Laurus Nobilis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
laurus_nobilis) wrote2005-06-10 12:54 pm
laurus_nobilis) wrote2005-06-10 12:54 pm
Things Much Worse Than Death [Harry Potter/Card Captor Sakura; English]
Title: Things Much Worse Than Death
Rating: G
Genre: Genfic
Characters: Clow, Tom Riddle, Dumbledore
Summary: A man who has lived for too long meets a boy obsessed with immortality.
Notes: Fits in with The Next Great Adventure.
Things Much Worse Than Death
Hogwarts, 1941
With a sigh of frustration, Clow gave up on yet another dusty book and closed it. It did seem that, once again, he was attempting to do something that nobody had tried before.
The thought made him slightly uncomfortable. This would be the most important spell in his life, the one everything else would depend on. He would have liked to find some theories to complement his own. Yet he’d never seen any; not even now that, with Headmaster Dippet’s permission, he was searching the Restricted Section at the Hogwarts Library.
In fact, he was only finding the exact opposite. People wanted to lengthen their lives, to increase their powers. Nobody ever mentioned the side effects. Perhaps he should write something about it, before he left.
“Mr Reed?”
Clow looked up from the pile of books. A boy with dark hair and a Prefect badge was looking at him. He had the feeling that this student didn’t have a pass for the Restricted Section; but he wasn’t a professor and it wasn’t his place to ask. Instead, he smiled and offered him a seat.
“My name is Tom Riddle,” the boy said. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Ah, yes. I have heard about you,” said Clow. “It seems you are a top student.”
Tom smiled, perhaps a little smugly.
“My interests go far beyond schoolwork,” he said.
“Or else you would not be here,” Clow replied with a knowing grin. “What did you want to ask me?”
At this point, people’s reactions usually varied. Some shied away; some -very annoying ones- went with the ‘shouldn’t you already know that?’ routine. Most of them tried to get away with a free fortune telling. But Tom didn’t do any of those things, and his eyes shone when he answered.
“Is it true,” he said, “that you have found a way to prolong life without a Philosopher’s Stone?”
Clow’s smiled waned a little.
“It is true,” he admitted. “But a child your age should not be thinking about such things.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tom, his voice tensing. “I am not a child! I’m more intelligent- more mature than any other student here!”
“It is too early,” Clow said. “There are consequences that you cannot possibly understand.”
“You are doing it yourself,” the boy insisted, “and yet you speak of it as if it was something terrible.”
“Obsession is,” he replied, and looked at the student straight in the eye. “Do you think I intend to live forever, Tom?”
The boy seemed to feel uncomfortable under his gaze, but he held his place.
“I wrote to Nicolas Flamel-”
“And he obviously did not want to answer you, either.”
Tom stood up abruptly, unable to control his anger anymore. He looked down at Clow, and his voice was cold as he spoke.
“I don’t need anything from you,” he said. “You’re just a filthy half-blood.”
Although it was hardly new for Clow to hear such thing, the look of pure hatred in Tom’s eyes was something he had not encountered in many, many years. All of a sudden the visions took over him, like snakes unrolling - snakes, yes… and… skulls? - a girl’s uncontrollable sobbing - so much hatred - a blinding flash of green light…
“So are you, Tom,” he whispered tiredly as the trance passed. But the boy was already crossing the library’s door.
* * *
As usual, Albus invited him for tea that afternoon, once classes were over. They enjoyed spending some quiet time together, chatting about the progress of Albus’s students and of Clow’s research. Today, however, it was different. Clow knew that his friend should hear about that morning’s incident.
Although his expression saddened as he listened to the story, Albus did not seem at all surprised.
“Tom Riddle, yes,” he said thoughtfully. “He is the one I have been talking to you about. You think I might be right about him, then?”
Clow gazed into his teacup for a moment.
“I cannot give you any details. It was… fast,” he replied. “But I do think you have reasons to worry about him.”
“I thought so,” his friend sighed. “There is something off about the way he acts as of late. He has done nothing wrong, not that I know of, at least; yet I fear he might surprise us soon.”
“Very soon,” said Clow. “And he is powerful, Albus, I can tell that much.”
For some reason, Albus chuckled at that. In spite of the situation, there was an amused twinkle in his blue eyes when he looked at his friend.
“He has a powerful wand, at least,” he said. “Do you know what its core is?”
“Something out of the ordinary, I suppose.”
“A feather from Fawkes’s tail.”
Clow’s eyes widened slightly.
“Indeed?” he asked.
“You, my friend,” Albus said as he poured him more tea, “have a particular ability to get your hand into any matter of importance.”
“It was unwillingly this time, though. I did not know about this when I brought Fawkes for you. But,” he added as an afterthought, “there is another wand, isn’t there?”
