It wasn't until she was back home in the comfort of Castle Lestrange that she would happen upon the book.
Her personal house elf, Fester, who had taken care of her since birth, always left her new books in a neatly organised pile atop her desk in the private study. Bella, in turn, would sort through them and decide where to put them: in the ever-expanding library; her private collection in the study; or, perhaps, the even-more-private dark arts collection hidden in the secret chamber within the family mausoleum. Bella had always valued her books above everything else in her life; knowledge, after all, was power.
This, though...this was something she had no knowledge of ever purchasing.
Her brilliant mind flickered its way through the events of the day until she stopped at the brawl between Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley in Flourish and Blotts. Hmm. So she had felt Lucius slip something into her enchanted book bag...how very curious. Surely he knew she'd trace it back to him, so why...curious, very curious indeed.
Her immediate suspicion was that the book must be cursed. Narcissa Malfoy was the sister of the other Bella Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange...her aunt by marriage. She had been present when Rodolphus and Rabastan had tortured and murdered her parents. Lucius himself had been a known Death Eater, though, unlike their shared in-laws and unfortunate relatives, he had vehemently denied his conscious involvement with the Dark Lord. Under the Imperius Curse...Bewitched...Blackmailed...please. As if Lucius Malfoy ever needed encouragement to hunt muggles and further his family's social standing.
The diary, however, appeared entirely harmless. It was from a Muggle shop, of all things. Nothing worked. Neither her spells nor her potions, nor her Revealer, nor the cursed scrying pendant she'd bought from Knockturn Alley. Bella knew there was powerful magic involved. She could feel it, calling to her...like some old family friend aching to reunite with her. Fester refused to touch the book when she held it out to him, which was the only real test Bella could do to prove there was dark magic involved. Some sort of curse...but not immediately fatal. How very intriguing.
For the most part, its pages were entirely untouched. There was a bit of smudged ink on the first page, which Bella could only just make out to read T. M. Riddle. She was sure she had heard that name before, Riddle...she wasn't sure where. It certainly didn't belong to any of the Wizarding families she knew. Even more intriguing. Every time Bella held the book she felt...powerful. Like she was holding her wand. it was a heady sort of fuzzy warm feeling that Bella didn't care for very much, at least when she felt she wasn't in control of it. She could only compare it to her silly newfound crush on stupid, blond, beautiful Cedric Diggory, who sat behind her in nearly all of her classes.
And so, utterly vexed that she couldn't quite figured the book out, Bella decided to test her new quill on it instead. She had always kept a diary...perhaps not in the traditional sense, but she liked to write out all her thoughts, her theories, her private projects and her endeavors. It helped her sort through the overabundance of information she force-fed her brain both at school and in the comfort of her own home, and, she supposed, her legacy would live on through her works should she meet a sticky end.
That very night, Bella dipped her new quill into a new ink pot, and began to write out the date. Began, because, well, she never got past her first stroke.
The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it was being sucked into the page, vanished. Bella pulled up short with a frown, waiting for something to happen. When it didn't, she grew even more suspicious, loading up her quill a second time before she put her qull to paper once more.
What are you?
The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank without trace. Then, at last, something happened.
Not 'what', but rather 'who'. Is that any way to say hello?
She paused. Bella had read about vanishing cabinets, perhaps this was a similar concept.
I wasn't aware I was in correspondence with a pen pal, Mr. Malfoy. Though, I must admit, this is a very clever little trick.
I'm afraid the only Mr. Malfoy I know may already be dead. My name is Tom Riddle. Might I enquire who I'm speaking to? How have you come to possess my diary?
Bella's heart was beginning to beat a little faster, and her ears were very hot. Tom Riddle...why do I know the name Tom Riddle? She wanted to point out that they weren't speaking at all, b ut rather writing to one another. More words came out on the page.
I vow no harm shall come to you from my person nor my possession. It's been a terribly long time since I've last spoken to anyone...it has been quite lonely.
Tom Riddle's handwriting was very elegant, she'd give him that much. The inquisitive side of her mind was starting to win out. She wanted to know how the diary worked, and how a man was writing to her through it. Where was he? Did the diary work no matter how far she was from him? Was he a Muggle? How old was he to know old Abraxas Malfoy? Or better still, one of his forefathers? Did he know her father? Did he know her grandfather?
My name is Bella Lestrange.
Riddle's reply came quickly.
A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Lestrange.
And then, a moment later.
