DEATH DAY

The day I died was a random Thursday in June of 1943. Not an overly exciting or glamorous date, I know. I wasn't expecting it at the time. Not really. Though I don't suppose anybody is when they finally kick the bucket. The hints were all there, of course – Tom always had loved the game, the chase – but my mind was preoccupied with other things during that final period of my life. Things I deemed more important than my impending death.

Things such as the bullying, which was getting worse as I was getting older. Olive Hornby was a wraith of a girl, sickly pale skin with sickly pale hair to match and a pair of watery eyes that left no room for compassion. It seemed almost daily she was dragging me by the hair into some bathroom or other to dole out nastiness. Some days were worse than others. I had a particular hatred for the ones where she'd overflow the sinks with water and make me lick it up from the dirty tiles of the floor like a dog.

These attacks on me made me anxious, as one can expect, which in turn made me start to miss lessons. As a devout Ravenclaw this was practically blasphemous, and the rest of my house had started to turn against me, too. Whiny, stupid Myrtle, too busy with her whinging to focus on what's important. I almost didn't have brainpower to spare for the third and final worry plaguing me, but I still managed to find time in my hectic schedule of nervousness to brood over it, usually in the small hours of the night.

I hadn't found my soulmate yet.

I mean, granted, I was only sixteen. But in a community as small as the wizarding one, where virtually every magical child in Britain is funnelled through the educational system of Hogwarts, meeting your fated half at a young age is much more common than one would think. Why, there were students in my year already engaged to be married for when they finished school. And all the while I was doing daily time with Olive Hornby.

Supposedly you're meant to feel your soulmates emotions when they're in the vicinity and that's how you know they're the one. I'm not sure how one is supposed to "feel" their feelings, as such, but up until this point I'd never felt anything and was beginning to suspect I wasn't going to. It was a worry that gnawed at me more than I'd care to admit, one creeping in when my guard was down and my spirits were low, punching me in the gut and causing me to lose my breath as I stared at the royal blue hangings of my four-poster in the Ravenclaw tower. I felt helpless at the situation, helpless at my life, hating the constant feeling that everything was spinning out of control and I couldn't stop it.

In that sense, I would almost say my death was a relief. Perhaps I've been wrong all these years and fate did in fact deal me the correct hand after all.

As I said, it was an arbitrary Thursday in June when I went. The sun was peeking out from an intermittent smattering of clouds and the temperature was slowly building up day-by-day, a God-like hand turning the dial ready for July and August. I'd had double transfiguration in the morning and was debating on going back to hide in the Tower and complete some homework for that afternoon – any excuse to avoid Olive Hornby's cruel clutches – and was turning down an eastern corridor towards a quieter set of stairs when it happened.

A hand grabbed my hair.

At first, I thought it was Olive and hence didn't struggle. But after a couple of seconds, it registered that the hand was too big, the fingers not slender enough to be hers and the stature of my captor too tall.

Yet instead of panicking, I was merely startled. Most of the student body didn't bother that much with me, leaving most of the heavy lifting to Olive (who I'm sure they deemed was doing a swell job). The person dragged me backwards into the girls' bathroom and I didn't put up a fight. I don't know why I didn't. Perhaps it was the shock, or perhaps I was so desperate for some sort of connection out of the norm that my body simply wouldn't let me.

Once inside the bathroom, door firmly shut behind us, the person spun me so I was facing the row of mirrors above the sinks, strong arm wrapped around my throat while the other dropped from my hair to grab their wand.

I made eye contact with my captor. It was Tom Riddle.

I held back a gasp, my gaze running over our joint reflection. His emerald-lined robes made a stark contrast with my royal blue ones, at once clashing and blending together in an obfuscating kaleidoscope. His onyx hair, the shade not too dissimilar to mine, was coiffed impeccably to the side, a couple of strands falling loose from our scuffle to fall over his smooth forehead. His eyes ran over me greedily. An odd sort of hunger shined in them, and I cringed away from the sight, ironically pushing me further back into his chest.

"Now, now, Myrtle darling," he said with the customary lilt to his voice I knew all too well from the lessons I'd shared with him. Amused yet dark. "I'm so glad you're here."

I didn't reply. I felt helpless. Helpless. Even more so than usual. The thought occurred to me that I should scream or something, but I knew nobody would come running to rescue me. I choked back a sob. Who knew what Tom was going to do to me? He had a reputation for being violent when he wanted to be; we'd all heard the stories from previous years where he'd done vile, vile things to those who had gotten in his way.

And now it seemed it was my turn.

I couldn't even bring myself to whimper, however, I was still so stunned at the ordeal. He continued, adjusting his grip on my collar: "I really hate to do this, you know."

"Do-" I coughed. "Do what?"

He leaned in close to my ear, his devilish smile reflecting back at me in the mirror, and whispered, "Well, that would be telling, wouldn't it?"

"Would it?"

"It would." Abruptly, he shoved me away from him, stepping back and hissing something unintelligible. I blinked. What the devil was he doing? Was this just a bad dream?

The ground started to rumble as soon as he'd finished his susurration, tile and piping pulling apart, chasm forming. I pinched myself on the arm through my school uniform – actually pinched myself – because surely this was a dream. It couldn't be anything else, could it? It was too surreal. Tom caught my eye over the cacophony of screeching bathroom décor, an amused expression gracing his features once again. Why was he so interested in me? Why couldn't it be anybody else but me?

The rumbling stopped, and he stepped forward once more with an outstretched arm to beckon me closer. The gesture was so normal, so gentlemanly, that I took his hand on autopilot before I could stop myself.

"Well done, darling," he said, pulling me close to his chest once more. "As I said, I do hate to do this to you. To us. We could have had a wonderful future together."

I frowned. What did he mean? What could he possibly-

"But alas, I can't have any distractions from my purpose. And worse – I can't have any weaknesses. So unfortunately, it has to be this way." He looked away for a second, lost in thought and adding, "At least I'm killing two birds with one stone here. You will prove invaluable, as you were always meant to in a sense."

"What's going on, Riddle?" I asked. My voice was finally finding its way back to me and I had the urge to bolt out of the room as fast as possible, preservation instincts on high alert. I shoved at his chest to try and get away, but he tightened his grip.

"Come, stop that now, darling. You'll only make things worse."

"Make what worse?"

"This."

A clanging sound came from the opening in the floor. It came from the depths of the castle, reverberating through the stone and gradually climbing higher and higher towards where we stood. I struggled once more in Tom's deceitful embrace, shoving and pushing and kicking yet his hold was iron. I wasn't going anywhere.

The next part – the part right before I died – was terribly hazy for the longest time after I'd passed on to the other side. But as the years have dragged on, it's become clearer in my memory, the initial shock of it wearing off and the events sharpening into painful clarity in my mind.

Tom smiled indulgently down at me as a giant snake heaved itself over the lip of the chasm.

I screamed at the sight. Or at least I think I did, for the next thing I remember was Tom's hand clamped over my mouth. His hissed at the snake once more, who stilled, and looked back down and into my eyes.

"You're panicking. I can feel it," he said with a light smile, tilting his head to one side while my world tilted on its axis at his words. It couldn't be. It couldn't be… "You needn't do that, my darling Myrtle. It'll be over soon."

The giant viper spun towards us and seemed to smile at me too, before lurching forward and turning my world black, the last thought crossing my mind not being that my soulmate has just killed me.

But that I finally had an explanation as to why I couldn't feel another's emotions.

A/N: This was written for the QLFC, team Tutshill Tornados.

Prompts used:

2. (colour) royal blue

7. (emotion) startled

15. (word) helpless

Word count: 1659

Thanks!

N.S

x