Malfoy put his plan into action during Charms that afternoon. He had wanted to pull the same stunt on Harry in Potions, but unfortunately, their last Potions lesson of the week had been yesterday.
Throughout the lesson, Malfoy waited for the show to begin. He had placed the black Diary at the upper-left corner of his desk.
"Today, we'll continue studying the Freezing Charm." Flitwick stood on a stack of books; otherwise, his head probably wouldn't even have reached the top of the lectern. Still, he was full of enthusiasm. "The incantation for the Freezing Charm is Immobulus. Be careful to distinguish it from another spell. Of course, you haven't learned that one yet."
"Generally speaking, the Freezing Charm only works on things that are moving, but-"
"Hey, you! Harry Potter!"
A particularly sour-faced dwarf burst into the classroom, interrupting Professor Flitwick's lesson. Everyone looked up at the dwarf, who was about the same height as Professor Flitwick, and Harry immediately realized he was doomed.
Receiving a Valentine's card in front of so many people, especially with Draco Malfoy among them, was utterly infuriating. Harry wanted to run. But they were still in class. Besides, several dwarfs had already crowded around his desk, leaving him no way out. Even Ron and Neville, beside him, had been shoved aside.
Harry cast his gaze around as though pleading for help. He saw Ron looking horrified and worried for him, while Professor Flitwick covered his face helplessly at the lectern, as though wondering how someone like Lockhart could possibly have been a Ravenclaw. Across the room, the loathsome Malfoy was grinning more gleefully than ever.
"I have a musical message to deliver to Harry Potter in person," the dwarf announced, plucking his harp with an aggressive flourish.
"Not here," Harry whispered, almost begging.
"Stay still!" the dwarf grumbled, grabbing Harry's bag to stop him from escaping.
"Let me go!" Harry shouted, tugging hard at his bag. He no longer cared that they were in class. He would rather die!
With a loud ripping sound, his bag tore in two. His books, wand, parchment, and quills clattered onto the floor, and his ink bottle smashed on top of them.
Harry frantically grabbed at his scattered belongings, trying to gather them all before the dwarf began to sing.
The classroom had descended into chaos, but Malfoy's voice pierced the noise like a sharp bayonet, slashing at Harry.
"What's going on here?" Malfoy asked in a cold, contemptuous tone. Inside, however, he was far more excited than he let on. He had been waiting for this moment for ages!
He's laughing at me!
Harry panicked completely and wanted only to escape, but the dwarf grabbed him around both knees, sending him crashing to the floor.
"Right," he said, planting himself on Harry's knees. "Here's your singing Valentine:
"His eyes are as green as a freshly pickled toad,
"His hair is as black as a blackboard, stylish and bold,
"The scar on his forehead is lightning's own art,
"I wish he were mine, he's so handsome at heart,
"He's Harry Scarhead!"
"Enough!"
Professor Flitwick finally lost his patience. It was probably the first time the students had ever seen the gentle professor so angry.
"I am teaching a lesson!"
He raised his wand and fired a spell. It did not hit the dwarf directly, but struck beside his feet, leaving a fist-sized hole in the floor and driving him away.
But Harry felt no better at all.
He would have given every gold coin in his Gringotts vault just to turn into vapor and vanish on the spot. Bravely, he forced himself to laugh along with everyone else.
But no one in the classroom laughed harder than Malfoy. Laughing along with Malfoy only made it more torturous.
Most importantly-
"That wasn't a love confession at all. Malfoy definitely set it up!" Harry declared with absolute conviction. "He's the only one who calls me Scarhead!"
"You've got a point." Ron nodded, his face full of regret. "Damn it, why didn't we think of such a brilliant way to prank Malfoy?"
Harry thought it was a shame too, but it was already too late to do anything. Potions was their last lesson that day and that week; once class ended, Malfoy would return to the Slytherin Common Room.
Still, Harry refused to let it go. He could no longer concentrate on the lesson, and his eyes behind his round lenses fixed on Malfoy with hatred.
Then he saw Malfoy lean over his desk as though something wonderful had happened, take out a black notebook, and begin writing. They were too far apart, however, for Harry to make out what he wrote.
"I don't think Potter liked your Valentine's gift!"
