Chapter 187: Salazar Slytherin’s Legacy
— — — — — —
The words sank into the diary, but no reply ca. For a mont it was as if that earlier line had been nothing but an illusion.
「So it’s you. To et a student with the sa na as
fifty years later... what an interesting twist of fate.」
The ink finally bled onto the page after two whole minutes.
But clearly, the mory shard of Voldemort hidden in the diary wasn’t half as calm as it pretended to be. Things had already gone off-script. Sohow, the diary had slipped from Ginny’s hands into Tom Riddle’s, and the boy seed to know far more than he should.
Stupid redheads. The Weasleys never brought him anything but trouble.
Still, little Voldy couldn’t panic. He couldn’t admit anything. Ginny Weasley, that little fool, didn’t rember what had happened; she’d only stumbled onto a few suspicious threads.
Tom wrote across the page, casual as anything: "’Tom Riddle’ is a common na in England. Shout it in the street and at least ten blokes will turn around."
「But unlike them, we found the magical world. We beca exceptional students.」
"I like your honesty. Ginny told
everything—how you word your way into her trust, step by step, until you opened the Chamber and attacked the students."
「I don’t understand what you’re talking about.」
"Co on, drop the act. What do you think it feels like to hold a conversation in ink brewed from cow dung?"
「You—!」
If he still had a body, little Voldemort would’ve blasted the boy into ash with a single curse.
「Tom, that isn’t necessary. The Chamber wasn’t opened by . I’m only a mory. How could I possibly do sothing like that?」
"Oh really? Students dropping into a deathlike coma, struck down by yellow light... serpent eyes usually glow yellow. Salazar Slytherin was famous for Parseltongue. His descendants, the Gaunts, wouldn’t even bother speaking English half the ti. So the Chamber’s monster is a basilisk, isn’t it? And you—you must be a Gaunt."
Voldemort talked his way, Tom talked his. Whoever cracked first would lose.
Of course Voldemort cracked first.
「You really are using cow-dung ink? Tom Riddle, you’re disgusting!」
"Don’t whine. You’re Tom Riddle too. If we’re going to keep this up, I can always find sothing even more disgusting."
「...You win, Riddle.」
The diary stalled for a long ti before coughing up the words. The boy had cornered him too thoroughly; pretending any further would only humiliate himself.
「Yes. I made Ginny open the Chamber. And yes, the beast within was Salazar Slytherin’s basilisk. As his heir, I was rely fulfilling his will.」
「Tom, because of our shared na, I asked Ginny about you. Muggle-born, but the fastest Sorting in history—that alone proves your bloodline is extraordinary.」
「The sa na. The sa beginnings. Talent far beyond our peers. You and I are alike. In so ways, you may even surpass —you guessed the basilisk from scraps of evidence, sothing even I wouldn’t have noticed so quickly.」
「Let
guess: you know I’m the culprit, but you didn’t run crying to Dumbledore. Which ans you want sothing from . What could it be? The answer is obvious—you covet Salazar Slytherin’s legacy.」
「And why not? Every Slytherin craves power. Tom, I can help you walk further down the path of magic. My predecessor left mories and knowledge more precious than any treasure. I destroyed every written trace so none but I could inherit it. All of it remains only within .」
Tom smiled faintly, switching to a clean quill.
"You’re sharp too. Yes, I want Slytherin’s legacy. He was a wizard who shook the world. And since you’ve fallen into my hands, you’ll serve
now. Hand over the true inheritance. Don’t try to cheat
with scraps—I’m not Ginny the halfwit."
Sowhere, Ginny sneezed as she complained to Luna about Tom.
「Force won’t win you glory. That isn’t the way of noble wizards.」
"Oh shut it. You’re a notebook. Don’t talk to
about nobility. Hand it over, or I’ll toss you into a centaur’s dung pit."
Young Voldy seethed. How had a brute like this been Sorted into Slytherin? How had he managed to foil "his" plans last year? Was there no justice left in the world?
He tried probing at Tom’s mind with the sa tricks that had worked on Ginny, but it was useless. Just as the boy had said—they weren’t even in the sa league. Every attempt sank without a trace. Voldemort dared not risk more.
So he had to do the one thing Slytherins excelled at.
Endure.
「Tom, you must understand—I’m nothing but a fragnt, a diary written in my fifth year. My craft was unpolished. Fifty years have passed. Many mories are blurred.」
Tom chuckled darkly. Begging now, was he?
"So what? You’re telling
you’re useless?"
「Not useless. I can recall much, but the deeper secrets are locked away. The diary has also been damaged. It needs energy to repair itself. With that, I can offer you far more—enough to make you the true Heir of Slytherin.」
"Energy?"
「Fresh blood. Animal blood is best—magical beasts if possible. Ginny provided
with chicken blood, which is how I’ve had the strength to speak this long. Without it, I would have slumbered ages ago.」
"Don’t lie. What you really want is my life force, isn’t it?"
