Up the Duff

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Since the night of revelation spent in the second floor girls bathroom, Tom Riddle had found himself spending more and more time seeking out the ghost of Moaning Myrtle. So much so in fact; that when Lucius Malfoy had had his little “accident” with the Duff stuff, it had taken Riddle a few days to realize that Lucius was actually missing, and not just wandered off somewhere for awhile.

Sure, he had gone back and forth to the classroom, but upon finding it deserted he had simply assumed that Lucius was off snooping on his wife and Snape; and just left again to go back to Myrtle.

Tom had found that, surprisingly enough; he and Myrtle had quite a few things in common. They had both discussed their family lives, or lack thereof. Upon discovering that Myrtle’s alcoholic father had deserted both she, and her muggle mother before her fifth birthday; Tom had tentatively begun to open up to Myrtle like he never had to anyone before.

Together they had shared the pain of their childhoods, holding back nothing, and in sharing it; the pain had miraculously lessoned for both of them.

It was an eye opening experience for Tom. Even at Hogwart’s, the other students had hated him for being Dumbledore’s pet, and steered clear of him to the point that he had had no friends. Little had any of them known that he would have gladly traded places. Bizarrely enough, the ghost of the girl he had so carelessly killed became the first real friend Tom Riddle had ever had.

Myrtle was the first person that he had ever felt the need to confide in, and somehow; when he looked into her eyes he just knew that she wouldn’t judge him.

Eventually, he had even found himself trusting her enough to tell her about the abuse he had suffered at the hands of Albus Dumbledore.

She didn’t disappoint him. Her eyes had narrowed to thin strips of rage. “That monkey-eyed turd bunny! I wish I could shove my foot so far up his arse that he’d taste shoe leather for the rest of eternity!”

He soon found himself telling her more and more. Her morbid sense of humor appealed to him, and it seemed she could always find the dark spot even on the sunniest of days. Myrtle often cursed, loudly and brilliantly when they discussed their deceased headmaster. Her inventive expletives had him chuckling when he really should have been crying. Tom had never had anyone be outraged on his behalf before.

It gave him the strangest warm tingle.

It was one day the following week when he realized that her giggle was beginning to sound charming, and not just annoying that he knew the inconceivable had happened. Tom Riddle had a crush.

They had talked about the mystery of why he and Malfoy had been brought to the castle in the first place. Neither of them had much of a grasp on what REDEMPTION entailed, but after they had discussed it for awhile Myrtle had mentioned that in the muggle world when one wanted to redeem themselves and stop some sort of destructive behavior, there was something that was called a “Twelve Step Program.” to help them.

Tom had been intrigued. Myrtle had been delighted that she had actually thought of something that might help. The only stumbling block came when upon further discussion, Myrtle had admitted that she could only remember a few of the steps.

They decided that it could be a start anyway, and together they had come up with the “Hogwart’s Five Step Plan.”

Tom had filched some paper and a quill from Snape’s classroom, and they had set to work writing it down.

“Hogwart’s Five Step Plan.”

Step one: Acknowledge that there is a higher power.

Tom had snickered later when he saw that Myrtle had sneaked her own personal touch onto the end of the first step.

Step one: Acknowledge that there is a higher power. (And YOU are not it!)

Step two: Confess to the people you have hurt.

Step three: Say you are sorry.

Step four: Ask for forgiveness.

Step five: Do NOT kill any one else, even if forgiveness is denied.

Myrtle had pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes over step five.

“What are you thinking?” Tom had asked. He could tell she had something on her mind, and it wasn’t like Myrtle to keep quiet. Usually any thought that entered her head just naturally came out of her mouth.

“Nothing much.” She had answered honestly. “Just that it’s a good thing that Dumbledore is already dead, or I would find him and rip his guts out for what he did to you.”

Tom couldn’t help but be touched. Impulsively he hugged her. “Myrtle.” Tom smiled. “I think that might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Myrtle nodded as he released her. “I mean it too.” She assured him, and Tom felt confident that she did. “Fuck him! The Felch-Sucking, Dung-Eating-Limp-Dicked-Child Raping Son of a Goat Fucking Whore would deserve it!”

Tom had grinned. Myrtle hadn’t a tactful bone in her body. He loved it.

She had reached out and grabbed his hand. Before he knew what was happening, Myrtle had leaned foreword and pressed a small delicate kiss to his lips.

Tom’s head swam. Oh Merlin.


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