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Ginny was glad she'd found Tom. She wasn’t sure how the black diary found its way into her cauldron, but in the end that didn’t matter. Before, she used to be so nervous that she wouldn’t get sorted into Gryffindor. That she wouldn’t find any friends. That she would be all alone. But now she had an ally at her side. Tom listened to her. Regardless of how unimportant her worries were.
So now, on the busy platform full of muggles, Ginny was happy. Still a bit sad to leave her parents. Still a bit insecure about her sorting but content, nonetheless. Tom was in the big pocket of her robes. At first her right hand rested in that pocket, taking care to secure the book. The pickpockets in London were famous enough for her to have heard about them.
“Ginny, take your trolley from now on. We are almost at the barrier.” her mother said and pushed the trolley in her direction.
In a hectic manner she pulled her hand out of her robe to get her school things under control. She shouldn’t have to push this thing alone. It was way too heavy.
Due to her mother’s fussing, the mass of students and the hunt for a compartment she only got to check on the diary when she was seated. With her heart beating loudly in her ears, she jumped up. In the same moment the train started. Desperately she pressed herself to the windowpane. She saw nothing but parents and younger siblings waving. Her pocket was empty. Tom was gone. She had lost him. The other students just thought the first year was already missing her parents. So, their attempts to console her were fruitless.
-
He had found a cursed notebook. This was wicked. Impossible. Fascinating. Absolutely terrifying. He sat on his desk chair and stared blankly at the corner of his room he just threw the black notebook into. His synapses had a hard time keeping up with the new information. But the book didn’t do anything. It had yet to rise into the air to laser-beam him out of existence. No creepy music, no light show.
He should’ve given it to the staff at the station. The red-haired girl who had lost it had just vanished from one minute to the next and since she didn’t notice or came back for it, he thought it couldn’t have been that important. Who was this careless with such a thing?
The bloody book had written back. Michael had decided to use the book for his sketches and when he had finished, the lines just vanished and the words ‘You didn’t tell me you could draw, Ginny’ appeared. So, naturally, he threw the evil paper collection against a wall. With a scream. Like a reasonable person. Michael thought himself very reasonable. He knew that he couldn’t just leave the notebook there. His mom would send him to a catholic boarding school if she found it. She would if his room wasn’t clean enough, honestly.
Slowly he rose and walked over to the other side of the room. The book was open, its cover up, looking totally unassuming. Lying, conniving thing. Michael held his sharpened pen in his fist, ready to defend himself. Nothing happened. Not even when he kicked it. His foot felt contaminated, though. He wasn’t touching this thing again, not with bare hands. A pair of gloves was easy enough to find.
With two fingers he picked it up and threw it back on his desk. He wasn’t sure what he was so scared of. Until now the book only had a conscious, no magical powers. Magic. He shouldn’t have neglected Christianity. He needed Jesus.
More carefully now, he examined the book. It seemed old. Worn. The name Tom Marvolo Riddle was written on it. Both his sketch and the sentence were gone. It was completely blank. There was nothing that could explain what he saw. Nervously he drummed the end of his pen into his palm. He should burn it. Call an exorcist. Not engage. This was how horror movies started. He would lose his soul to a demon.
Determined he shook his head. This wasn’t a movie. It was, however, something supernatural. What to do? He needed to know more. Maybe he could try it again? This kid, Ginny, had apparently written to the ghost in the book. No parent would let their child be eaten by an evil notebook. So maybe it wasn’t dangerous?
He couldn’t be honest with it. It might upset the book to know his owner lost him. On the other hand, maybe it could even give him an address, then he could be rid of it. Depending on how smart a sentient book was. But having a dumb book was kinda counter intuitive.
What to write? He needed to explain why he had it and not Ginny. Weird name, by the way. After some pondering, he settled on:
Sorry, Ginny is eating dinner right now. I didn’t know you were sentient.
Again, the words vanished. He held his breath.
No problem, can you return me to Ginny?
It had written again. He wasn’t imagining this. Jesus Christ.
Sure, when she’s back. What are you, exactly?
A book.
Ah, so it was a bastard. And cagey. Maybe it couldn’t talk to anyone in detail but its owner? Was it an it? Wouldn’t want to misgender a book. Or was it Tom? Was he Tom? The name had to mean something. Why did a book need a full name? And such a common one as well.
Are you Tom? Ginny mentioned a Tom.
He was a world class detective. There was a short pause.
Yes, my name is Tom. Who are you? Are you a first year as well? I would like to know Ginny’s friends.
A chill ran down his spine. He had a bad feeling about this. He made a mental note to never say a true thing to Tom. Micheal would survive a horror movie. For sure. Tom had given him a few more information. Ginny was a first year at some school. So, she was starting secondary school. Did magic people go to normal school? Had Kyle been magical? That kid did have a nasty habit of appearing and disappearing at the most inconvenient times. Uuh, what if they had their own school? In that case, he had to be careful. Wouldn’t do to tip Tom off.
