you can see why this would be a problem for your main piece, the one who has been sentenced to LIFE.

Tom's breath hitched, but he ignored it. Instead, he turned to the mannequin. The Sim-Body. Tom stared at the Sim-Body. Gertrude. "Simulated Body?" he guessed."The future has developed a way to accurately emulate emotional and magical energy." Now that he was no longer feeding off the thrill of possession, or being taunted by twelve-year-olds, he found himself being much more rational.

Full marks, once again. I can see why your teachers loved you.

Tom frowned at the thought of his teachers. He had never liked any of the fools, Dumbledore least of all. And yet one could say, ironically, that Dumbledore was one of the teachers he held in the highest regard, for Dumbledore was the only one who had gained his grudging fear and respect. He was the only one not naïve enough to not fall for his perfect, polite student act. "You still haven't told me why I am here," he said.

Think about it. Your other body is going to spend eternity within a prison. I am giving you a chance to help him escape.

"You want me to tell you the locations of the other Horcruxes," Tom said flatly, "so that you can destroy them, and kill him."

There are fates worse than death, Tom.

"There is nothing worse than death!" Tom yelled. "I refuse! You can kill me, but there will be other pieces alive. You will never find them all. Is the Locket even real? Maybe it's just a fake that you are using, to trick me."

See for yourself, then.

The window between the locket and him parted. With cold apprehension, Tom made his way over to the dais. Even from his side of the room, he could feel the dark magic pulsing from the object. Still, the owner of the voice had been able to fake feelings and emotions for his so-called sim-bodies. Maybe this energy was faked too?

But when Tom hissed for it to open, his suspicions were erased.

Are you and I the same? he whispered in Parseltongue.

The Locket nodded. The same.

Has the Voice visited you?

No. But someone has tampered with me all the same. One day I felt myself being stolen from my home in the cave.

The cave? Where we first learned about how truly powerful we were?

No. Too predictable. It was a cave from the Great Southern continent, guarded by Nature's deadliest secrets. I languished for years in a dark place, not knowing where I was. And then one day, I felt magic coursing through me. It was so powerful; I thought that I would finally be able to escape the locket. But I was unable to possess anyone. The magic was powerful, but it was so different. It was intoxicating and even damaging; and it flowed too quickly for me to properly absorb any of it without suffering extreme damage to my already fragile self. The Locket reached out a smoky hand - not exactly solid but solid enough to feel, almost like an extremely thick superfluid, and touched him, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. You have regained a body. But I assume that the Basilisk has not returned, for you are here with me and not at Hogwarts where you belong.

That does not matter here. It means nothing. We are trapped here. There is another man; he has fooled us. He created fake bodies, fake emotions that had energy which matched real emotions. I lived on those feelings, and when I managed to disconnect myself from the diary, he trapped me. Tom held out his hands, where the seals ran, for the Locket to see.

You attempted to escape? the Locket hissed angrily. You attempted to break your connection? Did you forget the reason for your creation? It was to protect him – us – to keep him safe! It is your duty to remain hidden and silent! No matter who you possess, you must always keep one strand of magic attached safely to your vessel, to return to in case of danger! Or did you not know that, you silly, foolish little –

You do not know how I feel! Tom hissed back. I have been here longer than all of you; I deserve my freedom, I deserve to see the world, too! I can feel your age; unlike you, I never knew anything of magic outside of Hogwarts. I am the only one…

You are not the only one, the Locket chastised. There is another. The ring of the Peverells.

Tom's eyes widened. The…Peverells?

The Gaunts are also the last living descendants of the Peverells, through the second brother. We murdered our father and stole the ring from our uncle. Of all the Horcruxes I thought that was the most satisfying one. I still do. The other deaths were insignificant and impersonal, but that one was actually deserved…

Tom's face fell. I wished I could have felt that satisfaction, too. I thought we could experience the same things together, as he went into the world, but I felt nothing. No connection. My life is incomplete. I cannot learn anything new. All I have are mere memories to keep me company. He has abandoned me.

He has not, the Locket insisted. We must keep him safe.

Tom looked at his older self critically. Yes, we must. But how? We are at that man's mercy.

Whoever holds us here is truly powerful indeed, the Locket mused, taking Tom's hand into his own and examining the seals carefully. We are both powerless.

