Authors Note: I need to write v. v. v. much!
A very difficult/annoying challenge from letylyf (who insisted I do not
capitalize that!), I have assured her this fic will be awful! So bear with me my dears :-)
Beta'ed by letylyf (I'm awful at grammar!)
I'm assuming that Riddle and Myrtle are about the same age for this reason:
-Myrtle looked about 15 as a ghost *haunting the girls' toilets...ick*
-And Tom WAS sixteen in the 'back in time' scene.
So anyway, we've got some good Tom/Myrtle for ya
Tom's in his year fifth year and Myrtle's in year five too. :-)
Now that we've got the technicalities done (which are very tricky and
annoying), let's go!
Disclaimer: Nada mine
-=
She really liked him, sometimes. When he wasn't up in his dormitory
'thinking,' or as she began to call it, 'plotting.' Of course, this was very often.
The girl with ebony pigtails couldn't quite shake off the feeling of how
'suspicious' he was. Of course, she was a Ravenclaw, and every bit as cynical as
he was. He always said she'd make a fine Slytherin.
"But Tom," she said, "why must you think so much? It worries me sometimes."
He'd laugh in a very uncomforting manner. "It's good to think."
Meekly she would drop the subject and continue to pick at her pastry. Her
friends always seemed to think he had 'something up his sleeve, ' but she'd never
been one to go with the crowd. She ignored them but couldn't quite disagree
completely.
The little time they did spend together was spent well, mainly discussing
things. Myrtle (or Faye, her middle name, as her friend called her) had always
craved someone she could simply talk to. Even her friends (although nice,
however bland) were often superficial. Merely wishing to talk about 'nail polish'
and 'lipstick,' and other sorts of things that Myrtle enjoyed talking about,
but only on occasion.
What she really wanted was good, fulfilling conversation and coincidentally,
Tom Riddle was the one person who could give that to her. Their conversations
may have been may have been eerie and vague but they were interesting.
Generally they spoke of power and the Ministry of Magic. Tom usually had
this glazed look in his eyes when he spoke of power, and it always worried her
slightly. Myrtle had always been adamant about the fact that she didn't want
power- 'give it to someone else' was what she usually said. It just didn't suit
her.
Tom, however, looked as though he were made to be in charge. He was
charismatic and manipulative,with this aura about him. Almost as though it were
saying, 'I can help you.' He was captivated by power and that always made her a
bit uneasy.
Often she'd wonder what he wanted with her.
She'd never been popular. She'd never really tried for it, either. But she
did have her own group of friends. Myrtle always wore her coal colored hair
in messy pigtails and her skirts were always wrinkled, her robes always
dirtied with pumpkin juice stains. She was nothing short of ordinary.
And there was Tom Riddle. Friends with the wealthy purebloods and naturally
adored by the Hogwarts' girls. He had slightly curly black hair that always
fell delicately into his bluish gray eyes. Not known much for talk, no one
knew of his past or his history. They always assumed he was pureblood (most
Slytherins are, after all) but never really knew. He did well in his classes and
was recognized for this by Albus Dumbledore (who never completely trusted
him.)
Myrtle was an odd creature. She picked up on strange habits of his. For
one, he never owled his parents (which struck her as odd because she had such a
good relationship with hers), and he wore his prefect's badge on his silver and
jade tie. Not to mention the fact that he had an odd fascination with
peppermint toads and was always carrying around extras. The way he always linked his
arm in hers. The way he smelled strongly of old parchment and apricot pie.
Not to mention his very odd (nothing short of suspicious) fascination with the
Dark Arts. She always claimed he was just so "interesting." He was a puzzle
or a code just waiting to be cracked. And Myrtle had always been fond of
mysteries.
This random information led up to, well, nothing.
As far as love went, she'd always mused that she wasn't really in love with
him. Not the heart stopping or fantasy sort of love where you 'needed' the
other person. Myrtle had never needed anyone in her whole entire life, and she
assumed that he hadn't either. When he was around, usually she didn't giggle
or laugh or say 'oh go on, Tom.' She was just Myrtle. Awkward, pumpkin juice
drinker, messy haired Myrtle. And no one, not even the ever -proper Tom Riddle,
could change that.
