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April 24th, 2007
07:54 pm - Pathways, a ficlet.
Title:Pathways
Author:Lord Localfreak (ME!!)
Ship: None, technically. Implied homosexuality.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter books nor any recognisable character or features I have used. The OMC is my own. With special head-nodding to Julian and Sandy from Round the Horne, Paul Baker's fabulous book "Fantabulosa: A dictionary of polari and gay slang" and to lycoris for showing me the second trailer of OOTP (whose link I have lost) and inadvertantly inspiring this ficlet.
Summary:"It is our choices that make us who we are" so Albus Dumbledore claims. What happens to the choices which we hesitated to long on? The ones that ended before we had decided? Here is one of Tom Riddle's.
Pathways.
23rd April 2007.
‘Foul, disgusting creatures!’ thought Tom Riddle, future Dark Lord, as he stumbled along the dark streets, feeling somewhat crushed by the bodies of muggles passing by.
‘One day. One day they’ll all be gone! The disgusting worms, maggots.’
He felt he could see, in their faces, the wreckage they inflicted upon the land, upon each other, upon anyone who was felt to be different. An old woman sitting on the doorstep her face sunken and ragged looked in disgust at the boy running barefoot along the street who, in turn, stared facetiously at the aging prozzy lounging in the shadows.
‘Filth. All Filth. When I am Lord Voldemort they will pay for this. Their filthy natures.’
He sat down on a park bench, thinking. He had made his preparations for his next Horcrux. He knew where the Hufflepuff cup was; it was simply a matter of how to get it. A cruel smile played about his lips as he thought of it. ‘Mine…my cup.’ He could almost taste its power, its significance. Oh how he wanted it.
“Evening.” A man had come up to him as he sat, musing. Tom looked up. Obviously muggle, but smartly dressed at least. Casual collar. ‘Somewhat attractive.’
He grunted.
“Blagging for trade?”
He looked at the muggle thoughtfully. He knew this type then. Remembered snippits from his younger days, the days when he would escape the orphanage and hide in the darkened stalls of the dancing halls, filtering back to his conscious mind.
“P’r’aps.” He said, shrugging one shoulder.
“Bona riah.” The stranger ran a hand through his own, as if to illustrate his point.
“Ta.” Tom examined the other man passively, “Bona eek yourself ducky.”
The stranger sat next to Tom on the bench. Slowly, one hand snaked out.
“You have the most fabe ogles, they seem to change in the light. What’s your name?”
“Tom, yours my blue-ogled omee?”
“Jack.”
They sat for a few moments.
“It’s quiet tonight.”
“Betty not around?”
“Not that I’ve spied…” Jack trailed off. Their legs bumped against each other, the heat radiating between them.
A breath on Tom’s neck made him turn and gasp as Jack put a hand on his leg gently. A faint brush of lips and then all too soon Jack stood and moved swiftly away. Tom looked after him. Considered.
Jack’s hair shone in the light from the lamps, the way he walked was captivating and stirred Tom almost against his will. Indeed, his will seemed to have evaporated at the brief touch of their lips.
‘Filthy Omee-Palone. Filthy MUGGLE’.
The voice, the disgust rose in his throat.
‘He called me beautiful.’
‘You look like your bastard muggle father. Like Attracts Like.’
Tom felt sick, conflicted; he closed his eyes to try to choose, to try and work out what course of action to take…and when he looked up it was too late. Jack was gone, off into the night, no doubt to grace some other Omee with his presence.
Too late.
He swallowed hard and fought to quash the sheer want he had felt, at the sight of Jack’s eyes and hair and sweet mouth in the lamplight.
Too late to go back now.
He had a cup to steal.
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Current Music: BBC Radio 7- Crime & Thriller Hour
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Comments:
guh, the word choice was supberb. It flowed like silk- eee! I loved it!
*grins madly* *hug* Thank You! :D :D |
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