Victoria's entries are in italicized underlined while Tom's replies are in bold italicized.

TW for mentions of past suicidal thoughts and referenced sexual violence at the end of the chapter

"You do realize how it would look, Lucius," Mrs. Malfoy had said to Mr. Malfoy at least twice in the hour that Victoria was in Malfoy Manor before departing for Spinner's End. "You know full well that Mr. Weasley would be uncouth to be the point of resorting to his hands."

The arrogant toerag that Lockhart was, Victoria wouldn't have been surprised if Lockhart wanted the fight in the article about his book signing. Though she could bet her Galleons that Mr. Malfoy would ensure it didn't reach the papers. The Ministry wasn't the only place deep in Mr. Malfoy's pockets.

The moment when Victoria returned to her bedroom in Ten Spinner's End, Victoria had put away her new textbooks before turning to that worn copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. It was a given that someone could have left notes or other relics in this book before returning this book to Flourish and Blotts to be used second hand. Not everyone cleaned out their books before giving them away.

If it was something interesting, perhaps she would show it to Andrew or Harry.

The spine appeared to be on its last leg, so it was with great care that she opened it. The print date was thirty years ago, and it wasn't in the best of shape as she carefully skimmed through the frayed pages. The break in the book's spine forces her to reach that particular section in the book and what she found wasn't a parchment of notes. Nor a picture of some bloke's girlfriend that the previous owner could have left in by accident.

Victoria raises her eyebrow in curiosity at the sight of a small, thin, black leather book lying on one of the pages. Picking it up, she happens to turn it over to find Tom Marvolo Riddle embossed at the bottom of the back cover in golden letters.

"So, a Tom Riddle must have owned this book," she says to herself. But the name on the front cover was a Pamela Hopkins, and in the very back of the black book (which she found to be a diary given the blank pages), the print date was listed as 1941 under the name Vauxhall Road Press. Some twenty years before this edition of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration was printed.

Who owns a diary and doesn't write in it? Victoria thinks with a frown as she sifts through the yellowed, empty pages. A diary is a book where one could write their thoughts and feelings that they weren't comfortable sharing with their closest friends; an outlet for one's raw emotions. Why would anyone pass it up?

To be honest, she never thought about having a diary herself. Of course, she did have Eridani, who she revealed her parentage and now knows that she likes. She also had Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Andrew. Though, she knew that can't tell her friends everything, even if she trusted them.

Why not? She thought. It could be helpful and beneficial for her in the long run.

Well, then okay. With that, she dabs her quill in the ink and begins writing.

Dear Diary,

I never really had a diary before and never thought to have one, but I might try it out. See how it goes. Today was eventful. I went with my friends to purchase my schoolbooks, and Gilderoy Lockhart was signing copies of his autobiography, and he was so embarrassing. He pulled one of my friends next to him for a picture. It was clear that he didn't want it. Lockhart was terrible. He claims he does all these things, though he does not have the deposition of someone who did all those things. What makes it worse is that he'll be my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I don't think anything else could be worse.

In the time that it took Victoria to dip her quill for more ink, she turned back to the page to see her passage disappear into the page. Huh? Victoria raises her eyebrow. Then, words in a fine, elegant script bleed into the page under the place where she had written. How exactly, is this Lockhart terrible aside from seeming full of himself?

At that moment, her confusion was replaced with surprise. No, that was the wrong word for it. Curiosity and awe it was. Oh, it was one of those diaries. The enchanted ones that had written back to you. Swallowing hard and heart pounding, she dips the quill in the inkwell. Oh, you're one of those diaries that write back. I didn't know, she wrote under the reply.

Like the entry before, her words fade. A reply bleeds into the pages. Something like that. Why, do you prefer I not write back?

Oh, no! Victoria writes quickly. Not wanting to lose whoever was writing back to her. You have just caught me off guard, that's all.

How did you come across my diary, then?Was the question. Victoria couldn't tell if it was anger or being curious at being found. Victoria thought to be honest with this – well, his name had to be the same one embossed on the back of the book. It was the only thing that had made sense.

A sister of one of my friends traded a textbook that her mother bought her for one that was in better condition, Victoria wrote. It was in bad shape. You were where the spine was broken. Odd thing is, a Tom Marvolo Riddle didn't own that particular edition of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, and I found it strange that someone owned a diary but never bothered to write in it. Tom, are you angry that I stumbled upon your diary?

