I Wish I Was Dead

Onesmartcookie78

A/N: I suddenly received motivation to write this (despite the two other on-goings I have right now) and now have an idea of what I want to do... enjoy :)

Summary: I don't know how it's possible for me to be here, and I no longer care to. All that matters now is staying alive. And that means not pissing Riddle off, no matter the cost. And appeasing him is costly, indeed. I used to live in our world where this was all just a book. Now it's real. Tom Riddle/OC, though he's still a magnificent bastard.

Disclaimer: I only own Anastasiya Zolnerowich.

Dear diary- actually, I've about had it with that. I know this is only the second entry, but the acidic burn of monotony has already gotten to me. It's such a boring way to go about writing, 'dear diary'... The only thing worse, I think, would be 'once upon a time'. Clichéd phrases make me want to vomit.

Anyway.

I think I'll go about telling this like the story it is, with flashes forward into the present, if I should feel like it. Like now. So that I can narrate.

The 1940s

Tom Marvolo Riddle is the world's most spectacularly manipulative bastard.

I don't know if I need to clarify as to why, but the bloke spends his free time coming up with anagrams for his full name – in French – that title him as a "Lord" and translate to: "flee from death". Oh, and plotting genocide.

Nice bloke.

So the snogging thing probably caused an uproar, yeah? So allow me to explain: anything Tom Marvolo Riddle does is not without reason, and it will always benefit him –

Except, at that point in time, I had no idea what he was planning. But I'll get to that situation in a few more entries.

I, however, was plotting to burn that stupid bloody Sorting Hat. In fact, that was at the forefront of my thoughts as I sat writing lines in Riddle's classroom ('I must not mouth off to my teachers' had steadily turned into 'I should not snog under the bleachers') while Bach's "Chaconne" played. I remember commenting to Voldy – on a different occasion – that I was shocked he would listen to "muggle" music; he had assured me that the majority of the composers he favoured had actually been members of the magical community.

Regardless, I lost track of what I was writing until my paper looked something like this:

"I must not mouth off to my teachers

I must not mouth off to my teachers

I must mouth off to my teachers

I must mouth off to my teachers, especially Professor Riddle

I must not mouth off to my teachers

I should not snog under the bleachers

I should not snog my teachers

I'm going to poison Dippet's chocolates and steal the Sorting Hat, then I'll rip to sodding pieces and burn the bloody fabric as he screams

I must not mouth off to teachers"

Intermittent doodles plagued the spaces on the parchment where nothing was written, ranging from a depiction of Riddle playing violin, to me with my arms in the air, victorious, dancing around the burning swath of cloth that had been the Sorting Hat. Yeah. Old Sparkly Eyes was watching me and applauding as Dippet sobbed into a bowl of ice cream.

"Such an astounding range of focus," Riddle sneered, examining my nearly illegible cursive with a scowl etched permanently into his features. It was the end of my detention, and he'd collected the lines I was supposed to have done for completion. "I think you've proven your incompetence enough for one day," he stated, turning down the gramophone. "Perhaps next time I shall have you grade the First Years essays – you've made it up to the Third Year in your studies, after all."

I snorted. "And whose fault might that be?" I crossed my legs, leaning closer to the desk to prop my cheek on my knuckles, nice and sardonic. "You must be an inept teacher, sir, since I'm at Fifth Year in all my other subjects."

Riddle's sculpted eyebrows shot up, though there wasn't even a spark of surprise in his eyes, nor deviousness in his smirk; simply sinful amusement. "Or you are just woefully abysmal in my subject, Miss Rowling."

"Maybe your teaching style does not work for me, Professor," I shot back, innocently batting my eyelashes at him. Reading passages about Dark creatures and then practising the spells to repel them was dreadfully boring. I wanted to learn how to duel. Not to mention, Riddle had a nasty habit of hexing me when he'd reached his limit of my inability to successfully do damn near anything. Defence was difficult for me, sure, but I couldn't help but think that Riddle's sneering over my shoulder made me worry that I would mess up and he would jinx me... which, in turn, caused me to fail even more spectacularly than I would've in the first place.

"Or perhaps you are not following my teaching style adequately; maybe, if you were to do as I said, you would not be having these performance issues," Riddle said smartly.

I watched for a moment as he continued grading an essay I'd written on Kappas. His red-inked quill (I debated one day switching it out for one of the blood-drawing ones Umbridge favoured) slashed over all the inevitably wrong facts I'd written. No surprise there – I still didn't have a copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, since Dippet had been dawdling in giving me permission to go to Diagon Alley for my books. I also hadn't been able to get to the Library in between detentions with Riddle and remedial tutoring with my other professors. And since I'd read the section last week in this very classroom and scrambled to do the essay just last night, I had forgotten the material.

"Kappas are found in Japan," Riddle informed me, scowling. "And their Ministry of Magic classification is 'XXXX', not 'better watch out, Riddle, or I'll set one on you while you sleep'."

