DURSLEY ― harry potter

‣︎︎CHAPTER EIGHT

changed Cedric's backstory around a bit: his mother died when he was a child, it's just him and his dad.

CHAPTER EIGHT:

THE LIBRARY

☍︎︎

DAISY WASN'T LOOKING FORWARD TO HALLWOEEN.

Last year, a mountain troll was let in from their old DADA professor — or rather, Voldemort, on the back of his head — and she got stuck with Malfoy on the run down the hallway.

She did not want a repeat.

Not to mention, Tom was getting more and more angry in his notes to her. It was starting to scare her.

She'd stopped writing for awhile, focusing on her art and schoolwork and Blaise. She'd spent a lot of time with Cedric and his friends, per his request, in the Hufflepuff Common Room, and even visited Hagrid with Harry, Ron, and Hermione once.

Tom wasn't happy she was ignoring him.

After her promise to help him if he helped her kill Theo's dad, he became increasingly more demanding. He asked her to tell him more about her life, personal details that she didn't feel comfortable sharing.

She could practically hear her mother's voice telling her and Dudley to avoid strangers — especially people older than them — and promptly shut the diary.

But each night, she could hear it, hear him. It started as whispers, voices as she fell asleep. At first, she thought it was the other girls staying up late, but the more she ignored the diary, the more the voices grew clearer. And it wasn't numerous voices: only one.

And it was a male's voice.

Asking her, pleading her, at first. Then it grew more hateful, more spiteful, more vengeful. It demanded that she open the diary and speak with Tom. She ignored it until the voices started up again during class.

She hadn't even realized she'd taken the diary with her during the day.

She could've sworn she'd left it in a drawer on her nightstand, but it was there, in her bag, sitting next to her Potions textbook.

When she pulled the book out to take notes for the next class' practical lessons, she spotted it, sitting there, glaring at her.

Could a book glare?

She felt like it could.

It was so hateful.

But the worst part wasn't the anger it directed towards her...she missed it. She missed writing with Tom, speaking with him late at night about everything. She missed hearing everything she wanted to hear, getting answers for her impossible questions and being justified in her darkest thoughts.

But she couldn't bring herself to open it up and speak with him again. She couldn't bring herself to part with it, either.

It wasn't until Professor Snape asked her to stay after her lesson — in which, she'd been entirely too distracted — and he asked her, as though it pained him, what was wrong.

"Nothing, sir," she lied through her teeth.

He simply stared at her.

"I'm a mudblood in Slytherin," she shrugged, noticing his eye twitch when she said the word, but he said nothing. "What isn't wrong, sir?"

That was something else too. She wasn't sure if it was the lack of Theo — the hatred she felt for his father each time Theo glared at her during lessons or meals — or exhaustion, but she was angry.