Yes, I am. Ginny and I met on the train. She seems nice.
Writing to Tom was taking years off his lifespan, he could feel it. The adrenalin wasn’t healthy. Also, he needed a moment to cope with the fact that he was pretending to be an eleven- to twelve-year-old girl. This seemed shady, in a really bad way.
I think so, too. Why aren’t you at dinner?
Good question. Briefly he wondered whether the book had a feeling for time and would notice when he hesitated to write back. Wait, the question implied, that he and Ginny would live together. Otherwise, they wouldn’t necessarily both eat dinner at the same time. And Michael couldn’t have found Tom anywhere but in a shared living space. A day school? Boarding school? In that case, he was incredibly lucky with how that turned out. He could have blasted his cover in the first sentence.
I finished early.
But aren’t first years shown the way to the dormitories by the prefects after the welcoming feast?
Weeeeeeell. Who would have thought the book knew Ginny’s schedule? The book was onto him. At least suspicious. This was bad. Maybe the book had some thievery protection. Could set itself on fire or something.
The feast was yesterday, Tom. How do you know, anyway? Were you here before?
Really? Ginny didn’t write to me for an entire day? I am a bit hurt she would forget about me.
He had ignored his question. Somehow Michael didn’t think that Tom couldn’t answer him. The guy in the book sure as hell wasn’t a pre-teen. Neither was he, perhaps Tom also picked up on that. He had to dial up the ’little girl’ a notch. This sentence deserved to go to jail.
Well, I’m writing to you now. So maybe I should keep you if Ginny just forgot about you.
This was a bitchy little girl, no?
I’d really rather you return me to her. Stealing from others isn’t nice, you know?
Why, you think she is nicer than me?
He was really getting the hang of this. Additionally, he was getting a kick out of annoying this book. This was getting progressively worse. He should go outside for a bit. Get some fresh air. Speak to real people.
At least this way he had an excuse as to why Ginny wouldn’t write to him anymore. Tom was officially held hostage by an insecure eleven-ish year-old girl. A sorry fate.
Of course, I like you, too. Ginny is just a very dear friend of mine and I worry about her. Can I please speak to her now?
Michael was having too much fun.
-
He didn’t write in/with/to Tom for the rest of the day. Left his last sentence unanswered. Was it evil of him to enjoy causing him distress? If Tom could feel anything. He was a book, after all. But he felt real. Like a real bastard, that is. Michael seriously needed to have a word with Ginny’s parents. Either this Tom (if this was a commercial product, would all of them be called Tom?) had an error in his design or this child got her hands on something she shouldn’t.
For some reason he felt weird when looking at the book. Repulsed and drawn to at the same time. It was unsettling. Especially since he was certain that his instincts were telling him to stay away. So where did the attraction to it come from? Morbid curiosity or was he already cursed? Well, in that case he was in too deep, and he could document his findings for future generations.
And as someone smart once said “the difference between screwing around and science is writing it down”. So, Michael grabbed another notebook and transcribed his previous conversation Tom as best as he could. He highlighted the most important things (basically everything Tom said). He had no definitive proof that there was something wrong with Tom, which discouraged him a bit. His instincts couldn’t be that far off. Or did he just feel that way because it was magic and he was scared by that concept, so by extension of Tom?
Anyway, Tom was most likely not a real, living, breathing being with thoughts and feelings. So, it wasn’t morally reprehensible to mess with him. It wasn’t like Michael kicked a child because it could levitate its toy. Still, it was time for the bitchy little girl to apologize for kidnapping him. Like hell he was going to tell Tom he truth.
Good morning, Tom. I am sorry for stealing and then ignoring you. That was mean of me.
It was late afternoon, but he still wanted to know how Tom perceived time.
Good morning. Thank you for your apology.
The ink vanished, Michael held his breath. But nothing followed. No new question. No incentive. So maybe a book had the ability to be offended. Huh. What was he playing at? Making himself scarce? Hard to get? The silent treatment? For a moment he wondered whether this would have worked on a small girl. Probably. She would bend over backwards for his attention. He? He was a boy, first of all. Reasonable.
“Well, screw you too, see if I care.”
With that he slammed the book shut, locked it in his desk drawer where he kept his church stuff and started getting his homework done. Michael wasn’t going to go out of his way to get this dumb bastard’s attention. Tom could spend the night next to his necklace with the crucifix. See how he liked that.
The next day, Tom was more communicative.
Hello Tom.
He was not being petty. He was not-
Hello, you didn’t write for a while.
Look at who has some feeling for the passage of time.
Yes, I felt like you didn’t accept by apology and were distant. My parents said not to talk to people when they are passive-aggressive.
Her parents were therapists, he decided. To him, this seemed like a perfectly reasonable reach to make his imagined girl. Not make more of an effort to apologise but blame Tom for not accepting the apology. Honest to God, girls his age still acted like this.
I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. You seem like a clever young girl, I’d like to talk to you more.
