Tom began to reflect on when he had "gotten too deep into the role."
When had he become so vulnerable?
The feeling of having someone to confide in,
to share all his troubles with,
was addictive.
It was when he lay in the hospital bed, seriously introducing himself to Ginny.
He knew Ginny was doomed.
He only hoped she wouldn't blame him.
For fifty years, he had been locked in the prison he created, thinking he was as good as dead.
Then, a sudden stroke of luck made him feel unworthy of guilt.
He wanted to prove to Ginny that he was also a "worthy" and "good" person.
He had never been so generous—never full-heartedly helped anyone besides Ginny.
He wanted Ginny to truly like him, to allow him to use everything she had so he could live happily ever after.
So, he confessed to Ricky and Luna as well.
Logically, he knew he shouldn't expect eleven-year-old children not to fear him.
But he was too afraid of clashing with Ginny.
Maybe he desperately wanted to deny that Voldemort was also himself,
so he deliberately went against his instinct to be suspicious and control.
Maybe he was making himself suffer on purpose, just to "prove" to Ginny—
to prove how much he had suffered for her.
He had been deceived by his own desire "to be a good person."
It wasn’t Ginny who had deceived him.
It was himself.
Tom cast an Occlumency on Ginny.
Now, trapped in the diary, she could no longer read his heart.
He fought the urge to pick up the quill—to complain, to lash out, to plead, to beg.
To ask, I’ve never had friends, never had a family—so why are you treating me like this?
But then he remembered Ginny now had it as bad as he did, he couldn’t write anything at all.
He didn’t know what to do with Ginny, but he didn’t want Dumbledore interfering either. He still treats Ginny as his own problem, at least at this moment, he is hesitating.
Every day, he woke up and looked in the mirror, at the face that was becoming more and more familiar.
He asked himself: If Ginny doesn’t like me, why don’t I just return her body to her?
Should he go confess to Dumbledore?
Tell him he was hated again?
That he had once again been driven out by someone?
Should he suggest that maybe he should just remain in a diary forever?
After all, he was destined to be alone—no friends, no family, no dreams.
Maybe Dumbledore would erase Ginny’s memories of him.
Maybe the Weasleys would take care of Ginny, even if she became a vegetable.
What did that have to do with him?
Why should Tom Riddle be the one to live Ginny Weasley’s life?
Ricky was right. He had overestimated himself.
He couldn't steal someone else’s life in peace.
Yet the devil inside him whispered:
"Why not?
Didn’t you only use Ginny to gain your freedom in the first place?
At what point did your purpose in life become about living for Ginny instead?"
"Ignore her will," it sneered. "That’s what Dumbledore really wants, isn’t it?"
"If it were between you and Ginny, who would Dumbledore choose? Who would Grindelwald choose? Isn’t the answer obvious?"
The angel in him countered:
"No. They’re just using me to train Harry Potter.
That’s all I’ve ever been—a necessary tool to solve their Voldemort problem.
The only reason I’m alive is because I’m useful.
Because I’ve been working. Because I’ve been executing their plan.
In the end, I survived because of myself.
This isn’t their choice.
This isn’t their wish. It's mine!"
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The devil smirked:
"Ah, you’re right.
So no one loves you.
No one will ever love you.
And you don’t owe anyone anything.
You took Ginny’s body in fair and square.
It was Ginny who blindly trusted Dumbledore.
Ginny who handed her body over too easily.
Ginny who made the wrong friends and lost her life for it.
And If you pity her, then tell me—who pities you?
Kill her now. Drain what’s left of her soul.
No one will ever know.
This diary belongs to you.
Dumbledore gave you this opportunity with his own hands."
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No!
By the time Tom realized it, his face was already soaked with tears under the covers.
He forced himself to take deep breaths and climbed out of bed.
He went to the bathroom, turned on the lights, splashed his face with cold water, and pressed a wet towel against his skin.
His conscience tormented him violently—more brutally than when he had first killed Myrtle.
Why did he keep trying to extract meaning from how others saw him?
Ginny’s death had nothing to do with him.
Becoming Ginny was not his choice.
