I said aloud, but there was no reply from the diary.
"Alright… onto the first ritual," I thought, placing the diary on the table and standing before the cauldron.
"First: the father's bone."
I said, and tore a bone from my own arm — this was why I stole the identity of being Tom's father: so I could use my own bones, then return what I'd taken from Riddle Sr., restoring him as Voldemort's father again — Voldemort, not Tom — severing any possible link between Tom and Voldemort.
Once my arm healed, I stirred the liquid in the cauldron, which had changed from pure water to a milky white fluid like bone.
"Next: the servant's blood taken by force."
I said, pouring Peter Pettigrew's blood into the mixture.
Half of it turned dark red, while the other half stayed bone-white.
"Lastly: flesh of the enemy, given willingly."
I added the piece of Harry's arm I had taken with his consent when I asked him if I could take his arm.
The mixture now showed three colors — bone white, dark red like blood, and light red like raw flesh.
I kept an eye on the diary on the table, just in case Tom's silence was a trick.
Then I dropped the diary into the cauldron.
At once, the liquids soaked through the diary, dissolving it as the three colors blended into a dark brown, like wet earth, thickening and shaping.
I extinguished the fire.
Slowly, a small body took shape — a child, naked, with deep emerald green eyes, the same shade that the Slytherin line was known for, pale white skin with a healthy pallor, and golden hair the same shade as Lockhart's. About twelve to thirteen years old.
I let out a deep sigh.
"Merlin's beard… it was a risk, weaving my will into ritual magic to reduce his age — but it worked."
I wrapped a cloak around him and lifted him from the cauldron, laying him carefully inside a chalk circle drawn on the floor.
I began arranging the magical ingredients, focusing all my will.
When I was done, I spoke aloud with calm solemnity:
"I offer all these to the Mother of Magic —
the source of magic —
the mother and wellspring of all magical creatures —
the source of all life.
What I ask is for my child to receive his memories in the timeline I envision."
The Dawn Seed went on his right hand, symbolizing the beginning.
The Sunset Narcissus on his left hand, symbolizing the end.
The Vine of Life to the right of his heart, for life.
The Shadow Bloom to the left of his heart, for death.
The Veil Moss on the ground within the circle above his head, for the new illusory world.
Twelve Age Leaves distributed along the circle's edge, representing years of living.
And finally, the Time Worm above his forehead, for the stolen memories to be implanted.
When I finished the chant, the plants and magical ingredients turned into shimmering dust that swirled around Tom like a storm.
It gathered above his forehead, then slowly vanished — the moment it was gone, Tom's eyelids fluttered open. He looked around in confusion until he saw me and whispered, voice soft and uncertain:
"Father… where are we? How did we get here? Why does my head hurt…?"
I smiled. Before I answered, I skimmed his thoughts for a moment — then sealed them back.
"Well, my mischievous child — you should ask yourself why you followed me into my lab and tampered with precious ingredients without permission."
"Uh… that…."
Tom was stunned by how the blame had flipped back to him.
"But I don't remember doing that…" he said, his expression twisting into an innocent pout.
"Because you, my little rascal, meddled with things you didn't understand — which put you to sleep and started erasing your memories. If I hadn't arrived in time, something terrible could have happened. Tsk. Tsk. You have no idea how scared I was to lose you." I said, voice thick with feigned worry, and hugged him tightly.
"I'm… I'm sorry, Papa… I won't do it again, I promise… I'm really sorry…"
Tom was stunned by my words and the sudden hug, but slowly wrapped his arms around me in return.
"It's alright — what matters is that you're safe now. But we're going to St Mungo's to make sure you're completely fine."
"Ugh… anything but St Mungo's… please…" Tom mumbled, burying his face into my shoulder.
"No, Tom — we have to make sure you're perfectly healthy. And don't forget, you're supposed to be punished for what you did."
"But I almost died — and now you're taking me to St Mungo's too! Isn't that enough, Papa?"
Tom said, voice pitiful.
"Fine — just this once, you'll escape punishment. But drop that fake sad tone now."
"Haha! Thank you, Papa — I swear I won't do it again!"
Tom's face flipped instantly from sad to cheerful.
"Now let's get you ready for St Mungo's. Maxidor!"
Pop! Maxidor appeared.
"What can Maxidor do for you, Master? And for the young master??!"
"Hello, Maxidor!" Tom said, still sitting in my lap.
"Hello, young master???"
"Maxidor, take Tommy to the bedroom next to mine, then come right back to me."
"As you wish, Master Lockhart! Please hold my hand, young master."
Tom slipped off my lap, took Maxidor's hand obediently — and with another Pop!, they disappeared. Maxidor reappeared alone in front of me seconds later.
"Listen, Maxidor — I'm going to implant a set of memories about Tom into your mind. You will treat him according to these memories. Understood?"
"Understood, Master Lockhart," Maxidor said, standing rigidly straight.
I raised my wand, pointed it at Maxidor's forehead, focused on the exact memories I wanted him to have — what I'd glimpsed in Tom's thoughts — and spoke:
"Memoria Implantari!"
A white beam shot from my wand into Maxidor's head.
"I trust you know what to do now — clothes, photos, books, and anything else needed. Right, Maxidor?"
"Yes, Master Lockhart."
Good
Pop!
Maxidor vanished — and once more, I was the only one left in the ritual chamber.
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