Angry? Why, I was just more curious than anything, was his answer. Also, there are better ways to preserve one's memories. Ink fades in time.

He wasn't wrong about the ink, though. How did he preserve his memories, exactly? The only other method that Victoria was aware of was the Pensieve. Before she could ask him, he wrote a new response. What's your name? Since you figured out mine.

Her name. She had already correctly guessed his name, so it would only be fair if she told him her name.

Victoria Maxima Black, she answers before quickly writing. My friends call me Vic, and the adults prefer Toria. Well, my birth surname is Mulciber. 'Black' is my mother's married name, and I adopted it. The Mulcibers never really liked me, especially this Lavinia.

Victoria writes that and watches her words fade. There's a slight pause before he writes back. Victoria Maxima. It could be translated to "Great Victory" or "Victory of the Greatest." With a name of that type of meaning, how could that family despise you so? Why do they despise you, Victoria?

She bit her lip, resting the feather of her quill against her mouth. Pondering how to answer that question when she heard Severus yell, "Toria, time for tea!"

Victoria hastily scribbles down, I'll answer that when I get back. My guardian has called me for tea. Then dashes down the steps.

A sister of one of my friends traded a textbook that her mother bought her for one that was in better condition. It was in bad shape. You were where the spine was broken.

Imagine the rage that Tom Riddle had felt as soon as those words were written on the aged pages of his diary. To think that a servant – one that seemed among the most trusted, competent, and valuable – of his elder self had slipped a fragment of himself into the textbook that belonged to a first-year, no doubt. Why I'll get Lucius one of these days, he thinks. When Lord Voldemort gets his body back, Lucius Malfoy would have to answer for that negligence.

Of course, Riddle had never allowed his anger to this potential vessel on paper. Doing so would scare this silly child off, which was the last thing he needed. It was when this girl had written her name that his anger had begun to simmer down.

Victoria Maxima Black. Formerly Mulciber. The daughter of his elder self and the elder sister of that pathetic half-breed. She had to be near twelve by now.

Riddle would have allowed his lips to curl into a satisfied smirk if he was bodily able to. That was if he had any lips. What more of a satisfying vessel than one descended from Salazar Slytherin himself? One able to speak to serpents.

Pity, as she had the capacity to open the Chamber of Secrets on her own without a guiding hand such as himself. It was her birthright, after all. Victoria was the second living descendant of Salazar Slytherin after him.

Perhaps Lucius Malfoy should be thankful that two girls thought to trade textbooks.

The conclusion of tea was followed by her brewing a Swelling Solution ("Careful, even on contact, you'll swell up"). With a couple of hours to spare before dinner, Victoria returned to her room. The black leather diary was still sitting on her desk where she left it. Carefully opening it by one of the tarnished gold corners, she picks up her quill.

Tom, are you still there? Victoria asks.

I haven't left, Victoria, was his answer. You don't have to answer the question about why the Mulciber family has such disdain for you at this time. We can talk about it another time. I apologize if that was too forward.

One part of Victoria was relieved that Tom wasn't pressuring her to answer such a question. To explain would be to also reveal that Gaius Mulciber wasn't actually her father. That her father was the darkest and evil wizard who ever lived. There was the chance that Tom Riddle wouldn't even know who Lord Voldemort was. His eleven-year reign of terror started in 1970, and Tom Riddle had been around in the forties, where Grindelwald was the dark wizard of his time.

That might be a discussion for another day.

Thank you, Tom, she wrote in response. Have you heard about Hogwarts?

That was a simple question. And if they are going to be friends, they should start with the simple things.

Turns out, Tom Riddle actually went to Hogwarts. He was even in Slytherin house, same as her. Was top of my class. Earned my prefect badge along the way.

Victoria couldn't help but visualize Alphard Lestrange and Percy Weasley respectively. Now that Tom had said that –

Are you fifteen?

Close. I'm sixteen. My birthday falls on New Year's Eve.

Sixteen. Technically, that be five years older than her. And the real Tom Riddle could be far older now than her. Maybe around Professor McGonagall's age. Yet, she didn't know whether he was alive or not. After all, this was the boy's sixteen-year-old self she was speaking to.

I'm eleven. I'll be twelve this October.

I take it that you'll be starting Hogwarts soon. Hence the question of whether I heard about Hogwarts or not.

Actually, I started a year early. I'll be in my second year. I'm also in Slytherin, just like you were.

Alas, you hail from the best Hogwarts house! He had written back. I suppose that the other three would be good, as everyone thinks theirs is the best. Wouldn't you agree?

