Gaining Draco's trust was simpler than anticipated, largely due to the weight of the Malfoy name. Draco's world was centered on the admiration of his father; if Lucius claimed the diary was the key to the Chamber of Secrets, Draco accepted it as gospel.
Through their silent exchanges on parchment, Elijah pieced together the sequence of events that had brought the diary to the Slytherin dungeons.
It had begun during the Christmas holidays at Malfoy Manor.
Elijah, wearing Draco's face through Polyjuice and using the Malfoy family owl, had sent a letter to Wiltshire. He had gambled on Lucius's cowardice and his possessiveness, subtly hinting that Draco's safety—his very soul—depended on Lucius's cooperation in removing Dumbledore from Hogwarts.
The reaction at the Manor had been one of pure, aristocratic panic.
Narcissa Malfoy had spent the holiday in a state of brittle agitation. The Ministry's persistent raids, led by Arthur Weasley, had forced Lucius to keep Draco at school for the break—a decision she deeply resented.
Lucius, meanwhile, was far from idle. He had already set wheels in motion during the summer, dropping the diary into the Weasley girl's cauldron.
He had intended it as a bit of lethal mischief to discredit Arthur Weasley and end the Ministry's hounding.
He remembered what the Dark Lord had told him years ago: the diary was the key to the Chamber.
With Voldemort gone eleven years, Lucius saw no reason to let a powerful tool gather dust when it could be used to ruin a political rival.
But the letter he received over Christmas changed everything. Narcissa had opened it first, her face draining of what little color it possessed.
"What is it?" Lucius had asked, his premonition of disaster sharpening. He snatched the parchment and read:
My dearest servant, Lucius Malfoy:
I am truly sorry, Lucius. Have I been out of sight for so long that you have forgotten my magic? How dare you give away what I entrusted to you for safekeeping?
I suppose you think the Dark Lord is dead—defeated by a baby who couldn't even walk—and you were eager to disassociate yourself. My current state is indeed fragile, but killing is still easy.
You will atone. Get Dumbledore expelled from Hogwarts. I wish you a Merry Christmas.
Lucius had trembled, the parchment fluttering in his hand. "He's back... he's back..."
He knew Voldemort's nature better than most.
Failure meant death; success might mean mercy. To protect Draco and redeem himself, Lucius acted immediately.
He summoned Dobby, the family's house-elf, and commanded him to infiltrate Hogwarts, reclaim the diary from Ginny Weasley, and deliver it to Draco along with a new set of instructions.
...
"You can really lead me to the Chamber?" Draco wrote, his quill scratching frantically.
Elijah watched the ink sink into the page. He could practically feel Draco's vanity radiating through the paper.
To Draco, being the Heir of Slytherin was the ultimate social elevation—a way to finally step out of Harry Potter's shadow and "purify" the school of the "filth" he so despised.
"Who had the diary before me?" Draco questioned. "The one who petrified that Creevey brat?"
Elijah did not care to discuss Ginny. "A coward," he replied. "A pathetic child who froze the moment the Professors took notice. Your father sent the diary to you because he believes a Malfoy is more reliable."
The flattery worked perfectly. "Of course!" Draco wrote. "Let's start immediately. I want that Granger girl next."
"No," Elijah countered. "We must make them lower their guard first. But... I can take you to the Chamber now, if you wish."
Draco's excitement was palpable. "How?"
"I must use your body."
Draco hesitated. Even a spoiled second-year knew the dangers of possession. "You think I'll just let you in?"
Elijah responded with cold, pointed logic: "You don't dare?"
"Do you think I would harm the son of Lucius?" "Do you believe your father would send you something that would threaten your life?"
The doubt shattered. "Alright. How do I do it?"
"Press your face close to the pages."
Draco obeyed. As he leaned in, threads of silver mist—like the silk of a predatory insect—wound around his vision and pulled his consciousness into the void.
