Harry pulled out his diary. It was leather with light brownish paper pages. He started writing in it when he was 3 years old. He wrote the messages that went through his head. The words he felt. Things he couldn't say. But the book was different. By that, I mean everything was written in his blood. He had a special blood quill that would use his blood but not show the scars on his arm. He sat in the corner of the small room next to the small bookshelf.
He held his quill to the blank page. After a few moments of silence, his hand started to move by itself. He didn't notice when the door opened; he just continued to let his mind run.
I am someone who did not die when I should have died. In the garden I will die, in the roses they will kill me. I was going, mother, to pick roses, to find death.-
Harry's head snapped up when someone tapped his shoulder. He met blood red eyes peering down at him, then the book. When he looked at his book, Harry slammed it shut.
Tom was kneeling beside him. Some of Harry's blood dripped from the quill. Landing on Tom's hand. His eyes looked down, holding up his hand where the blood sat.
"What are you doing?" His voice snapped. It was cold with unknown worry.
He snatched the book out of harrys hands. Harty desperately tried to get it back, but Tom held him back. Harry watched him with tired eyes as he opened the diary.
His eyes peered at the pages in confusion. The words that were being said seemed like a real Riddle to him.
On the very first page, it seemed life pleads.
Forever stuck in the lasting loop. She wailed as he screamed. Once filled with the eyes of a mother, May she blame him for her her misfortune and her mistakes. Forever the scales flow.
He flipped the pages until he got to the middle. By this time he reached the page, Harry was about asleep in Tom's arms, who barely noticed he was still holding him.
He will rule as the light pleads. The snake will make their pain flow. Queen and king. The blood fell like a rose petal. Unwilling for hope bad things happen when angry people grieve.
He kept flipping pages until he reached the end, where Harty had not yet finished. Harry tiredly lifted up his hand with the quill, pulling the book more toward him.
he was a child who was forced to grow up.
Tom looked at him as he put the quill down.
"Who are you?"
____
Tom looked at Harry, who had fallen asleep in his arms. He had the urge to hold and protect the boy. The boy who wrote beautiful nonsense in a book. One that he wished to understand. He closed the book and put in on the bookshelf. He picked Harry up, laying him on the bed.
"Strange little one," Tom muttered.
YOU ARE READING
Queen of Serpents
FanfictionHarry died at the age of 157. After he had killed voldemort he was thrown away from everyone he thought loved him. They had betrayed him after the hard work was done. he had been cast away to forever rot in Azkaban until he died. He had turned quiet...