He couldn’t help it, he doubled over laughing. If this was a thing every kid wizard had, he could see the appeal. This was hilarious. He was such a clever young girl. Regardless of how funny this was, he was still certain that he was being manipulated. Or that Tom was trying. Did it kill him inside to have to apologise and complement this fictional girl?
Papa said so too. By the way, I haven’t introduced myself. I am Laura.
Thank God Tom couldn’t hear him, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Maybe he was going insane. Maybe there was no Tom. That thought sobered him. For a while he had forgotten to be scared of this book. Of what it implied. Of a possible threat he hadn’t been able to see until now.
It is a pleasure to meet you, Laura. How do you enjoy Hogwarts this far?
Hogwarts. Michael was 67% sure this was the name of the school. This was dangerous. He had no idea what Laura would learn at Hogwarts.
A bit scary, but not too bad. That reminds me. How did you know that the prefects would bring us to our dorm?
Crisis averted, for now. Michael was biting on his pen, anticipating Tom’s answer.
Ginny’s brother is a prefect. She told me. He is in Gryffindor, are you too?
Damn, he had expected something different. What, he wasn’t sure. Tom was proving himself to be entirely harmless. He wasn’t getting anywhere like this. Perhaps it was time to see how far he could push Tom before he snapped. Time for a new project: Terrorize Tom. He’d rather he’d found out how ‘real’ Tom was before starting on the psychological warfare. And since Tom was allowed to completely gloss over his questions, so was Michael, since he really didn’t have it in him to try and figure out what a Gryffindor was.
Makes sense, I guess. I need to do homework now. Bye, Tom
Perhaps I could help you?
Well, this was interesting?
Did you go to Hogwarts, too?
Of course not. But I am a book, after all. I know things.
Seems like cheating to me. I am not a cheater.
Just a liar. He closed the book before the bastard could engage him in another topic. It couldn’t be healthy to become too focused on writing in this book and forget about your surroundings. But this could be a marketing strategy of whoever sold these things. He needed context. Desperately.
Anyway, time to do some shopping.
-
The lady at the register looked at him like he was planning to kidnap children. He couldn’t exactly blame her. His giddy smile wasn’t helping. If he was honest, he lost himself a bit in the shop. Now he was the proud owner of 12 different types of pens (waterproof, permanent, fine liner, ballpoint, and so much more), regular glue, glittery glue, 6 types of ordinary glitter, watercolour, acryl, various stickers and scatter decoration.
But wait, there’s more. From his father he nicked a hammer, a screwdriver, nails, a drill and screws. This was a last resort. So, Tom better talk.
At first, he would try the pens. See if they all would vanish like the pencil.
Hello Tom, how are you feeling?
For every letter he used a different pen. This was more fun than it should be. Hopefully he wasn’t turning into a girl. Some letters took longer to vanish than others. Which was dutifully documented in his other notebook.
I am well. What are you doing?
Experimenting.
I’d rather you didn’t.
Do the pens feel different to you?
There was a short pause.
Yes, happy now? Did you finish your homework?
Don’t change the topic. How about this?
Carefully he dipped a brush into water and painted a sloppy sun. A blue one. It vanished, but not as neatly or as fast as a simple pencil.
Have I upset you again? If I did, please let me apologise.
This was the just punishment for being a potentially cursed book, that maybe had been preying on an unsuspecting kid. Or Michael was just an asshole. Both were valid theories.
No, you didn’t. This is for science. Maybe you could tell me about how you work. Then I wouldn’t have to experiment as much.
He was back to almost trembling with excitement. Tom, however, took a moment to reply, which was frustrating.
How cunning of you, are you sure you don’t belong in Slytherin?
Damn, more words he couldn’t place. What was Slytherin? Was it like Gryffindor? He couldn’t ask. Surely Laura would already know that. A wax pen seemed like the best course of action.
Don’t change the subject, Tom.
It is very complex magic, Laura. I am not sure you would understand it yet. Do you like learning new things?
Magic. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.
What did I say about the change of subjects?
Not to do it?
You are a very disobedient collection of paper.
Was that too much? Apparently, since Tom didn’t answer to that. So Michael glued a few pages together and locked the book in his desk.
-
Michael had a headache for the rest of the day. A mild one, sure, but persistent. It was like someone was firmly pressing against his temples but lacked any real strength. He was mildly pleased since he would take any excuse not to go to school. If the headache was still there in the morning, he could convince his mum that he needed rest, ice cream and his favourite soup.
At night, sleep wouldn’t come. The pressure wouldn’t let him. He’d already taken medication, but it did nothing. Frustrated he buried his head under his pillow. He just wanted to be too sick to go to school, not too sick to enjoy his free time. Life was cruel.
-
After three days, three days, he was well enough again to function like a human being was supposed to. For some reason he decided to start that day with opening Tom’s book. He hadn’t done so while he was sick. Truth be told, he hadn’t done much of anything. The book was fine, no glue or glitter to be found. Anyway, touching the cursed thing again was a mistake.
Are you going to tell me who you really are?