"An honest mistake, sir," I said charmingly, leaning closer to read my handwriting upside down. It really was dreadful. I blamed the fact that I could hardly use a quill and Dippet had insisted that I wasn't allowed to use a pen. Sparkly Eyes (Dumbles) had given me rudimentary lessons on the usage, but Voldy had put an end to that by scheduling my detentions during Dumbles only free period. "See? Says so right here: 'Sorry professor, I meant while you were under the effects of a nasty Sleeping Drought, or else you'd probably get yourself out of that bind'. I even complimented your wandwork," I said, giving him a glorious grin.

Riddle's face hardened farther. "I've changed my mind; perhaps my teaching style does require a change." A malevolent smirk graced his lips, reaching his eyes and turning them sick. "Whenever you botch something up now, I'll set the creature on you. I do think, Miss Rowling, that if you were to be put in a life or death situation, you would be able to master the skills a lesson just can't impart on you."

"This is an abusive relationship," I grumbled, shooting daggers at him. "You're going to kill me."

"What relationship?" Riddle leant back in his chair, looking every bit an evil prat. "I'm simply changing the way you are taught, as requested. What happened to wanting to practically use what you are learning?"

I pouted, mind racing as I tried to figure the best way to keep him from doing as he suggested. I was full of it and thought I was a decent witch, but I would surely freeze up when it came time to face-off against any creature he chose to set on me. "You just like to see me injured," I accused, stalling for time.

Riddle scoffed. "I'm teaching you," he said condescendingly, like I was a small child. "The fact that you wind up in pain due to my methods is merely a perk of my career."

"'Schadenfreude' is synonymous with 'sadism'," I grumbled weakly. There was no use in arguing. He enjoyed the sight of my suffering far too much to let this go. The only way to put an end to his plan was to inform old Sparkly Eyes and hope he could convince Dippet that Riddle was out for my blood. Maybe he was really a Kappa in disguise.

Hah. Take that Riddle. I do know something! In your face!

"And 'idiocy' is synonymous with 'Joanne Rowling', but you don't see me complaining," Riddle drawled, in a better mood due to his threat to maim me and my reluctant acceptance on the matter. "Study up on Kappas, won't you, because I'm not going to save you from death if you botch it."

It was going to be a long year.

Somehow, Riddle managed to procure a Kappa by my lesson the very next day. I hadn't expected him to move so quickly, and so hadn't found the time to talk to Sparkly Eyes about Riddle's premeditation. I hadn't even found time to write my will or plan my funeral, though I supposed that was a bit over-dramatic – no matter what Riddle said, it would look bad if I were to die on his watch... and for him, appearances were everything.

I had, on the other hand, taken breakfast to revise my Kappa essay. In a way, I suppose Riddle had prepared me a bit to fight the Kappa today, since he'd made the revisions due today instead of three days (his usual allowance of time).

Still though, I was beginning to regret my insistence on practical experience. I would much prefer to be a theory-witch if that meant I was out of harm's way. Maybe that had something to do with the Sorting Hat's decision.

"Surprise!" Riddle cracked a sarcastic grin, gesturing to a large, shallow pond he had conjured for the Kappa to inhabit like it was my bloody birthday present or something. "I decided to change my style immediately so that you won't be able to complain for much longer." Was he implying that I would be dead? "We'll jump right to it, then. Hand me your essay and you can get started." Was it me, or did he sound inordinately pleased by this turn of events? I called it, sodding sadist!

I peered at the Kappa through frightened eyes, biting my lip. "Do I have to?"

There had to be some way out of this, right?

But no, I'd thought on this yesterday and come up with nothing.

Shite. I was screwed six ways to Sunday.

"Oh, yes," Riddle affirmed, smiling. Riddle never smiled. He expected to my fail so miserably, he'd have to scrape my internal organs from the flagstones. And, undoubtedly, he'd enjoy that. "I do hope you brought your own cucumber, Rowling – this Kappa hasn't been fed in a few days and is starving. You know how the crave human blood."

Much like you, ya bloody wanker.

And then I remembered something of extreme importance: "'The Kappa feeds on human blood but may be persuaded not to harm a person if it is thrown a cucumber with that person's name carved into it.'"

That tosser! No one carries around bleeding cucumbers, and I wasn't expecting to have to deal with one today!

I misspoke: I wasn't screwed six ways to bloody fucking Sunday. Riddle was. Because I was going to survive this, if only to murder him.

"Your essay, Miss Rowling?" Riddle's hand was held out as he patiently waited for me to hand over the ticket to my demise. No, no. My essay was a bloody waiver at this point.

"Have I ever told you how much I hate you?" I snarled at him, ripping the parchment out of my bag and thrusting it in his chest.

Riddle's smile widened. "I do believe that's another week of detentions, Miss Rowling."

And I'd only had one left to suffer through. Dammit.