Bella is a very pretty name. Italian, perhaps? I believe it means 'beautiful one'.
Bella flushed a little, and felt terribly silly for it.
Short for Belladonna.
Ah, like the flower. Vicious little thing, the belladonna plant. I remember from my herbology lessons that it is the most toxic plant known. Every inch of it is poison, from root to bud. A curious choice to name one's daughter.
You went to Hogwarts?
Why yes. Are you a student there, Miss Lestrange? I was under the impression the House of Lestrange was based in France.
It was. They branched off before my time, the French line continued until my mother; the English line until my father and his brothers. I'm afraid the name shall end with me.
The Last Lestrange. How privileged I feel to meet you at all. It must be quite a thing to be the very end of a legacy as lasting as your House. A burden, I'm sure.
And a gift. It's not every day a daughter inherits as much as I already have.
I'm very sorry for your loss. Just your father,or...?
Both. My uncles are still alive, though they won't inherit. Life sentences in Azkaban, for killing my parents.
And here I thought the words of House Lestrange were 'Corvus oculum corvi non eruit. A crow will not pull out the eye of another crow.
Are you a pureblood, Mr. Riddle? You seem very well-versed in your pureblood histories, though I confess I've never heard of the name Riddle before.
Tom, please. I must insist you call me Tom. And I'm afraid I was a halfblood, Miss Lestrange. I must stress on the 'was' for I have already regrettably been informed of my passing, at least, in my mortal form.
Bella frowned down at the book.
I thought you were writing to me from a matching diary. A bonding spell of some sort, like the magic that binds vanishing cabinets to one another.
You certainly know your magic. It's refreshing to come across a mind as inquisitive as my own. Might I enquire if you are a Ravenclaw? A fitting home for a Lestrange, I'm sure. As for the diary, I'm afraid it is the only one of its kind. I discovered a way of recording my memories in my final year at Hogwarts, but alas, I shall be eternally seventeen within the pages of this book.
Like a pensive, then.
And no, I'm a Slytherin.
Then we have more in common than I first presumed. I was Head Boy during my time at Hogwarts. Slytherin House enjoyed a very long uninterrupted streak of winning the House Cup, it was a wonderful time to be a part of.
Yes and no. While I can show you my memories, exactly like a pensieve, I have modified the magic to contain more than just my memories...it carries my very essence, in a way. My consciousness, at least as it was when I was seventeen. I can think freely while trapped as I am within the pages of this book. At least, so long as someone is writing to me.
Is that what it's like, when the book's closed? Are you sleeping?
Not really. It's hard to explain...it's more like...waiting. For someone to pick me up. For you.
There was that terrible fuzzy feeling again.
What year is it, Miss Lestrange?
Bella. If I'm calling you Tom, you may as well call me Bella.
Very well, Bella it is.
It's 1992.
Fifty years, then. Goodness, how time flies.
Tell me about yourself, Bella. I want to know the young woman taking care of me.
What do you want to know?
Everything.
Bella wasn't entirely a fool. She kept to the basics, things she couldn't see being of any use, things other people were privy to.
I'm fourteen, I'm about to start my fourth year at Hogwarts. We've already established I'm a Slytherin.
Yes, though it was quite obvious. You seem far too clever for Gryffindor or Hufflepuff.
You thought I was a Ravenclaw.
A mistake on my part. A Ravenclaw would already have asked me how I created this enchantment.
I do still want to know how you modified the pensieve magic, Tom.
We have time. What do you look like, Bella? I'm trying to envision my company.
You can't see me?
All I can see is your excellent penmanship.
Bella chuckled at that. I have dark hair and light eyes.
Come now, Bella, you can do much better than that. Write me a picture of you. Make me see you.
And so she did. Bella spent the entire night writing to Tom, so invested in their conversation she ignored the tray of dinner Fester brought to her study. Bella moved from her desk to the couch by the fire with a blanket over her lap, settling in. By morning, she had run out of all the ink in the castle, and cursed, promising Tom she wouldn't be away long. She doesn't send Fester—she had always insisted on buying her things by herself, but she'd been desperate enough to contemplate changing her mind. The shop assistant at Scribbulus' gave her a very odd look as she packed thirty ink pots into a box to carry back home. It wasn't all for Tom, she reasoned, Bella ran through ink faster than anyone she knew.
