Disc: I only WISHED that I owned this book..
A/N: It's up the top this time, 'cause I feel the need to explain about this story. It (the story, duh!) shows bits and pieces of different parts, explaining bits of the story, but allowing your imagination to fill in the gaps. So, if y'all want a challenge, 'mail me and I'll give you permission to take the general idea and . make it more.
If you want to know why I'm doing this. well, I get little spurts of imag. at times and I have to hurry to get it down, so it's so short and if I had to do a full story, y'd all be waiting for.uh. ever.
Enough o' that. on to the good stuff.
***
Tom Riddle, formally of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, strode furiously back and forth. He no longer resembled the ruggedly handsome youngster he had once been. No longer carried his father's name. No longer carried his past.
No.
Lord Voldemort did not hold onto the past.
Well, not often.
Harry Potter.
Severus Snape.
Albus Dumbledore.
The only pieces of his past that he would not allow himself to forget. One a mere child; revenge would be sweet. The second a traitor; not a quick death for the betrayer of a trust. The third. the bane of his existence, his mortal enemy. His time would come. Not yet, but it would come.
A snarl erupted from stretched lips, grotesque no matter the light. Snake's eyes gleamed menacingly. It had been over an hour since Wormtail had left. An hour. Growls from a silken throat, a voice used to deception. It was no wonder many lost their souls. A voice that could charm a snake. Snake charmer. His cousin's pet name before.
The creak of a door; shuffled footsteps across dusty floor stones. A muted whimper. These things marked the arrival of one very late servant.
Tom Riddle, formally of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, smiled, knowing that he was one step closer.
***
Harry watched the sun going down through the widows of the tower room. Across the fields, he could see Hagrid, bending on one knee to pat Fang's mangy fur. Large shadows cast across the green lawn. A man and his dog.
Smiling, Harry turned away from the scene, catching the roughly thrown pillow before it hit him. Ron, sitting on his scarlet and gold bed, grinned impishly at him. Grinning to match, Harry slumped on the bed.
" You know Hermione is waiting for us, don't you?" Ron's voice sang off the walls, echoing around the room. Apart from the beds, the room was empty. As prefects, Harry and Ron had been allowed their own room, instead, preferring to share. As yet, they hadn't decorated. Harry hoped it wouldn't get too orange too soon.
Sighing, Harry leaned over the edge, pulled up another pillow that rested on the floor and frowned slightly. "Do you think she'll talk soon? I just can't get used to this silence between us."
Ron frowned; Harry hoped he wasn't about to start his famous lecture on the importance of 'getting over it' again, when a light knock on the door interrupted them.
" Harry? Ron? Are you there?" the soft voice belonged to the youngest Weasley, Ginny. " Hey, hurry up! Hermione and I are tired of waiting for you! Lavender and the others have already left for dinner and I'm starving."
Silence from without as the boys looked at each other and grinned. "HEY! Come on! Hermione wants to eat too, you know!" The growl was enough to get them moving and they swung the door open to see their best friend leaning against the doorframe, Ginny nearby.
"Gee, took you long enough." She growled before racing down the steps. Harry and Ron shrugged and followed her down, Hermione close behind. It seemed much the same as ever, except it wasn't.
Harry hoped that things would change.
***
Dark.
It was dark again. Like before. Like his quarters in the dungeons. They weren't much, but he hoped he'd see them again. Not that he was one to hold on to hopes. No, wishful thinking was not going to save him this time.
Water dripped. And dripped. Dripped, drip, drip, drip.
He'd read somewhere that dripping water could make you go mad. He could prove it, if given the chance.
"Oh, excuse me, Master, I'm afraid I have a scientific theory to back up, so if you don't mind."
Not bloody likely.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
"Auuuuuurgh! Curse it! I can't take it anymore!"
Drip.
Tearing off a strip of his battered cloak, he felt his way to the maddening source of noise and plugged it up.
Better silence than that constant dripping.
Leaning against a cold wall, concrete by the feel of it, he sighed.
All he could do was wait and, dare he think it, hope.
Not much use, but there was little else for him to do. His legs lay sprawled before him, as unfeeling as when first they were crippled.
