myra ; tom riddle

[67]

Unfortunately, the summer holidays had come to an end; two months had somehow felt like two days in my household. I spent my summer reading and studying many of the textbooks for the next semester. Even when reading about something as silly as potions, I could not help but wonder how the dark-haired boy was doing.

Riddle and I had not spoken once during the holidays; he hadn't even owled me to ask of my plans (something he usually did). I wanted desperately to owl him, maybe even ask him if he wished to go to Diagon Alley together. Perhaps all of the studying I was doing was a way to distract myself from communicating with him first.

He was too busy with his lousy excuse for dogs.

I had even gone as far as to owl Clarisse a few times. Mother had begged me to invite her over for dinner; however, she had not responded to a single letter I sent. I had given up with her after the second owl was sent with no response. What could she possibly be doing?

I felt my stomach shrivel slightly at the thought of inviting Clive to travel to Diagon Alley with me. I knew I would never hear the end of it if I did not invite him.

I reached toward the door handle, cringing slightly at the thought of what was going on in his bedroom. It was always a horrifying experience walking into Clive's bedroom. For all I knew, I was about to walk into an awful stench and some whore on top of my brother. Unfortunately, it had happened many times.

The room smelt of sweat and cigarettes. Luckily, he was not in the middle of some despicable act. On top of the bed, he sprawled his limbs out, beneath the covers. Under his right arm was a blonde-haired girl, the same girl he had been with for at least a year now. I was impressed by her; not many women could catch the heart of Clive Rafferty without running out of the house in tears. Elle? Ella? Elise? I couldn't remember if I was being completely honest.

I knew she despised me; I had called her a whore once and still have not heard the end of it.

"Do you want to go to Diagon Alley with me?" I asked, behind him the wall was nearly caving in. I scrunched my nose noticing the damaged wall was because of how many times the headboard had slammed into the wall. The mere sight of the damaged headboard and wall made me want to gag.

"No," He took a long drag of the cigarette between his teeth before looking down at the bitch under his arm. My eyes flickered down to the nude girl with nothing but a comforter covering her body. She had not looked up at me once. She simply stared up at Clive as if he were going to disappear any second. It was odd seeing someone look at Clive the way she did. Almost everyone in this world looked down on Clive; she looked up at him as if he were god himself.

"As your brother," Clive suggested. I had three brothers, including Clive, but I knew exactly who he was talking about. Spencer.

Something had changed in Spencer this summer. We had barely talked. All of our conversations consisted of arguing and the slamming of doors. Our summers had once consisted of him performing petty pranks on me. One summer he set my hair on fire and even put fireworks in my bed while I was sleeping.

Something was different.

He barely left his room anymore. He only left his room to go out and see some girl who lived nearby. Even his appearance had begun to fade. He was once strong and bulky from all the Quidditch he played, but now he was nothing but skin and bone. His face was once tan from how much time he spent outside; however, now he was as pale as a ghost. Even the dark circles under his eyes had turned a dark purple.

I knocked on his door; to my surprise, there was no answer. Usually, he would yell at me to go away or throw something at the door. Was he home?

I slowly opened the door, peering inside the dark room. I first checked the bed to make sure he was not asleep; his bed was unmade, messy, and empty. I looked around the room, almost forgetting what it looked like. His Gryffindor flags were pinned proudly onto the wall and his Quidditch awards were scattered on the dresser. He had a large stack of letters beside his bed, some dating as far back as his second year of school. Why was he saving these letters?

I knew not to read the letters; he would have my head on a stake if I read whatever was in the envelopes. However, I did not see anything wrong with seeing who had been sending him owls.

I sat on the edge of the bed, flipping through every letter and scanning the return address. Every letter was written by the same name. Rowan. Why would he have saved every letter since the second year of school from this Rowal girl? Perhaps she was the Ravenclaw I had seen him with on multiple occasions.

I never took my brother for a romantic.

My stomach sunk, noticing a new name on the bottom of the stack. The letter was not written by some stupid love-sick girl, it was written by Tom Riddle. Why was Riddle writing my brother? I quickly opened the letter, seeing it was written recently. How could Riddle have time to write my brother this summer but not me?

"What are you doing?" He was calm at first, turning on the light to illuminate me sitting on the edge of his bed. His eyes flickered to the letter in my hand and then back to my face. It was as if the air completely changed in the room as he ripped the letter from my hands.

"Why is Riddle writing you?" I asked, standing up in an attempt to intimidate him. It was difficult to intimidate Spencer Rafferty; both his height and personality were no match for anyone.

"None of your business. Get out," His voice wavered as he pointed toward the door, gesturing for me to leave. His face was red; his face always turned a bright red when he was mad. If I were Clive, I am sure that he would have already punched me in the face.

I did not move.

"No. Why is he-?" I began. I was cut off by him swinging open the door with the flick of his fingers. Had he just done wandless magic? When did he possibly find the time to learn wandless magic?

"Get the fuck out!" He exclaimed. It was a strange sight to see him genuinely mad.

"Don't talk to me like that," I hissed, looking around me for the closest weapon. Unfortunately, he had found it first. He grabbed a large textbook, throwing it as hard as he could in my direction. Luckily, I had ducked in time to avoid getting hit.

"What in Merlin's name is going on up here!" Mother yelled. Both Spencer and I ignored Mothers approaching footsteps.

I grabbed the textbook he had thrown at me moments before; I threw it as hard as I could directly toward his groin. Successfully, he collapsed to the ground crying in pain. I couldn't help but smile, crossing my arms over my chest as he looked angrily up at me.

"Myra!" Mother exclaimed, collapsing to the ground to comfort her youngest son. I slipped out of the room before the fight could get any worse.

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