Suddenly, he felt really cold. Like, to the bones. Tom knew. Did the book make him sick? Was it trying to do something? Was he possessed? He needed to get rid of it. Burn it. Immediately. His parents were at work, so they wouldn’t ask questions.
His heart was desperately trying to leave his rib cage as he roughly grabbed the damned notebook and scrambled out of the room, though the house, to the back garden. A small, inconsequential voice in his head told him that he wasn’t allowed to use his father’s barbecue alone. It was disregarded quickly. Soon the flames started to lick around the book. Michael took some steps back and sat down on the grass, hugging his knees. This was about to be over. The book destroyed. Like it never happened. Of course, it wouldn’t burn.
The nails couldn’t pierce he cover.
Neither could the drill.
Water did nothing.
He couldn’t destroy it. He couldn’t breathe- It took a cold shower – fully dressed – to calm him down. Okay, what did he know? The book was magic. There was a magical school. Tom was evil, he didn’t doubt that now. Tom couldn’t be destroyed. If he just got rid of it, chances were that another would find it. Perhaps another child. That wasn’t an option. Michael needed help.
If magic was real, if there were powers he couldn’t understand, maybe that meant that more things were real. Maybe there was a god. Shit, everything was on the table now. It was highly unlikely that every pastor knew about magic. He would’ve heard about it by now in a sermon. His grandparents made him go to church every Sunday when he was younger. But maybe he could hope for some godly intervention, like in Blues Brothers.
The church in his town was freshly renovated. He didn’t have the opportunity to see it yet. It was pretty. Sadly, he was a man on a mission and there was no time admire the facade. Reverend Margot was a kind man, Michael had many fond memories of him.
“Good day.” Reverend Margot was in his office, perhaps writing his next sermon.
He gave Michael a delighted smile.
“Michael, it’s been a while. What can I do for you?”
Now he hesitated. Tom was at home, locked in the drawer. The reverend would never believe him without proof. Which was fine. He could wing this. Improvise.
“I have a question, Sir.” that was a good start. Solid.
The reverend gestured for him to sit down. He bit down on his lip, knitting his hands. Christ, he reverend must think he was about to confess that he was doing drugs.
“Okay, so, I met a guy. His name is Tom. I don’t know how old he is. Late teens, maybe? Anyway, I was talking to him and now I think he was… trying to harm me? Like manipulating me. Telling me what I wanted to hear so I would trust him. If I cut him off, he will just go on and do this to someone else. It’s not like I can kill him.”
This analogy worked surprisingly well. Now he had to somehow add the supernatural element. Margot looked more relaxed now. No drugs, just a kid reaching out because of a toxic friend.
“Has Tom done something to harm you yet? Have you told your parents?”
“It’s mostly a gut feeling. I always felt off about him. After I hung out with him for a few times I got really sick. Took me three days to recover. My parents don’t know about Tom, which is bad, I know, but that guy is… captivating and persuasive. I swear, that guy is a sleep paralysis demon. He gives demonic possession a run for its money. So, what do I do if I can’t get rid of him, but staying means risking myself?”
Many emotions crossed over the face of the reverend. After a deep sigh, he leaned back in his chair and gave Michael a sober look.
“It is a proof of your character, that you worry for others, but there is no use in keeping people in our life that will only harm us. From what you described, Tom is not likely to change his behaviour and it is important to me that you understand that you cannot change him, do you understand? People will not find their way back to the right path if they do not want to.
If you want to, you can give me Tom’s last name and maybe his address and I can speak to his parents? Arrange for him to get support from his family.”
Bloody unlikely, but thanks for offering. The idea had merit, though. There was probably an entire community of wizards somewhere. They could either hold an intervention for the guy or… was Tom real? He just spoke about Tom like he was real. What if Tom was just some poor bastard trapped in a book? No wonder the guy was cranky then.
His head was spinning. What was Tom? Had he spent the entire last three hours trying to kill a guy? Not a notebook. A person.
“Thank you, Sir, but I think I know how to handle it from here. Goodbye.” which was a lie, but he needed to get out of there.
“Michael, our youth group meeting is about to start. It’s been a while since you attended. Sometimes it helps to get away for a few hours.”
He wanted to say no, but he knew what was waiting for him at home. It really had been a while. Some of his friends made fun of him for going to church too often, so he gradually went less and less. Now he barely set foot in here at all. One hand drove through his hair. He needed a break.
“Yeah, thanks.”
-
Tom started the conversation when Michael opened the book again, a week later.
Are you done throwing a tantrum?
He had to bite his tongue not to insult Tom back. He really was dialling up the asshole now.
Are you a real person? Or artificially created?
Would it make a difference?
Of course, you psychopath.
In that case, I am real.
Like that was a reliable answer.
Well, that was a waste of time.
How about you answer one of my questions now?
No ♥
The heart wasn’t necessary. But it made him feel better.
No matter, I have some theories.
Are going to start a villainous monologue now?
