Chapter Text
Harry Potter was a 12 year old wizard when he found a leather covered book in a flooded bathroom floor. An out-of-use girl's bathroom on the second floor to be exact. He decided to take it with him and try to restore it —maybe he could gift it to Hermione—, only to find out later that it was no book at all, it was a diary.
Tom Marvolo Riddle's Diary. And after the first time he wrote on it and it wrote him back, his life changed forever.
In the confines of his dormitory at Gryffindor Tower, securely hidden behind the closed curtains of his bed, Harry sat hunched over the tattered old diary, his quill scratching feverishly across the yellowed pages. The only source of light came from a small lumos ball perched above his head on the canopy, casting eerie shadows on the sheets. As he dipped his quill into the inkpot once more, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over him ever since he had stumbled upon the diary. It had been a very lucky discovery, by the kind of luck that only seemed to happen to him.
At first, Harry had been drawn to the diary out of sheer curiosity, but after the initial shock by the revelation that the Diary happened to have an intelligence and magic of its own, making Harry feel like he was talking to a real person through its pages, he found himself captivated by the eloquent and beautiful handwriting that seemed to leap off the parchment and right into his mind. But it was not just the words written back to him that held him spellbound; it was the voice behind them. The voice of Tom Riddle, a teenage boy who had lived in Hogwarts decades before him, yet whose presence seemed to permeate every inch of the diary. There was something hauntingly familiar about Tom, something that resonated with Harry on a different level than with any of his friends.
As Harry delved deeper into the diary, he found himself drawn into Tom's world, a world of black and white secrets, of frozen scenery and lonesome longing. And with each passing day, he felt growing closer to the enigmatic boy whose soul was trapped within the pages of the diary. No one had understood Harry like Tom did. No one had listened to him the way Tom did. In the diary, Harry found a kindred spirit, someone who seemed to share his fears and his doubts, his hopes and his dreams. Someone who saw him for who he truly was, not the Boy Who Lived, but a lonely boy searching for his place in the world. It was a strange and unlikely friendship, Harry knew that much, who in their right mind would be friends with the memory of a person trapped inside a diary? But to Harry, it didn't matter. In Tom, he had found a confidant, a companion, a soul mate.
Night after night, Harry poured his heart out to the diary, sharing his innermost thoughts and feelings. He told Tom about his struggles at Hogwarts, his difficult childhood with the Dursleys, his concern over the monster that seemed to be after muggleborns, like his best friend Hermione, and how the adults at Hogwarts didn't seemed to want to do much to protect the students, but beyond all, his longing for a sense of belonging. They were so similar, Tom told him he had been an orphan himself and the hardships Harry seemed to endure in his relatives' house, Tom happened to live it as well in the Orphanage. So in return, Tom offered words of wisdom, words of comfort, words that seemed to soothe the ache in Harry's soul.
But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. There was a darkness lurking within the diary, a darkness that whispered to him in the dead of night, tempting him with promises of power and glory. And even as he tried, Harry couldn't resist its pull. He found himself drawn deeper and deeper into Tom's frozen world, unable to break free from the grip of the diary's magic. It was as if Tom's spirit had woven itself into the very fabric of Harry's being, leaving him powerless to resist its influence.
Harry knew that he couldn't continue down this path, his friends were noticing already and worrying about him, even when he snapped at them short-tempered with sunken glassy eyes and walking on lower energy each day like a ghost around the castle. He knew that he had to find a way to break free from the diary's hold, to reclaim his own identity before it was too late. And so, with a heavy heart and a determined spirit, Harry resolved to confront Tom about the darkness that lurked within its pages and maybe get an explanation from what the Diary was really doing to him. As his hands softly caressed the leather of the cover, Harry knew that he could no longer turn back. For better or for worse, his fate was now intertwined with that of Tom, the memory of a boy who had long since lost his way.
And just when he was determined to end it all, the Diary of Tom Riddle disappeared from his hands.
⊶
The cold chill of fear gripped Harry's heart as he frantically searched through his belongings, his hands trembling with panic. The diary was nowhere to be found. It was as if it had simply vanished into thin air leaving Harry feeling empty and alone, but there was no time to dwell on his loss, no time to wallow in self-pity. He had been so invested with it that he had completely forgotten about the dark shadow that loomed over Hogwarts.
