I can't apologise enough that I haven't updated this. I published the first chapter on whim, and then sorta lost my mojo. But I've recently just got my mojo back! My exams are finished! I'm happyyyyy~ It's not very good or long, and I probably haven't thought about a lot of things in much depth so please point out spelling errors/grammatical errors/loopholes in the plot to me. And please don't be nasty, my poor little heart can't take criticism very well. I have plans for various things, but if any of you guys have an idea where you want it go as well I'm open for suggestion =)
Enjoy!
Harry woke up the next morning, receiving a thorough scolding from both his aunt and uncle for spoiling Dudley's birthday. He apologised with his head hung low. It wasn't as if they would believe he was sorry even if he was. After having to endure several minutes of shouting from his uncle, Harry was set just about every chore in the house.
He was stiff all over when he finally curled up on his thin mattress. His hands were sore from scrubbing, his back ached from bending over and there was a hungry throb in his stomach. Wanting nothing more than to stay in bed forever, Harry had slunk into his cupboard as the Dursleys retired to their luxurious bedrooms. Soon the house was filled with the unpleasant snoring noises of Vernon.
Tonight Harry would try to talk to Tom again. He had been thinking about the diary all day, thoughts of magic swimming around in the back of his skull. Thrusting his hand under the lumpy pillow, he searched for the textured surface of his book and pulled it into his lap. Harry wanted to know everything, and was glad he could practise his handwriting too. Tugging the pages open, the sound of his heart beating lightly in his bony chest filled the cupboard. He allowed the pencil to hover over the paper for a moment.
-Hello Tom.
The granite stayed visible on the page, as clear as day. Harry waited a few more moments. After waiting for what seemed an age, his heart sank a little. He knew it. He just knew that telling him about the snake would make Tom not want to be his friend. Or maybe he had just been dreaming, and the diary never 'talked' in the first place. Crestfallen, Harry moved to shut the book. A flicker of black between the closing pages had his pulse quicken and open it again.
-Good evening, Harry. I apologise for my rude behaviour yesterday.
He gave a small cry of relief, noticing himself become less tense immediately.
-I thought you didn't want to be my friend anymore. Do you think I'm a freak now?
-Heavens no! Of course I want to be your friend, my dear.
There it was again. Tom had called him dear. The only other person that called him that was Mrs Figg, and she was really old. Harry thought this to be especially weird, considering Tom was a man. Maybe Mrs Figg and Tom knew each other somehow. Harry giggled a little. Tom had probably just forgotten he was a boy.
-Harry? What's wrong?
- Do you know I'm not a girl?
-Does it make you uncomfortable when I call you that, Harry?
Harry felt a little guilty admitting it, but it was undoubtedly strange.
-Very well.
Harry managed to steer the conversation a little awkwardly back to the topic of the snake at the zoo. He could still vividly see those acidic eyes boring into his soul as smooth, dry scales gently brushed past the hands that anchored him to the floor.
-I have been giving this much thought. I don't think it's anything to be worried about.
After that, he decided to drop the topic, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Tom was keeping something from him. Even if he was, Harry reasoned that he probably had a good reason. It was soon forgotten as his curiosity for other things took precedence.
-Tom, would you tell me more about magic?
Harry had kept in so many questions since last night about – it made him excited to even say the word in his head – Magic. Did witches really have crooked noses? What do wizards wear? How could he learn magic?
-Very well. What do you wish to know?
He assaulted Tom with a barrage of questions as fast as he could write, but was forced to stop when his hands began to cramp painfully.
-Harry, you must slow down. Start with one question at a time please.
-Sorry.-Harry Sheepishly replied- How do I do magic?
Just then, a soft tap like the falling of card onto carpet broke through the snores and gargles of his family upstairs. He froze, wondering for a moment if it was a burglar. Nothing. Harry wondered if something had fallen from the wooden radiator case. Time to use a trick he had recently perfected-opening the lock on his cupboard from the inside. His eyes scanned around the space, searching for the object that allowed him to do so. Momentarily they flicked over the pages of the diary, where something new had been written.
-Harry? What's the matter?
He hastily explained about the noise, before finding a long piece of hardened wire; the remnants of a large paperclip previously owned by his uncle. Harry had found that there was a small gap between the door and the wall, just big enough to fit a piece of wire through such as this one. The door itself had been worn loose on its hinges by Petunia's incessant rapping. This meant that if Harry pushed it as far forward as it would go, the lock became easy to slide backwards and forwards with the piece of hard wire. A little bit of practise had enabled him to do so very quietly. When the lock clicked free, he warily pushed the door open to peek into the hall. On the doormat lay something white.
A letter?
Who would post a letter in the dead of night? Curiosity tugged at his legs, pushing him from out of the cupboard and pulling him towards the door. He approached the letter and picked it up, constantly listening for irregularities within Vernon's snores, or the sounds of the suburban area outside. Harry's heart was pounding in his ears as he read the addressee's name.