The Kappa, as my textbook had cited, looked precisely like a monkey, though instead of fur, it was covered in scales. A dip in it's skull housed the water that gave it it's power. If I could get it to pour the water out, somehow, I was golden. Though I was unsure if that would be enough for Riddle; maybe he expected me to knock it out or something? I didn't know. I hadn't learnt any spells that would be useful in the downfall of the water demon.

As I approached the creature, my heart began to pound particularly hard, blood rushing through my veins, adrenaline pumping hard, my brain quitting it's day job and pretending it was nighty-night time.

Yeah. 'Screwed six ways to Sunday' no longer covered it. I was dead.

"Erm – hi!" I said as brightly as I could. Riddle snickered from his desk, though he didn't look up from marking my essay and I didn't dare take my eyes off the Kappa.

Were Kappas even sentient? Could I get it to sympathise with me? Could it even talk? The textbook hadn't mentioned anything on the matter. I had to wonder, though – demons were often characterised as being self-aware, sentient beings with an affinity for mischief. They were not, often, portrayed as mute. So it was perfectly reasonable to expect a Kappa – a sort of Japanese water demon – to talk to me, okay, Riddle?!

"Hello," hissed the Kappa.

I hadn't thought that far ahead. Despite my pondering on whether or not the Kappa would be capable of human speech, I hadn't considered my response if it did reply. "Umm... my name is Joanne Rowling."

"Yuudai Shizuka."

"What?" I managed, off-guard.

"My name is 'Shizuka Yuudai '," the Kappa clarified, bearing razor sharp teeth at me. "Your blood smells delicious. AB negative, right?"

I gulped. "We were having such scintillating conversation! Can we talk about blood later?"

The Kappa's wide, human-like, blue eyes narrowed. "Exchanging pleasantries before I kill you is hardly 'scintillating'," he said. "I bet your blood tastes delicious. AB negative is rare."

I swallowed harder. All you have to do is convince him to lean forward and let the water drain out of the hollow on his head somehow. Assess, determine, reply. "How about we make a trade of equal value?" I offered, head spinning. Equivalent Exchange. And my parents said that watching anime would rot my brain... it was about to save it!

"I haven't had blood in days," the Kappa whined in response. "There is nothing of similar value."

I bit my lip so hard, I was afraid I'd drawn blood. If I did that, my plan would be ruined! "Well, blood is essentially sustenance for you, correct? Which means that you will only take a certain amount before you are full."

The Kappa said nothing, but nodded slightly.

"Roughly how much blood does it take to fill you?" I asked.

"About 1.5 litres," the Kappa offered with a sneer.

I thought for a second. "Then how about I sustain you? The average human has approximately five litres of blood in their body, and one can lose about 2.5 litres before they die of blood loss. Therefore, an entire human would be far too much blood for you. Not only do I get to live, but you won't get a stomach ache from eating half a litre more than three times the amount you usually do," I stated reluctantly.

I heard Riddle's quill pause in the silence that followed and dug my fingernails into my palm.

Shite, the Kappa's going to laugh in my face, isn't he...

"I'm so hungry," the Kappa complained. "I want to drain you completely!" And with that, Shizuki Yuudai lunged at me, fang-like incisors open wide, saliva glinting off the abnormal white of his teeth, threatening death.

At that exact moment, I threw myself backwards, watching as the Kappa's momentum carried him forward and out of the pond, water draining from the top of his head as he flopped around like the strange fish cross-breed he was. "Help! HELP!" the Kappa screamed.

"Promise you won't bite me. I'll even give you my blood, still," I said nervously, scrambling to my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Riddle, motionless as ever, scrawling away comments on my essay. It bothered me that he hadn't even moved when I'd been in relative danger.

"Fine, yes, just help!" the Kappa's voice was scratchy as he lost his life. "Hurry!"

I hooked my hands under his monkey armpits, boosting him up and trying not to slip over the pool of water he'd created when he lunged. Finally, I managed to get the Kappa back in the pond, where he immediately bowed his head under water to recollect some in the hole in his head.

I took a step back, gasping for breath. "Merlin, Riddle! It's like you want me to die!"

Riddle shrugged. "Like I said earlier, any harm that befalls you is just a perk of this teaching method. How are you liking your 'hands-on' experience?"

I screwed my eyes up at him as the Kappa resurfaced. "You're a bloody psychopathic sadist." I turned back to the Kappa. "Well, Shizuki Yuudai, you get 1.5 litres, as promised. I hope you're hungry."

The pain of the Kappa sinking his teeth into my flesh was nothing compared to being under the Cruciatus Curse. I did, however, feel woozy from the blood loss. I stumbled my way to Riddle's desk and slouched in the seat across from him. My eyes began to close.

Riddle turned down Beethoven's Fifth, eyes glinting as he slid my marked essay over to me. I'd received an 'Acceptable'. "I didn't like the way you phrased some things," he said snidely.

I groaned.

A long year, indeed.