He has informed us that our final self has fallen from grace. He has been captured and sentenced to eternity inside the cave where they stole you from. He wants to use us to tell us where the others are. His excuse is to release us from our misery.

Well, we shall not, said the Locket. I do not know what sort of misery the final shard feels, but I am completely comfortable and alone inside my home. If you desire more than blank pages I can give it to you. Placing his hand on Tom's forehead, the Locket transferred as many of the important memories up until his split from the main soul as he could. Are you happy now?

Tom staggered under the sheer amount of knowledge he had gained from his older self in the span of a few seconds. Very.

The Locket gripped his chin with one smoky, semi-solid hand and forced him to look into one pair of blood red eyes, identical to his own. Their faces were so close together that their noses touched. Now there will be no more nonsense about abandoning your place. You know your duty is to protect the other self, no matter where he is. You have already done enough damage as it is, trying to fully possess that girl, whether or not you knew she was real.

Tom nodded, and the soul piece disappeared. The Locket clicked shut. Tom tried to take the locket with him, back to the other side of the room, but something held him back. He was unwilling to let go of his soul piece, but eventually he was forced to concede, if he ever wanted to move from his spot ever again. As soon as he entered his side of the room again, the glass wall lowered once more, and turned back into its initial opaque form.

He was unaware that the Voice had understood the entire conversation.

"Well," Artemis said into the intercom. "Now you know. He is real."

It doesn't matter, Tom Riddle replied. You might make me yield, but you cannot make me submit.

"I could just kill you," Artemis said. "I heard basilisk venom works wonders. Or would you prefer Fiendfyre? Pick your poison…no pun intended. If you will not die then the Locket will. I'll even let you watch the screaming."

As expected, Tom Riddle…Diary, now; there were too many of them to keep track of…screamed desperately, No! Don't kill him!

For a Slytherin, the Diary Tom Riddle was extremely emotional – something that Artemis was sure Voldemort considered a weakness – which was probably why this piece was the first piece he had discarded. It was unfortunate for him, that this effort had come to no benefit; the insanity brought on by making a Horcrux would have made him even more horribly temperamental than before.

In any event, he probably would been able to tell how the other was feeling, even if the other had shown no expression. He could practically feel the horror radiating off the teenaged Voldemort. He had understood that entire conversation; understood that whatever tiny sparks of decency had, had mostly been lost when he created his first Horcrux. Even though Voldemort was a raging sociopath, he wasn't incapable of love – at least, not to himself. (That was the closest thing a clinical sociopath would ever get to feeling, Artemis supposed – an unconditional love for himself.)

The diary – and surprisingly, the Locket, too – had demonstrated a steadfast concern and sense of duty toward the main Voldemort, despite the fact that neither of them could feel him or have any idea about where he was or what he was doing.

And while they all shared the main Voldemort as a common goal, he could see that the Diary cared about the others, too. The Locket did not seem to care about the Diary as much; he was an older piece and less concerned about his predecessors. But the Diary had been the first; his concern for himself had been all-encompassing. He was the half that, Artemis realized, willingly chose to leave, so that he could protect the other half. And since the other half had split off into several different Horcruxes, it meant that the Diary cared about all of their wellbeing, since together they all made up the initial half that the Diary had broken off from.

They had also mentioned a ring. The ring of the Peverells, stolen from Morfin Gaunt, and made into a Horcrux using the murder of Tom Riddle Sr.

"Maybe I won't kill him," Artemis said. "Maybe there are fates worse than death."

There is nothing worse than death! Riddle declared.

"Oh, really?" Artemis smirked. "Would you like to wager me on that?"

(For the first time in his life since Albus Dumbledore, Tom Marvolo Riddle was scared of someone.)

At Hogwarts, Harry Potter began to scream.

(White knight to e2.)

A/N: Mini science lesson!

For those of you who were confused on the one-way mirror thing: one-way mirrors aren't actually mirrors, just highly tinted glass that is coated with an extremely thin layer of metal. The reflective effect is caused by a difference in light; someone in a bright room will see a mirror and someone in a dim room will see a window. If both rooms are dim, then the glass acts like a normal mirror.

Ordinary windows also display this effect to a lesser extent, if you've ever tried to look through windows at night; from the outside you can see a room easily if the light is on. Likewise, if you are inside a bright room and it is dark outside, you can see your own reflection in the glass much more easily.