Mr H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
This letter…was for him? Who would have sent a letter to him? Harry barely knew anyone besides the Dursleys. Obviously someone had taken the time to write it and post it to him, so it must have been important. Clutching the letter to his chest, Harry almost vomited when he heard the huge, rumbling noise of his uncle getting out of bed. He scuttled soundlessly back into his cupboard, pulling the door shut behind him just as Vernon's footsteps reached the base of the stairs. He grasped firmly onto the wooden beams that ran over the top and bottom of the door, digging his nails into the wood and hoping to god that his Uncle wouldn't check the lock. The waddling, lethargic footsteps passed his door into the kitchen, where Harry heard glass on a counter and the tap running.
Harry felt sick. His arms had begun to ache from clasping onto the wooden beam tightly, and an uncomfortable dizzy sensation overtaken him. Vernon plodded back through to the hall and up the stairs. Harry felt the nausea sink as he heard his uncle's steps retreat back into the bedroom slowly. He let out a breath, before picking the diary back up and looking at the letter with interest.
-What is it Harry?
Tom wrote, writing elegantly scrawling across the pages beneath. Harry sniffed and explained about the letter, still greatly perplexed.
-I have an idea as to what it may be. Keep it hidden. They will try to take the letter from you Harry.
He wrinkled his small nose. Why would the Dursleys want to take this letter away so badly? Harry knew they were mean, spiteful and hateful, but it would be too unfair to take away one of the few things Harry had ever received. Running his fingers over the back, something bumpy obstructed his touch. He turned it over, taking in a red wax seal with a peculiar emblem laid into it. Harry ripped it open in earnest.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
To say Harry was no less than shocked would have been a colossal understatement. The sender of this letter had answered several of his questions, but now even more had begun to pop into his mind like snowdrops from snow. Harry quickly copied the contents of the letter to Tom, who seemed to perk up.
-I knew it. I'm very happy for you Harry. You will enjoy Hogwarts. I had a wonderful time there.
-You went to there Tom?
-Indeed I did. It is exceedingly late. We shall talk about this tomorrow evening.
As if by sorcery, Harry let out a long, low yawn, suddenly growing weary from the night's events. He was still bursting with questions to ask his new friend, but the tiredness was starting to fuzz his eyes uncomfortably.
"I suppose I can wait 'til tomorrow." He whispered to himself.
-Good night Tom.
The diary lightly warmed the palm that supported the leather cover, sending a few prickles across the surface of his skin. Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes.
-Good night, Harry. Sleep well.
He folded the letter between the pages of his book, placing it underneath his mattress. When Harry put his head upon that hard, lumpy pillow, all he could think about was attending Hogwarts. Ideas buzzed backwards and forwards in his child mind; of pumpkins, bats and stars; of candles, robes, wands, hats, witches and wizards, all bustling around to classes. These ideas slowly serenaded him into the sweet caress of a gentle sleep, filled with dreams of endless stone corridors within an unfamiliar, ancient castle. In his dream, Harry lost himself in the never-ending void.
XXX
As the hot, summer days progressed, Harry found himself talking to Tom every single night. They mostly talked about Harry's family and how they treated him, but also of the wondrous school of Hogwarts and its magnificent history. Tom taught him of the four great wizards who founded it, and the houses that were named after them, whilst Harry read his flowing script with a childish eagerness.
-What house were you in Tom?
He asked, curious to know a little more about his enigmatic new friend. Tom rarely spoke of himself, especially when Harry asked. He had yet to find out anything about Tom's background, which perturbed him greatly.
-I was in Slytherin. It is really a misunderstood house, unlike what you will hear from others Harry. I'd say that Slytherin rivals Ravenclaw in intelligence.
-What are Slytherins like?
-Slytherins must show cunning, ambition and resourcefulness.
Harry liked the sound of this house more than the others. He didn't consider himself as fiercely loyal as a Hufflepuff, nor as sharp-minded as a Ravenclaw, and definitely, definitely not as stupid as a Gryffindor brave. Bravery hadn't gotten him anywhere so far. Standing up to the Dursleys was stupid and idiotic. Moreover, Harry didn't have clue how he would purchase any of the items on the uniform list- let alone the books, cauldron or the familiar. Where did one go to buy an owl, anyway? The Dursleys certainly wouldn't take him- that was for sure. Harry wasn't even certain that the Dursleys would allow him to attend Hogwarts.
-If I'm going to Hogwarts, how am I going to get away from my family? And how will I buy the items I need?
A small pool of panic had been sitting stagnant at the back of his mind for a while. What if they forbade him from going? Harry just knew he would burst if he didn't escape from them. There was no way he could join a normal secondary school now.
-I have an idea Harry, but you'll have to do exactly as I say.
For the remainder of the night, Harry carefully followed Tom's instructions as best he could.
I'm trying to make Tom seem friendly yet manipulative in a subtle way, but he has a very difficult character to pin down. My apologies if he seems OOC at any point. Also, the traits of a Slytherin are arguable. Slytherins are very determined people, and will use any means to get what they want. They are intelligent, and need to be sharp-minded and opinionated. Not unlike Ravenclaw, just less OCD and wit. Tom Riddle was a true Slytherin-literally and trait-wise. Of course there are exceptions (like Crabbe and Goyle…)