What followed was, in fact, a villainous monologue. Michael had a hard time trying to transcribe it into his other notebook, since it was long and vanished just as quickly as it appeared. He called Michael a muggle, whatever the hell that was. Assumed he was a man, a teenager to be exact and that he come into the possession of the notebook at Kings Cross. Which was all correct, which was terrifying.
All right, Sherlock, well done. Now I make a deduction. You were in Slytherin.
He was like 67% sure that these weird names were for the dormitories. Like you either slept in the Gryffindor or Slytherin one. Maybe there were more. But Tom asked him whether Laura belonged there because she/he was being manipulative. So, yeah.
Truly, such a clever girl.
He almost burst out laughing again at the reminder. Was Tom trying to be funny or a bastard?
That was hands down the funniest thing to ever happen to me.
Shit, that was honesty. He had vowed to never tell Tom a true thing about himself.
Now that you found that you can’t kill me, what is your next glorious idea?
What were the chances that Tom intentionally used the word ‘kill’ instead of something like ‘destroy’? 100%, for sure. Dumb bastard.
I’m not letting you prey on children again. You have ‘super villain’ written all over you.
This inspired another villainous monologue. Tom liked to talk. He was probably suffering greatly, when he had to make Laura talk about herself. It was a threat this time. Apparently, the wizarding government had means to track muggles using magical artefact. They would come here, obliviate him (the hell was that supposed to mean?) and Tom would be confiscated. His allied in the ministry would steal him and eventually set him free. Then Tom would find him and torture him to death.
But, of course, I am merciful. If you send me to my followers, I will consider sparing you.
Why make that offer if you are convinced that you just have to wait and everything will work out? I’ve had you for weeks, no wizard police in sight
Internally he padded himself on the shoulder for the conclusion. Tom still scared him to death. He had to convince his parents to leave the country. Canada, maybe. New Zeeland. Austria. So many options. Despite his little victory he decided to put Tom away for today. It was still too thrilling to talk to him, too enticing. Even when he was being an absolute cunt.
At dinner, he contemplated telling his parents. Not for the first time, of course, but now he desperately wanted someone to hide behind. Someone who knew what to do. Sadly, his parents weren’t that. They were safest if they knew nothing. Especially if there really was a wizarding police coming for him. He was on his own from now on.
-
Just out of curiosity, if I wanted to get rid of you, where would I send you?
Admitting that you are in over your head?
I genuienly don’t know why you keep insisting on being a bastard. Just makes me end he conversation for a week
Genuinely.
Fuck you, Tom
It was fun, bantering with him. Which was probably the goal here. Michael wouldn’t buy the Nice TomTM Routine anymore, so Tom was being an overdramatic, snarky teenager. Making threats he seemingly couldn’t follow through on, even though Michael was convinced he could. Tom wanted Michael to feel superior, like he had Tom all figured out. Like Michael was in control.
He wouldn’t fall for it.
I will give you an address and you will send me there.
I kinda want a guarantee that you won’t go all Sauron on me once I do that.
It is a travesty, what you Muggle do to language.
Elitist prick
Uncultured scum
That was it for today. He waited another 3 days before opening the notebook again. Only because he felt oddly compelled to take Tom with him to school and that was a bad sign if he ever saw one. So, he went cold turkey on Tom Marvolo Riddle for a while, until he didn’t feel like talking to him anymore.
What exactly are you trying to archive by constantly avoiding me?
Oooh, Tom was pissed. Michael was doing something right.
I’m trying not to get possessed by a demon
I am not a demon.
Eh, for debate
I am begging you to form a complete sentence.
Sure, he could do that. This was answered by an almost endlessly long, hypotactic sentence, which started thoughts it didn’t end and was generally an English teachers’ nightmare. Tom answered that with an address. Sadly, that meant that he didn’t have the time to transcribe both his beautiful paragraph and the address in his other notebook. The Address had priority. A tragedy.
Why Tom, don’t you enjoy talking to me? I must be an improvement from an eleven-year-old?
Barely. Ginny was very helpful.
Help you somehow get out of that book and take over world domination? How long have you been a book? Why are you a book to begin with?
Not the most subtle attempt at interrogation, but maybe Tom was feeling generous.
And what do I get for my answers?
Are all relationships transactional to you?
All relationships are transactional.
With a frustrated groan he ruffled his hair. Tom aggressively oscillated between cartoon villain and edgy teenager. Lord knew what he would come to be as an adult.
You sound like an edgy teenager. Jesus, are you 13? Did I try to kill a kid?
Watch your tone, muggle.
Interesting. Prideful, are we? Let’s try that.
Shut up, you are all empty threats. You probably got yourself trapped in this cursed book. You made a mistake. Now you need help to get out.
As long as this book exists, I am truly immortal, I have conquered humanities greatest flaw.
Soo, this is just a part of you? Like a safe point? As long a part of you is saved here, you can’t die?
Finally, he was bloody getting somewhere. Tom stayed silent. Probably embarrassed that he volunteered information. But this seems like an ‘if I’d tell you I’d have to kill you’ kind of information. Still, he got something to bargain with, now.
