a/n: this story, you'll notice, is unfinished. i realize this. i have no
intent of *finishing* it, actually. i don't think it's all that good, to be
honest. but the way i figure ... people might actually like it, and that
might actually inspire me to, i don't know, finish it or something. and
chloë might actually get her christmas present. heh. {right, and i'll
finish the orgy/cure fic i started for essie's birthday, like ... five years
ago.} so uh ... enjoy. or don't. whatever.
*~*~*
Precious Things.
*~*
.and i died.
.but i thanked him.
*~*
It was nice, at first. It was more than nice, it was amazing; no one ever
listens to me. To have someone to confide in, someone who understood me ...
a friend to keep in my pocket. I guess, in retrospect, it was odd: why
would a sixteen-year-old boy care about an eleven-year-old girl?
But I didn't think.
He was Tom, and he was my friend.
*~*
He never made fun of me about Harry. He seemed interested, actually ...
not, you know, -interested-, but he wanted to know about him. Because I
liked him — Harry, I mean — and Tom was interested in everything about me.
But it didn't seem -fake-. Like, sometimes he wasn't there, or said he
wasn't in the mood to talk ... or he'd think something Fred and George did
was funny, even when I thought it wasn't ... or tell me I spent too much
time with him, and didn't I have any friends, or perhaps a Transfiguration
parchment to write?
So it didn't seem fake. And I believed everything he said.
And I guess that I kind of, maybe, got a little bit of a crush on him.
*~*
I didn't want to believe that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin, but if it
wasn't him ... maybe it was -me-. I thought I was going insane; I'd wake up
covered in paint and feathers, in places I didn't remember going ... some-
times I didn't remember what I'd been doing for hours; days passed that I
couldn't remember at all. And who was I -supposed- to talk to? "Percy, I
think I'm going around killing people" ... wouldn't that have gone over
well.
So I turned to Tom. He calmed me, reassured me, sometimes told me things,
things he said I'd said, about the missing days.
And Harry was the Heir of Slytherin.
And I wished Tom was real...
*~*
If he got meaner, crueler, changed somehow ... I didn't notice it. Not
until it was too late... But I got scared, after a while. The more I
talked to Tom, I noticed, the worse the attacks got...
But that made sense, right? The scarier things got, the more a girl
-would- confide in her diary. But I got scared ... and I threw it away...
Fred and george always told me that things — and people — could get sucked
down the toilet and disappear forever. But then, they were always lying to
me.
*~*
And then when I saw Harry with the journal ... I was terrified. What if
it -was- evil ... but no, Tom would never do anything bad ... but how had
Harry -gotten- it?
He couldn't keep it. That journal ... it, well, it was my diary! It held
my hopes, dreams, fears ... my Tom ... Tom was -my- friend after all! Harry
didn't reat me any differently once he had it, so maybe he didn't know how
it worked, I consoled myself.
But then, he was cunning! He -was- the Heir of Slytherin. That's what
Tom said, anyway, and Tom had never lied to me. He — he "rather liked me,"
he said once... He would never, never lie about something like that...!
So I had to get the journal back.
*~*
I stole the journal. I snuck into the second-year boys' down, and I took
it back, because he wouldn't have it. I barely remember doing it ... it was
almost like I didn't -choose- to, like Tom made me, even if I didn't have
him anymore.
*~*
-mikansei-
intent of *finishing* it, actually. i don't think it's all that good, to be
honest. but the way i figure ... people might actually like it, and that
might actually inspire me to, i don't know, finish it or something. and
chloë might actually get her christmas present. heh. {right, and i'll
finish the orgy/cure fic i started for essie's birthday, like ... five years
ago.} so uh ... enjoy. or don't. whatever.
*~*~*
Precious Things.
*~*
.and i died.
.but i thanked him.
*~*
It was nice, at first. It was more than nice, it was amazing; no one ever
listens to me. To have someone to confide in, someone who understood me ...
a friend to keep in my pocket. I guess, in retrospect, it was odd: why
would a sixteen-year-old boy care about an eleven-year-old girl?
But I didn't think.
He was Tom, and he was my friend.
*~*
He never made fun of me about Harry. He seemed interested, actually ...
not, you know, -interested-, but he wanted to know about him. Because I
liked him — Harry, I mean — and Tom was interested in everything about me.
But it didn't seem -fake-. Like, sometimes he wasn't there, or said he
wasn't in the mood to talk ... or he'd think something Fred and George did
was funny, even when I thought it wasn't ... or tell me I spent too much
time with him, and didn't I have any friends, or perhaps a Transfiguration
parchment to write?
So it didn't seem fake. And I believed everything he said.
And I guess that I kind of, maybe, got a little bit of a crush on him.
*~*
I didn't want to believe that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin, but if it
wasn't him ... maybe it was -me-. I thought I was going insane; I'd wake up
covered in paint and feathers, in places I didn't remember going ... some-
times I didn't remember what I'd been doing for hours; days passed that I
couldn't remember at all. And who was I -supposed- to talk to? "Percy, I
think I'm going around killing people" ... wouldn't that have gone over
well.
So I turned to Tom. He calmed me, reassured me, sometimes told me things,
things he said I'd said, about the missing days.
And Harry was the Heir of Slytherin.
And I wished Tom was real...
*~*
If he got meaner, crueler, changed somehow ... I didn't notice it. Not
until it was too late... But I got scared, after a while. The more I
talked to Tom, I noticed, the worse the attacks got...
But that made sense, right? The scarier things got, the more a girl
-would- confide in her diary. But I got scared ... and I threw it away...
Fred and george always told me that things — and people — could get sucked
down the toilet and disappear forever. But then, they were always lying to
me.
*~*
And then when I saw Harry with the journal ... I was terrified. What if
it -was- evil ... but no, Tom would never do anything bad ... but how had
Harry -gotten- it?
He couldn't keep it. That journal ... it, well, it was my diary! It held
my hopes, dreams, fears ... my Tom ... Tom was -my- friend after all! Harry
didn't reat me any differently once he had it, so maybe he didn't know how
it worked, I consoled myself.
But then, he was cunning! He -was- the Heir of Slytherin. That's what
Tom said, anyway, and Tom had never lied to me. He — he "rather liked me,"
he said once... He would never, never lie about something like that...!
So I had to get the journal back.
*~*
I stole the journal. I snuck into the second-year boys' down, and I took
it back, because he wouldn't have it. I barely remember doing it ... it was
almost like I didn't -choose- to, like Tom made me, even if I didn't have
him anymore.
*~*
-mikansei-