The Diary (pottermort)

chapter thirty-one

Harry doesn't like the renovated DA, for obvious reasons. He's got mixed feelings on Albus, the man who forced him into an abusive household for his own relative safety, the man who left a suicide mission to a group of children, but none of which are particularly malicous. He feels it a blight onto the original DA; Dumbledore's Army being used against him is a shame. As for killing Death, Harry didn't mind because he didn't think it possible.

The DA isn't totally terrible, though. Septimus pisses Orion off by mentioning his plan to slaughter corrupt Ministry members, which is always fun. Tom appears to relate to the anti-blood purist ideologies.

(If this is what Purebloods are like, then there is no way they can be superior.)

And, more blaringly, Tom is more than not miserable and it's done so without work. Exceptionally occupied, exceptionally unbothered used to be his mantra. Oddly enough, for the first time in a long time, Tom finds himself cheerful in the presence of the DA (save Orion, of course.)

Tom considers them friends. Though reverently admitted, Harry basks in the knowledge that Tom has changed. Tom is more than using these people, and is now more than using Fleamont, who he finds himself growing infatuated by.

Tom's overwhelmed. He doesn't know what, exactly, to do with these feelings. He likes Minerva's lawful good vibes contrasting with Septimus's chaotic evil. He likes Sage's odd sayings and Myrtle's done-with attitude. He likes making Fleamont happy for reasons that don't benefit him financially or otherwise.

He has friends, now. And he's not quite sure how to deal with it.

I'm above friends, he writes to Harry the evening after the first of many Hogsmeade trips with them. I'm above something so petty and small. I'm above hurt and pettiness and grudges and love. I'm above that.

Harry can feel the panicked denial through the page. Emotions don't make you weak, Tom, he writes simply. He feels his diary self be thrown against the wall because Tom has seen death, knows more than others, but it is still only 14. He is still a child.

I'm being immature, Tom thinks even as he tries to burn the seemingly invincible book. I'm supposed to be above that-- this.

But he's not. He's not and he knows this. He knows that he's still angry (angry, hurt, petty) at Orion because he's never apologized for the way he treated him and the snickers of "he's prodigious... for a Mudblood" have likely been forgotten by Orion but Tom's never been less aware than he is now.

(The axe forgets but the tree remembers and Tom's never allowed himself to be so pissed about it before.)

He's above a lot of things. Emotion isn't one of them.

It's a realization that is crashing, that quakes and threatens to overthrow the foundation he's built his legacy on. He grew up in an orphanage that hates him for him, forced not to feel because if he did he'd feel bad, and a part of him has never grown out of it.

The part of him that floats above feeling is loud. It's powerful. But the part of him that loves Harry, is growing to love Fleamont, enjoys being happy more than just occupied-- it's powerful, too.

(He apologizes to Harry in the morning. Harry accepts, as if he had any other choice.)

Sage, before leaving for Christmas break, sits beside him and says, "This cosmic dance of bursting decadence and withheld permissions, twists all our arms collectively. But, if sweetness can win, and it can, then I'll still be here tomorrow to high five you yesterday, my friend. Peace."

Tom thinks that, despite how much he enjoys his friends' company, they have a collective habit of delusion. "That's, er, great, Sage."

Sage Lovegood laughs, playfully punches his arm, and says, "It means I'm glad I met you, Tom Riddle of riddle me this."

Tom's not so sure that's what he meant but relates to the sentiment nonetheless. "You're fucking crazy, Lovegood," he says instead.

Sage looks at him blankly with glowing eyes. "Perspective is relative. You love us for it."

(He might. He might be growing to.)

Sage doesn't wait for him to answer. He knows Tom won't. Sage knows a lot, thinks he knows a lot, and is wrong more often than not. It's his charm. "I know what I'm gunna say to Death, when I meet them."

"When?" Tom prompts, amused. When and not if.

"Of course," Sage says seriously. "People have met Death face to face-- Gellert, for example-- so it's reasonable to assume that we can, too. We just gotta figure out how."

"Well, what're you gunna say?" asks Tom.

"You'll see," said Sage. (His eyes, ever the indicator, glowed faintly.) "Give it a few chapters."

"Chapters?"

"As is."

"As is," repeated Tom dryly.

Sage pulls out a blunt from his robes, offering it to Tom. (It's an odd way, Tom's learned from watching he and Septimus interact, of showing affection. Odd but not always unwelcome.) Tom refuses and Sage shrugs. "Suit yourself in cashmere, I suppose."

Tom laughs. It is genuine and elating-- he's more than not miserable and he's living for it.

So, while Harry rejects the more murderous tendicies of the DA (that Hufflepuff part of him always rearing its head) he... he finds that it does more good than harm. It helps Tom. He has friends who like him for more reasons than his scar, that regard the death of Grindelwald as secondary to Tom's character. They've fallen for more than his Pureblooded Slytherin mask and Harry cannot help but praise them for it.

Tom's no where near a changed heart. He still weilds his fear of death (of Death) as a weapon and still yearns to open the Chamber and has never desisted being prone to manipulating others. He's just a kid who's not done growing but the DA? The DA helps.

The DA is alright, morals taking the backseat aside.