Tom

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Crabbe and Goyle didn't continue badgering me about Tom after I met up with the two at lunch. I suppose they realized it was a touchy subject although I was certain they didn't understand exactly why. But the two made a point staying close to me the rest of the day, something I found both reassuring and irritating.



"Look... I appreciate the company and all but can I at least piss in private?" I stood in the center of a boys restroom after our last class for the day had let out. Crabbe and Goyle were circling the boys room and checking stalls to make sure the room was empty.



Crabbe eyed Goyle who just shrugged, "Sure, Drac. It's not like we've seen Tom-," He paused.



I rolled my eyes, "I'll be fine. Meet you at dinner in a few. If I'm not there you can send a search party then."



They laughed and reluctantly left the room.



Although I hid it from my concerned friends, I was still fairly shaken up from the experience with Tom in the washroom. But the less I let it haunt me, the less I worried and wondered. I had spent most of the day in a state of ignorant denial with these thoughts pushed from my mind. Instead, I focused on the mundane tasks of school work and watching Crabbe and Goyle harass Ronald Weasley in our Defense Against The Dark Arts class, the only one the three of us had together all day. Seeing that Weasley prat angry always seemed to cheer me up.



I left my books and school work at the sinks and used the restroom.



Perhaps later that evening I would sit with my two friends and explain a little more about what happened last night. Of course I'd leave out some key points. There was no way, no way I would tell them everything.



Back at the sinks I shuffled through a stack of my mail Goyle had picked up for me at breakfast. There was the usual letter or two from colleges begging me to join them after Hogwarts and, much to my surprise, a letter from my father?



I turned the small envelope over in my hands, reading the sender's name again in disbelief. Sure enough, Lucius Malfoy was scrawled in his highly ornamental, obnoxious swirling handwriting. My father didn't mail me much, if at all. But my mother sent me letters on occasion, probably out of boredom from being pent up in our mansion all school year without me.



I cracked open the red wax Malfoy seal on the back of the envelope and read the neatly written letter inside.



Draco,



I was told to let you know your friend you met over the summer holiday is doing well. He requested to stay at Malfoy Manor shortly after your return to Hogwarts. As you can imagine, we Malfoys are quite proud to have him as our guest. I believe our care has helped him recover much faster than was expected. Your friend requested I mail you a letter to tell of the good news. I suggest you do not be daft and mail me back. Your mother says hello.



Lucius Malfoy



I wasn't surprised by the lack of emotion my father showed. He was never anything close to affectionate. And I was positive the man was still upset at my intrusion over the holiday. He hadn't taken too lightly on me crashing his private meeting with the Dark Lord. Somehow, Father restrained his anger afterward in fear of possibly angering the Dark Lord, who had taken such an abrupt shine to Yours Truly. I believed, yet I surely held my tongue, that Father was jealous. He had spent so many years trying to win the respect of his idol and superior. But upon meeting me, I was the Dark Lord's instant ally. I was quite happy to hear the powerful man was getting better. The Dark Lord's health condition had startled me. Hopefully this meant he would be at full strength again in no time. This was good news indeed!



I tucked the letter in a pocket of my robes and stepped back out into the hallway. Dinner was just starting a ways down the hall. As I walked on, I eyed Tom's Diary in my hands. The small book had found it's way to the top of the stack when I had shuffled through my mail.



I found myself wondering idly, how would the Dark Lord handle this situation? Tom was surely powerful, or at least more experienced with spells and curses than myself. I briefly imagined them dueling, Tom and the Dark Lord, or fantasized about it, rather. In my mind's eye Tom would start out as a fair adversary with a slim fighting chance. But the Dark Lord's years of experience and utter power, even in his fragile state, would end the duel in the blink of an eye. I suppose he would use his wits against the boy. Trickery and deceit never fail a smart man in a duel. I knew this from past duels of my own.



I stopped in the hall and leaned up against a doorway for a moment, running a finger absentmindedly down the spine of the small book. I waited until the nearby hall was empty and flipped it open. I knew if Crabbe and Goyle saw me opening the tainted diary at dinner they would worry. Yet I was feeling powerful enough at the moment to face Tom on my own. The Dark Lord was personally, in a way, sending me letters. He would have my back if something happened to me. I just knew it. And with the Dark Lord on your side, nothing felt very threatening anymore.



I read through Tom's last message and laughed to myself. I took out my quill and scribbled across the text. No mysterious ghost nor wizard was going to concern me. I was a Malfoy, after all. The Dark Lord was a guest in my own home! I flipped to the next page and wrote my own message in thick black ink.



'FAGGOT.'



And watched as the ink started to disappear.



"Oh? What's this?" I smirked to myself, "Tom wants to play again?"



Words appeared slowly as they had before, as if written by an unseen hand across the newly blank page.



'Hello Draco. Miss me much?'



I spit on the writing as my reply. Two first year Ravenclaw girls were passing by. They gave me an odd look.



"Got a problem?" I hissed and watched the girls scamper away down the hall, peering back over their shoulders at me.