Even if he had intended it…
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When he cleared his mind and stepped out of the bathroom,
Hermione had turned on the light, sitting properly on her bed.
"Can you tell me what’s going on? I can’t stand watching this anymore."
The downside of having a roommate was that he couldn't hide all his emotions.
Tom sat back down on Ginny’s bed, wondering how to come up with a convincing lie.
Hermione asked, "It’s that boy from last time, isn’t it?"
She had known that matter wasn’t over.
She had originally thought the boy was Ricky, but now she dismissed that idea.
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Tom realized he could easily spin this into a story about Ginny being controlled by the diary.
He opened his mouth—then suddenly lost the will to lie.
Hermione, understanding, said gently, "I won’t press you, and I won’t tell anyone.
I just want you to know, I’ll always be here for you if you need me."
Tom felt comforted for a brief moment—
until he remembered.
That was meant for Ginny, not him.
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He had no right to "keep" this kindness for himself.
All the goodwill he received was "stolen."
He had always resented his mother’s way of life,
but now, he realized—
he was no different.
He kept playing the role of someone he wasn’t,
praying one day the lie would become real.
"Ginny, look at me."
Hermione suddenly walked over, took his hands, and said, "No one is going to hurt you.
Please, trust me, okay?"
Only then did Tom realize his entire body was tensed.
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"Tomorrow’s the Quidditch match," Hermione said. "Even if we sleep late, it doesn’t matter. We don’t have to go if we don’t want to."
She reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear,
like a mother would for her daughter,
like an older sister for her younger one.
Tom felt their distance was too close.
When Hermione raised her hand, he instinctively thought she was going to slap him.
He pulled his hands back, leaned away, and mumbled, "I just had a nightmare."
Hermione noticed his discomfort and awkwardly retreated to her bed.
Tom lay back down, turned off the lights, and whispered, "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," Hermione answered, a little disappointed.
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She felt that Ginny was on the verge of breaking down.
She had no idea why.
Ginny was adored by everyone—even her conflicts with Snape could be considered a "major victory."
What more could she possibly want?
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In the silent darkness,
they listened to each other's breathing, knowing neither of them had truly fallen asleep.
Tom softly said, “I dreamed that I became a bad person, and everyone hated me.”
Even though Hermione’s comfort was meant for Ginny, he still wanted it.
Sure enough, Hermione said, “I don’t hate you. You don’t need everyone’s approval.”
She thought: Maybe in the Weasley family, Ginny had always been the most cherished one.
That’s why she was particularly sensitive to malice, even if no one dared to show it openly anymore.
Tom said, “Lately, I feel like I don’t even recognize myself. How do you know you won’t hate me?”
He was always either blaming himself for Ginny or constantly calculating how to deal with Hermione's caution. So he could set her up to be petrified.
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Hermione still kindly said, “Even my parents don’t recognize me anymore.
Last summer, when I went home, I never once told them about our adventure with the Philosopher’s Stone.
If they knew, they would have stopped me from coming back to school.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t love them anymore, or that I don’t need their love.
It just means I’ve grown up, and I have my own world now.
For me, that’s a good thing.”
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Tom took a moment to process this and asked, “Don’t you feel guilty? You’re living off your parents’ money but not becoming the daughter they envisioned?”
If Hermione’s parents could be so accepting of a witch, then Muggle society must have changed a lot…
Hermione said, “I believe my parents will support me.
But if they don’t like who I am now… then they just won’t be as present in my life in the future.
Because I like who I am now.
I’m living the best life I can, and I don’t have the energy to fulfill their expectations.”
Tom said, “Oh, your mindset is really healthy.”
If he compared “Ginny, who gave him her body” to “parents,” then Hermione’s belief that she should ignore her parents’ wishes proved that he wasn’t the only cold-blooded, heartless freak.
He really had been too hard on himself.
Anyone in his position would probably do the same, wouldn’t they?
He wasn’t Ginny.
He didn’t have the energy to be “kind” to others.
Just as he was drifting off, Hermione said, “I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Weasley
ever wanted you to be ‘someone liked by everyone.’
They wouldn’t hate you just because ‘some classmates or teachers dislike you.’”
