Smile
Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, except for the (admittedly minimal) plot.
A/N: So, just a little oneshot to warm your hearts in the aftermath of the Christmas season. Hope you guys all had a wonderful holiday, and let's hope New Years is even better. Remember guys, Smile.
There was really nothing extraordinary about this Christmas to Tom Riddle, but the swarming mass of students around him seemed to think otherwise. All around him, people squealed over gifts and presents from their families, while comparing their haul with their friends.
To Tom, it was all a mass of idiocy. Few in Hogwarts really knew the meaning of the holiday, and the love surrounding him made him want to vomit. And, if Tom felt like being honest, it made him jealous. He of course had his own pile of presents from his adoring fans and followers, but it was not the same as receiving something from the people who loved you.
Scowling and vowing to throw himself off of this train of thought, Tom stalked out of the common room and into the corridors of the dungeon. Going to the chamber would ease his mind, and plotting the death of the mudbloods in the school would bring him something close to joy.
After the entertainment of the Chamber of Secrets, Tom entered the common room to find that the masses had retired to their beds. The feelings of love and joy, however, continued to pour from the very walls of the dungeons. Tom's eyes narrowed as he set fire to the closest thing available. He was still setting fire to the object (he hadn't been paying attention to what it was before and now it was too morphed to tell what it was) when a small girl came down the stairs.
"Um, Mister Riddle?" The stream of flames abruptly stopped as Tom faced the girl. She was small, even for a first year which he knew her to be. Her face was covered in freckles and her blonde hair was pulled into two loose pigtails, pieces falling out and surrounding her enormous eyes.
"What do you want?" His reply was curt, but the girl didn't move.
Widening her eyes and folding her hands, she began to speak as if Tom hadn't just completely disregarded her existence. "Mister Riddle, its Christmas, and I got you something. I hope you like it." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a square object wrapped in a simple brown cloth. "It might help you, if you ever need someone to talk to." Apparently embarrassed after her speech, the little girl thrust the package into his hand and sprinted back up the stairs to her dormitory, leaving a confused Tom standing next to the charred piece of forgotten furniture.
Looking down, he slowly unwrapped the brown paper to reveal a thin black diary. Tom's eyes widened as he noticed the inscription at the front of the diary.
This Diary is Property of:
Tom Marvolo Riddle
For once not noticing the use of his middle name, Tom flipped through the diary. It was full of blank parchment, crisp and clean and obviously new. A piece of paper suddenly flittered out of the book, which he slowly picked up and read the mess handwriting that could only belong to a younger child.
Dear Mister Riddle,
You probably don't know me, but my name is Clarissa Jameson. I think you are a very nice person, but seem really sad quite often. So I got you this diary. Everyone needs someone or something who won't judge them, and you seem like you need that even more than usual.
Sincerely,
Clarissa Jameson, first year Slytherin
P.s. Smile
Smile, smile, smile, smile. The word played across his mind on repeat as he stared blankly at the diary. Slowly, he walked his way back up the stairs to his dormitory and tucked the diary into his side table.
Smile, smile, smile, smile.
Clarissa would never know the evil that would spread through the diary, or the horcrux hidden inside it. All she would ever know was the day after Christmas, when her sickness finally caught up with her and she died quietly inside the Hospital Wing.
The years following her death and the gift of the generosity were ones that everyone was glad she never had to witness. The rise of Lord Voldemort, the first war, and the Fall all passed by without her supervision.
But on her grave every year, flowers bloomed in the formation of a single word.
Smile
It was Harry Potter's second year, and he had just stabbed the Diary with basilisk fang after the fight with Tom Riddle.
As the memory of a fifth year Tom Riddle began to fade into the death he should have had years before, a single word repeated through his memory over and over.
Smile, smile, smile, smile.
It was Christmas in the Wizarding World after the final defeat of Voldemort, and they weren't the only ones celebrating. High above them in the clouds, the dead celebrated right along with them. A party was going on in the home of Lily and James Potter, with all of their old and deceased friends in attendance. But this is not where our story ends.
Along the road from them, a simple one story house was lit up with lamps and Christmas lights. If you looked through the window, you would see a fifteen year old boy and an eleven year old girl laughing on a couch, looking for all the world like they had always been that way.
As Tom Riddle and Clarissa Jameson rolled around on the couch, the memories of a time past ran through their minds. A blackened piece of furniture, a scared first year, a confused fifth year, and a simple black diary.
Their lives were better now than it was when they were alive, and life (or whatever you called the existence after death) was good in the afterlife. And always, a single word surrounded them.
Smile, smile, smile, smile.