title: just a day away
summary: Today the diary is just a diary.
pairings, rating: Tom/Minerva, T
warnings: None!
word count: 329
challenges: Pack a Punch Drabble Competition
notes: For reference - I'm keeping Minerva's original (pre-Pottermore) canon birthdate for this fic, the one which would have put her just a year ahead of Tom, while also keeping the Quidditch incident that injured her in the Gryffindor/Slytherin match of her 7th year.
This is where he buries her. All soft candlelight and white sheets and the herbal smell of healing remedies hanging heavy in the air. He sinks down into the chair opposite her bed, constructing a suitably concerned expression to face her with. Still in her Quidditch robes, she sits up a little straighter despite the clearly bandaged ribs, and snorts, waving him off with her unbroken arm.
"Piss off, Riddle," But she's grinning, a wild, unrestrained grin, green eyes lighting up mischievously, like she's about to tease him something awful. Something in his chest constricts. This is not a luxury he can afford himself anymore. "Come to admire Rosier's handiwork? Merlin's balls, whoever decided to let him play beater should get a sodding bludger shoved up their-"
"I'd rather thought I was coming to see you," he counters, high voice quiet but never soft, the touch of a frosty edge ever-present, though always less so around her. "And to tell you goodbye before summer holidays start."
She bristles at that, and the vice on his heart tightens. "Too busy with exams to visit me, Tom?"
"Unfortunately." The diary is burning a hole in his pocket, but today it's just a diary. Her stare is burning holes in his eyes, but today he is just Tom Riddle. He could stay. This is in his power. He stands up, instead. "I may not be able to, later."
"Tom-"
He kisses her, before she can change his mind. Withdrawing, he keeps his eyes closed, keeps his hand cupping her bruised jaw, keeps his forehead pressed to hers.
"Tom." She's cross, irritated, going to say something else. He lets out an uncharacteristically shaky breath.
"I loved you." He didn't, really - but he wanted to, and he owes her this. Out of all the lies he's told, that one is the hardest. Today the diary is a diary. Today Tom Riddle is Tom Riddle. Tomorrow, the horcrux. Tomorrow, Lord Voldemort. "Goodbye, Minnie."