Hi guys! It's Plaid/Monster here, with my first fic chapter published (finally! ^^). It might be a little slow-going in the first one or two chapters, but I assure you it'll get better.
Disclaimer: I am NOT by any means claiming these characters; they belong to Jo Rowling and I give her full credit for creating them. Thank you J.K.R. for your wonderful characters!
I AM, however, claiming to own the following text, so you cannot copy it in any means.
Happy reading and reviewing!
~Plaid Monster
It took him all his years in Hogwarts to realize something: his classmate, his acquaintance- he would almost call her his... friend, though he remained quite hesitant with that unfamiliar word- the one that had been there all his life was just like himself.
Tom Riddle had been unusual from the start, with his secretive yet charming personality and his smooth way of speaking. He was near to being at the top of his class, surrounded by lackeys, and in control of his close-to-perfect life.
But there had always been that one girl who had stood out to him… she had outscored him for almost every exam, out-dueled him during the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and overall been similarly talented.
These meetings had started during their fifth year, when the two had acknowledged each other for the first time after a duel. Sometimes the two would share a special moment together, a private moment, when they would share their secrets and discuss them like adults. Tom, of course, rarely exposed his own, but the girl seemed to enjoy his shocked, or angered, or pleased reactions at her most vivid memories, and on those rare occasions, she hung onto his every word when he replied with an equally astounding secret.
There was one quality about himself that Tom was eager to advertise, and that was his ability to speak Parseltongue. "What does that mean, Tom?" "Can you tell me what this means?" "How do you speak it?" "How do you say this in Parseltongue, Tom?" They were always asking him questions, but it did not annoy him; for he prided himself, if anything, for his knack for learning languages, and he boasted at every chance he got.
The pride of being the only one able to speak Parseltongue in the school faded quickly the next time he met with her. Her secret was astounding: "I can talk to snakes," that's what it was, and this time he bore no shocked expression, no bulging, wide eyes. This time her words met silence; At least he's not disgusted with me, she had thought privately, for every single witch or wizard preferred to keep their distance from Parselmouths.
In fact, Tom seemed rather pleased with this fact. He had found a kindred spirit, finally; even among all his other disciples none had felt or been so special to him as she.
They would speak Parseltongue back and forth on lazy days, when they had both completed all their studying and essays (no surprise they finished first) so that no other students or teachers understood them; they had no desire for other magical folk to come to know their secrets.
Tom trusted her now, the likable girl with silky black hair; he had no doubts of giving his opinions and private thoughts and memories away to her; he often thought it might just be those emerald green eyes of hers, glittering like the million-faceted stones in the Slytherin hourglass, or her porcelain skin, pale and perfectly smooth like his own, that eased his many muses out of his mouth. But whenever that theory popped up in his mind, he quelled it, remembering how much she meant to him, all the times they had laughed and talked and reminisced together.
Time passed quickly when they were together, as it does whenever one is enjoying oneself. It was their seventh year before they even realized they had passed the fifth, and now they met each day, sometimes practicing spells, sometimes studying, sometimes talking.
"No, no, no. You can't wave your wand like that,Tom," she sighed one day, jokingly pressing her fingertips to her forehead. "Good god, you'll never learn any spells at this rate."
"I don't seem to be compatible with any spells at any rate," Tom corrected her, reminding her of her daily observations and teasing comments.
That was the first time she gave him a lopsided smile, one that really screamed her name at him, and it made his heart flutter for the first time.
He felt oddly light that evening as he walked the corridors with her back to the common room; he had never felt the feeling before, could not put a name to it; this girl made his insides churn, made his heart soar, and he didn't know what to make of it, for the first time in his life.
She nudged him playfully as they entered the common room, as they removed their Disillusionment charms from themselves. "Someone pull your wand in a knot?" she demanded, her eyes staring into his. "You've been acting all distant this evening."
"N-no. I'm fine," he responded, trying to recover his ordinary, conversational tone that he only used with her. "Just tired, is all."
She eyed him curiously for a moment, letting seconds pass before answering, and he knew that she didn't believe his words. "Hm, if you say so," she teased, turning to head up to her dormitory. Everyone in her year would be asleep by now; the Slytherins seemed bad-ass to all the other students, but really, they had their tame moments.
"Night, Tom," she called over her shoulder as her silhouette faded into the shadows of her dormitory.
Tom watched her go, not wanting her to leave, wondering for a moment if he should call her back. But he didn't. Instead, he just replied with the usual reply, this time a bit more softly: "Good night… Nagini."