Chapter 4: The Diary pt. II

I've made my disclaimers, now I'm off to lie in them.

Warning: mild Tom/Harry slash

Harry stared for a second, then rubbed his eyes, but when he reopened them the words were still there. I guess it makes sense, he thought. If there are talking paintings and moving statues, why not a person in a book?

Harry dipped his quill back into the ink-pot and set it to the page. Hello Tom! What's it like, being a book? His words faded slowly, the ink seeping into the paper as if it had never been, and the elegant script of Tom's reply replaced it.

It has been very lonely, the journal wrote. I have waited for years and years, hoping someone would find me. Now you have, and I'm so happy, Harry! Will we be friends?

Harry grinned widely, eyes racing over those four words over and over as they faded away. His response was fast and sure. Of course! I've been lonely too, you know. Before I came to Hogwarts, I had no friends at all, and now I have Ron, Hermione, and you!

Tom's reply seemed smug, somehow. Yes, Harry, I am certain we will be great friends.

Bright light hit Harry's closed eyes, and he grimaced sleepily, rolling over into his pillow. He wanted so badly to swat away the hand shaking him awake, but he couldn't quite muster the energy.

"Harry! Harry, come on, it's breakfast!" Ron's voice was, unsurprisingly, laced with urgency at the thought of missing the first meal of the day. When Harry only groaned and rolled over in response, Ron tore the duvet off the bed and watched his friend shiver. "Come on, we'll be late, get up!" he whined.

"Fine, fine, I'm awake," Harry groaned. He had stayed up until some ungodly hour talking to Tom, and breakfast simply wasn't a high enough priority to inspire a zeal approaching Ron's. If his friend wasn't so insistent on Harry joining him in the Great Hall he would have been much happier to stay in bed, like a sane person. Harry dug deep inside himself and found the strength to clamber out of his nice, warm bed, jamming his glasses onto his face and cramming his wand and his new friend into the deep pockets of his robes. As soon as he took a step toward the door Ron sprinted ahead of him as if his life depended on it.

The Great Hall was, unsurprisingly, noisy. It hit Harry like a bus when he walked in, and soon enough he was trying to ignore a pulsing headache. It was easy enough for the two Gryffindors to spot the missing piece of their trio, as Hermione was almost falling out of her seat waving them over.

"Morning, Hermione," Ron said cheerily, sliding into a seat and immediately piling his plate high with food. "What's got you so worked up?"

"Ron, your sister – Ginny, right? Do you know what happened to her? She was in tears when she came into the dorm last night, and she wouldn't tell anyone why." As she was talking, Hermione shot concerned glances toward the youngest Weasley, who was sitting at the far end of the table, despondently considering a link of sausage.

"Ginny, really? Eh, she's a bit of a crybaby, really," Ron managed between mouthfuls of scrambled egg. "I'm sure it's just that Snape looked at her funny or something."

Hermione wasn't convinced. "Honestly, Ron, I think it's more serious than that," she huffed. "She really was very upset, I haven't seen her like this before."

"Fine, fine," Ron replied. "I'll ask her about it at lunch, or something." With that settled, he turned back to his plate. He had to make up for the time lost waking Harry, after all. He hardly knew why he'd bothered, really. His friend wasn't even talking to him, he just looked on the verge of falling asleep on top of his toast.

"–rry? Harry!" The brunet boy jerked his head upright from where it had been drooping, his green eyes snapping open.

"Wha– Oh, 'Mione, what's going on?" he asked, gaze darting around the room in search of danger. Finding nothing, he yawned hugely and began to nod off again before Hermione's hand fell on his shoulder.

"Harry, are you alright? Didn't you sleep at all last night?" she asked. Concern for her friend warred with disapproval over anyone staying up late for any reason other than homework, which she knew Harry hadn't been doing, she had made sure he finished it all yesterday.

"I did sleep some," he muttered guiltily, cramming a forkful of bacon into his mouth to excuse himself from explaining. Of course, it didn't work; Hermione was still there staring demandingly at him when he looked up. "It's nothing, really. I was just… reading, is all."

