-I see you, the real you-
Tom riddle and Harry Potter have been talking for a while now, both working at Phoenix and co , they started a structural relationship. But what happens when Harry finds out about Tom riddles manic tendencies and cuts him off. Is it compassion or compulsion?
Harry walked through the living room of his small bungalow, a few miles from the local city which housed most of the main building needed for the quite large population of them. The sun was setting, shining hallway its timely glow over the grassy hills that surrounded the area. Harry was happy, cradling his coffee with both hands he slightly bobbed his head to the soft hum of the music on the radio.
A soft chime of the house phone set off as the ending of the song came to a close. Not wanting to waste the caller's time. Harry stood up and walked out to quickly answer the phone, who he assumed was the Tv licence again.
“Hello…”
“Hello Harry, what’s up?”
Harry was a bit shocked, the voice on the other end held more of a crackle in it, a soft hum almost as if it was a recording.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Maybe, but I know you. I must say green is your colour.”
Stunned, Harry took the phone from the stand and began walking to the kitchen to grab his own personal phone.
“How’s you know I’m wearing green? Kind sir,”
“I see you Harry, not only just in person but as a person.”
“You see me huh? Seems unfair I can’t see you…”
A soft chuckle came from the other line as Harry Flicked through his apps looking for the message icon. Opening it he turned on the ‘more groups,’ before adding in Hermione, Ron, Sirius and Remus to a group.
“But you do Harry, you also see me. You see the real me, not the arrogant persona I portray. No you see me like something out a Shakespeare novel Harry,”
Shaking hands punched out the letters on the keyboard of his phone.
‘Help, someone’s in my house guys I’m not joking!’
‘Funny prank Harry’
‘This isn’t a prank Sirius help me,’
‘Wait your not joking’
‘Wait there Harry!’
“But is this one a tragic one?”
Harry gulped, Shakespeare threw in more curveballs in his stories than they were worth. Especially when you make it more of a real scenario then theatrical…
“I’d say not, for me that is, dare I say you have a lovely hallway…”
“What…”
That was it, with a small adrenaline rush he texted the chat one last time. Grabbing his car keys he bolted for the back door,
“What are you doing, Harry…”
“Tom?”
A more manic chuckle left the brunette's lips as he kept stepping further, closer to Harry.
“What is it Harry, scared?”
“What is it Harry, scared?”
“Why,”
“Because if I can’t have you,”
Tom grabbed a knife from his belt, the glimmer of the silver shining brightly now in the pale moonlight as it also reflected on Harry's fearful face and horror filled expression. The knife descended as he plunged it deep into Harry’s chest, the squelch of the blood that now poured like fountains and the organ he just punctured.
Harry's scream seemed to echo through the house as Tom looked over his corpse, like a Shakespeare play. But this time his Juliet was dead, and Romeo didn't give up…
“No one can…”
“No one can…”
‘HELP’