The words sank into the Diary and appeared before Cyrus.
My gift to Harry Potter?
Cyrus rolled his eyes. Who's the one so deeply in love with Harry Potter, anyway?
He replied at once:
"Not mine, yours! I bet his expression was priceless?"
"Absolutely!"
Even through the words, Cyrus could feel Malfoy's immense delight. As far as Malfoy was concerned, there probably wasn't a more wonderful moment in the world.
What Cyrus did not know, however, was that Harry was watching every move the careless Malfoy made.
Fortunately, black notebooks like this were so common that Harry suspected nothing, even after hearing Ginny's description. After all, they had already ruled Malfoy out as the thief.
Ultimately, though, petty pranks were all Malfoy was capable of.
The malice in his chest seemed greater than anyone else's, but when it came to putting it into practice, he was not necessarily as formidable as his words suggested.
"Are we really going to kill someone?"
In the Chamber of Secrets, Malfoy's voice began to tremble.
Before him stood a tall, handsome human silhouette, though his figure was still somewhat transparent, like a ghost-
It was Cyrus!
After absorbing Ginny's and Malfoy's life force over the preceding days, he could now briefly let his shadow leave the Diary. That abundance of life had practically given him a new birth!
In truth, however, doing so consumed a tremendous amount of his power.
Still, friends ought to meet face-to-face.
This was also a small preparation Cyrus had made to bring Malfoy completely under his control.
"I think we don't need to..."
"Are you scared? Frightened, just like the last coward?" he asked.
"I'm not scared, it's just..." Draco's chest heaved as he stared in horror at the enormous serpent with its head lowered before him. What he felt in that moment was not glory, but genuine fear.
But before Cyrus-or rather, before "Little Tom," whom he had known for so long-he did not want to reveal his weakness. Especially now that he had discovered this half-blood, "Tom Riddle," was so much more accomplished than he was.
Now, he truly wanted to prove himself to his friend and his father, to let them see how outstanding he was. But asking him to kill someone was a little...
"She's only a filthy little Mudblood. Why should you care whether she lives or dies?" Cyrus took a step forward. Though he was nothing more than an illusory shadow, he forced Draco to retreat again and again.
"I just don't think it's necessary... The others who were attacked didn't die, did they? We j-just need to petrify them. Petrifying them is enough..."
"How interesting, Draco." Cyrus chuckled. Without Draco noticing, he had already moved right in front of him and was looking down at him. He could feel Draco Malfoy's breath, rapid and uneven.
"Do you know how much effort it takes for me to leave the Diary? Far more than possessing you!" Cyrus said angrily. "I only did this because you said you wanted to do it yourself. And now you're backing out?"
"I'm not, I'm not, it's just..." Cold sweat kept streaming down Draco's forehead. Though he denied it quickly, he could not even invent an excuse when it came to explaining himself.
He felt as though an enormous mass of seawater had swallowed him, its pressure making it impossible to breathe.
He looked deeply distressed.
At that moment, Cyrus reached his translucent fingers toward Draco's chest and took hold of the wand tucked into his pocket. He began to examine it slowly.
"A fine wand. What's it made of?" Cyrus seemed to have put the matter of making Malfoy kill someone entirely aside and turned instead to discussing his wand.
"Hawthorn, with a unicorn hair core."
"Hawthorn. A strange, contradictory wand, isn't it? Much like the tree itself, so full of paradoxes: its leaves and blossoms have healing properties, yet its cut branches carry the scent of death.
"And unicorn hair. Nothing could be less suited to performing dark magic. Draco-"
Cyrus put Malfoy's wand back where it had been, looking into his eyes as he did so.
"You look like you're suffering."
Draco had to admit that "Tom Riddle" was right. But he did not want to admit it-or rather, he could no longer get any words out at all. The once-friendly "Little Tom" now seemed like a completely different person, leaving him both frightened and estranged.
Fortunately, the other boy finally relented.
"Neither your good nor your evil is pure enough. That is the root of your suffering," Cyrus said, laying him bare without mercy.
He placed his hand on Draco's shoulder, his voice gradually growing ethereal, like the mesmerizing song of merpeople in the sea.
"What you cannot do, I will."
"Draco Malfoy, give me your body..."
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