And with that, he turned, his robes sweeping behind him, and vanished through a back door Tom hadn't noticed before.
Tom approached the parchment.
Unfolded it.
Inside was just one sentence — written in dark green ink:
"The blood remembers."
Late at night, The castle slept.
Even the shadows were still.
But in the far corner of the Slytherin dormitory, behind a drawn green curtain, Tom Riddle sat hunched over his bed, a single flickering wand-light hovering above his journal.
The other boys were asleep. Severus snored softly a few beds away.
Tom didn't move.
His fingers traced the slip of parchment on his lap, over and over again — the one given to him by Professor Sallow.
"The blood remembers."
He had read it ten times. A hundred.
And now, it stared up at him like a whisper trapped in ink.
He opened his diary.
The leather creaked softly, like it, too, remembered secrets.
In a corner of the page, he began to write:
Entry #17 – September
I can't sleep.
Every time I close my eyes, I see it again —
The shadows.
The screaming.
Her body on the floor.
The snakes hissing like they know my name.
It's not just a dream.
It's a warning.
Something is trying to reach me. Or maybe something inside me is trying to get out.
Then today... him.
Professor Sallow.
He walked into that classroom like he had been waiting for me all his life.
He didn't say my name. He didn't look directly at me.
But everything he said felt like it was mine.
"Some legacies don't die."
"Some names always find their way home."
What does that even mean?
And then that note.
"The blood remembers."
It won't stop echoing in my head.
What blood?
Whose blood?
What is it remembering?
I've tried to ignore it — the things I can do.
The voice I heard in the corridor.
The way snakes listen.
The way shadows follow.
But now I'm scared.
I'm terrified of what I might be.
And worse —
I'm terrified that I might be exactly what he sees in me.
And yet... I can't look away.
Something is waking up.
And I think... it's me.
Tom closed his dairy after writing and went to bed.
Morning came.
The sun broke gently through the high windows of the castle, spilling pale gold across the stone floors. Students rushed down to the Great Hall for breakfast, laughter echoing in the corridors.
But Tom didn't smile.
He walked with purpose, his bag slung tightly over one shoulder, the parchment tucked deep inside his robes like it might burn through the fabric if exposed too long.
He had barely touched his food.
Hadn't spoken a word to Severus.
He didn't even look in Lily's direction.
Something else was pulling at him now.
Something louder than friendship.
He found Professor Sallow alone in one of the lesser-used tower classrooms, just before first period. The man stood by a tall window, back turned, seemingly watching the sky — or the shadows between the clouds.
Tom stepped inside.
"You knew I'd come," he said quietly.
Sallow didn't move.
"You were always going to come," he replied.
Tom held out the parchment.
"What does it mean? The blood remembers. What blood? What's remembering?"
Sallow turned, slowly. His eyes — dark with the faintest hint of something unnatural beneath — studied Tom like a puzzle already half-solved.
"You want the truth," he said.
Tom's voice hardened.
"I want answers."
Sallow stepped closer.
"The blood remembers what the mind tries to forget. What the world tries to bury. Names. Powers. Legacies... that never truly die."
Tom's grip tightened.
"Is this about my family?"
A flicker in Sallow's expression — something close to satisfaction.
"Do you know your family?"
"No," Tom said. "Only that they left me."
Sallow circled slowly behind him.
"Not all legacies are chosen. Some are inherited. Passed down like spells carved into the bone."
He stopped.
"Do you ever feel it?"
"Like something ancient is inside you. Watching."
"Waiting."
Tom didn't answer.
Because he didn't have to.
Sallow smiled.
"That... is what the blood remembers."
Tom stood firm.
"If the blood remembers, then show me what it remembers."
Sallow's expression didn't change — but something in the room shifted.
Like the air had gone heavier. Older.
"You want proof?" he said calmly.
Tom nodded once.
Sallow stepped closer, until there was barely space between them.
"Then meet me. After your next class. Alone."
"Where?"
Sallow's voice dropped lower — a whisper meant only for Tom.
"The abandoned stairwell behind the west courtyard. The stone steps that lead to nothing."
Tom had passed them once. Old. Cracked. Covered in cobwebs and spells of neglect.
"Why there?"
"Because the castle remembers too," Sallow said. "And there are places it lets speak only to those it trusts... or fears."
He turned his back and began walking to the window again.
Tom stared at him.
"What's waiting for me there?" he asked.
Sallow's voice was distant, almost hollow now.
"A piece of your truth."
Tom didn't flinch.
He turned and walked away.
He didn't ask for permission.
He just knew he'd go.
Little did they know, James Potter hadn't meant to spy.
He was just looking for a shortcut to avoid History of Magic — again. He'd learned months ago that Professor Binns wouldn't notice if you were three minutes late... or thirty.
So when he slipped through the side hallway near the west courtyard, he hadn't expected to hear voices echoing in the cold stone.
He slowed.
It was Riddle's voice. Quiet. Sharp.
"...then show me what it remembers."
James ducked behind a column.
He peered around just enough to see them — Tom, standing straight and tense, and that new professor, Sallow... the one who gave him chills the moment he stepped into the castle.
"Meet me after your next class," the professor was saying. "Alone."
James narrowed his eyes.
That didn't sound like a detention. It sounded... secret.
"Where?" Tom asked.
"The abandoned stairwell behind the west courtyard. The stone steps that lead to nothing."
James's breath caught. That place? Everyone said it was cursed. Even Peeves avoided it.
"What's waiting for me there?" Tom said.