Hermione, his loyal friend, his voice of reason, laid petrified in the hospital wing and all because Harry had been too blind, too foolish, to see the danger that had been lurking right under his nose. He had ignored her warnings, dismissed her fears, brushed aside her concerns. And now, he was left to bear the weight of his guilt alone.
Even as the tension closed in around him, Harry refused to give in to despair. He refused to let fear dictate his actions, to let regret consume his soul for he knew that there was still hope, still a chance to set things right. With a steely determination, Harry resolved to uncover the truth behind the Chamber of Secrets and to unravel the mystery that had plagued Hogwarts for generations. He would delve into the depths of the castle, confront the monster that lay in wait and rescue Hermione from her icy prison. But first, he needed answers. He needed to know what had happened to the diary, what role it played in this unfolding tragedy. And so, with a renewed sense of purpose, Harry set out to retrace his steps, to follow the breadcrumbs left behind by Hermione's research and together with Ron had barely made it out alive from the Forbidden Forest after a visit to Aragog and his big terrifying family.
Time was running out, the hourglass of fate slowly ticking away. And with each passing moment, the threat of the Chamber loomed larger, more ominous, more deadly. Harry knew that he couldn't afford to fail, that he couldn't let fear hold him back. For Hermione, for his friends, for Hogwarts itself, he would face whatever lay ahead with courage and determination. Together they would uncover the truth and they would vanquish the monster.
And then... the message written in blood on the wall became a grim warning that slapped Harry in the face sharply, echoing in his mind like a haunting refrain.
"Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever."
The words sent a shiver down Harry's spine, a chill that seemed to seep into his very bones. He knew what it meant, knew the danger that lurked in the depths of the castle, waiting to strike at any moment. And he knew that he was partly to blame. In his obsession with the diary, in his desperate need for connection and understanding, Harry had neglected his duties as a student, as a friend, as a protector. He had allowed himself to become lost in his longing, to become ensnared in the web of Tom Riddle's manipulations. And now, his negligence had cost him dearly.
⊶
The air in the Chamber of Secrets was thick with humidity, heavy with the weight of centuries-old secrets and ancient magic. Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he ventured deeper into the dank, dimly lit chamber, his footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. He had come down with Ron and Lockhart, after they practically forced the professor to come over with them and ended up being a nuisance, that's why he had to leave them behind and venture into the Chamber alone.
Finally, with the soft light casted by Harry's wand, he saw her. Ginny. Lying motionless on the cold wet floor of the chamber, her fiery red hair spread out like a halo around her pale and unconscious form. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest as he rushed to her side, his hands trembling with fear for the worst, but before he could reach her, before he could even register what was happening, his gaze was drawn to the figure looming over her.
And in that moment, Harry's heart stopped.
It was him. Tom Riddle. The memory of a boy long gone, brought back to life in a twisted echo of the past. His dark curls framing his handsome features, his eyes gleaming with such malice Harry had never seen before.
For a fleeting moment, Harry's mind reeled with shock and disbelief. How could it be possible? How could Tom Riddle be standing before him, alive and whole. But then, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Harry realized the truth: The diary. The diary that had captivated him, that had ensnared him in its web of lies and deceit. Understanding in the voice of Hermione inside his head was saying that he was the one responsible for Ginny's plight, the one who had unleashed the monster lurking within the Chamber.
"Tom?" He asked with a trembling voice, holding to a last shred of hope and still denying himself to believe his Tom was the one behind this nightmare in Hogwarts. "How… W-what are you doing here?"
"I should have expected you to come to play the hero," the teenager breathed out with sarcasm, his dark eyes staring fixedly on the younger boy.
"But... what... Tom, please... This can't be true." Harry stared back, his body tense and his heart painfully broken inside his chest. "You can't be the one behind all of this."
"Oh, but I am, Harry. I've been pulling the strings from the very beginning. Ginny was merely a vessel for my will, a pawn in my game."
"No, you're lying. Ginny would never..."
"Ginny was weak, Harry. Vulnerable. I took advantage of her insecurities, her fears. It was all too easy to manipulate her into doing my bidding."
