Doesn't the Quintaped Have Any Charm?

Tom Riddle had not heard a living person's voice in a very long time.

He had slept inside the Room of Requirement for far too long—

So long that he could no longer tell whether the faint vibrations he occasionally felt from the Main Soul were real fragments of memory or illusions warped by endless rumination in the dark.

He had lost all contact with the Main Soul long ago.

He did not know how long he had slept or what had happened outside. All he knew was that today—

Someone had touched him. Someone had awakened him.

Who?

Someone had found him and put on the Diadem.

How pathetic. They put on the Diadem without even needing to be tempted, he thought coldly.

Whoever you are, your life force belongs to me now.

He opened the channel to drain their life force.

"...Great Master, I finally found you!"

Tom stopped draining.

Master?

Was this a servant recruited by the Main Soul?

Such a devout voice deserved a chance to speak.

Tom spoke, his voice carrying through their minds.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Draco Malfoy! Your most loyal servant! Lucius Malfoy is my father!"

Lucius Malfoy? Who was that?

Tom fell silent within the Crown for a moment.

He did not recognize the name.

But the Malfoy surname brought only one person to mind—

Abraxas Lucius.

His Slytherin classmate at Hogwarts. Old Malfoy, who had kept watch for him in the Restricted Section of the library.

That pale, sharp-featured face had always appeared at his side at precisely the right moment to declare his support.

But he did not remember Abraxas having a son named Lucius.

"What is Abraxas Malfoy to you?"

"Great Master—he's my grandfather!"

So that was it.

Tom silently calculated the years.

Abraxas was of his generation.