𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐝 || Tom Riddle

eleven

*warning: this chapter contains allusions to blood*

"Coming, Tom?"

Tom was standing outside the Hogwarts Express when he heard Diana's voice calling him.

Waiting for the train amidst the piling snow and biting winter winds filled him with an odd feeling. Since he'd started at Hogwarts he had never had a Christmas holiday where he was not holed up in his dorm room enjoying the silence, losing himself in tomes of the library and his own intricate plots.

Diana was standing on the first step of the car, holding out a hand to him.

He met her grasp and followed.

Her long rosy skirt flowed behind her as they trekked up the steps and through the train, nearly causing Tom to trip more than once. Much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, he already felt unsteady enough.

The two eventually found a cabin to themselves and slipped inside.

"Let me take your coat," she offered warmly, noticing Tom's silence and discomfort.

Tom reluctantly let the weathered coat slip off and into her hands. He tried to keep one arm positioned so as to hide the small hole in the old wool sweater that seemed invincible to any spell he tried using to fix it. With the sweater he wore dusty green slacks and his regular school shoes. The newest piece in the ensemble was black belt which was a souvenir from a Muggle man he had taken the life of over the summer.

Even in the shabby clothes, girls passing by could not resist a lingering look at the boy. That didn't alleviate Tom's discomfort.

If Diana looked down upon it, she didn't show it. She was extending her legs on the seat and nestling in with a book for the long ride.

As Tom stole sideways glances at her from his own reading, he wondered how difficult his task ahead would prove. It sounded like he had already made an impression on the Minister and his wife, and it was not a favorable one.

As the countryside swept away and night fell, snores drifted from the opposite side of the cabin.

Tom's gaze wandered down to Diana's bag, eyeing it with curiosity and temptation.

He flicked his wand gently and whispered, "Wingardium leviosa,"

The bag lifted into the air gracefully and settled onto his lap. It was already left open, so getting in wasn't difficult. Tom wasted no time rifling through the belongings.

The excavation produced several days' worth of clothes, a few long quills, many unlabeled bottles of various liquids, a thin silver bracelet, a hairbrush, and, buried at the very bottom, a book with a velvety burgundy cover.

Tom picked it up and quickly paged through it.

It was a diary!

Tom was gleeful at the discovery. As he looked through it, many of the entries dated back to the previous summer.

June 19, 1943

Dear Diary,

Another night at Malfoy Manor with Father groveling for gold. At least this time we didn't stay for the awful drinks after dinner.

No one ended up eating the pudding I snuck the flobberworms into. How boring. I had hoped that it would have been Abraxas. 

Mother keeps pushing that clod upon me. She always says we would just be the perfect match. Maybe I would be a bit more interested if he didn't talk my ear off during dinner about Quidditch and the new uniforms his father was buying.