Can HP Diary Help Me Pass NEWTs?

The author has something to say:

In this chapter, I think the settings that need to be explained in advance:

The diary is a Horcrux that Riddle made before graduation (16 years old), and was later handed over to the Malfoy family by Voldemort for safekeeping.Considering that Malfoy didn't know that the diary was a Horcrux at all, he didn't meet and communicate with Diary Tang, so Diary Tang only knew that he was Voldemort and became the Dark Lord, but he didn't know that Voldemort was defeated, and he didn't know that the great Harry Potter, the unlucky boy, didn't even know that Malfoy sent the diary away like he was in trouble.In the original book, it was because Ginny had a crush on Harry and kept mentioning it with Diary Tang, so Diary Tang knew about it.

In this article the diary goes directly to Pauline, she doesn't like to talk about Voldemort and Harry, so diary soup doesn't know anything about it.

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And, this wave is crumbs x crumbs, my favorite -13-

There are 68 days until NEWTs.

I finally opened the journal again.

Considering that I was the one who stamped the other party's boyfriend first, and I liked him quite a bit, it was really my fault to disconnect for more than 20 days without authorization, so I decided to apologize first.

Well, "Technical Apology" refers to making the other party back down without admitting that you have a problem.

——I'm an expert on this point.

Riddle pursed his lips, sat on the edge of my bed, and looked at me deeply.

"You seem to be quite famous," I opened my mouth first and slapped him. I frowned and glanced at him. My eyes didn't stay long, and I quickly moved away, as if he couldn't attract my attention anymore, and my tone was indifferent, " Even Dumbledore paid special attention to you. Congratulations, you have the same treatment as the Boy Who Lived."

I didn't look at him, but walked to the hanger under his gaze, and with one hand, I took off the bright pearly hair accessories, and slowly stroked the hair to the end, and untied the wizard's robe with the other hand, and put it on the hanger with a rough movement After hanging up, he turned around, shook the drooping hair, pushed them back behind his shoulders, and looked at Riddle with a cold expression.

"What do you mean?" Riddle really took the initiative to speak, and he didn't even care about my excessive behavior of "lost contact for half a month without saying a word, and lost his temper with his cold face as soon as we met". Instead, he frowned slightly and slowed down his tone. Like a good-tempered boyfriend who gently accommodates my bad temper and willfulness.

He even smiled at me, with a little helpless pampering, "How would Dumbledore know me? And who is the Boy Who Lived?"

—He doesn't know about Harry Potter yet?

A lot of analyzes and speculations flashed through my mind, but now it’s not text communication, Riddle can see my every movement and micro-expression, I don’t have much time to think, and there is still time to think about it after the supply of magic power is cut off.

"I'm going to ask you." I was not moved by his gentle tone at all, and stood at the table a few steps away from him, half leaning on the table, crossed my arms, and looked at him indifferently. , "Tom, I never asked about your past or future, because I think the present is the most important thing, but now I finally realize that your origin may be far beyond my imagination."

He was sitting, and I was standing, and this time it was my turn to look down at him.

"I'm just a memory." Riddle looked at me and sighed softly, like the most cunning hunter, "My past has long been open to you, and my soul has nothing to hold back from you. As for my future, even you If I can’t find out, how can I find out?”

I never mentioned Voldemort, the Dark Lord, or Potter to him, and he wasn't lying about that, maybe he tried it, but I was never interested in Voldemort, so I always mentioned it and didn't want to mention it (Mainly because I think it's a waste of time to study), he should have noticed my rejection of this topic, so he didn't dare to test it too much, lest I notice it.

Many things didn't feel right at the time, but in retrospect, they seemed extraordinarily subtle.

When I went back and forth on this topic several times, but I ignored it intentionally or unintentionally, and even vaguely revealed that I was not interested in Voldemort, and I didn’t think that then, Riddle did behave...

quite unpleasant.

