Chapitre 89: Chapter 89: Tom Riddle and Voldemort

Upon taking in the sight of the adolescent boy before them, Sherlock Forester - ever the stalwart presence - appeared only slighty less unsettled than Harry and Ron. Yet, his normally penetrating gaze remained an enigma. In a fluid dance of restraint, his fingers subtly tightened their grip on his wand, while his left hand slyly toyed with the third button on his robe.

"You're Tom Riddle?" he questioned, his tone barely above a whisper.

The slim, raven-haired boy, sat in the chair, looked faintly taken aback by Sherlock's use of the name. Nevertheless, there was a certain expectancy glimmering in his piercing eyes.

"Professor Sherlock Forester," the boy retorted, his tone neutral as a small smile graced his lips. He rose leisurely from his seat, the picture of nonchalance. "Surprised? This isn't the first time our paths have crossed."

Sherlock stepped in front of Harry and Ron, positioning himself between them and the boy. He pulled them closer to him. His eyes glaring fiercely at Tom in silent challenge.

"You're referring to our encounter at the bookstore?" Sherlock ventured, his tone deceptively calm.

Casually, like one taking a tranquil stroll in their own garden, Tom meandered around the Gryffindor Common Room. His eyes roved the familiar surroundings.

"Ah yes, precisely," Tom chuckled, his journey leading him to the fireplace. Its fiery heart was long since extinguished, leaving the once cozy corner in chilling gloom. His initially vague form seemed to solidify within the shadows. "You felt it, didn't you, the moment we first met. And it was peculiar, wasn't it? You were different. This only became more apparent during our second encounter at Hogwarts. It prompted me to carefully conceal my true identity."

Every word of Tom's narration fed Sherlock's escalating suspicion. It all made sense - the first encounter with the Malfoys at the bookstore when his mark suddenly started to throb, and the similar incident when he crossed paths with Neville at Hogwarts. His expression hardened at the memory.

"You've been manipulating Neville from the beginning, haven't you?" The sharp question left no room for deception.

A unique darkness seemed to come over Tom's face at Sherlock's inquiry.

"That idiot!" he snorted, his tone filled with ill-concealed scorn. "I was well into my third week at the school when he finally showed the benevolence to talk to me. But then a simple conversation convinced him to open the Chamber of Secrets, although even he was smart enough to realize that something wasn't right after a couple of unfortunate incidents."

"We had become the best of friends before that point. He incessantly whined about his strict grandmother, lamented his inferiority to his Gryffindor peers, praised Harry Potter's bravery, and confessed his own cowardice. I was friend Tom, his confidant, the only one willing to lend an ear to his trivial concerns."

"Following the elimination of that picture-snapping Muggleborn, he unexpectedly realized that he had been my puppet."

"He attempted to destroy me, that spineless fool!" Tom's voice bristled with rage, the echo of a wrath born from the betrayal of such an insignificant character.

"Late one night, he decided to discard me into this fireplace," He indicated the cold ashes, his voice laced with loathing. "He whispered his flimsy incantation and scurried off without ever looking back to confirm his success. The idiot didn't even realize that I was not susceptible to fire or water. For two solid days, I lay amongst the ashes until another pupil found me."

His tone took a playful twist as he divulged this bit of history, the memory amusing him.

"Naturally, the Weasley Prefect, mistaking cunning for intelligence, proved a far easier subject to manipulate than the commonplace Neville."

Harry and Ron, safely nestled behind Sherlock, couldn't suppress shocked gasps. "Percy!"

"Yes, Percy Weasley," He confirmed. "A boy consumed by his ambition for power and respect. I saw a potential ally in him and proposed a deal." Here, he glanced at Harry, who had cautiously peeked out from behind Sherlock. His gaze was cold.

"I was to assist him in gaining the upper hand over an adversary. In return, he was to plant me on a certain student's desk." Tom's smirk was evident, "That's how we came into contact, isn't it, Harry?"

Harry flinched at the memory of the attack on Malfoy and the mysterious diary that had appeared on his desk afterwards. A wave of understanding washed over him.

"Subsequently, Weasley retained no recollection of our interaction. I feasted on Neville's and his combined fears and cupidity. I became more potent while they weakened. Consequently, I fed you fragments of my memory to earn your trust, Harry."

His tone shifted to a frosty detachment, a jarring contrast to his heated rage earlier.

"I had not anticipated your withdrawal after a single conversation. Prompted by the realization that I was not destroyed but was in the hands of another that blockhead Neville tried to reclaim me."

Nonchalantly, Tom moved towards a visibly shaken Neville, his gaze filled with contempt.

"He planned on handing me in to the school authorities but my power easily overwhelmed his resistance. His feeble attempts to escape my control and leave behind clues for the professors only made him look ridiculous. I let him, just to watch the fruitless efforts."

"What surprised me the most was the inaction of the famous Harry Potter. Rather than playing the part of the savior and investigating, you decided to involve the teachers the moment you pieced all the information together! Who would have thought the revered hero would turn out to be such a timid little boy."

Harry, diverted by Tom's accusations, reacted not with shame but defiance. He knew all too well that if he and Ron had rashly walked into Tom's trap, they would have been in serious trouble.

Tom merely shrugged, apparently unfazed by Harry's defiance.

"In good time, I adapted my strategy accordingly. I patiently awaited your arrival in this common room. In the absence of other students, this place would be perfect for the finale - no interruptions."

Gripping Sherlock's robe with even more intensity, Ron managed to stutter out, "What... what are you gonna to do now?"

"And finally, we arrive at the crux," Tom sneered nastily. "All of this has been for the hero who as a baby did what none other could - bringing down the most powerful wizard in history. I'm curious whether the mighty Harry Potter – who escaped the clutches of Voldemort and shattered his power – can discover a way out of my entanglement!"

Harry hesitated, then mustered the courage to demand, "What's your relation with Voldemort?"

Before Harry could receive an answer, Sherlock intervened with a grim expression, "Doesn't it seem obvious, Harry? Can't you see who else would go to such lengths for you? The boy you see before you is none other than a young version of Voldemort."

As he pronounced the name, he subtly pointed his wand towards the closed portrait passageway.

While Tom appeared marginally taken aback by Sherlock's announcement, he was far from shocked. He was aware his true identity was hardly a well-guarded secret. Those who knew either feared to speak of it or fought to forget.

Nonetheless, Harry and Ron stared in disbelief. The ever-familiar visage of the notorious Dark Lord, whose name had been forbidden in whispers, was in fact none other than the young boy standing defiantly before them.