After a tense silence Harry's trembling voice asked what he so badly needed to say, "But why? Why would you do something like this?"
"It is my birthright, Harry. As a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, it is my duty to carry on his legacy, to cleanse Hogwarts of those unworthy of magic." The way this Tom appeared in front of him, so proper, so cold... so detached, it scared Harry the most.
"You don't mean that..." Harry stared down, feeling too sad and too angry to keep looking at the other boy. "You know that's not what Hogwarts stands for. Hogwarts is meant to be home for every child with magic..."
"Your naivety astounds me. Hogwarts is a place of power, a place where the pure-blooded should reign supreme over all kinds of magic, as is their right. Muggleborns have no place here, they're the ones destroying our traditions and our way of living."
The frown in the gryffindor boy deepened, "No, you're wrong. Hogwarts is more than just bloodlines and ancestry. It's a sanctuary, a refuge for all who seek knowledge and acceptance." His eyes ended up finding Tom's again, "You should know it better than anyone..." with this words Tom flinched, he had shared with Harry the truth about his origins, about how the blood of some nasty muggle ran in his veins just as much as the last vestige of the great Salazar Slytherin, but Harry just continued, "I refuse to believe that hatred and bigotry are the foundations of our world. I refuse to stand idly by while innocent people suffer because of these twisted beliefs."
"You cannot stop me, Harry Potter. The Chamber has been opened and nothing can stand in my way now." The finality in his words were frightening, but Harry just felt more instigated by the challenge they represented.
"I can try. I can fight back. I won't let you hurt Ginny, Hermione or anyone else."
Tom closed his eyes and some hissing words in Parseltongue echoed in the Chamber, the air grew heavy with anticipation. Riddle's dark eyes gleamed with triumph as he summoned the Basilisk, confident that its menacing presence would be enough to quell any resistance from the Potter boy. But as the monstrous serpent slithered into view, its eyes a beacon of imminent death, Tom's confidence began to waver after watching in disbelief how Harry stood his ground. His face a mask of determination, his eyes blazing with a fire that burned brighter than Fiendfyre.
At that moment, Tom felt a pang of something he couldn't quite name. Was it Doubt? Guilt? Or perhaps something else entirely? He had never anticipated that Harry would be so stupid brave, so defiant in the face of such overwhelming odds. He watched Harry face the Basilisk and his heart clenched with distress. He had not wanted this for the boy, had not intended for him to be put in harm's way. And yet, here they were, locked in a battle that no one asked from the young boy, with the ridiculous help of a Phoenix and Hogwarts' sorting hat.
Even as he struggled with his own conflicting emotions thoughts, Tom couldn't deny the bond that had grown between them. He had never expected to find a resemblance of a coequal in Harry Potter, never expected to feel a connection so strong, so undeniable. And now, as he watched Harry fight for his life, he ached with the realization that he didn't want to lose him. He didn't want to see him hurt, didn't want to see him suffer. He wanted Harry by his side, wanted him to share together the power and the glory that awaited them.
"Harry," Tom called out, his voice tinged with distress. "You don't have to do this. Join me instead and together we can rule over Hogwarts as true heirs of Slytherin, you speak parseltongue as do I, what other proof do we need? Together, we can force our mark on history, we can make things right for us after the way the world has treated us."
But oh, Harry's resolve remained unshaken, his determination unwavering. He was so damn stubborn! With the help of that stupid phoenix blinding Slytherin's magnificent beast and the Sword of Gryffindor that came out of nowhere, Harry faced the Basilisk head-on, his courage a beacon of hope in the darkness. And as the battle raged on, as spells flew and fangs clashed, Tom couldn't help but admire the boy standing before him. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the one who had defied all odds and triumphed over the Dark Lord time and time again.
Tom knew that he had underestimated Harry, had underestimated the power of friendship and loyalty that the boy so proudly flagged around. And as the realization washed over him, he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there was still salvation for him yet. Harry had opened up himself completely to him, to the fragment of corrupted soul forgotten by a darker monster fifty years ago. For Tom, it had always been power or ambition that defined him. But for Harry it was the choice to do what was just and right, the bonds he forged, the love he dared to feel for others. And as he watched Harry, Tom Riddle couldn't help but feel a flicker of something he had long thought lost.
