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December 3rd, 2006
07:48 pm - Ficlet: The Bathroom Mirror (gen)
Nearly didn't post at all today but why is it when I'm given a challenge I do actually write something but something entirely different than what I'm meant to be writing?? Oh well. And if it's crap I'm sorry but I wrote it last night and owing to my sudden mass consumption of Pirates fics and subsequent hankering for a nice drunken blur (if you'd read tentacle slash you'd want a blur too) I am once again enjoying the liberties of the Green Fairy because I know tomorrow I don't have any early morning lectures.
Title: The Bathroom Mirror
Author: Lord Localfreak
Ship: None
Summary: Tom Riddle at school hides in the bathroom at night.
Read it
Disclaimer: Can't be bothered doing all this. I don't own them and I'm kind of tipsy, ok?
Author's notes: I wrote this because after HBP it suddenly became very clear that Tom Riddle was a seriously mentally ill person (obviously hereditary) and I know look at young!him from a more...sympathetic...mind-frame. Oh and some of the formatting isn't ace because I used a lot more italics and stuff in the original but my hand-eye co-ordination at the mo is kind of bored of having to add in a million italic html codes.
The Bathroom Mirror
By Lord Localfreak
2/12/06.
I have just returned to school. It is the middle of the night. No one about.
I like it when it’s quiet. It’s too noisy in the muggle word. Air raids and the subsequent sleep deprivation. The rations. Even the droning of the radio is enough to give me the shakes. Of course, I don’t allow myself to show it when anyone is around to see. But sometimes…sometimes, when I flinch at the shouts and they all become a clamour in my head, I can grab a few minutes in the one place where nobody barges in all the time: the loo. There I can collapse quietly, silently. Sometimes my hands shake, though there’s no real reason for them to. Of course, it’s cold there- outdoors and all that-, not like Hogwarts, which has indoor toilets where the wind cannot blow and frost never covers the seat.
I’m in one of the disused bathrooms. In the middle of the night.
I look at the glinting badge on my robes. I am grateful to Slughorn, who surely argued my case for this badge. I’ve spent three years already being quietly snubbed and on occasions beaten. I am used to it. Slughorn has picked me for Prefect because he knows it will give me that scrape of power I so desperately need to make the foolish, foppish, inbred bullies stop. They mostly do not do anything overt of course- not now, when it is clear that I outweigh them in my knowledge of spells and curses but still there are…subtle digs.
The face in the mirror is wet. It is a magic school but this mirror is silent. Sometimes I looked at this face in the past and thought
are these my mother’s eyes, my mothers mouth? Her face?
And
are these my father’s ears? This, my father’s hair?
That was before I knew anything about either of them. I know more now.
I know my mother was poor and ill treated, and my father was-not only a cad, a bastard and a deserter-for he deserted me-, but a muggle to boot.
I found a picture of him- none of her-
her who came from a great line,
her who was loving and great but
him- in his stupid muggle society pages, in the newspapers the library accumulates.
It is bad enough I carry his name like a badge, like a brand of his cruelty, but it is worse.
I look like him.
I
look like him.
My friends say that the girls think I am handsome but I know the truth. I can see it. I can see my mother’s despairing face in the mirror. As, had she lived, my face would only remind her of him,the bastard (or the one who spawned me-the-bastard. All the same, really.)
Gods, it is ugly.
If I look like him I look like a muggle. My black hair curls a little. I tug at a handful of hair. The muggle in the mirror winces. Good. I want him to feel pain. He looks at me with such desolate eyes. Such weakness in this face. The jaw isn’t strong and square as it appears but unhealthily jutting out and with a tremble to those thin lips. The nose is straight but too small, the ears too large. Ugly. Ugly as Sin. Better were I to have warts across my nose and one boss-eye than have his ugliness branded upon me like this.
I feel sick. My hands are shaking- when did I start needing to lean against the sink to hold me up? My knees sag. Sobs are rattling my ribs. I am trying to be silent but each gulp and hiccup seems echoingly loud until I give up caring. Nobody is here. It’s night. Nobody can see me.
“It will pass,” I feel each word on my tongue. Halting and stuttering, I wish I can believe it. I must make myself believe it.
“Let it pass,” I feel hot tears stinging my eyes but it doesn’t hurt enough. I slam my arms against the hard, cool sinks. Once- twice-thrice. My skin is reddened, I continue- aiming for marks. I pull at my hair and my arms, Sharp nails…not sharp enough…but it’ll serve…it will serve, “It will pass It will pass It’ll pass It’ll pass..Oh Godsplease let it pass!”
I wrap an arm around the pipe under the sink and lean miserably against the wall. My breathing is shaky but I am not shaking anymore and that is a relief at least.
It is late. Everyone is in bed. Nobody else is bothered.
Tomorrow I will wash my face in the sink above and cast a glamour on the bruises on my arms and go down to breakfast as if nothing has happened. I will stare at Barrow and McMannion when they come in- for they are the ringleaders I am sure of it.
I will leave this shell...this hurt… these secrets in this bathroom and plot my revenge slowly…dragging it out…making them sweat, perhaps.
Tonight they locked me out of the dorms.
But tomorrow…tomorrow they will discover that I have power over them.
Tomorrow- the hurt will pass. The empty thoughts will pass and my own weaknesses will be kept well hidden.
I don’t look at the mirror again. I have a mask to make.
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://piktures.deadjournal.com/mood/charitycam/goth_boy/drunk.gif) drunk
Current Music: The Houghton Weavers- That Stranger is Frien
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Comments:
| From: | (Anonymous) |
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| Date: | December 3rd, 2006 - 01:48 pm |
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Oh, I love it. I love the way he thinks. It makes total sense - looking like his filthy Muggle father, he wouldn't want that at all. And I like the idea that he got bullied before he was put as Prefect. *waves at Slughorn* And I just love the idea that his mask was made on purpose. It never occured to me and it's such an interesting thought. It's very, very good. *nods*
Lycoris
*grins* Yayy! *glomps you muchly* Thank you! Thank you! :D :D
ohhhh brilliant. And it's TOM! *guh*
*grins* (is now sober) Glad you liked it :D
Read this the other day. It is very him, and hey, I like psych-ish story writing |
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