I'm not sure if he was upset that he didn't have news about Voldemort, or that I wasn't interested in Voldemort.

Or, maybe both.

But after figuring this out, I didn't have the excitement that I should have after solving a mystery.

"A memory," I repeated, with a subtle tone, sneering, "A memory that will fall in love with someone?"

I saw a faint, strange and cold smile in Riddle's eyes, as if he had grasped something from my words.

He got it, and I had all his unspoken curiosity, his insane fascination, his unquenchable curiosity and unseen attention.

--I do not deny.

Riddle smiled. He was so handsome that he looked at me like a doomed king in a Muggle fairy tale. He was calm, determined and arrogant, and would bestow upon me great glory.

He called my name softly, like a king's gift of knighthood, "Boline..."

But he didn't understand.

I am not his bride, knight, follower, or any vassal.

Just as he discovered my unknown at this moment, so I discovered him.

In the long-term relationship, he tried to understand me and master me, but in the end he found nothing.

He couldn't judge whether my fascination and attention were real or fake.

He is so obsessed with transcendence, but at least to me, he is not divine.

I have to admit, it feels exhilarating.

After all, I'm arrogant too.

"Dumbledore is very wary of you." I interrupted him, "Don't deny it too quickly, he has been paying attention and vigilance to you all the time, you and I both know what I said is true."

In fact, I am not so sure, but when this suspicion arises, it is enough for me to verify the authenticity of this conjecture.

Riddle's expression darkened.

"Dumbledore," he chewed the name softly, containing a resentment that was restrained but finally revealed a little, "an annoying old dog, keeping a close eye on all prey he thinks is suspicious, he has power, But I would rather believe in the so-called 'love', brainwash everyone, and protect the weak who should be ruled or eliminated."

There was an inconspicuous, subtle and disdainful sneer on his lips, "The arrogant Gryffindor, who thinks he is the protector and savior, who can he save?"

"I sincerely hope you'll notice that I'm not bringing this up to hear your speech about my Headmaster," I said flatly.

"Of course, of course," Riddle laughed knowingly, he was polite, as if sincerely apologetic, "I didn't expect that just because of my name, I would cause you so much trouble, Putting you down to deal with Dumbledore these days. Believe me, no one knows better than me what a nuisance that is."

He slowly stretched out his hand, silently inviting, like a proud king condescending to give grace.

I didn't move.

Riddle sighed.

"Pauline," he said softly.

"You.are.just.like.a.riddle."

You're like an enigma / You're like another me (Riddle)

He straightened his arms and took my hand.

I did not refuse.

He tightly encircled my wrist, pulling me forcefully but not arrogantly towards him.

Walk towards him, get close to him, until you are close at hand.

Lowering his head, he was between fantasy and reality, staring at me.

"You know, bringing you trouble is definitely not what I want to see." He is like the best-tempered boyfriend, coaxing his unhappy girlfriend with the most rare patience and tenderness in the world, "Maybe you are willing to give me another A chance to make up for my mistake?"

I didn't show any expression, so he gave me a lazy, a bit jerk smile, and drew out his tone, "Don't be angry, just smile, how about it?"

I admit that I was entertained.

"Sometimes, you're just like a bastard." I said half-truthfully, I reached out and landed on his sideburns, following his jawline, slowly tracing his superior outline, from the sideburns to all the way to the lips.

The jaw under the palm tensed for a moment, and he stared at me without hesitation. In my gaze, the Adam's apple slowly rolled.

I gave him a kiss as light as a raven's wings.

And he gave me a fire full of plunder, madness, destruction, and cruelty, consuming desire, obsession, me, and him.

"But at least—"

I tried my best to continue my intermittent breathing, and pushed the hand tightly around my waist, but didn't push it away.

I gave up, lazily buried myself in his arms, turned my head, and his profile was on my lips.

"But at least," I half-smile, "you're still a pretty handsome bastard."