Hope.
In the blink of an eye later Harry Potter bravely slayed the Basilisk with the Sword deep into the mouth of the beast. The air inside of the Chamber grew thick with tension, heavy with the weight of impending doom as the Basilisk fell, its monstrous form crumbling to the ground in defeat. A deafening silence fell over as Tom Riddle stood frozen in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief soon turned to horror as he saw the deadly fang that pierced through Harry's arm, its venom seeping into the boy's broken body. Time seemed to stand still as the reality of the situation crashed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him reeling in bewilderment.
"No..." Tom whispered, his voice barely audible above the sound of his own racing heart. "No. This can't be happening!"
The sight before him left no room for denial. Harry lay crumpled on the cold damp floor of the chamber, his face pale and drawn, his breaths shallow and labored. The venom coursed through his veins like liquid fire, its deadly poison threatening to consume him from within.
In that moment all of Tom's grand plans, all of his ambitions and desires, paled in comparison to the sight of Harry's broken form. He had never wanted this for the boy, had never intended for him to pay such a heavy price for his own folly. He didn't realize when he had knelt down beside Harry, nor did he notice his hands trembling. Tom felt a surge of emotions wash over him that he had never felt before. Guilt. Anguish. Desperation. He never imagined that his quest for power would lead to such devastation, would bring pain and suffering to the only one he came to care about.
And yet, as he looked into Harry's eyes, clouded with pain but still burning with determination, Tom knew that he couldn't give up hope. He couldn't let Harry's sacrifice be in vain. He had to find a way to save him, to undo the damage that had been done.
"Please... Harry, stay with me." He held up the boy into his lap, as a sense of helplessness washed over him like a tidal wave. But even in the face of despair, even as the darkness closed in around them, Tom couldn't shake the feeling that there was still hope. Hope for redemption. Hope for forgiveness. Hope for a future where Harry Potter would live to fight another day.
He clutched Harry's hand in his own and brought it over to his mouth, kissing his cold knuckles and the back of his palm with painful reverence, his heart heavy with sorrow and regret. Tom vowed to do whatever it took to make things right. For Harry. For Hogwarts. For the bond that had brought them together in the first place. For in the end, it was not only power or ambition that he wanted to be defined by anymore. It was the choices and the sacrifices he was willing to make, the love he dared to feel.
Of course, Dumbledore's phoenix had to soar down gracefully through the air with plans of its own. Tom watched numbly as the mythical creature descended upon them and began to sing, a melancholic yet beautiful melody filling the chamber with a sense of magic and renewal. And then, as if guided by some unseen force, Fawkes directed his gaze towards Harry, his eyes shining with a knowing wisdom, with a gentle flutter of his feathers he let a few of his miraculous tears fall upon the open wound in Harry's arm, their magical properties shimmering with untold power.
Tom felt emotionally tired to pay close attention to the actions of the bird and missed how the wound, once gaping and deadly dripping in dark venom, began to close, the torn flesh knitting itself back together with each passing moment. Color and warmth returned to Harry's body, his pallor fading as if by some divine intervention. It was not until he heard Harry's voice, soft and hoarse, that Tom realized the true extent of the miracle that had just occurred. He opened his eyes, his heart pounding with disbelief, as he looked down at the boy lying in his arms.
"Harry," he whispered, his voice charged with emotion. "You're awake."
Harry's eyes fluttered open, his gaze searching and uncertain as he reached out with shaky fingers to caress Tom's jaw. The touch was gentle, tentative, as if afraid that Tom might disappear if he pressed too hard.
"Tom," Harry murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm here."
Tom's eyes were too bright as he took in the sight of Harry, alive and whole once more. He had prayed for this moment, had pleaded to whatever higher power would listen to spare Harry's life. And now, as he looked into those emerald eyes, he felt a surge of overwhelming gratitude wash over him like a tidal wave.
"I thought I had lost you," Tom whispered, his voice soft with unknown tenderness. "I thought... I thought I would never see you again."