One October Eve, whilst in the library, Tom shared something more with Myrtle.
She was studying for potions, and he was studying for advanced charms.
"What are your parents like?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" He said defensively, not looking up from the
heavy book.
"It means," she said impatiently, "do you speak to them? Do you miss them
terribly?"
"No." He said stiffly. "And why would I? Both of them, an awful excuse for
skin and bones."
"Yes, well, some people are like that," she tried to add in helpfully. "What
have they done?"
"Merlin, the fact that they exist is enough." He said this coldly as his
dark brows rose.
She rolled her crystal blue eyes and went back to Potions. "I like my
parents."
"That's just wonderful," he replied caustically, almost bitterly.
"You know Tom," she said, adjusting her glasses, "I think you're supposed to
love your parents. For always."
He made an angry 'tut' sound, slammed the book on the willow table, picked up
his leather book-bag, and went out of the library.
He never apologized.
And she really didn't expect him to.
The next day, things went on as usual. A simple peck on the cheek, breakfast
with the Slytherins, he linked his arm in hers and he walked her to her first
class. Events of the day before were unmentioned and she was happy about
that. He, of course, was looking as smug as ever.
"Thanks for walking me to class," she said happily in front of classroom.
"Don't mention it," he said, making his way towards charms.
"And Tom-" she said, motioning him back with a finger. He doubled up and she
whispered in his ear, "I'd really like if you could kiss me right now."
"Why?" He demanded, although softly in her ear. She could feel his warm
breath.
"It's just-" she grinned in a schoolgirl fashion "-we never do these sort of
things in public."
He folded his arms. "Just for you."
When most people had entered their classrooms (except for a few stragglers
mucking about the halls), he pushed a stray pigtail strand behind her ear and
he kissed her softly on her plum colored lips.
After the simple kiss was finished, she stepped back, picked up her tarnished
olive-green book bag, and walked into her classroom. Her very pale cheeks
reddened as she looked down at her argyle socks.
"Thanks, Tom."
-=
A'La Fin
A very difficult/annoying challenge from letylyf (who insisted I do not
capitalize that!), I have assured her this fic will be awful! So bear with me my dears :-)
Beta'ed by letylyf (I'm awful at grammar!)
I'm assuming that Riddle and Myrtle are about the same age for this reason:
-Myrtle looked about 15 as a ghost *haunting the girls' toilets...ick*
-And Tom WAS sixteen in the 'back in time' scene.
So anyway, we've got some good Tom/Myrtle for ya
Tom's in his year fifth year and Myrtle's in year five too. :-)
Now that we've got the technicalities done (which are very tricky and
annoying), let's go!
Disclaimer: Nada mine
-=
She really liked him, sometimes. When he wasn't up in his dormitory
'thinking,' or as she began to call it, 'plotting.' Of course, this was very often.
The girl with ebony pigtails couldn't quite shake off the feeling of how
'suspicious' he was. Of course, she was a Ravenclaw, and every bit as cynical as
he was. He always said she'd make a fine Slytherin.
"But Tom," she said, "why must you think so much? It worries me sometimes."
He'd laugh in a very uncomforting manner. "It's good to think."
Meekly she would drop the subject and continue to pick at her pastry. Her
friends always seemed to think he had 'something up his sleeve, ' but she'd never
been one to go with the crowd. She ignored them but couldn't quite disagree
completely.
The little time they did spend together was spent well, mainly discussing
things. Myrtle (or Faye, her middle name, as her friend called her) had always
craved someone she could simply talk to. Even her friends (although nice,
however bland) were often superficial. Merely wishing to talk about 'nail polish'
and 'lipstick,' and other sorts of things that Myrtle enjoyed talking about,
but only on occasion.
What she really wanted was good, fulfilling conversation and coincidentally,
Tom Riddle was the one person who could give that to her. Their conversations
may have been may have been eerie and vague but they were interesting.
Generally they spoke of power and the Ministry of Magic. Tom usually had
this glazed look in his eyes when he spoke of power, and it always worried her
slightly. Myrtle had always been adamant about the fact that she didn't want
power- 'give it to someone else' was what she usually said. It just didn't suit
her.