The diary fell silent.
Tom sneered. "Don’t play gas with , Old Tom. You may have Salazar’s treasure, but I have teachers just as powerful. Sit tight and let
drain every drop of use out of you. If I’m feeling generous, maybe I’ll toss you so dragon’s blood."
A true Slytherin through and through.
Voldemort drew a long, steady breath. He knew he had no bargaining power left. All he could do was bide his ti, gathering strength like a coiled serpent waiting for its strike.
「I understand.」
The words appeared faintly across the page, followed by line after line of magical knowledge.
Tom gave a thin smile, unsurprised.
Whether you called him Tom Marvolo Riddle or Voldemort, whatever stage of life he was in, one thing never changed: he was terrified of death.
This fragnt of Tom didn’t think of himself as a tool or a Horcrux. He believed he really was fifteen again. And even after all the insults, he still chose to yield.
Tom flicked his hand, and a stack of parchnt along with a quill flew from the desk to his side. He carefully copied down every single word from the diary, filling ten full sheets before he finally stopped.
「That’s as much as I can manage right now. After today, I’ll need to sleep for a while—unless you find a way to speed up my recovery.」
The handwriting was faint, the last word nearly invisible.
But Tom didn’t care. He shut the diary, gathered the parchnt, and carried it into his study space to manifest the notes.
Grindelwald was already waiting for him. The mont Tom appeared, he stepped forward eagerly.
"You have it?"
Even he couldn’t hide his anticipation when it ca to Slytherin’s legacy.
"Mostly foundational knowledge. Check it over for any deliberate mistakes. If he tried to trick , I’ll make sure he regrets it."
Grindelwald nodded. Tom duplicated the notes and handed a copy to Andros.
Salazar Slytherin had lived a thousand years ago, during the dying days of the old magical order—not the powerful "ancient magic," but that chaotic, self-taught era—and just before the rise of structured modern spellcraft. His teachings carried pieces of both.
Perfect. Andros took one half, Grindelwald the other. Together they combed through it.
When they finished, the two exchanged a look and nodded.
"No problems," Grindelwald said. "This was his first handover, so the chance of trickery was slim."
Andros chuckled. "He’s only a fifth-year student. Even if he wanted to tamper with advanced material, he wouldn’t be able to. Any sloppy edits would stick out a mile."
Tom smiled. "Seems my dear Voldy knows when to play along. Maybe I should toss him a little reward."
Grindelwald raised a brow. He’d never crafted a Horcrux himself, but he knew how dark magic worked. "Let
guess, he’s going to beg you for the blood of powerful creatures. Want
to spike it a little? No fifth-year, no matter how freakishly talented, could tell the difference."
"And Dumbledore?" Tom asked.
That shut Grindelwald up.
The so-called greatest white wizard of the age wasn’t weak in the Dark Arts—if anything, he was frighteningly good at them.
"...Wait," Grindelwald realized. "You’re planning to hand the diary to Dumbledore?"
"What else would I do with it?" Tom gave him a look. "Once I’ve squeezed it dry, it’s worthless to . But if I give it to the Headmaster? Then I’m the student who resists temptation, who trusts him completely, and who delivers a dangerous artifact into his safekeeping. Not to ntion, I dump the problem squarely in his lap. Win-win."
Grindelwald fell silent, suddenly pitying Dumbledore.
Tom had the old man’s personality pinned down perfectly. Let him throw tantrums over trivial things—like getting Lockhart expelled and sabotaging a plan or two—but in the monts that mattered, Tom would show up loyal, dutiful, and wise beyond his years. The whiplash would make Dumbledore see him as the next Newt Scamander.
Andros, anwhile, just felt exhausted keeping up with these two schers.
"Fine." Grindelwald sighed deeply. "Let the old man worry. Keeps him young."
"Don’t forget what I asked you," Tom told Andros. "I’m going to see Ariana." With that, he strode into the little villa.
"What did he ask you for?" Grindelwald asked curiously.
"Nothing much." Andros waved it off. "Just wants
to figure out how to destroy the soul fragnt inside a Horcrux without damaging the vessel itself."
Grindelwald blinked. "And he didn’t ask
why?"
Andros shrugged, dead honest: "He thinks you’re a reckless maniac. Too clumsy for delicate work."
Grindelwald’s mouth twitched.
A maniac? Him? Compared to this muscle-bound brute, he was practically a delicate scholar!
— — —
The next morning marked the start of a new week.
Tom woke early, posted Astoria at the entrance of the Slytherin common room, and intercepted every first-year as they tried to leave.
Within minutes, all the new students were gathered in front of him, fidgeting nervously under the eyes of curious upper-years who’d gathered to watch.
Thankfully, Tom didn’t leave them sweating too long. Once everyone was assembled, he spoke.
"There’s sothing I need your help with."
.
.
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