Chapter 13- A Tale of Two Toms

Two chapters in one day because I had Jury Duty sitting around waiting for a trial that never happened, and I could write all day.

Deep beneath the warmth of the halls, a twisted conversation took place.

"I have seen only one mudblood harmed, boy. I distinctly recall stating that I required seven attacks this past week." Draco Malfoy huddled at the feet of a robed figure, grasping the diary close to his chest.

"I know my lord. I was just, I was writing to Tom and he…"

"DON'T USE THAT NAME IN FRONT OF ME! Crucio!" The small body shrieked like a victim burning alive, before falling still. Draco twitched unnervingly, but managed to pull himself up pulled out a quill.

"What are you doing Malfoy?"

"Talking to T-…. My friend." Draco wrote out a plea with the hand that was still burning from the white-hot pain.

I need your help Tom. I want to help you, not this fake. He's just a filthy half-breed freak. You're the only one who can help me.

I can help you Draco. Just keep writing.

What do you mean?

I know exactly what you mean about that version of myself. He wants to hurt you to get his way. I want to be your friend.

The Dark Lord lowered himself to the ground. Quirrel's hood was pulled down so that he could look directly into the face of his late lieutenant's son.

"You can become the greatest of wizards Draco. Just listen to me, and use that power to do my bidding, and you and your entire family will rise again to greatness."

Draco took the pain and prepared himself. "Yes my lord. I will do as you command.

Draco returned to the world of light, and sat down to speak to his one true friend. He had been left behind by the other Slytherins after he began to get engrossed in the Diary. Now he hardly slept, and just spent time writing.

How are we going to get away with this now Tom? If we don't start the attacks again, he'll kill me.

I understand your fears Draco. But we have to be smart. That last attempt nearly got us captured. The teachers are on guard. They all know that an attack could happen any day. The dark lord is clearly a fool. He only cares about his plans in the short term, and cares nothing for the good of the pure blood race.

Then what should we do?

We have two options Draco. We could try to attack again. Perhaps we succeed, and the dark lord will give you your life for a short while longer. Or you help me to fight him.

Fight You-Know-Who?

Yes.

How?

I can work on it from here. My power grows daily, while the lord of parasites just feeds off his host, becoming weak. He needs us to control the beast, but we don't need him at all. Just keep writing, and all will be solved. Believe in me. Believe in Tom Riddle.

Draco managed to rouse himself from bed to go to class. He knew if Quirrel didn't account for his presence, the dark lord would think something amiss. He knew the class would have Potter in it, and was hoping for a chance to hurt him later that day. He had spent far more of his time talking to Tom about ways to make Potter suffer. Tom had convinced him that it must have been Potter that had killed his father. Tom was right about everything after all.

Perhaps I can use the Cruciatus curse on him later today. That would be a fitting way to make him suffer.

Perhaps. We do need to make sure that Mr. Potter is dealt with before we can escape this place. It wouldn't do to have me leaving your first request unfulfilled, would it? And Tom Riddle always keeps his promises.

Then it's settled. I'll find a time to burn his sanity from his mind, and leave him with just enough sense to see that it's me as I plunge in the knife.

Excellent Draco. You are beginning to see exactly how one must deal with their enemies. Even a month ago you weren't sure you could kill a person with your bare hands.

I could do anything for you.

I know you could.

After class, Quirrel called Draco up to the desk. "D-Draco. Have you p-p-prepared that assignment I had requested after last class."

"Yes sir." Draco said, clutching his books. "It will be done tonight."

"Excellent."

Draco turned to see Harry Potter staring at him from the door, and he quickly shut it and left. The anger in Malfoy burned, and he knew that there wasn't much time left.

Time crept slowly that evening. Draco stayed in his room in the Slytherin halls, simply writing to Tom.

Once we kill him, you'll have enough power to protect us from You-Know-Who, right?

Yes Draco. Everything will be fine. Every word you write fills me with energy, and soon, I will be as strong as you. Just a few moments more, and we can go out to do everything that you wish to achieve and more.

I don't need anyone else.

Thank you for all of your help. I hope you don't suffer much as the transfer begins.

The last thought Draco had before he collapsed was a feeling of joy and ecstasy.

Out of thin air stepped a fully formed young man about 16 years old. He was incredibly handsome, with dark hair and sculpted features. He strode forward to grab the wand from the unconscious form in front of him, and felt the warmth of magic in his fist. It was not his preferred core material of phoenix feather, but that could be arranged soon enough.

"I sincerely thank you little one. Now, Lord Voldemort returns, and the failing Malfoy line finally falls." Tom Riddle took his first real steps on the stone floor, and began to head out for his escape. He thought he might take a nice holiday to recollect the disparate parts of his soul. Even though he had regained his full soul, he could still feel the anchoring of those pieces, drawing him to their hiding places. Riddle couldn't have felt more alive.