AN: I can't write IC Harry Potter fics. *fails* Askur, this is for you, so if I fail, can I please blame it on you? XD Very OOC fic. Because honestly, I couldn't find a way to write this situation without making everyone OOC.

"Fuck you," Harry wrote into the diary lying on his lap. Harry wasn't the type to curse, not at all. But this situation called for it.

Harry had been innocently writing in his diary, conversing with Tom Riddle. Riddle had been telling him of how Hogwarts once was back when he had gone there. But then, Riddle had dropped a bombshell.

He had told Harry that his glasses made him look fat.

Harry would normally have laughed at this—and wondered how Riddle had gotten a look at his face, anyway—but that day had been already worse enough as it was. Hermione had come to breakfast with a frown on her face and was cursing men everywhere. Harry and Ron had no idea what was going on until Ginny had told them. In great detail.

Being scarred for life was enough to get anyone in a bad mood.

And so when Riddle had insulted him—probably only as a joke, Harry knew—he had been ready to lash out at anyone. After Harry had written the curse and the ink had seeped into the page, he immediately regretted it. He was in the process of frantically scribbling out an apology when Riddle sent back a reply.

"You know you want to."

One of the most clichéd lines ever? Yes. But in the sheltered halls of Hogwarts, it was rarely used by most. To Harry's innocent eyes, it was easily the most vulgar thing he had ever seen, seeing as sexual advances weren't exactly made on him daily.

Harry hesitated before he wrote out his reply. "That was rude," he wrote. He wondered if a diary could get drunk. Obviously, something had caused this tremendous change in Riddle and alcohol was the only reasonable explanation. Well, unless the person speaking to him was someone else altogether. Like a hooker? Yeah, it was probably a hooker or Riddle had suddenly developed multiple personality disorder and his other personality was a prostitute desperate for cash.

"I want to suck you dry and…" Riddle proceeded to describe what he wanted from Harry. Most of it involved them being in very compromising positions indeed. Harry felt his face grow hotter with every sentence that showed up on the previously blank—and how he wished they would return to that state—pages. The blush was mostly from embarrassment, but there was a hint of anger in there as well.

And maybe he was even a bit…flattered?

"Will you stop?" Harry asked.

"Not until I want to. You don't have a choice. I want to be on top too. You get don't a choice in position either." Harry was 12, the age where teenage boys started thinking about activities that went on in the bedroom. He had always imagined that he would like to be on top, though if he had made sure no one was privy to that little fantasy.

"I'm not homosexual," Harry pointed out.

"Don't knock it until you've tried it," Riddle replied. "Speaking of which..." he proceeded to list every dirty move he would try, adding "in bed" to each and every one of them.

If Harry was a girl, he would have already Z-snapped and said "Oh no, you didn't" in a ridiculous way. But since he was a wizard, he had better ideas.

He walked over to his owl's cage and opened the door. Fifteen minutes later, Ron walked in. When he saw what Harry was doing, he gave him a strange look.

"Harry, why are you urging Hedwig to defecate on that diary?" Ron asked him warily, wondering if he was quite sane at the moment.

All Harry could do was answer him with a shrug.

Back in the diary, the little piece of Voldemort's soul nursed a splitting headache. Who knew that old beer locked deep in the dungeons of his memory of Hogwarts could still get him drunk?

AN: Crap. *headdesk* That was crap. Fun to write though, I suppose. :)

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