Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 283: Come on, Tom, Let’s Hurt Each Other!

After meeting Lucius in the courtyard, the groupʼs mood was noticeably affected. They returned to the castle in silence and went straight back to the common room.

The next day, Ron still hadn’t been discharged from the hospital wing. However, according to someone from Slytherin, Malfoy had apparently been taken away by his father, most likely to St. Mungoʼs.

Kyle didn’t give it much thought; he had more pressing matters to attend to that day. After breakfast, Fred and George were taken off by Wood for Quidditch training, while Kyle headed to the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor.

He spent the morning transferring all the Mooncalves and some of the plants there into his suitcase. However, he left plants with slower growth cycles, like the Venomous Tentacula, undisturbed.

The seeds for these plants had been given to him by the Ministry of Magic as compensation the previous year. It had only been a year, and they were still in the budding stage. The unique qualities of the Room of Requirement allowed them to grow better. There was plenty of time to tend to them in the future—no need to rush.

After transferring the last Mooncalf, Kyle returned to the small hut at the suitcaseʼs entrance. Instead of leaving, he pulled a box out from under his bed. Seeing Lucius Malfoy yesterday had reminded him that he hadn’t checked the diary since Fawkesʼs last visit. He wondered what had happened to Riddle in the meantime.

Kyle took out the dragonʼs blood he had bought in Diagon Alley, poured it into an empty inkwell, and diluted it with a bit of water. Dragonʼs blood was expensive, so he wanted to use it sparingly. After setting everything up, he finally opened the diary.

Soon, faint words appeared on the page.

[Iʼm sorry, I haven’t fully recovered yet.]

[For some reason, my magic is returning very slowly.]

“That’s okay, I’ve got the dragon’s blood,” Kyle wrote back in red ink.

The words were quickly absorbed into the page. After a few seconds, more words appeared.

[Strange, it really is dragon’s blood, but why does it contain so little magic?]

“I don’t know...” Kyle wrote. “I bought it in Diagon Alley.”

[Then you chose the wrong shop; this isn’t pure dragon’s blood.]

“It’s not useful to you?”

[Though the effect is weaker, it’s still useful.]

These words appeared much clearer than before. Kyle nodded to himself. As long as it worked, he wasn’t going to complain.

With the ”Riddle Answer Machine” back online, Kyle resumed asking questions about magical writing techniques. However, Riddle seemed distracted, his thoughts circling around something Kyle had mentioned earlier.

Who was this person capable of effortlessly defeating an enemy that even Dumbledore had struggled with? And the dark wizard Kyle had referred to with such familiarity—Riddle felt certain it could only be him, his future self. After all, an enemy who could pose a challenge for Dumbledore had to be him. No one else would be worthy.

He was desperate to know more—the reason for his failure, and what events had led to it.

After answering Kyleʼs questions with patience, Riddle could no longer hold back.

[I remember you saying before that someone was stronger than Dumbledore. Is that true? And...what was his name? Was he from my era?]

Kyle looked up from the pile of symbols and runes, glanced at the diary, and scribbled down a reply:

“Does that really interest you?”

[I’m just curious,] Riddle replied. [In my memory, Professor Dumbledore has always been the strongest, the one I strive to surpass. Ever since you mentioned someone surpassing him, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.]

“No wonder,” Kyle wrote back, “I thought your answers were a bit slower than usual.”

[There’s nothing I can do about it. I’m really having trouble concentrating.]

“Hm, I understand…”

Kyle’s gaze shifted back to the parchment with the latest set of formulas he’d just written down. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the table. Although the arrangement appeared normal, looking just like the previous examples, he noticed that two of the symbols seemed familiar.

He recalled reading in Nicolas Flamel’s alchemy book that the symbols for “light” and “impact” must not be directly connected—they required a buffer between them. Failing to do so would create a 90% chance that the alchemical item would explode upon activation.

Was Riddle doing this on purpose? Or was it just a mistake?

Kyle hesitated, deciding not to say anything about it. Pointing it out would be useless; Riddle could easily claim he’d simply been distracted. And if Riddle knew Kyle had read about alchemy, he would likely become even more careful when setting traps, which would make things far more complicated in the future.

Kyle sighed, lightly scratching the parchment. He took a clip to scoop some nutrients for the Venomous Tentacula from a nearby iron bucket, tossed it into the inkwell, and stirred it. Dipping his quill in the new “ink,” he wrote:

“I’m sorry, Tom, but I was only joking when I said that the person who defeated the Dark Wizard wasn’t as powerful as Headmaster Dumbledore.”

[So it was a joke... I had already guessed as much,] Riddle’s handwriting appeared, clearer now than before. [I knew it—no one is stronger than Professor Dumbledore...]

“No, Tom, you’re wrong,” Kyle replied. “Actually, Headmaster Dumbledore doesn’t even rank second.”

[What?]

“I hesitated to tell you the truth, thinking you might not accept it… but now I’ve decided to be honest with you. There are many hidden families in the wizarding world, ancient lines with powers handed down through millennia. They are incredibly powerful—able to move mountains and fill seas with a mere wave of the hand. However, these families rarely appear before ordinary wizards, preferring to protect the wizarding world from the shadows.”

[Impossible!] Riddle’s response was hasty and scrawled messily across the page, letters blending together. [If that were true, why did I only meet mediocre people when I was at school?]

“They don’t attend Hogwarts. Their knowledge is passed down through their families… I know it sounds far-fetched, but it’s the truth.”

This time, Riddle didn’t respond. After a long pause, a new line appeared in the diary.

[If that’s true, then how do you know about it?]

“Plenty of people know,” Kyle replied. “Over a decade ago, a dark wizard named Moldywart rose to power. His followers grew so bold that they proclaimed him ‘a Dark Lord with the might of a God of Magic,’ which angered these hidden families. An elderly man finally stepped forward and, wielding a two-handed sword, singlehandedly cut down Moldywart’s followers, leaving them half-dead.”

The diary remained silent again, much longer this time.

...

[What happened then? What happened to this Dark Lord?]

“A few days later, he was killed by an infant. That’s the only public record we have.”

With that, Kyle pasted a newspaper clipping he had prepared onto the diary’s page.

Ten minutes passed…

“Tom, Tom, are you still there?”

This time, the diary remained entirely unresponsive. It was as if it had fallen completely silent, as if something inside it had finally broken.