WISHLIST: Need to Talk
Author: tania_sings
Recipient: absolutelybatty
Title: Need to Talk
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Ron Weasley, unrequited Ron/Harry
Request: Tom Riddle/Ron Weasley: I am not what I am
Rating: R
Word Count: 1438
Dislaimer: If Harry Potter were mine, it would be on WAY more banned books lists.
Summary: It's hard for a twelve year old, queer boy with a crush on his best friend to find a confidant.
Author's Notes: This one is so far outside my comfort zone that it's scary. Hope I did it justice.
Warning: Contains expressions of underage sexuality, although nothing graphic. And is also seriously creepy.
He had no idea why he was going through Harry's things. What was he hoping to find? A copy of "The Joy of Gay Sex"? A notebook with "HP + RW 4ever" scrawled inside the cover? He shared a room with Harry, hard as that was becoming. He must know everything about him.
Then again, there was something pretty big about Ron that Harry didn't know.
After tossing aside some filthy sweatsocks and a never-opened copy of "Hogwarts; a History", Ron decided to abandon a quest that was beginning to feel both futile and wrong. There was no point to this. It's not like he was to find anything, or suddenly stumble across --
Harry's diary.
He shouldn't.
He should put it back, clean up the mess he made, and get out. Go back to his regular life. Where Harry was his best friend who could trust him completely and who knew Ron would never invade his privacy.
Where Harry, who smelled so good and had such amazing green eyes, slept a few feet away from him and never let on that he might be feeling anything more for Ron than friendship, even though Ron had stolen a car and put up with Fred and George and flown halfway across England to --
He opened it.
It was blank.
Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes. He was suddenly angry, violently angry at Harry. Now that he'd come this far, to find a blank page made him feel like he was being deliberately taunted. It felt like an insult.
In a fit of temper, he grabbed a broken quill from the general chaos surrounding Harry's trunk. Jabbing violently at the page, he scrawled in nearly illegible writing, "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU???"
Fuck. He'd written in Harry's diary. This was bad. But suddenly, the words faded away, as if responding to Ron's unspoken wish for them to disappear.
"I'm Tom."
Ron blinked. That definitely hadn't been there a minute ago.
"Tom Riddle."
What the hell?
"You're not Harry."
The diary knew Harry? Okay, this was just weird. He definitely would have remembered Harry mentioning a living diary. Maybe he had some secrets after all.
"No. I'm Ron. Ron Weasley."
He watched the ink fade into the paper.
"Weasley. A good name. An old name."
Um, okay?
"I knew a Weasley once."
The living diary knew someone from his family. This couldn't get any stranger.
"Might I inquire, Ron Weasley, how you came across my diary? Or Harry Potter's diary, if you choose to take that point of view?"
Well there was a loaded question.
"I was just"
"Yes?"
"Looking for something."
"Among Mr. Potter's possessions?"
"He wouldn't mind! I'm his best mate!"
Well it was half-true.
"Really? Funny that he's never mentioned you then."
Oh, that hurt. He was so insignificant to Harry that the other boy hadn't even bothered to jot down a note about him in his diary? When they spent the better part of every day together?
"Tell me Ron. Has he ever mentioned me?"
"No."
It was true. Apparently he wasn't significant enough for Harry to tell him about his book- buddy.
"Funnier still. People don't usually keep secrets from their best friends."
"Rub it in, why don't you?"
As soon as he wrote the words he regretted them. Would the diary tell Harry that Ron was hurt by being left out? Oh hell! Would the diary mention Ron at all?
Before he could ask it (him?) to forget all about this, a new message appeared.
"People keep secrets from their family, their enemies, those they love. Tell me, Ron Weasley, do you think Harry Potter loves you?"
Oh shit.
"What are you, some kind of perv?"
This just couldn't get any worse.
"Do you love him?"
Except it just did.
Ron wanted to deny it. Or to shut the diary and run away, or fling the thing into the nearest fireplace, or find Harry and beg him to make all this go away and please make Ron feel better in the way that only he could. Before he even knew he was crying, tears began to dot the page in front of him.
"mmm, delicious. Touched a nerve, did I?"
"Leave me alone."
"Do you want to touch him, Ron Weasley? Do you want to touch him all over? Do you want to kiss him? To taste him?
The tears were flowing freely now, being absorbed by the page far more quickly than ink.
"You're roommates, I imagine. Must be difficult. Seeing him every day, watching him change his clothes, sleeping next to him, seeing him in the showers. Is it hard?"
"YES!!!"
The word was written before Ron even knew he was lifting the pen.
"Are you hard?"
He was. It was the mention of the showers that did it. The memory of Harry beside him, smiling and chatting, totally oblivious to Ron's desire.
"If he were here right now, if he said it was okay, what would you do with him?"
"I'm not going to tell you anything!"
Despite the situation, he was proud of himself. He wouldn't be bullied by a sheaf of papers. He had that much pride at least.
"You will."
He wouldn't.
"Do you want to know why?"
Wouldn't. Wouldn't. Wouldn't.
"Because you need to. You need to tell someone. I can feel your need. I can taste it. It's flooding your veins, seeping out through every pore. You're going to tell someone soon and when you do --"
"I'd love him!"