By the end of summer vacation, Tom Riddle had consumed her entire being. Somewhere, deep down, Bella was inherently suspicious of the boy in her diary. A part of her knew this was something different...an obsession. It was a dirty word to Bella. She didn't like it. She felt as if she was giving power to him, no matter how consciously, by allowing him to rule her every thought and her every dream. She knew it wasn't something she could control, really, and allow wasn't quite the right word, but that only made her feel worse. Bella didn't enjoy not being in control. And the truth was, no matter how aware of it she was, Tom was starting to control her. He'd stopped being so sweet, so polite. He'd be upset with her if she didn't write to him when she said she would.
Bella cared too much about whether or not she upset him.
Still, she couldn't stop writing to the boy in her diary. No one had ever understood her the way Tom did. She trusted him. Tom didn't judge her darker interests. Tom felt the same way. Tom wanted to know all the same things. Tom wanted to do all the same things. It made Bella's heart do funny things, being able to talk to someone as freely as she could Tom. In so many ways, she felt as if she were talking to herself. Tom was a comforting presence in her life, something unusually familiar, like a long lost older brother or a twin. Except Bella didn't want to think of Tom as her brother. No, she didn't much like the idea of that at all.
It had been just days before the train to Hogwarts when he'd felt he could trust her enough to show her his memories. It had felt quite a lot like entering a pensieve, as he'd promised, only, Bella was sure her entire body had been consumed by the diary the moment she'd peered through the little square of light on the page. She had been frightened at once, worried Tom had trapped her in the diary with him.
And then, the moment she first saw him, she decided maybe this wouldn't be the worst way to die.
The resemblance was uncanny. He had the same fine, meticulously styled raven hair. His skin was the same alabaster, entirely flawless. His bone structure was equally refined, noble, all sharp angles and perfect cheekbones and razor jawlines. His lips were the same, too, soft and pink and topped with a cupid's bow. His nose was just as long, just as perfect. Just as tall, just as lean, just as proud-shouldered. His eyes, though, were an inkwell blue, deeper and richer than Bella's bright technicolor. And Merlin did she know she was in trouble then. Bella had always been quite terribly vain, and here was this boy who looked very near her mirror image. Only taller, older, better. It was a very, very, very twisted sort of attraction, but it tugged at her navel in a way it never had for golden, gleaming Cedric Diggory. Tom Riddle was dark. Dangerous. Her very own personal addiction in the form of a long-dead boy.
It was a simple memory he'd wished to show her. Tom sat at the very same place she always had, by the Black Lake, basking under the summer sun like a lawn snake beneath her tree. He was writing to himself in the diary, and, Bella could see herself in the exact same spot writing in a very similar book exactly fifty years on. This was what he had wanted to show her, of course, how similar they were. This, she agreed, was a very odd sort of coincidence. In the distance, Bella could see other Hogwarts students, the girls dressed far more conservatively, the boys all well-groomed, talking, walking, laughing, playing catch-the-quaffle. They were all in groups, and here was Tom, the outcast, all alone. And in his loneliness Bella saw her own, and she ached. She ached in a way she never allowed herself to ache. Ached all over until she sighed and sat down beside him, the weight of her own self-inflected torment bearing down on her very soul. It was terribly obvious Tom in the memory couldn't hear her, couldn't feel her, couldn't see her…but she didn't care. She rested her head on his shoulder and shut her eyes, and felt entirely at peace, listening to the birds chirping up in their tree, feeling the sun beat down upon her face. When Bella next opened her eyes, she was lying on her couch, cold, alone. She had never felt more miserable.
It took a long while to get started the morning she had to leave. Bella hadn't been sleeping very well since she'd found the diary. She'd often had nightmares before that, but Bella had noticed Tom made them go away. She presumed it was because her mind was so preoccupied with him, but she wasn't sure which was worse, the restless nights and the terrible frights or not noticing she'd stayed up until dawn again for a boy she could never have.
Fester took her to King's Cross, as he always had. Bella sat at the back of the Slytherin carriage as she always did, scribbling away to Tom.
Your grandmother didn't see you off?
She thinks the door to her bathroom is the door to her Charms class at Beauxbatons, and that I'm her sister Selene. She died in 1939. Believe me, Grandmother isn't going to notice I'm even gone.
I still can't understand how you grew up the way you did and still ended up such a profoundly brilliant witch.
Yes you do, Tom. You raised yourself just the same.
It's different. I had no choice. I needed to survive the Muggles, and the war. If I didn't swim I'd sink.
If I was anything short of who I am and what I can do, the sharks would've smelt blood and come for my birthright. Survival comes in many forms.