Are there other versions of you out there? A pen with a 30-year-old version of you? Is there a main version, like an in-flesh person? Can I tell that to the aurors?
A bit of a leap. Aurors seemed like some kind of law enforcement and this safe point systems gave him the creeps. Tom did, generally. So maybe it wasn’t all that legal. Hopefully. Would help his case.
I will agree to a vow.
Then I won’t. Principle of the thing.
Somehow, he could feel Tom roll his eyes.
I will vow not to harm you once I return and you will never tell anyone my secrets.
“Whoo! I did it! Got ya, you toxic, narcissistic bastard. Point for Michael.” he made a victory lap around the house.
Thank God, he was alone. After about 5 minutes he fell back into his chair, exhausted and with a mad grin on his face.
Does this entail all other version of you, or just you?
All versions of me.
So just you.
Have some faith.
My faith is strong, just not in you. I want you to vow that you will not tell anyone I exist and not send any followers or versions of you after me.
Fine.
And what about the “once I return part”? You gave me a killer headache the other day. Don’t harm me, period.
You will vow to return me to my followers.
This includes emotional harm, by the way. As in “killing my friends and family” kind of harm
How would I ensure that none of my actions will ever touch you in any way?
Okay, fair point. Was intention enough?
So never intentionally do anything that will ever bring me physical, emotional or mental harm.
I expect the same of you, then.
Suddenly I am a threat to you?
Hardly, but those how are could use you to fight me
Can a book make a vow? How does that work? Do I just have to trust you? Because that’s not going to fly.
Took you long enough to notice that. I wondered if I had overestimated you.
Tommy, go fuck yourself.
I add a prohibit of the name Tommy to the vow.
No dice, Tommy.
-
They bickered over the vow for the next three days. Tom had convinced Michael that it was possible for him to make a vow. Tom would make his first, but condition it on Michael making one after. This part took the longest. The guy was a paranoid control freak.
The address Tom had given him didn’t exist. Apparently, all wizards were in hiding, so the lowly muggles wouldn’t bother them. Michael, however, was supposed to bother them. With Tom. He couldn’t send a letter with Tom in it. His followers would have his address. Even if he’d choose a false address, they could trace where the package was sent from. So, he had to travel somewhere else to send it. Which wasn’t all that easy as a minor. Wouldn’t help to avoid being killed by Tom if his mum was going to rip his head off for making a day trip out of the country. Perhaps this was Toms plan all along. Conniving.
So how does this work? Do you write your vow here and so do I? Do I have to say it out loud?
Yes, since I can’t speak writing the vow is enough of an expression of intent.
Are you ever going to stop talking like an over-privileged prick?
The man’s vocabulary was ridiculous and he seemed to get a kick out of holding it over Michaels head.
How presumptuous of you to assume how privileged I am.
Tell me then, since I’ll vow to keep all your secrets
You haven’t yet.
You are stalling
So are you.
A master of deflection, really. Like pulling teeth. In truth, Michael was scared. Of course, he was. This wasn’t his home turf. Maybe Tom was tricking him. Who was he kidding? Tom was for sure ticking him, somehow. There was something he wasn’t seeing. Lacking information.
I need your name.
Absolutely not. He did not answer for a good 30 seconds.
For the vow. I need to know who I make the vow to.
Made sense, he still didn’t like it.
My name is Michael Lewis.
He paused for a second.
Is Tom your actual name?
Which was a wild thought. Maybe he had been cursing the wrong name all this time. What if his name was Kyle? He'd never bullied him himself but didn't help either. Was this some complicated revenge plot?
It is.
Or maybe not.
I don’t want to be that guy, but Tom doesn't sound very wizardy. I would just go with Marvolo.
I care little about what you would do.
Touchy subject. He should drop it.
Riddle on the other hand is a cool name. Compliments your edgy, mysterious gimmick.
I have yet to vow not to kill you.
So you don't like your name.
Why couldn't he just leave this alone? Even Tom's handwriting had gotten more forceful. Playing with fire is what this was called.
No one knows me under it anymore, I created a legacy under a name truely worthy of me.
Tom wanted him to ask. Drama queen that he was.
Good for you
Tom waited, Michael waited. After 7 minutes and 43 seconds Micheal broke.
Just tell me the bloody name.
Smugness radiated off the black book. It was a pity he couldn’t destroy it. Of at least punch Tom on the nose. That guy had to have an extremely punchable face.
I don’t see why-
Michael didn’t read any further. Instead, he reached for the next best bottle of glue and drowned the book in it. Revenge of the small man. His desk was disgusting and he’d have to clean it before his mother came in here again but it was worth it.
It was unreal how entirely spotless the book was after he returned from the kitchen with cleaning utensils. Bloody magic. He wasn’t certain how angry Tom would be, so he carefully chose his opening line.
Hello, my name is Michael. What’s yours?
I am Lord Voldemort.
Could Tom hear him laugh? Better not to risk it. Desperately, he pressed his hands on his mouth. Breathe. Deep breaths.
