Book Summary:
Tom Riddle Jr., age 16 wasn't a fool. He was quite brilliant in his intelligence. Which is why while Harry Potter learned how Tom got his 'award to the school' (what a laugh) he noticed something that a lesser focused intelligence person would not.
The boy had a piece, a very small piece of himself, a horcrux stuck to his forehead. Tom mentally frowned to himself.
How unstable was his physical self to stick a piece of his soul to a living human being?!
Maybe making seven horcruxes a bad idea.
Or how Tom Riddle Jr. age 16, repairs his soul and finds himself along the way.
Chapter 2
Tom was shaking and if he could have, he would have blasted the whole library to dust but that took ages to rebuilt. Which he learned the hard way the first time he did it. It was an addition to his diary but it wasn't his memories so he couldn't rebuilt it in a snap. It also resulted in the loss of anything that he didn't read up to that point.
It made him want to scream so he did. Loud and long until a single sentence wrote to him in a different format then Ginny's or Harry's handwriting. In fact it didn't look like handwriting at all.
It was printed if in a book. 'I hope that you have been enjoying learning about the past 50 years. If you need anything else, I'll be happy to answer. Hermione.'
Tom, even as a memory, felt a cold shudder go through him. He needed people to write in his diary else how would he get enough life force to become his own person again? So instead of examining why it was printed he just asked, 'You're using a typewriter?' with all the disgust that he could give in a sentence. It had better come across.
What he got back confused him greatly. "What the heck was a computer?" He wondered out loud. His books that he accidentally blasted into dust was after the two years he read, 1947 and 1948 of the muggle and wizarding world and even for him it was dry reading. It seemed that the wizarding world at least in Europe, advanced slower then turtles while the muggle world was gaining speed which left him with a sour taste in his mouth. Not that it wasn't advancing, it was just slower then pouring out molasses. Tom hated molasses.
The next few months as he conversed with Hermione or at times her intelligent, he admitted bitterly, her parents, over ah their differences of option of the muggle and magical world, he was writing a list of where his future self would have hidden his horcruxes. One was determined Hogwarts because as with Harry, it was his 'home' where? No blasted clue. As for which he objects he had hidden his soul pieces in, if he concentrated on the fading memories of his other soul piece, they had to do something with Hogwarts, and 'a memory of a great manor in a little town,' wait, his dead relatives place.
Tom for once had nothing to do, as he grudgingly started to call himself that, maybe he'll take his middle name instead, since he had been and ironically failing to Hermione's mother no less, to explain why Voldemort was a fine name.
He ended up blasting down Hogwarts repeatedly as the many, many nicknames of Voldemort that, that muggle woman came up with on the fly, echoed through his brain. Maybe he should have not used the French language, it was clearly not the most exquisite sophisticated language as he first thought.
A jolt of shock ran through his body making him drop his wand and knock him backwards. When he came to, months had past since he had instructed Hermione's parents, not the girl, to gather the ring and place it in the diary since as the larger piece, he could gather that soul fragment and bend it to his will.
Tom, as he was now calling himself to distance from that horrid nickname, groaned as the second horcrux blended and wove itself into his diary, which as he had predicted let the muggle couple, or as he had learned later, just the father, by pass the anti-muggle wards and dangerous traps since he had his diary and his magic recognized him as such, passed out.