Tom couldn't wait any longer, feeling as if a thousand cats were clawing at his insides, leaving him restless.
He placed a fairy gold coin beside him for emergencies, then drew his wand and aimed it at himself.
Taking a deep breath, he muttered, "Legilimency!"
A strange sensation of searching through his own memories hit him instantly, almost making him nauseous. But he endured, trying to trace back through time, further and further, in search of memories that he somehow had forgotten.
However, he soon entered a void.
His earliest memory was still waking up in the orphanage.
Going any further back felt like an abyss—his mind was utterly blank, as if he had only been born on that very day.
After trying for nearly half a minute, until both his mental and magical energies were depleted, he finally exited the state of Legilimency.
"What's going on with me?" Tom felt immensely frustrated.
"Is it because my Legilimency isn't strong enough? Or is it due to my insufficient magical power level? What should I do…"
Confused and lost, Tom considered the possibility that it was his magical power limiting him. Increasing magical power wasn't something that could be achieved overnight. When would he be able to recover his memories?
If only the Guidebook could give him a task now, telling him what to do.
"Wait, the Guidebook…"
He suddenly remembered that before it transformed, the Guidebook was a diary that could write the future.
And on the day he woke up, the diary was already beside him.
Did it record his past? Could it be possible that it originally contained past entries but got overwritten when the text updated?
The Guidebook had always been mysterious, seemingly with a mind of its own, issuing tasks based on his circumstances.
What would happen if he used Legilimency on it? Would it reveal past entries? It was a far-fetched idea, but once it came to mind, he couldn't dismiss it.
After all, it was just a trial; the worst that could happen was it wouldn't work.
With this thought, he aimed his wand at the diary, ready to cast the spell, then paused and pulled out the snake-patterned wand.
Holding both wands side by side, he aimed them at the diary.
"Merlin, bless me…"
"Legilimency!"
...
A notification reached Murphy, deep in sleep. His consciousness awakened for a split second, comprehending the message before choosing to continue sleeping soundly.
...
As Tom finished the incantation, a dark corridor opened up before him.
A flood of information rushed into his mind.
...
"Hey, Tom."
He turned around, only to receive a punch in the face, knocking him to the ground.
A tall boy looked down at him. "That's for teaching you a rule, to show you who's in charge here."
"Bilitch," Tom heard himself say, "You mean yourself? Sorry, no offense, but I'm quite surprised you can use such complex sentences. That's really amazing, especially since even a snail has a larger brain capacity than you."
He received two more kicks.
One hit his chest, making him cough repeatedly.
"Defy me again, and I'll break your legs!" Bilitch glared at him menacingly.
"Ernie's gone, so you think you're qualified to be the emperor of the orphanage?"
"At least more than you! Freak!"
"Take that word back." Tom heard his own voice, filled with a terrible rage.
"You mad? Ha! The freak is mad! Freak! Freak!"
"You'll regret this. Idiot!"
"Still talking back? Beat him up!"
...
"Sir, I wanted to ask if you know about...&￥#%."
A slightly overweight middle-aged man holding a wine glass stared at him. "The topic of Defence Against the Dark Arts, huh?"
"No, sir, I read about it in a book, and I don't quite understand it," he heard himself say.
For some reason, he sensed it was a lie.
"Ah... yes... It's hard to find a detailed book about &￥#% at Hogwarts, Tom. It's a very evil thing, very evil." The professor said.
"But I don't quite understand it, sir," he said.
"It means you split your soul," explained the professor, "and hide a part of it in an external object. In that way, even if your body is attacked or destroyed, you cannot die because a part of your soul remains in the world, unharmed. But, of course, to exist in that form..."
"...Few would choose that, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable."
...
"Tom, they say you broke Bilitch's leg." An older woman looked at him anxiously. "Did you do it?"
"No, Mrs. Cole, it wasn't me. They're lying. I was in my room at the time, and Bilitch was outside playing with them. I think they kicked Bilitch and blamed it on me."
"They said they saw you laughing," Mrs. Cole still looked worried. "Did you hurt him because Bilitch threatened you? They say he threatened to break your legs."
"I was laughing?" he said in surprise, but with an uncontrollable excitement, "Sorry, Mrs. Cole, I didn't notice."
"But you're laughing now, Tom."
...
"Good evening, Ruber." His voice was stern.
The burly boy in front startled, slamming the door behind him shut. "What are you doing here, Tom?"
He stepped closer. "It has to end," he said. "I have to report you, Ruber. They're discussing closing Hogwarts if the attacks don't stop."
"You say what—" the boy on the other side didn't understand.
"I know you didn't mean to kill anyone. But a monster is not an ideal pet. I guess you just let it out for a walk, and—"
"It never killed anyone!"
"It won't! Never!"
"Move aside."
...
"Petra said you hanged her rabbit." Mrs. Cole's face was tired. "Did you do it because she wouldn't let you play with it?"
"I didn't want to play with her or her stupid rabbit," he said.
"I think she just thought you were too rough with her pet, without any malice."
"That has nothing to do with her rabbit's death, Mrs. Cole," he said. "I think maybe Bilitch did it."
"Bilitch is in the mental hospital, Tom," Mrs. Cole looked at him. "He keeps calling your name in his sleep, begging you for mercy."
"I don't know why he's doing that, Mrs. Cole."
"Then why are you so happy, Tom? It's a sad thing, isn't it?"
"Happy?"
He returned to his room and found a mirror.
The mirror reflected a young boy's face.
He was indeed smiling, almost unable to contain his excitement, with a cruel, schadenfreude smile.
Wait, this face...
This is my face!
But how? How could I look like this?
The boy in the mirror held his face in horror.
Who am I?
Who is me?
I am Tom.
These are Tom's memories.
I am Tom.
Which Tom?
Lucas... Tom... Brightson?
Or... Tom... Riddle?
...
With a bang, a flash burst from the notebook, and the channel of memories was severed.
Tom collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
___________________
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