Elijah stepped into the driver's seat.
"Fuaa~"
He took a predatory breath, savoring the influx of Draco's life force—thin and shallow, but enough to sustain him. He knew this trust was fragile; unlike Ginny, who viewed him as a friend, Draco viewed him as a tool.
Before heading to the Chamber, Elijah retrieved the Marauder's Map. He had stolen it from the twins weeks ago and hidden it, keeping its existence a secret from Ginny.
Now, he slipped it into Draco's sleeve and made his way to the 2nd-floor girls' lavatory.
The stone floor groaned, the sinks sliding apart to reveal the black maw of the abyss.
...
Urg..
Draco woke up in the dark.
He felt mud beneath his fingernails and a heavy, damp chill in the air. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the towering stone serpents rising from the black water.
The Chamber of Secrets!!
He scrambled up, the diary sliding off his chest. He opened it frantically to find a new message waiting:
"This is the Chamber."
Draco spun around, his fear replaced by a giddy, manic triumph. "Where's the monster? The one that eliminates Mudbloods?"
"You cannot summon it," Elijah wrote. "Only a Parselmouth can command the Basilisk. Without my control, it would see you as nothing more than a meal."
"Potter is a Parselmouth!" Draco wrote. "Was it him before?"
"No."
"Then who else? Who else speaks it?"
The ink formed two simple letters: "Me."
Draco stared at the word. Surprise and envy fought for dominance in his chest. This Tom Riddle, a man with a Muggle-sounding name, held the ancient power he craved.
"Strange?" Elijah wrote. "My mother was a Gaunt. I am the descendant of Slytherin."
The revelation silenced Draco. If Riddle was Slytherin's blood, he was practically royalty. Yet, Draco's arrogance was hard to kill. "Well, 'Little Diary,' if you're a Parselmouth, shouldn't you show me what the monster looks like?"
Little Diary? Elijah thought. The boy truly had no concept of the edge he walked upon. Had this been the real Riddle, Draco would have been flayed alive.
"I am willing," Elijah wrote, "but I must borrow your body to speak the tongue. If I do, you will be unconscious. You will never see the Basilisk."
"Can't you summon it and then give me my body back?"
"If you wish to face a hungry Basilisk alone, be my guest. It hasn't eaten a proper meal in centuries. I doubt you would satisfy it for long."
Draco shivered and dropped the subject. He looked around the cavernous hall, feeling a twinge of disappointment. "Is this it? Just statues and water?"
Elijah knew better. The Chamber was once a sanctuary of forbidden knowledge, its walls housing the manuscripts Slytherin had hidden from the other founders. Voldemort had stripped most of it, but the echoes remained in Elijah's stolen memories.
He decided to offer Draco a different prize to cement his loyalty.
"You want power, Draco? I know a place. Lean your head over again."
Once Elijah had control, he consulted the Marauder's Map. Seeing the 7th floor was clear, he ascended to the Room of Requirement.
I need a place to practice the Dark Arts, he thought three times.
The door materialized. Inside was a grim, torch-lit classroom filled with grimoires. Elijah moved quickly, hiding the truly dangerous texts and leaving only minor hexes—spells that would make Draco feel powerful without turning him into a liability.
He returned the body to Draco, who was overjoyed by the "secret" room.
While Draco practiced his curses, Elijah retreated into the diary to dive into the deeper mysteries he had uncovered: Alchemy.
He poured over the forbidden texts, his mind snagging on the esoteric philosophies.
"The twenty-two paths of the Tree of Life... the ten fundamental essences..."
The more he read, the more Elijah's ambition shifted.
His resurrected body would be Tom Riddle's body, and although he was very talented, he ultimately had limits. He turned himself into something neither human nor ghost, but still couldn't obtain ultimate power.
Elijah did not want to be content with this.
Since he had already encountered so much mystery, what he craved was to become a truly perfect life!
A Perfect Being!