Again, Tom was not wrong there. Andrew, Hermione, Harry, and Ron thought Gryffindor was the best house. Draco Malfoy thought that Slytherin was the best Hogwarts House and was one of the few things she and Draco had agreed on.

I do, she had written back. My brother and our friends are in Gryffindor, and they think it's the best house. Though I believe that Slytherin is the best.

"I would rather be anywhere but here," Eridani had groaned.

"I second that notion," Victoria agrees, tipping her glass of punch to her mouth.

Cassiopeia's debut ball had been underway for an hour, and it might have been a wasted hour. Victoria and Eridani had decided to make themselves sparse by sitting by the punch and hors d'oeuvre table. Watching as some of the older attendees waltzed on the Malfoy's ballroom's marble floor. Cassiopeia, without a doubt, had preferred Marcus Flint with their flirting and waltzing, even if Mrs. Malfoy was trying to divert her attention to Cassius Warrington. Who seemed to choose the company of one Penelope Padgette.

Victoria wished that she had taken Tom with her. To be alone in a room and write out her disdain for some of the other attendees. However, he was safely tucked in the top drawer of her nightstand, and it would be too risky to bring him here. She didn't want to risk anyone catching a glimpse of her sharing her thoughts with her new friend.

At some point, Victoria's wandered to where Lavinia was with her cluster of friends. Apparently liking the attention they were receiving from a few of the older boys. Then, Lavinia had locked her cold, blue eyes towards her. Bestowing Victoria a look as if she was something unpleasant in the room.

"I think I had enough, had you?" Victoria asked Eridani.

"We have to make sure that Alphard doesn't see us, though," Eridani had pointed out, nodding to her older brother. Who seemed to be laughing at whatever one of his friends was telling him.

Victoria downed the last contents of her glass and took Eridani's hand. Making sure that no one saw them before wandlessly and wordlessly disillusioned them both. Even when blending in, she made sure that no one had noticed as they left the ballroom.

Hand in hand, both girls ran down the corridors. Not stopping until they were in Eridani's room. They each grabbed a magazine, and Victoria flopped on her bed. Turning a page to Seeker Weekly.

After a few minutes of silence, Eridani had asked her, "How did it feel like? When we kissed?"

Victoria could feel the blood reach her cheeks at that question. "Well, it was like Filibuster's fireworks went off. Also, like I was taking flight. Like a bird having gained her wings. How did it feel for you?"

"Well…" Eridani drifted off, hesitating, "almost as if someone had lit a candle inside. Swelling my heart."

Victoria swallowed. Her stomach tying into knots. What she had wanted to ask, well, it was risky. For Alphard could be trying to go looking for them this very moment. "I was wondering, would it be okay to do it again?"

"Do what?" Eri had asked. "Kiss?"

"To see what it feels like this time," she had answered softly.

Victoria could see that same hesitation in her too. The fear of what might happen when they get caught. After a minute, Eridani had risen from her chair, and Victoria sat up as she sat on the bed. It was pretty silly of her, really; they had known each other since they were practically toddlers. Though it was as if it was the first time, she had seen a hint of butterscotch in her brown eyes.

Again, it didn't last long. Maybe for a few seconds, but it had felt natural like this was something that they should be doing. Seeing Eridani smile as they pulled apart, she probably felt the same.

They kissed again, though maybe a little longer than they should be for girls their age. Like a half a minute, perhaps. It was as if she had ascended to new heights. As if she was no longer that child anymore. As if they had ascended from friendship to something more.

This had felt like their real first kiss.

Victoria then placed Eridani's hand on her chest to feel her heart, which was hammering in her chest. "Let us be more than friends, Eridani Lestrange."

Have you ever kissed someone? Victoria couldn't help but ask Tom a few days later. Or thought of someone as more than a friend?

Why ask? was Tom's question. You are talking to a sixteen-year-old boy, after all.

Of course, this was a teenaged boy that she was speaking with, after all. He probably did more than just kiss at his age. Narcissa did sit her down and gave her simplistic explanations of what adults did when they loved each other. Her mother might plan on having that same conversation with her soon, for she'd be turning twelve. However, the discussion would involve girls being with boys rather than girls being with girls and boys being with boys.

Oh, did you have a girlfriend? She had asked him.

I might have, at one point or another, he said. There was this one girl. Very pretty. Though I wasn't the only one who fancied her.

