Work Text:
375:
Tom hated waiting. Fifty years of yearning — a sentient half soul forced to reside within his diary — just waiting for someone to fall into his trap. Now that the time had finally come, it was difficult to wait even the few hours it took for Harry to write again.
The boy was embarrassed to be seen with a diary, and so refused to write in it until he was alone. Diaries had been the norm in Tom's era but now they were considered childish. It was rather offensive, but there wasn't much he could do except wait.
Tom? Are you there? Or awake? Whatever it is you do when no one's writing to you. The messy writing appeared before him as if written on a chalkboard. Harry's form was poor — the lines thin and wobbling, with frequent writeovers and occasional scratch outs — but Tom felt something in him lighten when they finally appeared.
Hello, Harry, he eagerly replied. How was potions?
The boy's response shouldn't matter, but, as always, Tom found himself drawn in. The petty struggles of a mediocre student should have filled him with disdain, but instead he found himself consoling and ridiculing the boy in turn. There was no uninteresting facet of Harry's day.
When can you come out again?
Tom paused as he considered his options. He wanted to emerge from the diary — to see the boy so eerily similar to himself — but hesitated. The Horcrux didn't care what Tom felt; it followed its purpose no matter what. He couldn't spare the boy.
Meeting Harry the first time had almost overwhelmed him. What stuck with him after his inevitable return, however, was watching Harry's skin become clammy and his brilliant green eyes glaze over. The boy had complained about sporadic tremors and a prolonged headache for days.
Soon, he temporized, determined to find a way around this.
How soon is soon?
I'll say when I'm ready.
That's not an answer.
It's the only answer you'll get.
A pause, then, Tomorrow would be soon.
Not that soon.
The day after?
The more you bother me, the longer it will be.
Don't you want to see me?
He never knew fondness and exasperation could blend so well. Yes.
Tomorrow?
I'll think about it.
250:
Fifty years of waiting hadn't made Tom patient. The time it took Harry to finish class and write to him always felt unbearable. Embarrassed to be seen with a diary — once the norm, but now considered childish — the boy wouldn't write until alone.
Tom? You there? The messy writing appeared before him as if written on a chalkboard. Harry's form was poor — obviously unaccustomed to the quill — but Tom was willing to ignore it.
Hello, Harry, he replied. How was potions?
The boy's struggles should have filled him with disdain, but instead he found himself consoling and ridiculing the boy in turn. There was no uninteresting facet of Harry's day.
When can you come out again?
Tom paused as he considered his options. He wanted to escape — to see the boy so eerily similar to himself — but hesitated. The Horcrux didn't care what Tom felt; it followed its purpose no matter what. He couldn't spare the boy.
Meeting Harry the first time had almost overwhelmed him. What stuck with him after his return, however, was watching Harry's skin become clammy and his eyes glaze over. The boy had complained about tremors and headaches for days.
Soon, he temporized.
How soon?
When I'm ready.
That's not an answer.
It's the only answer you'll get.
A pause, then, Tomorrow?
Not that soon.
The day after?
Keep bothering me and it will be longer.
Don't you want to see me?
Fondness and exasperation warred within him. Yes.
So… tomorrow?
I'll think about it.
100:
Fifty years of waiting hadn't made Tom patient, and the time between Harry's classes always felt unbearable.
Tom? You there?
Hello, Harry. How was potions?
The boy's response shouldn't matter, but, as always, Tom found himself drawn in.
When can I see you?
Tom hesitated. Last time Harry had felt poorly for days, unaware that the diary was the cause.
Soon.
How soon?
When I'm ready.
A pause, then, Tomorrow?
No.
The day after?
Keep bothering me, and it'll be longer.
Don't you want to see me?
Fondness and exasperation warred within him. Yes.
So… tomorrow?
I'll think about it.