Tom, however, looked as though he were made to be in charge. He was
charismatic and manipulative,with this aura about him. Almost as though it were
saying, 'I can help you.' He was captivated by power and that always made her a
bit uneasy.
Often she'd wonder what he wanted with her.
She'd never been popular. She'd never really tried for it, either. But she
did have her own group of friends. Myrtle always wore her coal colored hair
in messy pigtails and her skirts were always wrinkled, her robes always
dirtied with pumpkin juice stains. She was nothing short of ordinary.
And there was Tom Riddle. Friends with the wealthy purebloods and naturally
adored by the Hogwarts' girls. He had slightly curly black hair that always
fell delicately into his bluish gray eyes. Not known much for talk, no one
knew of his past or his history. They always assumed he was pureblood (most
Slytherins are, after all) but never really knew. He did well in his classes and
was recognized for this by Albus Dumbledore (who never completely trusted
him.)
Myrtle was an odd creature. She picked up on strange habits of his. For
one, he never owled his parents (which struck her as odd because she had such a
good relationship with hers), and he wore his prefect's badge on his silver and
jade tie. Not to mention the fact that he had an odd fascination with
peppermint toads and was always carrying around extras. The way he always linked his
arm in hers. The way he smelled strongly of old parchment and apricot pie.
Not to mention his very odd (nothing short of suspicious) fascination with the
Dark Arts. She always claimed he was just so "interesting." He was a puzzle
or a code just waiting to be cracked. And Myrtle had always been fond of
mysteries.
This random information led up to, well, nothing.
As far as love went, she'd always mused that she wasn't really in love with
him. Not the heart stopping or fantasy sort of love where you 'needed' the
other person. Myrtle had never needed anyone in her whole entire life, and she
assumed that he hadn't either. When he was around, usually she didn't giggle
or laugh or say 'oh go on, Tom.' She was just Myrtle. Awkward, pumpkin juice
drinker, messy haired Myrtle. And no one, not even the ever -proper Tom Riddle,
could change that.
One October Eve, whilst in the library, Tom shared something more with Myrtle.
She was studying for potions, and he was studying for advanced charms.
"What are your parents like?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" He said defensively, not looking up from the
heavy book.
"It means," she said impatiently, "do you speak to them? Do you miss them
terribly?"
"No." He said stiffly. "And why would I? Both of them, an awful excuse for
skin and bones."
"Yes, well, some people are like that," she tried to add in helpfully. "What
have they done?"
"Merlin, the fact that they exist is enough." He said this coldly as his
dark brows rose.
She rolled her crystal blue eyes and went back to Potions. "I like my
parents."
"That's just wonderful," he replied caustically, almost bitterly.
"You know Tom," she said, adjusting her glasses, "I think you're supposed to
love your parents. For always."
He made an angry 'tut' sound, slammed the book on the willow table, picked up
his leather book-bag, and went out of the library.
He never apologized.
And she really didn't expect him to.
The next day, things went on as usual. A simple peck on the cheek, breakfast
with the Slytherins, he linked his arm in hers and he walked her to her first
class. Events of the day before were unmentioned and she was happy about
that. He, of course, was looking as smug as ever.
"Thanks for walking me to class," she said happily in front of classroom.
"Don't mention it," he said, making his way towards charms.
"And Tom-" she said, motioning him back with a finger. He doubled up and she
whispered in his ear, "I'd really like if you could kiss me right now."
"Why?" He demanded, although softly in her ear. She could feel his warm
breath.
"It's just-" she grinned in a schoolgirl fashion "-we never do these sort of
things in public."
He folded his arms. "Just for you."
When most people had entered their classrooms (except for a few stragglers
mucking about the halls), he pushed a stray pigtail strand behind her ear and
he kissed her softly on her plum colored lips.
After the simple kiss was finished, she stepped back, picked up her tarnished
olive-green book bag, and walked into her classroom. Her very pale cheeks
reddened as she looked down at her argyle socks.
"Thanks, Tom."
-=
A'La Fin