Harry's gaze was steady, his expression filled with a sense of calm and resolve that took Tom's breath away. He had faced death and returned from its clutches, stronger and more determined than ever before. "This wouldn't have happened... if you weren't such a big damn psychopath..." Harry scolded him with fierce eyes and his voice filled with a vibrant strength. "But... I'm here now, Tom, and I'm not going anywhere."
In that moment, Tom felt a sense of peace wash over him like a warm embrace. Whatever trials lay ahead, whatever challenges, he knew that as long as they stood together, they could overcome anything. While he looked into Harry's eyes, Tom Riddle knew that he would do whatever it took to protect that bond, to cherish it, to hold it close to his heart for all eternity.
"Oh! What about Ginny?" A sudden sense of concern filled Harry once he felt more awake, sitting up properly and looking in the direction of the small girl still unconscious on the wet floor. "What happened to her?"
Tom Riddle knew that he could no longer hide the truth. He owed Harry that much, owed him an explanation for the pain and suffering he had caused. "Ginny Weasley," Tom began, his voice aloof. "I needed her... her magic, her life force. I am trapped within the pages of the diary, bound by the confines of my own creation. In order to break free, to walk in a full body once more, I need to absorb the magic of others."
Harry's eyes widened in shock as he processed Tom's words. The realization of the depth of Tom's desperation, of the lengths he had gone to in order to escape his prison, weighed heavily on his heart. "But Ginny..." Harry's voice faltered, his heart aching for his friend. "You took her magic. You hurt her, Tom! She's my best friend's little sister... she's just a small girl." He glared at the older boy with admonishment.
"I know," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the echoes of the chamber. "I know, and I regret it now because of how my actions came to hurt you." He held the small hand of Harry. He was being completely honest, he didn't care for the girl, he only cared for his Harry. "But I was desperate. Trapped in darkness, consumed by loneliness for over 50 years... I saw no other way."
Harry's heart went out to Tom, torn between anger and sympathy for the boy trapped within the pages of the diary. He could see the pain etched into Tom's features, the torment of a soul longing for freedom. "Tom," Harry said, his voice gentle yet firm. "You have to return Ginny's magic to her. You have to make this right, if not for her then do it for me? Please?"
Tom's eyes flickered with uncertainty, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. He knew that Harry was right, knew that he could undo part of the damage he had caused. But the thought of returning Ginny's magic and being forced to return to the confines of the diary filled him with a sense of dread.
"I will help you," Harry continued, his voice steady with determination after seeing the struggle in Tom's features. "I will help you find another way to break free from the diary. But you have to promise me, Tom, promise me that you will return Ginny's magic to her and you won't hurt anyone else, anyone innocent like her." His small fingers tightened around Tom's robes as he stared into dark eyes.
For a moment, there was silence between them, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air. And then, slowly, reluctantly, Tom nodded. "I promise," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I promise, Harry. I will do whatever it takes to make things right... with you."
⊶
As Tom and Harry discussed their plan of action, a sense of resolve settled over them like a comforting blanket. They knew that they had to be honest about what had transpired in the Chamber of Secrets, but they also understood the importance of keeping the Diary a secret so Harry could keep it and fulfill his promise to Tom.
"Professor Dumbledore will want to know the truth," Tom said, his voice tinged with annoyance. "He will need to understand how the diary possessed Ginny and what led to the release of the Basilisk."
Harry nodded in agreement, his mind already formulating the words they would use to explain the events of that fateful night. "We'll tell him everything, Tom," he replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil swirling within him. "We'll tell him about the cursed diary, about how it twisted Ginny's mind and forced her to open the Chamber..."
"And you'll tell him about how you destroyed the diary," Tom added, his eyes meeting Harry's with a silent force. "How you used Fawkes' help and the Sword of Gryffindor to vanquish the Basilisk, how you stabbed a fang through the Diary and left it in the Chamber ending its threat once and for all." Harry felt a surge of gratitude towards Tom for his willingness to help, and gave him a bright, most blinding smile for his commitment to setting things right.
With Ginny in his care, Harry carefully concealed the intact diary within the folds of his robes, determined to keep it hidden from Dumbledore and the rest of the wizarding world. Soon Ron and an obliviated Professor Lockhart joined them as they made their way out of the Chamber, guided by Fawkes' gentle thrill. They had survived the darkness, had emerged victorious against all odds. When they finally emerged from the depths of the castle to be greeted by Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, Harry knew that their journey was far from over. But with Ginny safe by their side and the truth on their lips, he felt a glimmer of hope for the future, a belief that even in the darkest of times, light would always prevail.