Nothing else to do but hope.
A/N: It's up the top this time, 'cause I feel the need to explain about this story. It (the story, duh!) shows bits and pieces of different parts, explaining bits of the story, but allowing your imagination to fill in the gaps. So, if y'all want a challenge, 'mail me and I'll give you permission to take the general idea and . make it more.
If you want to know why I'm doing this. well, I get little spurts of imag. at times and I have to hurry to get it down, so it's so short and if I had to do a full story, y'd all be waiting for.uh. ever.
Enough o' that. on to the good stuff.
***
Tom Riddle, formally of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, strode furiously back and forth. He no longer resembled the ruggedly handsome youngster he had once been. No longer carried his father's name. No longer carried his past.
No.
Lord Voldemort did not hold onto the past.
Well, not often.
Harry Potter.
Severus Snape.
Albus Dumbledore.
The only pieces of his past that he would not allow himself to forget. One a mere child; revenge would be sweet. The second a traitor; not a quick death for the betrayer of a trust. The third. the bane of his existence, his mortal enemy. His time would come. Not yet, but it would come.
A snarl erupted from stretched lips, grotesque no matter the light. Snake's eyes gleamed menacingly. It had been over an hour since Wormtail had left. An hour. Growls from a silken throat, a voice used to deception. It was no wonder many lost their souls. A voice that could charm a snake. Snake charmer. His cousin's pet name before.
The creak of a door; shuffled footsteps across dusty floor stones. A muted whimper. These things marked the arrival of one very late servant.
Tom Riddle, formally of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, smiled, knowing that he was one step closer.
***
Harry watched the sun going down through the widows of the tower room. Across the fields, he could see Hagrid, bending on one knee to pat Fang's mangy fur. Large shadows cast across the green lawn. A man and his dog.
Smiling, Harry turned away from the scene, catching the roughly thrown pillow before it hit him. Ron, sitting on his scarlet and gold bed, grinned impishly at him. Grinning to match, Harry slumped on the bed.
" You know Hermione is waiting for us, don't you?" Ron's voice sang off the walls, echoing around the room. Apart from the beds, the room was empty. As prefects, Harry and Ron had been allowed their own room, instead, preferring to share. As yet, they hadn't decorated. Harry hoped it wouldn't get too orange too soon.
Sighing, Harry leaned over the edge, pulled up another pillow that rested on the floor and frowned slightly. "Do you think she'll talk soon? I just can't get used to this silence between us."
Ron frowned; Harry hoped he wasn't about to start his famous lecture on the importance of 'getting over it' again, when a light knock on the door interrupted them.
" Harry? Ron? Are you there?" the soft voice belonged to the youngest Weasley, Ginny. " Hey, hurry up! Hermione and I are tired of waiting for you! Lavender and the others have already left for dinner and I'm starving."
Silence from without as the boys looked at each other and grinned. "HEY! Come on! Hermione wants to eat too, you know!" The growl was enough to get them moving and they swung the door open to see their best friend leaning against the doorframe, Ginny nearby.
"Gee, took you long enough." She growled before racing down the steps. Harry and Ron shrugged and followed her down, Hermione close behind. It seemed much the same as ever, except it wasn't.
Harry hoped that things would change.
***
Dark.
It was dark again. Like before. Like his quarters in the dungeons. They weren't much, but he hoped he'd see them again. Not that he was one to hold on to hopes. No, wishful thinking was not going to save him this time.
Water dripped. And dripped. Dripped, drip, drip, drip.
He'd read somewhere that dripping water could make you go mad. He could prove it, if given the chance.
"Oh, excuse me, Master, I'm afraid I have a scientific theory to back up, so if you don't mind."
Not bloody likely.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
"Auuuuuurgh! Curse it! I can't take it anymore!"
Drip.
Tearing off a strip of his battered cloak, he felt his way to the maddening source of noise and plugged it up.
Better silence than that constant dripping.
Leaning against a cold wall, concrete by the feel of it, he sighed.
All he could do was wait and, dare he think it, hope.
Not much use, but there was little else for him to do. His legs lay sprawled before him, as unfeeling as when first they were crippled.
Nothing else to do but hope.