I'm confident she was. Victoria didn't want Tom to get the idea that she liked girls. He did come from a time where homosexuality was a great shame. It still was in the circles of the pureblood elite, and things might not have improved on the Muggle end.

Is there a boy you like? Tom had asked.

Victoria bit her lip. Turning towards her bedroom door to make sure that Severus wouldn't decide to pop in, unannounced. This was information she was not too comfortable sharing with even her new friend.

It's complicated…really.

It must have taken him half a minute before his response came back. Ah, I see. I think I can figure out what you were implying. I assume attitudes towards homosexuality haven't changed since my time.

Victoria supposed that her cagey answer had given her away.

It's not welcome in the higher class of wizarding society, she had answered. I don't know about the Muggle end of it, though.

She held her breath as her response disappeared.

You don't need to be afraid to tell me if it's a girl you fancy, he answered without hesitation. Others might not be very excepting of such information.

At that moment, Victoria felt as if she had found another friend to confide in. To spill out her entire soul without being judged for it.

It has to be here somewhere, Edythe thinks as she pulls out her filing cabinet drawers to look for the paperwork signed in by her and Sirius a couple months before that Halloween night. Paperwork detailing the custody rights of Harry if anything happened to them. Where Harry would go if anything happened to her and Sirius. The second standby guardians in question were Andromeda and Ted Tonks, as they agreed.

It will take some effort to convince Dumbledore, Andromeda had said multiple times.

Edythe had considered going straight to Albus Dumbledore. She even had the strong temptation to march up to his office and tell him her plan. The more she thought about it, the more she had thought against it. For there be an array of his excuses he'd pull out of that hat of his.

No, she didn't need Dumbledore's input, even if she had a degree of respect for the man. Even if he disapproved of her decision, he wouldn't dare to stop her. For one time, he was quoted saying, "Never try to intercept a mother when she's on a mission. For even the most powerful of wizards would have more than they can chew with them."

Edythe pulls back a manila folder labeled 1985 casework when she sees a yellow envelope. Could this be it, she thinks as she opens it. Only to see that it's the letters she exchanged with friends and family during her school years and beyond.

Oh, how I was naïve then, she thinks as she looks over her letters. Curling her lips with a sad smile. How idealistic things have been.

At the very end of the pile of letters, she frowns when she sees another letter after the last one she had written to her father. Only for the blood to drain from the surface of her skin and her windpipe to close at the contents of it.

Dear Remus,

I can't take this anymore. It's like a never-ending nightmare that I can't wake up from. His face and his voice are burned into my memory. Sometimes, it's as if I can feel his weight on me, and I have to assure myself that I'm not there.

It all feels as if the world is caving in on me, the box getting tighter and tighter until I can't breathe. Even if Sirius tries his best to make everything better, it doesn't. It feels as if there's no light at the end of the tunnel. That I'm only walking into a dark abyss.

The only way to escape the pain and the feeling of filth, permanent darkness seems to be the only answer.

Therefore, I apologize for the grief you must feel. Just because I'll be gone physically doesn't mean I won't be there spiritually.

Please, take care of Sirius and Andrew. Tell him that this wasn't his fault. That he did all that he could, and make sure he tries not to come after him, for my sake and Andrew's. Look after Andrew, and I know he's going to be the gallant Gryffindor boy like his father.

Find peace knowing that the body left behind doesn't consume my soul. I'm free now from the pain, violation, and filth that that red-eyed demon had inflicted on me.

Ready to soar,

Edythe Hope

Edythe had clamped her hand over her mouth. The tears stream down her face as she gazes at the letter again. Oh, how she could remember how she had felted as if someone was trying to suffocate her. What Voldemort did to her combined with the guilt of leaving behind the child who he forced her to carry. No matter what she or Sirius did, she felt things weren't better than before.

She had planned on brewing two cauldrons of sleeping draught. Planning to purposely botch the brews so she wouldn't wake up. However, she was hesitant to go through with it at the thought of leaving Andrew. What had cemented her decision to go through with it, Edythe learned that she was a month along carrying her and Sirius's second child.

Edythe shook her head as she gazed at the note. No, she didn't want this. She didn't want this letter lying around reminding her of that dark chapter after her captivity. She didn't want it to send her back to the frame of mind. Not when she's trying to remove one of her son's friends – a boy who she and Sirius held dear as a baby – from an abusive home.

The blood rushes to her hands as she crumbles the letter. Gasping in breath as she throws it in the rubbish bin next to her desk.