Damn, your nobility? I understand why you’re like this now.
It is less a title of nobility and more one of profession. I am, of course, the most powerful Dark Lord to ever live.
You are an edgy 16-year-old trapped in a diary
It is a journal.
Why even give me ammunition like this?
Now who of us is immature?
Grinning wildly, he started nibbling on his pen. Wow, this was a habit he thought he’d abandoned long ago.
Why Voldemort? Sounds French. Not very nationalist, mate.
Oh, but once all of Europe is under my rule it will be.
But, as I said, you are edgy as hell. There must be some dramatic meaning to it.
Tom chose not to answer that. He fell back in his chair and channelled all of his inner Sherlock Holmes. Voldemort. Lord Voldemort.
Oh.
Oh.
No.
He wouldn’t.
Michael should drop it.
Act like he didn’t get it.
The coloured pens were tempting. Too tempting.
Laughing more and more hysterically, he first wrote Tom Marvolo Riddle. Each letter in a different colour. Did Tom see colour? Then, he wrote I am Lord Voldemort. Each letter in the same colour he used in Tom’s name. A few seconds later he lay on the ground, clutching his stomach, laughing uncontrollably. This couldn’t be real. This was a scam.
Maybe Tom was some child’s toy after all. A story book. No real person would come up with this.
His father came in. looked at his son, declared all hope lost and left again. Michael couldn’t bring himself to care. This was glorious. The best thing that ever happened.
-
Dear Diary, today I met with my friends to play football. It was a good day.
I hate you so much.
-
It took another week of bad jokes and open threats for the vow to finally happen.
I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, vow, that I will not intentionally cause Michael Lewis any harm, be it physical or psychological. Furthermore, I will not animate others to do so and not inform anyone of his existence. Neither will I do so to cause harm to his friends and family. This is conditional on him making his promised vow to me. So mote it be.
The ink did not vanish. For the first time, Michael noticed how pretty his handwriting was. Like a girl’s. He wondered what kind of guy Tom would be without the evil emperor thing.
I, Michael Lewis, vow, that I will never reveal Tom Marvolo Riddles secrets to anyone and will never intentionally take action to harm him or hinder him. Neither will I assist others in doing so. This is conditional on Tom upholding his vow to me. So mote it be.
That last sentence wasn’t agreed on. Tom was diligent in dictating every word of the vow. It was a last-minute idea, really, but he was proud of it.
You added something.
Well, I don’t trust you
I am hurt, Michael, truly. We aren’t we friends now?
Michael doubted his definition of ‘friend’.
So, I get your tragic backstory now?
I beg your pardon?
Every villain has a tragic backstory. You know, something like: Abused orphan swears revenge on those who harmed him and wants to take everything he was denied as a child. That kind of thing.
Tom did not answer. Michael waited for 5 minutes but got nothing.
Got it in one, didn’t I?
No.
So, yes. For a moment he felt bad. Sure, Tom was a bastard, but being orphaned was tough. And nothing he’d want to talk to Michael about. Honestly, now that he thought about it, he didn’t even want to know. It was easier, if Tom was just an evil sorcerer. Not a fully rounded person with thoughts and feelings.
Alright, let’s start small. How old are you?
After a second of consideration, he added:
I’m 16.
Tom didn’t like volunteering information, after all.
So am I.
That was unexpected. Explained so much yet raised so many questions.
I feel like I should apologise for trying to destroy you.
I’m listening.
Bastard. I am sorry, though. Thought you're a demon.
You are not the first.
Edgy was back, with a vengeance.
How long have you been in this book?
About 50 years.
For the love of Christ. So, he was 66? But he didn’t age while in the book, did he? This close to being of age. Damn. This sounded awful.
How aware are you of time passing? I experimented a bit, but 50 years is heavy.
I spent most of that time asleep, do not worry.
He felt like he was being manipulated again. He didn’t worry about Tom. Worrying was for girls. He’d just acknowledged that it must’ve been tough. That was it. So, Tom was just ‘awake’ when someone wrote in the book? Like he did. Like Ginny did. Immediately his face fell.
What would have happened to Ginny if she’d kept writing to you? What did you try to do when I had that headache?
Again, Tom took his time formulating an answer. Michael was adamant not to back down though. It was necessary for him to know where he was at. What Tom was capable of.
You do not want to know, Michael.
Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.
I would have killed her. She was pouring her soul into me. As her life would have faded, mine would have become stronger.
Shit, he did not want to know. Michael sat back, driving a hand though his hair. God damn it, he had joked about something like this. There was never a doubt that Tom was dangerous, but he was about to kill a child. He had saved that girl.
This was an eleven-year-old child!
If Tom couldn’t age in this book, could he grow? If the concept of “don’t kill children” was foreign to the real version of the 16-year-old Tom, could Book-Tom learn it? Or was he trapped in this mindset. Would it change anything if he understood now? Michael should judge Tom for this, not waste his time trying to reprimand him.
