On Christmas morning, Harry and Ron were busy sorting out their gifts. Harry received an invisibility cloak, but their festive mood was soon disrupted. Fred and George came to take them to a banquet, but Tom was conspicuously absent.
Tom had woken up, but he seemed lost in a daze. He had tried using Legilimency on the Guidebook again, but to no avail, as if the memories from yesterday were an illusion. However, he knew they were not.
Those memories lingered in his mind, leaving him in a state of confusion and daze. He received several gifts, some from other members of the Hero group, and some from Murphy and Hagrid – mostly trinkets. There were also unknown gifts, including flowers, chocolates, and a love letter.
Tom mechanically opened the gifts, his mind still preoccupied with the memories. Finally, he took out the Guidebook again.
"What are you, exactly?"
The Guidebook remained unresponsive.
"Why do you have those memories? They're Tom Riddle's, aren't they? What's my relationship with him?"
"Answer me, or I will destroy you!"
But the Guidebook remained silent.
Enraged, Tom drew his wand. "Reducto!" The spell hit the book, sending it flying, but it remained unharmed.
"I shouldn't have trusted you. I should've seen it sooner... you're using me..." Tom's thoughts were interrupted by a memory from yesterday, "I know... you are... that thing!"
"Tom Riddle once asked a professor about that object. You hold a piece of a soul, right?"
Unfortunately, the specific term was obscured in his memory, so he didn't know its name.
"So you deceived me... you have a soul, which is why I could use Legilimency on you..."
Tom recalled the professor's description: "Part of the soul hidden in an object outside the body. So even if your body is attacked or destroyed, you cannot die because a part of your soul remains in the world, unharmed."
He stepped back in shock. "Are you a tool for someone's resurrection? Who are you trying to bring back? Whose soul fragment do you hold?"
Then, it dawned on him. "Tom Riddle!"
"You have Tom Riddle's memories!"
"You are Tom Riddle!"
"Of course! The Philosopher's Stone..."
"No wonder you wanted me to uncover the secret behind the trapdoor, and to identify Nicolas Flamel. You want me to find the Stone!"
"The Philosopher's Stone can create the Elixir of Life... which seems capable of reconstructing a body..."
"You want to resurrect Tom Riddle."
But then, confusion struck him again.
"Why..."
"Why do I feel so familiar with him..."
"Why does that face..."
He recalled the face from his memory, which was completely different from his current appearance, yet felt instinctively familiar, as if that was his true face, and his current appearance was foreign.
Was it because of Tom Riddle's memories influencing him?
Because he had those memories, did he start to think of himself as Riddle?
No, that wasn't it.
He felt a frenzied intuition shouting within him, the answer seemingly on the tip of his tongue, yet he couldn't bring himself to believe it.
At that moment, the Guidebook updated.
He walked over to see a new line of text.
"Main Quest: Seize the Philosopher's Stone."
"Reward: Survival."
Tom clenched his fists. "What do you mean? What does 'survive' mean?"
"Are you saying if I don't take the Philosopher's Stone, you'll kill me?!"
This time, the Guidebook didn't feign ignorance.
A line of twisted, blood-red text appeared.
"You are already dead."
What?
Tom was startled. What does it mean that I'm already dead?
Guidebook: "Your pain tolerance is far beyond normal. You're unaffected by physical discomfort, immune to dizziness and unconsciousness. Even when nearly fatally injured, you remain conscious."
"Don't you find that odd?"
Tom was taken aback. He remembered the time he was hit by a troll. Although he cast a protective charm, he suffered severe injuries, with a fractured leg and bones nearly protruding. Yet, he didn't feel much pain.
When Professor Murphy used Apparition, he didn't feel much discomfort, unlike Granger who vomited uncontrollably.
But this... doesn't explain...
Another line of text appeared in the Guidebook.
"Do you want to know who you are?"
"Retrieve the Philosopher's Stone, and you will get your answer."
Tom stared at the Guidebook, realizing, "It was you who took my memory!"
"Give it back to me!"
Guidebook: "Retrieve the Philosopher's Stone, and you will get what you want."
"Liar!"
Tom, overwhelmed with anger, raised his wand. "Give it back! Or I swear I'll destroy you!"
Guidebook: "You want to use the power I gave you to defeat me?"
"Do you think... whose spells are you using?"
"Whose memories of using those spells do you think you have?!"
Tom froze, then a terrible thought struck him.
Why did I never consider!
How could those skills, seemingly practiced a million times, come from nowhere?
They must have come from a wizard.
And now, it seems, they all came from Tom Riddle's memories!
He collapsed to the ground. "Why... Why would you do this?"
"Tom Riddle... why did you give me your name?!"
"I thought you were my..."
Guidebook: "Tom Riddle. I haven't used that name in a long time."
Then, a page filled with blood-red letters.
"Now, I am Voldemort."
Voldemort.
The Dark Lord... defeated by Harry?
Tom Riddle is the Dark Lord?
Tom felt utterly confused, overwhelmed by too much information. But he didn't care who Tom Riddle was; he only wanted to understand one thing.
"Who am I? Who is Lucas? Why me?"
But the Guidebook's text vanished, leaving no response. It lay open on the ground, seemingly just an ordinary notebook.
Tom sat there for a long time before standing up, unwilling to stay there any longer.
However, as soon as he opened the door, "Pop! Pop!"
Two colorful Christmas crackers burst in front of him, releasing a cloud of blue smoke.
Suddenly, a naval cap appeared in mid-air, landing perfectly on his head, as mice scurried from the cap to the ground.
"Merry Christmas, Tom!"
Harry and Ron stood outside the door, having somehow sneaked into the Slytherin common room, arms laden with stuff.
"We thought you were still asleep. Come on, Tom, everyone's waiting, just you left."
Tom stared at them in shock, momentarily dazed. "Tom... are you calling me?"
"Who else? We don't have another Tom in our dorm, do we?" Ron said. "What's wrong, buddy?"
"Ha, haha..." Tom suddenly burst into dry laughter, tears streaming down his face. "I don't know, I might be..."
"A fake..."
"A puppet..."
"A tool..."
"My life is meaningless..."
"No, haha, I don't even have a life..."
"I..."
Suddenly, he felt someone embrace him.
Ron, shorter
than him, tiptoed and hugged him from over his shoulder.
"Oh, buddy. You must have gone through the worst thing in the world."
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