Tom

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Morning came too soon. I had finally dozed off after hours of tossing and turning. With only three blissful hours of sleep under my belt, I was awaken again by Goyle telling me it was time for breakfast. Now I sat at Slytherin's table in the Great Hall, prodding at a mound of scrambled eggs and wishing I was still sleeping blissfully in my dorm. I remember having the most wonderful dream about the Dark Lord taking over the school. It was a dream I've been having a lot of lately, but it never gets old. Crabbe sat beside me, munching away on everything within hand's reach. That boy has no table manners what so ever. Goyle had gone off somewhere. I found myself scanning the Slytherin table for Tom. All the usual familiar faces were there, no one new. I had the diary with me just in case another odd entry popped up during the day. Crabbe eyed me as I picked up the sad old book and opened it at the table.



"You brought your boyfriend's diary to breakfast?," he laughed, spraying my arm with specks of food.



"Could you refrain from covering me with your pre-chewed toast and slobber," I wiped off the crumbs and skimmed through the first three pages of the book, finding the fourth one still blank.



Crabbe leaned over my shoulder after politely swallowing his breakfast, "Nothing new?"



"Nope," I closed the book, "No more awful poetry for me this morning."



Goyle came up behind us and took a seat next to me, "Bad news. There's no new transfer students. I just asked Professor Snape. Told him I thought I saw a new kid yesterday. Don't worry, I left out that you had a new stalker."



I frowned, "Lovely. Now what?"



Goyle shrugged, taking a sip of his orange juice, "I had an idea, but it's kinda dumb."



"I'm waiting," I pushed my eggs away, having successfully lost my appetite by Crabbe's table manners once again.



"Alright," Goyle grabbed the small diary from me and opened it to the blank fourth page. He took out a quill pen from the pockets of his robes.



"Hey!" I tried to grab the book back, "What are you doing!"



"I'm writing my own awful poetry before 'Tom' can fill this page," Goyle started scribbling something out:



'Roses are red

Violets are Blue

Draco is a fairy

And so are you'



"Oh, that's just down right- " I started, interrupted by Goyle gasping. The letters were disappearing off the page.



"Is that trick ink?" Crabbe asked, watching the page go blank.



"No, it's my quill I use every day," he eyed the book, "That was a little freakish."



"Gimme a try," Crabbe grabbed for the book.



I pushed his hand aside, "I have a better idea." I took the diary from Goyle along with his quill, "Tom gave this to me and all the entries so far are addressed to me. How about I give it a try?"



Goyle sat back in his chair, grinning, "You wanna write your boyfriend back? Ok. What's the worst that could happen? The ink disappears?"



"Or you and Dearest Tom start holding hands in the hallway and blowing kisses during classes?" Crabbe shot a knowing grin at Goyle.

I sat staring at the blank page, wondering what to write.



"I got another poem...." Crabbe cleared his throat.



"No, no more poetry," I quickly stopped him before he tried to embarrass me any further, "I'm going to ask it a question." I wrote in the neatest, most proper cursive I could conjure up:



'What do you want from me, Tom?'



I turned to Goyle, "Straight to the point."


"It's doing something," Crabbe pointed out, my attention back on the page.


Ink started to appear on the paper in the familiar black scrolling cursive, as if whoever was writing it was right there with us, pen in hand. Out if instinct, I moved my hand back from where the writer's hand would be, swearing it was my imagination that made the air around the diary feel... colder. We watched in awe, curious what the invisible writer would pen across the page.



"It says 'You' " Goyle looked up, "That's it?"



"You asked what Tom wanted from you, and he said 'You'" Crabbe laughed, "I'm telling you, this guy wants your arse even more than Pansy Parkinson."



"It's starting to seem that way, Draco," Goyle snorted, "I'd watch your back when you see him again."



"Let me ask another question. I mean, that one was probably too vague," I started writing out my next question:



'Was that you I saw in the bathrooms and outside last night?'



A few seconds later, the word 'Yes' appeared on the paper.



"This is brilliant!" Goyle and Crabbe were leaned in close now, "Ask it another question."



"Ok, how about...



'Are you a ghost?'



I wrote beneath the last question.



A group of onlookers were circling us now. I glanced around at them and snatched up the book.



"C'mon, let's go somewhere where people aren't so bloody nosy."



Crabbe and Goyle followed me out of the Great Hall and into the empty hallway.



"Open it!" Goyle demanded, "I want to see what he wrote."



I opened the book, Goyle and Crabbe huddling around me.



Crabbe frowned after reading the last answer, "This guy is a creep."



I read out loud the new answer, " 'You will be mine.'Alright, I'm starting to think I do have a stalker. And it isn't even a girl this time."



"I don't like the sound of that last reply," Goyle shook his head, "Plus he didn't answer the question."



I began writing across the page:



'And what if I don't want to be 'yours', Tom?'



"Oooo, fiesty! He's going to think you're a hard catch," Crabbe laughed.



The words came quickly and a bit more sloppy this time.



"'You will be mine, Draco Malfoy.'" I read aloud, not liking the harshness of the writing one bit, "Looks like I don't have a say in this."



More words appeared on the page: 'You don't.'



A figure caught my eye as it turned down an adjacent hall and disappeared. I recognized the boy from the bathrooms right away.



"It's him!" I was already half way down the hall, stuffing the diary into my robes.



Goyle and Crabbe ran behind me as I took off down the hall, turning the corner down the adjacent hall just in time to see Tom dart through a door, "Hurry, he's gone in here!"



I opened the door, Crabbe and Goyle close behind me. We stopped in the doorway, the two of them skidding to a stop beside me. The room was empty.



"I saw him, I swear it," I turned to my friends. They nodded, panting from the brief chase. "You guys really need to get in shape," I added.



"Ch-Check the book," Goyle gasped for air, leaning against the door frame.



I opened the diary, turning to page four. All of our conversation was gone. The page was blank.


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