Dear readers, here is the continuation of this fiction. We are moving forward…
The cool wind of late winter blew gently across the grounds of Hogwarts, carrying with it the last remnants of the melted snow. The first shoots of greenery timidly appeared around the Black Lake, where the icy waters began to thaw, revealing silver reflections under the pale March sun.
Hélène Rosier, wrapped in her thick emerald green woolen cloak, was sitting on a flat stone near the lake. The calming silence was only interrupted by the soft lapping of the waves against the shore. In her hands, she held an old grimoire with pages yellowed by time: The Legends of the Hogwarts Founders. The leather cover was worn, and the golden inscription was barely legible, but it was a treasure from the school library, reserved for the rare students who dared venture into its depths.
Hélène turned a page carefully, her eyes lighting up as she read about the exploits of Salazar Slytherin. She had never been able to shake off her fascination with this mysterious man, whose ideals still resonated in the minds of certain wizards in her family. However, as she read the stories of the other founders—Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, and Rowena Ravenclaw—she discovered more nuanced aspects of the school's history. Each of them had brought a unique vision, a particular strength, which together formed the soul of Hogwarts.
A rustle in the trees caught her attention, but she paid it little mind. A few minutes later, she felt a presence behind her. Turning slowly, she spotted a familiar figure: Tom Riddle.
"Hélène," he said in a soft voice, but with a strange intensity. "What are you doing here, so far from the others?"
"I'm reading," she replied calmly, reluctantly closing the book. "And you, Tom?"
An enigmatic smile appeared on his lips. "I was looking for some peace. But I must admit, I'm intrigued. This book… it's about the founders, isn't it?"
Hélène nodded. "Yes. It's fascinating to think about everything they built. Especially Salazar Slytherin."
Tom's eyes slightly lit up at the mention of Slytherin. He moved closer and sat beside her, his gaze fixed on the lake. "Slytherin understood better than anyone the dangers of blood mixing. He saw what many still refuse to see."
Hélène, though used to Tom's sharp opinions, always felt unsettled by the fervor in his voice. "Maybe. But all the founders had their secrets. Even Ravenclaw. There are rumors of a hidden room she left behind."
Tom turned his head toward her, his black eyes shining with sudden interest. "A hidden room?"
Hélène nodded. "Yes, a place where she might have kept her most valuable knowledge. Perhaps it still holds secrets about Hogwarts, secrets that no one has discovered."
Tom remained silent for a moment, his mind clearly in turmoil. "Secrets like that are dangerous in the wrong hands. But in the right hands, they could change everything."
The wind softened, like a whisper of promise, as the first signs of spring enveloped the two young wizards. Hélène felt a shiver run down her spine, but it wasn't just from the cold. There was an intensity to Tom, an ambition that both fascinated and terrified her.
"Do you think these secrets could resurface one day?" she asked, half out of curiosity, half out of fear of the answer.
Tom's smile widened, mysterious and determined. "Every secret eventually comes to light. You just need to know where to look."
Hélène looked down at the book, but her mind was troubled. Tom's presence beside her, his mysterious tone—it all made her uneasy, even though she couldn't help but be drawn to the way he spoke about Hogwarts' secrets. She wanted to change the subject, but Tom spoke again before she could.
"You know," he began, his piercing gaze fixed on her, "it's strange to see you here, so interested in Slytherin and the founders. Especially when we know you have a… special connection with Dumbledore."
Hélène's heart tightened. "How... how do you know that?" she asked softly, but her voice betrayed her concern.
Tom flashed a calculating smile. "I know a lot of things, Hélène. Dumbledore is a cautious man, but he has his weaknesses. He likes you, doesn't he? After all, you're his goddaughter."
She hugged the book to her chest as if it could protect her from the swirling thoughts in her mind. "Yes, Dumbledore is my godfather. But why does that interest you?"
Tom turned his eyes toward the lake, his expression taking on a more serious tone. "Dumbledore is a powerful man, but he doesn't understand everything. He's too attached to his ideals." He paused, before looking at her again. "And you, Hélène, are you as blind as he is? Do you really believe the world can be changed by goodness alone?"
Hélène hesitated. She had often heard such rhetoric in her own family, but hearing it from Tom had a different resonance. There was a strength in him, a conviction that seemed unshakable.
"I'm not as naive as you think," she finally responded. "But I don't believe that the world can be controlled by fear and domination either."
Tom nodded slowly, as though weighing his words. "Maybe. But there's one truth you'll have to accept one day: power is the only thing that matters. Whether to protect or to destroy, you need it. And you, with your connection to Dumbledore, could learn a lot."
Hélène felt a chill run through her, despite the warming air. She understood what Tom was implying, but she wasn't ready to cross that line. "And you, Tom, what are you really looking for?"
He stood up, his eyes still fixed on her. "What I'm looking for, Hélène, is to free this world from its illusions. And I think, despite everything, you could play an important role in that quest."
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Hélène alone with her thoughts, the wind, and the murmuring of the lake. She remained motionless, her gaze fixed on the spot where Tom had disappeared, a strange sensation of apprehension and curiosity settling inside her.
Hélène stayed still, her eyes fixed on the dark waters of the lake. Tom's words echoed within her, heavy with implications. This was not just an innocent conversation. It was an invitation, a veiled call to join his ranks. And she knew why.
She had spied on him, far more than she cared to admit to anyone. She had followed Tom down the dark corridors of Hogwarts, hidden in the castle's shadowy corners, observing his every move. She had seen the darkness grow within him, heard his whispers about immortality and ultimate power. She knew he had created Horcruxes, splitting his soul to escape death. And now, he wanted her by his side.
Hélène shivered. It wasn't just for her skills or her loyalty to Slytherin. No, Tom coveted her because he saw potential in her. An ally capable of understanding his ambitions, perhaps even sharing them. But she couldn't let that happen. She had to warn Dumbledore.
She grabbed her wand, her mind troubled but resolute. She knew Dumbledore had to be warned, not only about the Horcruxes but also about the fact that Tom was trying to recruit her. She couldn't remain passive in the face of such a great threat.
Concentrating all her energy on a happy memory, one of a peaceful moment spent with her godfather, discussing light and magic in the gardens of Hogwarts, she whispered:
"Expecto Patronum."
A silvery light burst from her wand, forming a graceful and luminous otter. Hélène felt comfort in its presence, but her heart remained heavy.
Approaching her Patronus, she spoke softly but with a new intensity. "Find Dumbledore. Tell him that Tom Riddle has made Horcruxes, but most of all, tell him that he wants to recruit me. He sees me as a potential ally. We must act, before it's too late."
The otter watched her, as if it understood the gravity of the message, then darted swiftly across the grounds, disappearing into the castle's darkness.
Hélène was left alone, breathless, her mind in turmoil. She knew Dumbledore would take her warning seriously. But that didn't mean the road ahead would be easy. She had taken a huge risk spying on Tom, uncovering his secrets, and now revealing that she was a target for him.
Staring at the horizon with fierce determination, she murmured: "You won't have me, Tom. I'll never be one of yours."