“Only one,” his friend replied. “Ollivander has not sold it yet.”
“Then there will be balance,” said Clow, and his smile recovered its usual peace.
Rating: G
Genre: Genfic
Characters: Clow, Tom Riddle, Dumbledore
Summary: A man who has lived for too long meets a boy obsessed with immortality.
Notes: Fits in with The Next Great Adventure.
Hogwarts, 1941
With a sigh of frustration, Clow gave up on yet another dusty book and closed it. It did seem that, once again, he was attempting to do something that nobody had tried before.
The thought made him slightly uncomfortable. This would be the most important spell in his life, the one everything else would depend on. He would have liked to find some theories to complement his own. Yet he’d never seen any; not even now that, with Headmaster Dippet’s permission, he was searching the Restricted Section at the Hogwarts Library.
In fact, he was only finding the exact opposite. People wanted to lengthen their lives, to increase their powers. Nobody ever mentioned the side effects. Perhaps he should write something about it, before he left.
“Mr Reed?”
Clow looked up from the pile of books. A boy with dark hair and a Prefect badge was looking at him. He had the feeling that this student didn’t have a pass for the Restricted Section; but he wasn’t a professor and it wasn’t his place to ask. Instead, he smiled and offered him a seat.
“My name is Tom Riddle,” the boy said. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Ah, yes. I have heard about you,” said Clow. “It seems you are a top student.”
Tom smiled, perhaps a little smugly.
“My interests go far beyond schoolwork,” he said.
“Or else you would not be here,” Clow replied with a knowing grin. “What did you want to ask me?”
At this point, people’s reactions usually varied. Some shied away; some -very annoying ones- went with the ‘shouldn’t you already know that?’ routine. Most of them tried to get away with a free fortune telling. But Tom didn’t do any of those things, and his eyes shone when he answered.
“Is it true,” he said, “that you have found a way to prolong life without a Philosopher’s Stone?”
Clow’s smiled waned a little.
“It is true,” he admitted. “But a child your age should not be thinking about such things.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tom, his voice tensing. “I am not a child! I’m more intelligent- more mature than any other student here!”
“It is too early,” Clow said. “There are consequences that you cannot possibly understand.”
“You are doing it yourself,” the boy insisted, “and yet you speak of it as if it was something terrible.”
“Obsession is,” he replied, and looked at the student straight in the eye. “Do you think I intend to live forever, Tom?”
The boy seemed to feel uncomfortable under his gaze, but he held his place.
“I wrote to Nicolas Flamel-”
“And he obviously did not want to answer you, either.”
Tom stood up abruptly, unable to control his anger anymore. He looked down at Clow, and his voice was cold as he spoke.
“I don’t need anything from you,” he said. “You’re just a filthy half-blood.”
Although it was hardly new for Clow to hear such thing, the look of pure hatred in Tom’s eyes was something he had not encountered in many, many years. All of a sudden the visions took over him, like snakes unrolling - snakes, yes… and… skulls? - a girl’s uncontrollable sobbing - so much hatred - a blinding flash of green light…
“So are you, Tom,” he whispered tiredly as the trance passed. But the boy was already crossing the library’s door.
As usual, Albus invited him for tea that afternoon, once classes were over. They enjoyed spending some quiet time together, chatting about the progress of Albus’s students and of Clow’s research. Today, however, it was different. Clow knew that his friend should hear about that morning’s incident.
Although his expression saddened as he listened to the story, Albus did not seem at all surprised.
“Tom Riddle, yes,” he said thoughtfully. “He is the one I have been talking to you about. You think I might be right about him, then?”
Clow gazed into his teacup for a moment.
“I cannot give you any details. It was… fast,” he replied. “But I do think you have reasons to worry about him.”
“I thought so,” his friend sighed. “There is something off about the way he acts as of late. He has done nothing wrong, not that I know of, at least; yet I fear he might surprise us soon.”
“Very soon,” said Clow. “And he is powerful, Albus, I can tell that much.”
For some reason, Albus chuckled at that. In spite of the situation, there was an amused twinkle in his blue eyes when he looked at his friend.
“He has a powerful wand, at least,” he said. “Do you know what its core is?”
“Something out of the ordinary, I suppose.”
“A feather from Fawkes’s tail.”
Clow’s eyes widened slightly.
“Indeed?” he asked.
“You, my friend,” Albus said as he poured him more tea, “have a particular ability to get your hand into any matter of importance.”
“It was unwillingly this time, though. I did not know about this when I brought Fawkes for you. But,” he added as an afterthought, “there is another wand, isn’t there?”
“Only one,” his friend replied. “Ollivander has not sold it yet.”
“Then there will be balance,” said Clow, and his smile recovered its usual peace.