There were ten days until the start of school when Sonia arrived in Diagon Alley to purchase supplies. After picking up some floo powder and a new set of magical dildos, she entered the book store. She was surprised to see it so crowded, then noticed a banner hanging overhead "GILDOROY LOCKHART SIGNING TODAY ONLY". She signed. Who cared about a pretty charlaton anyway? she thought. As she pushed through the crowd to the back of the store where the erotic fan fiction was kept, she noticed a certain famous dark-haired wizard, whom she recognized from the news but had never talked to. Surrounding him were a slew of redheaded children of various ages, including a girl who couldn't have been older than 13. Behind her stood a tall white-haired wizard with a lecherous smile and piercing blue eyes. In his hand was a small black book, which he slipped into the girl's bag while looking in another direction. Sonia briefly wondered what this book could be, that merely giving it away was such a surreptitious act, then continued on her way. After some time she found her books and made her way out to the till. She found herself in line behind the redhaired girl, whose open bag exposed the mysterious book. Sonia could see its black dragon-skin cover, the letters TMR barely-visibly embroidered on the front in black cord. The cover looked so smooth, and for a second she found herself inexplicably getting wet. Her face flushed, and without realizing her actions, she found herself taking the book from the redhead's bag and putting it in her own. One seventh of Tom Riddle felt Sonia's hand pick him up, and a surge of oxytocin rushed through his disembodied mind. Her fingers were delicate and precise, and their every movement told fragments of stories of faded memories. As a faded memory himself, he was in bliss. Hungrily, poetically, he wrote this on his first pages for her to discover. When Sonia got home, she tossed the book onto her bed and stared at it. She could not make sense of its allure, and her mind analytically explored it, probing this mysterious attraction. It moved smoothly around her thoughts, enveloping her mind and blurring her thoughts. Her breathing became heavier and the room was warm. She took off her robes and rolled onto the bed, picking the book up and opening it above her head. The cool sheets felt good against the back of her torso and legs, which felt like they were on fire. She needed to touch herself but did not, the horniness temporarily overwhelmed by curiosity at this strange book's contents. Her lips were dry, and she licked them. Her slender fingers opened the book to its first page, which poured the dusty smell of old libraries through her nose into her brain, which sparked hornily a million memories of the stories and poems she used to read by hiding between the shelves in libraries until long after closing, waiting to read the most lurid books in erotic solitude. But this book, she felt, would be more exciting than any of those. The first page read "The Diary of Tom Riddle", in the same typeface as the embroidery on the cover, and contained nothing else. The next page was lined and covered in thin, rushed handwriting which took Sonia a few seconds to interpret. June 13, 1943. This was the day I first awoke to find my soul between these pages. It was the death of a girl that let me in, a girl whose soul had touched mine. I didn't mean for it to happen, though I have no doubt she intended every bit of it, at least until the end. For my part, there was something in her voice which resonated with my entire being, and the first time she spoke to me I knew I had to have her. Her name was Myrtle. At the time I knew nothing about her, except she was reputed to be the most brilliant witch Hogwarts had seen in decades. That reputation should have been mine, I felt, but we went in different circles and I was never given an opportunity to challenge her. Tom, she said, that first day two months ago. You're some sort of potions expert, aren't you? I have something fascinating to show you. She led me to her dormitory, not thinking (or not wanting) to ask how it was I was following her to the girls' dorms without the stairs turning sloped and pouring me out. I wished that she would. I've never felt I deserved my reputation as a potions expert, but one thing I was proud of was the one I'd developed to give me flight. They say even Grindelwald hadn't managed that. Of course, even if she had asked I should not have told her. I knew to keep my powers secret, and I dutifully made walking motions with my legs as I flew up the stairs beside her. When we got to her room, she motioned me onto her bed, and shut the curtains behind us. She was doing it only to hide her potions magic from the other girls, but in the small space we found our sides pressed against each other. I felt her breathing, could see the crack between her breasts which her long brown hair fell upon. Her school robes held her tightly. She felt the tension, too. I knew because her breath shortened and I saw through her robes the outlines of her hardening nipples. I asked her what she wanted to show me. She pulled from under her pillow a book she'd taken from the restricted section of the library. La petite et grand morts, the spine read, and the author's name. Nicolas Flamel. When she opened the book I saw it was entirely written in French, and I cursed myself for not knowing the language when she apparently did. She flopped onto her stomach to flip through the book, searching for some passage she wanted to show me. As she did so, her school robes flipped up and I could see the bottom of her underwear. My cock was hard instantly, and my breath caught involuntarily. She heard it, but I could not find words to distract her since my mind could think only of her body. Her legs were smooth and full, her ass round and shaped perfectly inside her white panties. Her legs were slightly apart and I could see the outline of her vagina. I could smell her (though how could I not? We were inside the closed bed together) and my body strained not to move toward her.

Here it is, she said, her voice controlled as she focussed on the book in front of her, and she read. There is a way to pull life from the body and store it for future use. Because in youth we exude life force constantly, wasting it to the air as we fly through life in wild passion, there is no need for harm to capture this life. Despite my best efforts, I cannot detach this life from the soul it belongs to, barring horrific means, but there is value still. For if a person saves his youthful life for his own waning years he can return his own youth to him, even temporarily, and in this way live many happy decades past a natural life. While far from immortality, this is a breakthrough in non-dark magic. I was briefly mad at her for assuming she'd needed to translate for me, but since she was right I did not complain. And in that moment I could not bear to show any animosity toward her, with her legs in plain view, her core vaguely visible through her (now damp) panties, and all this filling my mind. I saw her breathing, her entire body rising and falling, her hair folding softly near the pages of the book she was still facing. I couldn't bear it any longer, and moved myself on top of her. I held myself on hands and knees so not to pin her down and scare her, and moved my head behind hers. I pressed my cock gently against her bottom, and my lips against her head. Tell me more, I spoke into her hair, and she turned the page as though to answer, but then thought better of it, instead rolling over beneath me and facing me. My mouth was inches from hers and I could feel her breath against my face, her brown eyes were wide, straining against the dim light, her cheeks were flushed, and her hair fell wildly onto the pillow and open book beside her. Her breathing was fast and heavy, and her chest pressed rhythmically against mine. We stared at each other for a moment, then I scooped my hands under her back and pulled her into me, putting my mouth near the bottom of her neck and tasting her smooth skin as I inhaled her scent. Her hands went around my back over my robes, then reconsidered and lifted them up so she could feel my back directly. My skin was hot and her cool hands felt like water as they explored the flat surface. Sonia, immersed in the story, was suddenly aware of her own body, now screaming for release. She pulled her robes frantically over her head, exposing her bare firm enormous breasts to the air, and grabbed the left one with her right hand. As she kneaded forcefully she quickly put the diary, still open, on the floor at the foot of her bed, and laid on her stomach. Her right hand found her dripping snatch and rubbed circles around her clit. Her head was over the edge of the bed and she continued reading as she touched herself.

