Disclaimer: Messrs Potter & Riddle are the intellectual property of JK Rowling. Later on, I intend to sell Riddle's diary; proceeds will be used to purchase at least the aforementioned characters.
"Do you know what I want to do the most?"
"I don't."
"I want to fly on a broom."
A raised eyebrow.
"Now I'm well aware that it's impossible, but it's not preposterous to think such things, is it? Oh, the many things one can come up with, with a bit of imagination!"
Tom sighed, then recommenced reading his book. Or so it appeared. Harry had returned to his perch by the bay window, but this time he was no longer facing the grand view of the extensive, well-manicured lawn and the line of trees in the distance; rather, he had positioned himself to look at his tutor, head titled to one side, eyes a little unfocused as if in a daydream, face somewhat illuminated by the afternoon light. Had they been strangers to one another, Tom might have believed him to be no older than fourteen, with his windswept hair and healthy, rosy complexion coupled with the ever-present playful curve of his lips... Tom's grey gaze lingered. Several moments of silence passed. He returned to his book.
...cependant un jour doux était sur cette vie et sur cette âme...*
"I change my mind."
"Hmm." The turning of a page.
"I would rather write about flying a broom instead; it would be in a magical plane of existence." The shuffling of sheet music, then the sound of the piano bench being moved. "And you, you would be in it. You could be—oh, I don't know—a lord, perhaps? An evil overlord?" At the glare he received, Harry laughed. "Yes... yes, definitely! Ah, here we are. Hello, Haydn!"
With another exasperated sigh, Tom shook his head and raised his book in front of his face in preparation for the oncoming onslaught of music.
In truth, it was to conceal the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
The line *...there was, however, a softened light upon that life and upon that soul is from Les Misérables by Victor Hugo, and is taken from the chapter of the same title as this installation.
Petit Gervais was actually only the working title of this drabble, but as I couldn't come up with anything else, I decided to stick with it. *sheepish* Also, I belatedly realised that Gervais is a Franco masculine name meaning "spear"; rather apt, as we can all probably agree that Harry is the proverbial ray of golden sunshine that pierces the darkness of Tom's soul.)