A light came on in Hermione's eyes. "What were you reading? If it was good enough to keep you up all night, I'm sure I've already read it, and if I haven't can I borrow it, I run out of books so fast, and–"

"Breathe, 'Mione, Merlin," Ron laughed from her other side. He took a swig of his pumpkin juice. "What were you reading though, mate? Hermione's right, it must've been good. Did you borrow one of Dean's girlie mags?" he asked with a weak attempt at a leer. Harry choked on his tea.

"Ronald!" Hermione snapped, face flaming. "That's disgusting, Harry would never, would you, Harry?" She turned her glare on the brunet, whose ears were turning red at the tips.

"O-of course not," he managed. "It was just a novel, and I'd thank the both of you to leave off about it, alright?" His voice rose steadily until he was almost shouting, Ron, Hermione, and the rest of Gryffindor looking at him askance. Harry, noticing the sudden quiet, sank down in his seat and stared sullenly at the table.

"We're sorry, Harry, we didn't realize it was an issue," Hermione ventured. Ron nodded alongside. "We're just glad you're finding something more productive than Gobstones to keep you busy," she added, much to Ron's disgust if the face he pulled was any indication. At this, a small laugh was coaxed from Harry, and his friends sat back in relief. The rest of breakfast passed normally, and soon the trio were on their way to Transfiguration.

The rest of the day had passed by Harry in a blur, as had the next, and the next. Most nights he hardly slept at all, rather spending precious hours in Tom's company. It felt like they had known each other their whole lives – or Harry's whole life, at least, he had no idea when or how Tom had come into existence. Still, he was rapidly becoming the best friend Harry hadn't known he was missing.

Tom, Harry wrote one night, I don't know if I can keep doing this.

What do you mean? came the reply, almost hesitant behind the sharp elegant lettering.

Well, it's just, I'm so tired all the time now, and I'm really falling behind in classes, you see, and I feel like I never talk to Ron and Hermione much anymore, so I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can talk with you except maybe on weekends. Harry felt a hot flash of guilt behind his eyes as he watched the words fade into the page, but he didn't have much of a choice, did he?

I, wrote Tom, and then a long pause as the single letter melted away. Harry could feel his breath catching in his throat, the blank page suffocating in its silence. The instant the next trace of ink appeared he sagged in relief, eyes fixed on the creamy parchment. I understand, Tom wrote to him, and that was all.

Tom? Harry asked, waiting until he was sure there would be no reply. Tom, I'm sorry, I don't – I don't know what you want me to do! Tom, please? Again, there was no reply, and this time Harry's heart sank until it was pressing at his stomach, pinning him to his bed. It was hours before Harry could sleep, even with the diary tucked safely under his pillow, because it had stopped feeling like a friend. Now it felt like the biggest mistake he'd ever made.

Although his few hours of sleep had been fitful, Harry woke up the next morning with a weight off his shoulders. Firmly resolved, he shut the diary – Tom – into the drawer of his nightstand, a whispered Colloportus! staving off any residual anxiety about leaving behind such a fixture of his daily life. That day went easier than any he could remember in the last two weeks, as did the next and the next. It didn't take long before Harry forgot to take the diary out one weekend (Quidditch practice was so time consuming, and that absolute boor Lockhart had assigned an essay–) and it seemed like no time at all had passed before it was time to sneak into the Slytherin dorm.

Author's note:

Wow I guess it's been two years. I wish I could use school as an excuse, but really I just haven't felt motivated to write at all for whatever reason. Obviously I'm a different person now than I was when I started this story, which means the writing and direction might change, but I'm not going to go back and redo it all.

If anyone's stuck with me for this long, I'm impressed, thank you. I would love to commit to another chapter in a week, or however long, but I don't want to break any promises haha. I will do my best though, I intend to finish this even if it takes another two years for the next 2000 words.

On that note, sorry for the short chapter! My only defence is that at least there is a chapter, right?