There it was, in black and white. The thing he'd never even admitted to himself. What he wanted most in the world. His hand flew across the page as if independent of his mind now. He willed himself to stop writing, and knew he wouldn't.
"I'd get him to lie on the bed, and I'd take his clothes off. I'd take my clothes off too, and we'd lie there, naked together. He'd love the way I look; he'd smile and touch me. He couldn't get enough. And he'd say"
Finally, he stopped, horrified. He stared at the page, willing the words to fade away faster.
"I love you."
Oh yes.
"I love you too. Harry, I love you so much. I want us to be together."
"I want that too. Ron, it's all I've ever wanted."
"We can be. Always. You don't need to go back to the muggles, you know. You can come and live with me. Mum won't mind; she'll never know about us."
"And we can be together?"
"All the time. Every night. It'll be perfect. And we can kiss and touch and do anything you want."
"Kiss me now."
"I am. I am!"
And he was. He was sitting on Harry's bed, writing in a diary, sobbing violently, but in his mind he was behind the hen house at the Burrow, his tongue down Harry's throat, kissing him hard and never wanting to stop.
"mmm, delicious."
And just like that, it was over. He stared at the ink-smudged page in horror. He knew, beyond any sense of doubt, that nothing he could do to the diary could erase what he'd written. It knew.
"Welcome back, Ron."
And it could tell.
"Was it good for you?"
It could tell Harry, and then he would know too. And Ron would kill himself. It was the only possible course of action.
"Please please please don't tell him. I'll die. If he knew, I'd die."
He was begging now, hoping for some sign of humanity in what just might be the most inhuman thing he'd ever encountered.
"Maybe I will. Maybe I won't."
"I'll do anything."
And he would, too. He'd cut out his own guts and feed them to the book if that's what it wanted. He'd watch his own blood fade into the pages.
"There's nothing you can do for me yet. You're just a sapling. Raw material. You need to grow a bit. Let's say you owe me.
What did it mean? Would the diary keep his secret?
"I owe you. Sure, that's fair. Anything."
"I call in my debts, Ron. We'll be seeing each other. And until then, I want you to remember something."
Maybe it was the stress of the moment, but he'd swear the book under his hand was beating, like an overexcited heart. Not that he cared at this point. Nothing else mattered besides securing the diary's promise not to tell Harry.
"I will. Sure thing. Tell me what you want me to remember."
The answer filled him with a dread unlike anything he'd ever felt before.
"Remember this. I have seen your heart. And it is mine."
"Catch you later Ron".
Recipient: absolutelybatty
Title: Need to Talk
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Ron Weasley, unrequited Ron/Harry
Request: Tom Riddle/Ron Weasley: I am not what I am
Rating: R
Word Count: 1438
Dislaimer: If Harry Potter were mine, it would be on WAY more banned books lists.
Summary: It's hard for a twelve year old, queer boy with a crush on his best friend to find a confidant.
Author's Notes: This one is so far outside my comfort zone that it's scary. Hope I did it justice.
Warning: Contains expressions of underage sexuality, although nothing graphic. And is also seriously creepy.
He had no idea why he was going through Harry's things. What was he hoping to find? A copy of "The Joy of Gay Sex"? A notebook with "HP + RW 4ever" scrawled inside the cover? He shared a room with Harry, hard as that was becoming. He must know everything about him.
Then again, there was something pretty big about Ron that Harry didn't know.
After tossing aside some filthy sweatsocks and a never-opened copy of "Hogwarts; a History", Ron decided to abandon a quest that was beginning to feel both futile and wrong. There was no point to this. It's not like he was to find anything, or suddenly stumble across --
Harry's diary.
He shouldn't.
He should put it back, clean up the mess he made, and get out. Go back to his regular life. Where Harry was his best friend who could trust him completely and who knew Ron would never invade his privacy.
Where Harry, who smelled so good and had such amazing green eyes, slept a few feet away from him and never let on that he might be feeling anything more for Ron than friendship, even though Ron had stolen a car and put up with Fred and George and flown halfway across England to --
He opened it.
It was blank.
Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes. He was suddenly angry, violently angry at Harry. Now that he'd come this far, to find a blank page made him feel like he was being deliberately taunted. It felt like an insult.
In a fit of temper, he grabbed a broken quill from the general chaos surrounding Harry's trunk. Jabbing violently at the page, he scrawled in nearly illegible writing, "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU???"
Fuck. He'd written in Harry's diary. This was bad. But suddenly, the words faded away, as if responding to Ron's unspoken wish for them to disappear.
"I'm Tom."
Ron blinked. That definitely hadn't been there a minute ago.
"Tom Riddle."
What the hell?
"You're not Harry."
The diary knew Harry? Okay, this was just weird. He definitely would have remembered Harry mentioning a living diary. Maybe he had some secrets after all.
"No. I'm Ron. Ron Weasley."
He watched the ink fade into the paper.
"Weasley. A good name. An old name."
Um, okay?
"I knew a Weasley once."
The living diary knew someone from his family. This couldn't get any stranger.