It was hours later in the quiet peace of the Hospital Wing, that Harry, laying in his own bed, found himself reflecting on the last events of the day as he stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought. Headmaster Dumbledore's calm yet probing gaze still lingered in his memory, his suspicions evident despite his reassuring demeanor. Harry couldn't blame him, the tale of the Chamber of Secrets and the cursed diary sounded like something out of a dark fairy tale, too fantastical to be true. But true it was, and Harry couldn't shake the feeling that their ordeal was far from over.
As he glanced over at the bed next to his, he saw Lockhart sleeping soundly, his features peaceful in slumber. Madam Pomfrey had assured them that his mind was beyond repair, lost to the oblivion of his own memory charms gone awry. And then, like a bolt of lightning an idea struck Harry. An idea so audacious, so unexpected, that he couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through his veins.
Reaching into the pocket of his robes, Harry retrieved the diary of Tom Riddle, its worn pages calling out to him. With a sense of urgency, he flipped open the cover and began to write, the quill scratching hurriedly against the parchment.
"Tom," he wrote, his hand trembling with anticipation. "I have an idea. I think I know how you can regain some of the magic you gave back to Ginny."
As the ink dried on the page, Harry held his breath, waiting for a word from the boy trapped within the diary. Moments passed until finally a response appeared before his eyes written in Tom's elegant script.
"What is it, Harry?" the words read, tinged with curiosity and bit of tease. "Should I be surprised you found another way so soon?"
Harry's heart raced with excitement as he explained his plan to Tom, detailing how Lockhart's magic was now deemed useless according to Madam Pomfrey and how they could potentially transfer it to Tom instead so it would not be wasted. At first, there was silence from the diary, as if Tom were processing the implications of Harry's proposal. But then, a sense of anticipation seemed to emanate from the pages, a flicker of hope amidst the darkness.
"Harry, that's brilliant," Tom's response came, his words filled with a bit of disbelief. "I never would have thought of it better. But are you sure?"
Harry hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with the possibilities and the risks involved, but all his doubts got discarded with a sense of determination as he replied, "It's a safe opportunity to let it go wasted, but you just can't absorb all of his magic and life force, Tom, so leave enough for him to live peacefully the rest of his days."
With a sense of trepidation, he approached Lockhart's bedside, his heart pounding in his chest as he came down off his bed and quietly sneaked to the next one. Tom had told him Lockhart only needed to write in the Diary for Tom to take a hold of him, so that's what Harry tried to do. He put the quill on Lockhart's hand and guiding it with some difficulty he concentrated with all his might to write down the signature that he had passed replicating for the Celebrity so many hours earlier that year.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he felt the magic begin to flow, a trickle at first, then a steady stream, as Lockhart's dormant powers awakened once more. In that moment, Harry felt a sense of wonder wash over him, a sense of awe at the power of magic and the possibilities it held. And as he looked down at Lockhart, still lost in his dreamless slumber, he knew that they had done something equally awful and truly extraordinary.
Turning his attention back to the diary, Harry quickly wrote down the details of their success, his words filled with excitement and anticipation. "We did it! How does it feel? Was it magic enough?"
He could almost feel Tom's excitement through the pages, a shared sense of triumph that bound them together even more. "Oh, it was, more than what I could have taken from Ginny Weasley. An adult's magic is way richer and more vast than a young 11 year old, even when Gilderoy Lockhart was no powerful wizard, it will be more than sufficient for now. Thank you, Harry."
Harry sighed with contentment as he lay back in his bed, the diary safely tucked away in his pocket once more, he felt a sense of peace settle over him. He had his Tom back, his Tom that promised to do better and stay by his side, his Tom that would no longer keep secrets from him. He closed his eyes and finally fell asleep filled with relief for Hermione's safety but mostly with his mind flooding with thoughts of Tom Riddle and the future that awaited for them. For the first time in his life, Harry felt he didn't have to face the world alone.