I turned and walked to an adjacent hallway for privacy. Several old paintings lined the walls here. Most of the occupants were snoring blissfully in their antique frames. No one really used this hall. Several empty rooms used for storage or not at all were down the small hallway. Even Filch didn't bother coming down here while on his nightly patrol. I opened the book again once away from the hustle and bustle of the main hall. Tom had already replied.



'That's a shame.'



"A damn shame," I snorted sarcastically. I stared at the book for a moment, thinking quickly. Alright, so I had Tom replying through the book again. Perhaps now was the time to find out more about my friend. Maybe if I had some dirt on him or who he was, I could send a note to the Dark Lord about this Tom guy. That would end it sure enough.



I took out my quill again and brought it to the page below Tom's perfect handwriting.



'Who are you?'



For a moment there was no answer. I frowned down at the page, silently urging it to reply. Perhaps Tom knew what I was planning? That's just impossible...



Soon enough more text appeared on the page.



'Funny you should ask.'



Underneath the text, an intricate, scrolling arrow appeared on the page pointing upwards. I frowned, unsure of what Tom had meant by the symbol. Oh wait... I looked up across the hallway ahead of me in the direction where the arrow was pointed. My heart jumped to my throat with a sudden surge of familiar fear, proving I wasn't nearly as confident in my safety as I had claimed.



Sure enough a figure stood at the far end of the hallway. A boy, his back turned as he faced an old glass case. Even in the gloom I recognized the Slytherin robes, the dark hair, and the boy's height and build. There stood my infamous diary keeper, Tom.



I felt hard lump forming in my throat, feeling like I had swallowed a peach pit. The Dark Lord wasn't here with me now. Neither was Crabbe or Goyle. But... Tom's back was turned towards me. This being so, I had an advantage. In silence and with a shaking hand, I slowly pulled my wand from my robe pockets. But Tom had turned to face me before I could choose what spell to use on him. I noticed he had no wand in hand. And somehow, Tom didn't appear nearly as threatening. Then I noticed why. He was transparent! His feet didn't even touch the ground properly! I was facing a ghost, or a mirage, an image of the boy. But not him.



Tom stared off past me, as if he didn't even see me there brandishing my wand and trying to appear formidable. I watched, my wand quavering at the ready, as his image stepped towards me. After the third step he started to fade away. At the fifth, he was completely gone. I stood clutching my books to my chest as if to keep my pounding heart inside my chest. When I was sure I was truly alone again, I hastily opened the diary. The previous page remained as it had last with the beautiful little arrow pointing where Tom's image had appeared. I closed the book and shoved it back in between my Advanced Potions book and a ratty old notebook from Divinations. With a deep breath I started down the hall towards the glass case Ghost Tom had been inspecting. As I passed by the spot where he last stood, I felt a brief chill pass through me.



The glass case was caked in a layer of dust so thick I had to use the sleeve of my robe to wipe off the front just to see inside. Using 'Lumos' to light the tip of my wand, I peered in the glass case at a row of tarnished trophies and a medal with faded red ribbon. All of the items in the case appeared to be for Potions achievements and all of them dated from over sixty years ago. This couldn't be right... The trophies were awarded to students during tournaments and competitions. The medal was for a discovery of a potion called 'Bettlesworth Apoxes Serum' made by a student by the name of Leeroy Bettlesworth. I hadn't heard of the potion or the name so I moved on. Three photographs accompanied the trophies. Two of the photos showed classes seated with their teachers. The largest trophy at the center of the case caught my eye first. A small photo sat at the base of the trophy. It became obvious why the eerie Ghost Tom's attention had been on the glass case now.



The small photo was yellowed and cracking. A younger, although still aged Dumbledore (solidifying my theory that the man must be over 200 years old) with a crooked smile on his lips stared back at me. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a sweet as I watched. To the left of the younger Dumbledore stood Tom. He was holding the once glistening, now badly tarnished trophy and grinning proudly. There was no name on the photo, only 'First Place' at the top right corner. The trophy itself read 'The Grand Agnesse Wizarding Award For Exemplary and Unique Achievements in Advanced Potion Making, 1942'. I had never heard of the award but it sounded like a pretty big deal. The trophy itself was nearly three feet tall. I was surprised there was no name on the trophy or photograph.



I moved back to the smaller photos and squinted. Sure enough, Tom was in the photo to the left of the largest trophy. The photo was taken in a well lit classroom, obviously not in the Potion's classroom now held down in the dungeons with Severus Snape. Tom stood on the far bottom right beside an elderly wizard I figured to be the class's teacher. Tom's dark hair, even darker eyes, and pallid skin stood out from the rest of the students. He appeared slightly withdrawn from the photo, as if bored. The caption at the top of the photo read 'Professor Libby's Masters Potions Class, 1943.' Below, I thankfully saw a list of the student's names. 'From Left To Right' they started. I skimmed through until I found Professor Libby and then... 'Tom R.'. I sighed. All the other students had their full names printed out, but Tom's was just simply 'Tom R.' at the end of the list, barely squeezed in on the small space made for the caption. It was as if the printer had ran out of room and just wrote his initial. Well at least I had an initial to go by. Tom wasn't giving me much information but an R. was better than nothing.



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