Upon learning that the other party had also grown up in an orphanage, Maurise suddenly remembered something.
Two years ago, when Professor McGonagall visited his muggle orphanage to deliver his Hogwarts acceptance letter, she had briefly mentioned a special financial fund specifically set aside for orphaned students. It had been quite a while, so his memory regarding the exact details was a bit fuzzy. However, it stood to reason that if anyone knew the history of orphaned students at Hogwarts, it would be his Head of House. Perhaps Professor McGonagall would know the background of this "Tom Riddle."
Without hesitation, Maurise snapped the black notebook shut, rose from his bed, and made his way straight to Professor McGonagall's office.
Knock, knock.
"Come in."
Maurise pushed the heavy oak door open. Professor McGonagall was seated behind her desk, aggressively grading a towering stack of parchment essays. She looked up, adjusting her square spectacles. "Maurise? Is there something you need?"
Her tone was as strict as ever, carrying a hint of distinct displeasure. It was highly likely the essay she was currently grading was utterly abysmal.
"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall." Maurise stepped closer. "I have a question I was hoping you could answer."
She set down her red quill, folded her hands together, and leaned back slightly in her chair. "What is it?" Maurise frequently dropped by to ask highly advanced, borderline-dangerous questions about Transfiguration, so she was quite accustomed to his sudden visits.
Maurise did not beat around the bush, getting straight to the point. "Professor, aside from myself, who was the last orphaned student admitted to Hogwarts?"
This question clearly caught her completely off guard. She fixed Maurise with a sharp, piercing stare. "Why exactly are you asking about this?"
"Was his name Tom Riddle?"
Professor McGonagall instantly sat bolt upright. Her eyes narrowed into a fierce, scrutinizing glare. "Where on earth did you hear that name?"
Maurise immediately realized this name was far from simple. If Tom Riddle had just been an ordinary student, McGonagall would never have reacted with such intense, barely-concealed alarm.
'Wait a minute.'
He narrowed his eyes, a sudden realization hitting him like a rogue Bludger. He asked rapidly, "Professor McGonagall, is Tom Riddle You-Know-Who's original name?"
If it was Voldemort, absolutely everything made perfect sense. Only a wizard as terrifyingly powerful as the Dark Lord could possibly forge a magical artifact capable of sealing a sentient piece of a soul inside a mundane notebook. The timeline matched up perfectly, too.
The air in the office instantly froze.
After a long, suffocating silence, Professor McGonagall gave a slow, grave nod. She answered in a hushed whisper, "Yes, Maurise. I do not know how you stumbled upon this information, but... Tom Riddle was indeed You-Know-Who's true name during his time here at Hogwarts."
'So the diary belongs to Voldemort.'
Maurise nodded to himself internally. Fear usually stemmed from the unknown. Even though a Dark Lord's diary was undeniably dangerous, knowing its exact origin actually made him feel significantly more at ease than dealing with a random, cursed artifact. At the very least, he knew exactly what he was playing with now.
"I understand," Maurise said, his tone perfectly calm. "Thank you for the clarification, Professor. I will be taking my leave now."
"Hold on just a moment," McGonagall's voice rose sharply. "You still have not explained where you heard that name."
Maurise paused mid-turn and replied without a single change in expression. "I was reading a history book recently that briefly mentioned You-Know-Who's past. It referenced the name Tom Riddle in the margins. I was just a bit curious, so I came to confirm it."
***
Having successfully brushed off his Head of House with a flawless excuse, Maurise practically sprinted back to his dormitory.
He walked over to his desk and picked up the battered, faded notebook.
'The teenage Dark Lord...' What an incredibly fascinating existence.
He hadn't breathed a single word about the diary to McGonagall. If she knew, she would have immediately reported it to Dumbledore, and the notebook would have been confiscated and destroyed on the spot. That would have been a catastrophic waste. Even if it merely contained the memories of Voldemort's youth, the man was still undeniably one of the most brilliant and powerful wizards to ever walk the earth.
This diary was a literal treasure trove of magical knowledge!
Beyond the academic value, he also harbored a sneaking suspicion. Could this very diary be the culprit behind the Chamber of Secrets being opened? Was it responsible for unleashing whatever monster was petrifying the students? Or rather, was someone acting under the diary's direct influence?
If that were the case, he was definitely going to settle the score for what happened to his beloved undead pet, Tin.
Maurise smiled wickedly. He flipped open the worn notebook and picked up his quill.
"Are you still there, Riddle?"
The diary responded almost instantly. "Of course, Mark. Please, just call me Tom. I am delighted you reached out again. What were you off doing just now?"
The reply was dripping with a perfectly measured, entirely fake warmth.
Maurise: "I just went to the library to borrow a few books."
Tom: "The library is always a wonderful place to be. What subjects are you currently researching? If you have any questions, I would be more than happy to assist you. After all, I was consistently at the top of my class during my time there."
Absolute arrogance bled through every single syllable.
Maurise easily saw through the act. The entity was desperately trying to showcase its value to earn his trust. Well, Maurise was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Wasn't this essentially a portable, highly intelligent, interactive encyclopedia?
Of course, taking the Dark Lord's words at face value would be wildly idiotic, but he could still extract the raw data.
Maurise decided to test the waters, throwing out several highly complex Potion questions. Tom provided flawlessly accurate, detailed answers for every single one. However, as Maurise progressively ramped up the difficulty, pushing into completely obscure, graduate-level magical theory, the diary's response time began to visibly drag.
After finally struggling through the last brutal question, Tom clearly broke character and asked, "Mark, what year are you currently in?"
Maurise: "Second year."
The notebook plunged into a prolonged, stunned silence.
Roughly ten seconds later, new ink finally seeped onto the page. "Mark... if you are telling the truth, then I must say, you are an absolute genius."
"My classmates tell me that all the time." Maurise grinned broadly.
The diary's flattery was so utterly transparent it was almost insulting. Tom's desperate drive to win his favor was blindingly obvious. Maurise casually wondered how long it would take for the memory to slip up and reveal its true, sinister motives. Frankly, he was looking forward to the eventual betrayal.
And so, over the next few days, Maurise maintained a sporadic, ongoing dialogue with Tom.
The dynamic was firmly established. Maurise constantly bombarded the diary with relentless, grueling questions, while Tom played the role of the infinitely patient private tutor, tirelessly explaining complex theories without a single complaint.
Potions, Charms, Transfiguration... no matter the subject, Tom displayed a terrifyingly profound mastery of magic. He truly lived up to his future title.
But if there was one field Voldemort excelled at above all others, it was undeniably the Dark Arts.
Late one evening, Maurise casually mentioned to his "tutor" that he was currently dabbling in Dark Magic.
Tom: "You are studying the Dark Arts? Oh, please, do not feel anxious or guilty about that. It is merely a different branch of magic, no different from Charms or Transfiguration. I dare say even your esteemed Headmaster has deeply researched the subject in his time."
Maurise: "But the Dark Magic has started to influence my soul."
Tom: "Ah. I am quite impressed you managed to perceive that so early on. But I assure you, it will not cause you any actual harm."
'No actual harm?'
Maurise let out a dark, mocking chuckle. 'Even Tin wouldn't believe a lie that stupid.'
...
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