"A piece of your truth."
James's stomach turned.
He stepped back.
His foot nudged something — a loose stone.
Clack.
Sallow's head turned sharply.
But James was already gone — slipping into the next corridor before they could see.
His heart pounded.
He didn't know what Tom was into.
But it wasn't good.
After the final bell echoed through the stone corridors, the castle began to exhale.
It was that strange in-between time — when one part of the day ended, and the next hadn't quite begun. Footsteps grew lighter. Voices scattered. The walls, as always, kept their secrets.
But James Potter wasn't moving with the crowd.
He was watching.
From his place near the corner arch, James spotted Tom Riddle walking alone — too quickly, too precisely. He knew he wasn't heading to lunch. He wasn't heading anywhere normal.
He knew something was up. Something he felt even the professors don't know,
James waited for Sirius to catch up.
"Coming to the tower? Heard Montague let off another dungbomb," Sirius said with a smirk.
"Nah," James replied casually, eyes fixed down the hallway. "Think I left my—Lily's quill in the last class. Better not lose it."
Sirius raised an eyebrow.
"That's your excuse?"
James shrugged.
"It's working, isn't it?"
Sirius rolled his eyes and disappeared down the opposite hall.
The moment he was gone, James turned and followed.
He kept his distance, ducking around corners and pretending to tie his shoes twice. Tom never looked back.
They passed the library. The charms corridor. Then curved toward the west courtyard, where the light dimmed and the air grew colder.
James knew where they were headed.
Everyone had heard of it.
The abandoned stairwell.
Old. Unused. Whispers of curses. Warnings from ghosts.
And yet — Tom walked straight toward it.
James slowed, hugging the wall.
From the shadows, he saw Tom reach the base of the steps — standing still, like he was waiting for something only he could hear.
Then, out of the far archway, Professor Sallow appeared.
Cloaked in grey. Quiet as smoke.
The two didn't speak immediately.
They just... stared at one another.
Like something ancient had just awakened between them.
James felt the hairs on his arms rise.
He didn't know what they were doing.
But whatever it was...
It wasn't schoolwork.
The stairwell was silent — carved from stone and swallowed in shadow.
Tom stood near the bottom step, his eyes fixed ahead as Professor Sallow emerged from the dim passage beyond. But this time, Sallow wasn't alone.
Cradled in his arms was a long, coiled serpent — sleek and dark, its emerald eyes flicking in the gloom.
Tom's breath hitched.
It was the same serpent from the hallway. He knew it instantly.
Sallow said nothing as he stepped closer. He knelt at the base of the stairs and gently placed the snake on the cold stone.
Then he stood back.
The serpent raised its head, tongue flicking, body swaying unnaturally... and suddenly began to shift.
Bones cracked.
The tail twisted into legs. Scales melted into pale, tight skin. The sound was wet, unnatural — flesh stretching where it shouldn't.
In moments, the creature stood tall — no longer a snake, but a man, cloaked and hooded.
The transformation was seamless... but wrong. His movements were too fluid. His face too still. His eyes, though now human-shaped, retained the same serpentine gleam.
Tom stared, frozen.
"What... are you?" he asked, his voice low.
The hooded figure tilted his head — not unlike how a snake studies prey.
"A servant of blood. A keeper of truth," the man said calmly. "You called. The blood remembered."
Tom turned to Professor Sallow, eyes narrowed.
"You brought him here?"
"No," Sallow replied, his voice as cold as always. "He was always meant to find you."
Tom's stomach twisted.
"Why?"
The serpent-man stepped forward, lowering his hood at last.
His face was sharp, gaunt, marked by a thin scar across one cheek, like a crack in a porcelain mask and eyeballs emitting radiant green lights.
"Because you are the one who remains. The last thread of the name we built from stone and shadow. The world forgot us. But your blood... it didn't."
Tom's hand tightened around his diary in his pocket.
"I didn't ask for any of this," he whispered.
"No," said the serpent-man. "But the blood did."
The man once serpent stood in silence.
His dark cloak hung still, but his presence pressed down like a storm.
Tom couldn't move.
His hands were cold.
His legs felt like stone.
And yet something deeper stirred within him — not strength... but fear.
"You feel it now, don't you?" the serpent-man whispered, voice like silk over ice.
Tom didn't respond.
Because he did feel something.
But it wasn't what they thought.
It wasn't awakening.
It was dread.
"You are not like them," the man continued. "You are the heir of ruin. The shadow that never died."
Tom's breath caught.
He clenched the small black box in his pocket — as if squeezing it could silence everything he just heard.
"I don't want to be anything," he whispered. "I didn't ask for this."
The serpent-man tilted his head.
"But your blood did."
And then — the change began.
The man twisted.
Bones snapped.
His body cracked and coiled, melting back into scales and serpentine shape.
Tom stepped back in panic as the snake hissed one last time... then slithered into a crack between the stones and vanished.
Professor Sallow stood still, watching Tom with unreadable eyes.
"You fear it," he said softly.
Tom looked up, eyes wide, chest rising fast.
"Good," Sallow said. "It means you're still human."
Then he turned, his cloak swirling behind him, and disappeared into the dark hallway without another word.
From the ledge above the stairwell...
James Potter released a shaky breath.
He'd heard everything.
He'd seen the man become a snake — and Tom, paralyzed with fear.
This wasn't something to tease about in the dormitory.
This was real.
And dangerous.
And whatever was happening...
Tom Riddle was at the center of it.
NESSGEEORIGINAL