Diptych

Chapter 19

It was still dark when Regulus woke the next morning, and the previous night felt so detached from reality that he assumed it had all been a dream. Of course the Dark Lord hadn't confessed to being Tom, to having designed a situation in which the diary would fall into his very hands, apparently for the purpose of making him more willing to meet, to get to know him prior to their first real encounter. That would be absurd. But then why did it feel so real?

He turned over, tried to go back to sleep. But it was to no avail. The images of the Dark Lord's hand on his shoulder, the warmth of his breath on Regulus' face and the smiles he sent in the boy's direction weren't fading as the details of a dream usually would. If anything, as his muscles relaxed into the morning, he only remembered it with more clarity. After their conversation, the man had taken notice of Regulus' apprehension, his discomfort in his presence and suggested that he get back to the castle to rest. The others had all stayed, bade him farewell in a friendly way. No mention of the mark had been made, though Regulus wished it had. At least then, he'd have some real proof, a tangible reminder on his body that what he'd experienced was real and not just a fluke of his subconscious.

For the majority of the morning, Regulus thought about what he knew about the two of them, separately. Tom was the only name he knew the boy in the diary by, and he had no real name for the Dark Lord. He'd heard some refer to him as 'Voldemort', though he highly doubted that was written on his Ministry documents. Tom was a Slytherin. The Dark Lord had been a Slytherin. Regulus had come to the conclusion long ago that Tom must have attended Hogwarts at the same time as his Uncle Alphard, because he'd been interested at the mention him but never elaborated on how they were acquainted. He didn't know how old exactly the Dark Lord was, but as he tried to recall the features of his face, his hair, he decided it wasn't unlikely that the Dark Lord had attended at a similar time, too. The Dark Lord had told Regulus that he didn't know what was written in the diary, and Tom had told Regulus that he knew nothing of his own future. If both of them (or both versions of him) were telling the truth, then he could hypothetically go on conversing with the pair of them without ever worrying about words said to one getting through to the other.

But what would he even say? 'I met your older self last night, Tom. He's handsome in a different way than I'd imagined you to be and feels nowhere near as much mine'? 'I've enjoyed writing in your diary greatly, but though I admire your magical ability and charisma, I couldn't help but be disappointed that you're not a teenage boy anymore'? Even if he didn't express the latter sentiment, he worried the man would tease it from his mind in the way that adults often did the details they wanted from children and teenagers. It would embarrass him to have it known, and he didn't completely understand why. Surely it was only natural that he'd hope the person contained within the pages of the diary was as like him as possible, a reflection so that their camaraderie might be based on mutual experiences and understanding. It felt wrong, though. Like he was using the diary in a way that the Dark Lord hadn't intended when he'd passed it along to Lucius.

Though he'd resolved not to write any more to Tom until he'd decided what he wanted to say, his resolve crumbled around lunchtime when he returned to the dorm earlier than any of the other boys and considered what a good opportunity for a short conversation it would have been if he were inclined to write to him at that very moment in time. He'd collected the diary from the owlery first thing, knowing that his conflicted emotions aside, he couldn't very well leave such an old and precious item to the thieving hands of his fellow students. It had been his intention to leave it beneath his own mattress until he came up with a better plan of action, but in that moment, left alone in the dorm with it, he was helpless to the compulsion that dragged him to his bed and forced a quill into his ready hand.

If you knew my future, would you tell it to me?

It was a question Regulus hadn't known he was going to ask until he did, but Tom answered quickly enough,