The Diary (pottermort)

chapter eleven

When life moves on, like it always does, Tom Riddle can almost forget. He can almost forget the fineries and wealth at his disposal if he could only say the right things. He can almost (almost) forget the terror of Gellert Grindelwald wanting him dead because he revealed the presence of soldiers in Britian with a few absently said words.

Almost. But never quite fully.

Still, Tom Riddle returns to Hogwarts with his head held high. He is told he has no reason to worry, so he tries his best not to. Hogwarts, they always say, is the safest place in the world. As Tom resumes his studies, his third year underway, he wonders if that's true.

But he has lots else to think about. He, along with the classes he took last year, has started taking as many electives possible. It is a whooping nine classes total-- three more than the average student takes, forty five minutes each. He also resumes his research into where the second Deathly Hallow may be, as well as his search for the Chamber of Secrets.

He does not have much free time anymore-- just the way he likes it, for if he is exceptionally occupied, he is exceptionally unbothered-- but what he does, he spends with Fleamont or writing to Harry. He is known as Slytherin's heir, so it is obvious that other friend choices are open to him... but Tom finds Fleamont's childish demeanor endearing. Slytherin Purebloods have a tendency to be fake. They present a mask to the world; a cocktail of everything their parents taught them. Uptight and boring to be around.

Fleamont is different than that. He is authentic. Untraditional in the best and worst of ways.

(And, though Tom would never admit it, Fleamont's infatuation with him is always a nice boost to his ego.)

Tom Riddle is Slytherin's heir, with the good looks and fancy clothing to match, so as the days trickle by, he is asked out more and more. Fleamont is not the only one who constantly fawns over him and the mask Tom presents to the world; the polite pureblood prince who's always so eager to help, always willing to suck up when need be. Tom thinks sometimes he's not so different from the pureblood Slytherins he cannot stand.

Mostly, though, the increase in what Harry calls "Tom Riddle Simps" is equal parts confidence increase... equal parts unnerving.

He ignores the train of thought the best he can-- exceptionally occupied, exceptionally unbothered. But there comes a time when burying himself in books and checking every corridor for the entrance to a Chamber that may or may not be is not enough. (His best, for the first time in a long time, is not enough.)

So he writes to Harry one late December evening and gives the unnerving thought a voice.

I don't know how to love.

Harry pauses, then, and Tom thinks that maybe he's crossed a line. That, maybe, their friendship was not yet advanced enough to discuss feelings so forward like this.

But, to Tom's surprise, Harry replies with an almost hesitant, I thought I didn't know how to love, too. For the longest time.

Tom is shocked at this. Harry Potter is a lot of things, but one who did not love easy is not one of them. Eagerly, Tom replies, Is that so?

Mhm, Harry writes, unaware of Tom's deep interest in his answer. My parents loved me, I think. They gave their lives for me.

But you didn't love them?

I think I do, Harry writes. It's just hard to tell sometimes. My godfather loved me, too, but... he was not around a lot. He was always out on business, and I didn't know him as well as I wanted to. I don't know if I know how to love, Tom. But I know how to try, so that's what I did toward my parents. That's what I'll always do. Try.

Tom soaks up the information about Harry greedily. Harry is more a listener than a talker and even after a year of knowing each other, there is always more to learn. And a less vindictive side of Tom argued that Harry's coping of the same insecurity might provide a solution to Tom himself. What about your friends? Did you love them?

Yes, said Harry. And no. I mean, when my family first started running from Grindelwald's army, they followed me. They were... good friends. But during the final battle, the one I... y'know... they couldn't follow. I fought and died alone. A part of me wants to resent them for it, but I don't think I can. I love them. And it wasn't their fault. They would've followed if they could. At least they're alive.

Tom pauses, then writes, Why would you not know how to love in the first place?

Because I am a product of my environment, Harry writes immediately, almost like he's thought this too many times, My parents loved me, protected me, but they weren't there for me. We were... estranged. I was the odd little boy of the street, the criminal boy, and it felt like I was raised in a cupboard, rather than a home. I never felt loved. I'm self taught in that regard. When my first ever friend said, "I love you" I didn't know if I returned the favor. I thought I didn't know how to love. I still think so, sometimes.

And in the... Tom struggles, romantic prospect?

I was helpless then and I'd bet I'm not better now. Harry quickly adds, as if to change the subject, But back to you. You don't know how to love. Would you like to change that?

I would like to try, Tom writes, and maybe it's true. He feels disconnected from his peers because, although romantic love is not a constant within humanity, platonic and family oriented love is. People need people. It is alienating to feel otherwise.

Normally, the feeling of alienation is not unwelcome. Of course he is different-- he is better, always has been. But he thinks he wants to understand love. He wants to be something great one day-- ambitions high as they sky-- and thinks being able to better understand others would be a plus.

Tom is unsure what Harry is to reply with, but he's all but prepared when Harry writes: Have you heard of the Patronus Charm?