Tom, his voice thick with emotion, said, “But they’d probably hate the way I fight back against the people I dislike.
I feel like my resistance is just as ugly as the people I’m fighting against.
Seeing those who wronged me get hurt or expelled… it actually makes me happy.
But if I show it, and everyone realizes just how vicious I am…”
Then they’d treat him like Dumbledore did—burning his wardrobe or something like that.
That’s why he had to act weak in front of adults…
Hermione said, “The important thing is that you fought back.
You didn’t fall into the traps of those who wanted to hurt or use you—that in itself is a victory.
Maybe your approach wasn’t the best, maybe there was a better way.
But those are just things people say after the fact, wise after the event.
You did the best you could at that moment, so don't look back.
We’ve never looked particularly graceful when fighting Malfoy either.
But what matters is, that we’re still friends.
True friends won’t leave you just because you look bad.
And those who do? You don’t need to care about them.
Their logic never made sense anyway.
No matter how much you sacrifice, they won’t be grateful.
So, what happened to you, it is for them to show what they were made of, and for that, you’re free from caring for them.”
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Tom pondered this for a moment and asked, “Why do I feel like you’ve rehearsed this speech for a long time?”
Hermione replied, “Because Muggles, unfortunately, have to go to primary school.
My parents had to keep telling me this over and over until I had the courage to step out of the house and pretend to be a ‘normal person.’
I always knew I was different from others.
I just never expected to be a witch.
And I certainly never expected that, even among witches,
I’d still be different.”
Tom sighed, “One day, I’d really like to meet your parents.”
Hermione promised, “Someday, you will.”
This time, they truly said goodnight.
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The next morning, just as Harry finished his breakfast and was about to head to the Quidditch pitch, he heard the terrifying sound coming from the walls again.
He immediately complained to Ron and Hermione, telling them that as the Seeker for the match, he couldn’t just drop the game to go after the voice.
Ron replied that since everyone was heading to the pitch, there wouldn’t be anyone left in the castle to be harmed, so Harry should hurry up and go play.
Harry agreed. But Hermione suddenly had an idea and ran off to the library on her own…
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When they arrived at the pitch, Professor McGonagall soon announced that the match would be canceled before it even started.
Professor McGonagall stopped Harry and Ron in confusion and took them to the Hospital Wing to see Hermione, who had been petrified while holding a mirror…
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"After dragging it out for so long, I thought you wouldn't be able to go through with it," Dumbledore said to Tom.
Tom replied, "Well, now Hermione won't have to repeat the year, right?"
If she'd been attacked as early as Colin, she'd have had to retake the year because she wouldn't be able to keep up with the classes in the next year.
Dumbledore said, "Oh, so you were worried about that? I was actually thinking of exempting all from the final exams."
Tom answered nonchalantly, "Oh, right. Do as you like."
He thought to himself: Next, Harry would be heading into the Forbidden Forest. He’d need to familiarize himself with the terrain, the spiders' attack power, and the car's performance...
Dumbledore remarked, "I'm surprised you care about her, Tom."
Tom didn’t believe that Dumbledore was genuinely praising him.
He pragmatically changed the subject: "And there’s this."
He pulled out the diary, which he had been carrying close to him all along, and handed it to Dumbledore.
The old, worn-out cover and pages still held the warmth of his body and soul.
"Ginny controlled this diary. She wanted to stay close to Harry and talk to him, so I sealed her in," he reported.
Tom was ready to say goodbye to Ginny.
Even if he no longer had any friends, he didn’t want to keep anyone near who could potentially harm him.
Adult life wasn’t all about love and hate, but also survival. No one’s life was on top of anyone's. Society was that harsh.
Dumbledore asked, "What do you want me to do with it?"
Tom said, "Do as you like. I don't want to return the body."
Dumbledore sighed, "I'm sorry that you two couldn't get along."
He was also regretful that he couldn't treat all students equally.
Tom hollowly and falsely smiled, "Me too."
Maybe he was destined to become the Dark Lord who would go to Hell.
Yet, He still couldn't just kill Ginny, he designed to live as himself, as long as he could.
Even as a failure.
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