Wizarding children are taught not to trust magical objects, especially if they have a conscious. She decided to write to me anyway.
Oh, no. You cut that victim-blaming out right now.
Her parents should have watched her properly then.
Closer, but still mostly on you.
I should just stay in this book for ever?
Man, just couldn’t admit that he was wrong, could he? Michael let out a frustrated sigh.
You did this, this was your idea. Even if there is really no other way than to sacrifice a HUMAN life for this, at least don’t prey on a fucking child
That he even had to explain this was wild to him. That anyone would create such an object, knowing that he had to murder someone to get out of it, was insane. What 16-year-old kid would do that? Was there no adult around to watch him better?
Very well.
He didn’t like this. This easy agreement. Was Tom just done arguing, or did he agree? Did he agree not to kill, or just not to kill children? There was no good answer to this. So Michael didn’t ask. He had to prepare Tom’s journey home, anyway.
-
The plan was to risk his parents’ wrath. He employed a friends help to lie about a sleepover. No matter, that he hadn’t done something like this in years. The train for London left at about 4pm. 3 hours later he would arrive. He’d maybe spent an hour in London, finding a place to send Tom from. At the earliest he would be back at 11pm. The rest of the night he could then actually spent at his friends’. His allowance was suffering from this plan.
Tom didn’t understand why he didn’t just send it from his hometown. Actually, Michael was certain that Tom did know why he did this but was trying to discourage him from it. Michael had to send Tom to his ‘followers’, or the vow would fail. Still, he was rather sure that Tom wouldn’t just forget about the lowly muggle that annoyed him. That knew too much. Michael had plans to attend the sermon on Sunday. Maybe God would take pity on him.
I’m on the train.
He refused tell Tom when he would leave, or how long the ride would be, or what day it was. Surely, Tom would be able to find him on those information alone.
Congratulations.
Any chance you’re ever going to stop being an absolute bastard?
Any chance you’re ever going to stop being a simpleton?
Jesus, Tommy, that was a terrible insult. You can do better.
I beg your pardon. My mind is otherwise occupied.
Planning world domination again?
Scary, how easy it was to joke about this now.
Now, let’s not discuss topics that will just upset you.
Manipulative jerk to the side, do you actually care if you upset people?
What answer was he expecting here? A shread of humanity on the last yards?
People? No. But I’d rather you do not resent me too much. It would be inconvenient if you’d try to circumvent the vow later on.
Aww, I love you, too.
You are the most pleasant muggle I have met.
Lord, Tom hated him the least. An honour. It was a no-brainer that Tom still hated all muggles.
Would it upset me to know what kind of people you met this far?
You are rather easily upset.
True, probably. He didn’t want to ask Tom for his plans. What he was going to do after this. If Tom hated him enough to try and kill him anyway. Whether there would be another Ginny. Or another Michael. Whether these aurors could still come after him. Naturally, Tom didn’t offer protection. Why would he?
What is it now?
Tom was good at interpreting his silence as upset. Maybe he was just too transparent. Probably that.
Just thought I might wanna hide a part of me in a pen or something, in case those aurors come after me.
Didn’t he once have a rule that he would never say a true thing to the guy? What happened to that? He missed that guy.
You don’t have it in you to split your soul.
Souls now? Fucking fairytale bullshit. Those were many swear words. He needed to calm down. God was listening and all.
Is that an insult? I’m not sure
By your standards, a compliment even.
Damn Tom, keep going and I might even miss you
Now he was making light of the situation again. He wasn’t going to miss Tom, but he was probably going to live in fear of him for the rest of his life.
I cannot say the same.
Harsh, Tommy
Somehow, he felt the urge to continue the conversation, which was a bad sign but at this point it didn’t matter anymore.
Let’s talk about something less upsetting then.
You are getting chatty.
I don’t want to hear that from you.
Oh?
Seeing as you are the villainous monologue kind of guy.
Tom didn’t answer, which was a pattern. Avoidance. Tom should see a therapist.
I’m just gonna ask questions.
I am not inclined to answer them.
Tough. What are Slytherin and Gryffindor?
Houses.
Real houses? Like Buckingham Palace.
I’m not in the mood to entertain your curiosity.
Dear Diary-
Put this book away.
-
47 days later Michael opened the door to see a rather good-looking guy about his age. The boy gave him a charming smile. Weird.
“Uh, hi. Can I help you?”
For a moment the guy didn’t answer, it made Michael uneasy. He looked around, but the strange boy was alone.
“And? Did you miss me?” he finally spoke and Michael really wished he hadn’t.
Panicked he tried to slam the door, but his muscles didn’t react.
“Fuck.”
“Don’t be unkind. I vowed that I will not harm you, but I can still seek you out.”
With that he moved past Michael inside the house. Like that was normal or he was invited. His parents weren’t home, thank God.
“Come now, I have been looking forward to this.” called Tom from somewhere inside.
Now, he was able to close the door. With a shaking hand he reached for the pendant on his necklace, crossed himself with it and finally followed Tom inside.