I wish we had been alive at the same time. It would've been nice to spend my school years with you…with a friend.
I'm your friend now, Tom.
You know that's not enough…I fear I will never be.
You wouldn't happen to know where someone's hidden away a Time-Turner, would you?
Would you do that for me? Truly? Leave your whole world behind…your life?
It was only a joke, Tom. I'm sorry, I know that doesn't always travel well in writing.
I still want to know your answer, little snake.
Rhetorically?
Very well.
I don't see why not. It's not like there's anything in particular holding me here. There would be benefits, of course. I would already know what is still yet to pass, and I'd be able to manipulate those events in my favor. Save my parents, perhaps. Save the child I would become. Further my fortunes and favors, from the shadows. Then again, the version of me who would be with you, in your time…I suppose she would suffer. I wouldn't be afforded the independence I have now, as a woman and a witch in the modern world. I would be little more than a broodmare to be sold off to the highest bidder. I have higher ambitions than that.
I wouldn't let that happen to you. Your mind is too valuable to be squandered for a task as menial as child-rearing. You were meant for more.
You wouldn't have a say, Tom.
I would make sure I did.
I know my histories, Tom. Society cared far more for blood then than they do now. You have neither name nor wealth, and so you'd have as little power as I would for my mere gender.
You can have all the money in the world and wield no power. The only Power that matters is in the hands of those strong enough to wield it. You will be the most powerful witch there ever was, Bella. I know it in my very soul.
Enough. We're getting off-track, this was supposed to be a rhetorical situation.
Yes, I suppose it was. I'm sorry if I've upset you…I suppose I've always been very protective of things that belong to me.
Bella raised an eyebrow at the diary, a little amused.
I wasn't aware I was a thing to be possessed, least of all by you. In fact, I was fairly certain it was I who was in possession of the object you've trapped yourself in.
Oh but I do possess you, little snake. You can't put me down even if you wanted to.
I'm very tempted to prove you wrong, Riddle.
A fruitless venture. Even if you win, we both lose.
I will have to put you down, though. I'm not sure you've had the opportunity to experience how devoted I am to my studies yet, Tom. There might be days I can't write to you at all.
Well then I must ask of you a simple promise.
Yes?
Every night before you go to bed, say good night. That's all. Just a good night so I know you're still with me.
Are you afraid I'll abandon you?
I'm more afraid of what I'll do with myself in a world I can no longer know you, Bella. I imagine it'll be quite like never seeing the sun again after years of sunrises and sunsets. Your very memory shall haunt me…even taunt me.
You're very poetic when you try to be, Tom. If I were a girl of weaker constitution, I might have fawned over that.
How fortunate I am that my little Bella can see through all my best tricks.
Wit aside, I'm quite fond of your stronger constitution…why settle for prey when I can find myself in the company of a fellow predator?
Funny, this predator's still not sure if she wants you as a companion or if she simply wants to eat you alive.
I'm sure it would be a very enjoyable experience.
Will you try the restricted section tonight, like I told you?
Not tonight.
Tom had told Bella about a book he'd checked out when he was still at Hogwarts that might be of interest to her. The only real issue was that it was in the restricted section. Tom had had a very easily-manipulated Head of House in his time, and no one had bat an eye for the perfect Head Boy doing a bit of further reading for his DADA lessons. Times had changed, though, and Bella doubted she'd be able to convince Snape to let her have a browse behind Madam Pince's desk. Tom had been trying to convince her to sneak in using a disillusionment charm, which Bella'd had a natural gift for since she was a young child, sneaking around Castle Lestrange invisible to even the ghosts...she could do it, she supposed. It would be all too easy. Still, she wanted to wait to see how daft Lockhart was. It would be pretty easy to convince Madam Pince she was just doing research for DADA if she checked out books on the Dark Arts. Knockturn had its options, of course, but rarely anything Bella could find useful. The Ministry raids were growing in their numbers, sweeping away anything remotely interesting before she could throw her galleons at it.
When?
A week from now, maybe two. I'll need to let everyone settle in first, let the Slytherins form a routine so no one will rat me out for points or blackmail me should I be noticed out of bed after hours. It gives me enough time to butter up Lockhart, too, so I can still try out my plan first.
As you wish...but I wouldn't dally. You'll need time to brew that particular potion, and the closer you get to the Winter months the more difficult it will be to find certain...shall we say 'rare' ingredients.
I'll get it done, Tom.