"Might I inquire, Ron Weasley, how you came across my diary? Or Harry Potter's diary, if you choose to take that point of view?"
Well there was a loaded question.
"I was just"
"Yes?"
"Looking for something."
"Among Mr. Potter's possessions?"
"He wouldn't mind! I'm his best mate!"
Well it was half-true.
"Really? Funny that he's never mentioned you then."
Oh, that hurt. He was so insignificant to Harry that the other boy hadn't even bothered to jot down a note about him in his diary? When they spent the better part of every day together?
"Tell me Ron. Has he ever mentioned me?"
"No."
It was true. Apparently he wasn't significant enough for Harry to tell him about his book- buddy.
"Funnier still. People don't usually keep secrets from their best friends."
"Rub it in, why don't you?"
As soon as he wrote the words he regretted them. Would the diary tell Harry that Ron was hurt by being left out? Oh hell! Would the diary mention Ron at all?
Before he could ask it (him?) to forget all about this, a new message appeared.
"People keep secrets from their family, their enemies, those they love. Tell me, Ron Weasley, do you think Harry Potter loves you?"
Oh shit.
"What are you, some kind of perv?"
This just couldn't get any worse.
"Do you love him?"
Except it just did.
Ron wanted to deny it. Or to shut the diary and run away, or fling the thing into the nearest fireplace, or find Harry and beg him to make all this go away and please make Ron feel better in the way that only he could. Before he even knew he was crying, tears began to dot the page in front of him.
"mmm, delicious. Touched a nerve, did I?"
"Leave me alone."
"Do you want to touch him, Ron Weasley? Do you want to touch him all over? Do you want to kiss him? To taste him?
The tears were flowing freely now, being absorbed by the page far more quickly than ink.
"You're roommates, I imagine. Must be difficult. Seeing him every day, watching him change his clothes, sleeping next to him, seeing him in the showers. Is it hard?"
"YES!!!"
The word was written before Ron even knew he was lifting the pen.
"Are you hard?"
He was. It was the mention of the showers that did it. The memory of Harry beside him, smiling and chatting, totally oblivious to Ron's desire.
"If he were here right now, if he said it was okay, what would you do with him?"
"I'm not going to tell you anything!"
Despite the situation, he was proud of himself. He wouldn't be bullied by a sheaf of papers. He had that much pride at least.
"You will."
He wouldn't.
"Do you want to know why?"
Wouldn't. Wouldn't. Wouldn't.
"Because you need to. You need to tell someone. I can feel your need. I can taste it. It's flooding your veins, seeping out through every pore. You're going to tell someone soon and when you do --"
"I'd love him!"
There it was, in black and white. The thing he'd never even admitted to himself. What he wanted most in the world. His hand flew across the page as if independent of his mind now. He willed himself to stop writing, and knew he wouldn't.
"I'd get him to lie on the bed, and I'd take his clothes off. I'd take my clothes off too, and we'd lie there, naked together. He'd love the way I look; he'd smile and touch me. He couldn't get enough. And he'd say"
Finally, he stopped, horrified. He stared at the page, willing the words to fade away faster.
"I love you."
Oh yes.
"I love you too. Harry, I love you so much. I want us to be together."
"I want that too. Ron, it's all I've ever wanted."
"We can be. Always. You don't need to go back to the muggles, you know. You can come and live with me. Mum won't mind; she'll never know about us."
"And we can be together?"
"All the time. Every night. It'll be perfect. And we can kiss and touch and do anything you want."
"Kiss me now."
"I am. I am!"
And he was. He was sitting on Harry's bed, writing in a diary, sobbing violently, but in his mind he was behind the hen house at the Burrow, his tongue down Harry's throat, kissing him hard and never wanting to stop.
"mmm, delicious."
And just like that, it was over. He stared at the ink-smudged page in horror. He knew, beyond any sense of doubt, that nothing he could do to the diary could erase what he'd written. It knew.
"Welcome back, Ron."
And it could tell.
"Was it good for you?"
It could tell Harry, and then he would know too. And Ron would kill himself. It was the only possible course of action.
"Please please please don't tell him. I'll die. If he knew, I'd die."
He was begging now, hoping for some sign of humanity in what just might be the most inhuman thing he'd ever encountered.
"Maybe I will. Maybe I won't."
"I'll do anything."
And he would, too. He'd cut out his own guts and feed them to the book if that's what it wanted. He'd watch his own blood fade into the pages.
"There's nothing you can do for me yet. You're just a sapling. Raw material. You need to grow a bit. Let's say you owe me.
What did it mean? Would the diary keep his secret?
"I owe you. Sure, that's fair. Anything."
"I call in my debts, Ron. We'll be seeing each other. And until then, I want you to remember something."
Maybe it was the stress of the moment, but he'd swear the book under his hand was beating, like an overexcited heart. Not that he cared at this point. Nothing else mattered besides securing the diary's promise not to tell Harry.
"I will. Sure thing. Tell me what you want me to remember."
The answer filled him with a dread unlike anything he'd ever felt before.
"Remember this. I have seen your heart. And it is mine."
"Catch you later Ron".