DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Bound
No one ever said I had to do what they wanted; what he wanted, but I let myself be bent, abused, and cajoled into allowing the transgression to occur and no one was ever going to be wise to my supplication. I'm just an old diary, brass edges and an old obscure date to make one wonder at what possible sinister overtones I could convey. As much as she was used, so was I. I held within my pages the tools necessary to hold an evil I don't think I can categorise, and that alone scares me.
He said I could be his tool, a great secret in a hall of lies, and he was right too. I was imbued with a certain amount of thought, but chained by the inevitability of knowing that I was merely a puppet of evil. How could I have not seen or felt the manipulation of my pages. Alas, I did not see his evil for its calm and methodical planning and I have as much, if not more to feel guilty about regarding my acceptance of my fate.
He said I would be great, that I would herald a new identity into the Wizarding World, that I'd be held aloft as an example of the brilliance of one to market a new process of sentient thought. What he neglected to tell me was that I was to play a part in luring an unsuspecting child to commit the most grievous of crimes, all as fanfare for a Wizard long dead, whose 'toys' should have been sliced for ingredients long ago. The old man with the beard knew of me, but did nothing. He allowed the manipulation to continue, as though some prophecy needed to be fulfilled - but at what price. Is the life of a child worth so little that to interfere means naught but a small wrinkle on blind objectivity? It is something in my limited capacity that I cannot answer, but she knew I knew and that hurt me all the more.
The boy was curious, but my creator had plans for him and I could scent his disgust as it oozed from the pores of my compressed paper form. He was angry to be taken or discarded by the girl; a price for which many could have potentially paid a price. But he was the clever one; create the need, fulfil the emotions with taunts and brainwash her into believing that to discard me was heinous and not fulfilling the natural order he had pre- ordained. She believed him and though a message would have been of great benefit, he knew I was trying to help her and he was not happy.
When the Basilisks tooth punctured my leather sheath and spilled the grime of ink laden blood from my pores, I felt light, as though a great dim secret had been washed from my pages. Even rendered ugly and tattered, I sensed a change for good and the boy was happy to see the ink run foul about my edges. I doubt he will ever know that in that short moment of thought and action, he saved me the task I had promised myself, the task I wanted but could never achieve. I could not destroy myself and even as I sit in a glass lined case as an odd reminder of evil, none shall ever really know just how grateful I was to be expunged and freed from the circle of evil I was forced to endure.
I am what I am, Unhinged, unbound and undone. I could not wish better of my fate. I am a reminder of evil's ploys and sufficient cause to ask those who would pursue the light to remain ever vigilant against the rank stench of evil.
AUTHOR NOTE: This is very much a 'what if' story. What if Riddle's diary sensed the evil intent and somehow fought against the restrictions placed upon it as an inanimate object?
Written for challenge #16 at 30 Minute Fics, an LJ community for short stories of all shapes and ships in Harry Potter. Many thanks to LeoGryffin for setting up, running and moderating this great community.