A girl stood defiantly in front of a man, who was actually better described as less than a man, considering how he was almost killed by one of her best friends when he was only a year old. This “half-man” was feared by the entire wizarding world for wreaking havoc upon all that were against him. He was born a half-blood and given the name Tom Riddle, but he was more commonly known by his alias, Lord Voldemort.
The girl who stood in front of this icon of hatred was undoubtedly frightened, but nonetheless, she did not move. The look on her face showed that she was not going to move, at any cost.
This image haunted the boy who had become so close to her over this past year as a lump rose in his throat. This image and others kept playing on something like an old muggle film reel, except it was all in his mind. He felt that it was his fault that this had happened, and that maybe if he had done something different, then this would have never happened. Other painful memories of this fateful day flashed through his mind as he awkwardly stood in a room filled with other students who shared a similar pain. They had all met there to support her, and all of her friends. He felt that these students’ pain could not possibly match up to what he was feeling. He tried to conjure up the sound of her voice in his mind. This voice had belonged to the girl who had probably understood him even better than he understood himself. He felt that she was truly his soul mate, even though he had never believed in what had seemed like such a ridiculous subject. As he listened to her voice in his mind, he swiped at his eyes, warding off any tears that threatened to form there.
That special girl’s best friend came up behind the boy, touching his shoulder. He had turned around to see that her eyes were red, puffy, and swollen. Her cheeks were wet with fresh tears and she was slightly quivering. He noticed that in her hands, she was carrying a small, black, leather-bound journal in her hands.
“Yes?” the boy said to her.
“I think you should really see this,” she said softly as she handed him the notebook.
He opened it eagerly, as if it would give him some way to bring her to him. On the left pages were one type of hand writing, but on the right was a completely different style. He noticed immediately that the right side was in her hand writing. He ran a finger across the dry black ink and the pale yellow page.
“This was hers, wasn’t it,” he said. It was more of a statement than a question.
The girl nodded sadly.
“Then whose hand writing is this?” he asked pointing at the left page.
“Mine,” she said, which surprised him a bit. “We used to share it, I assume, except we didn’t know we were at the time.”
“So that’s how you found this?” he asked.
She nodded again. “It used to appear blank, but when I broke the spell that protected my entries, it revealed hers as well.”
He bit his lip and breathed deeply. He had in his hand the object that could have possibly been her most precious possession. He felt a connection with her as he held it.
“I thought you might like to read it,” she said.
“Isn’t that kind of invading her privacy?” he asked, hesitant to read her innermost thoughts.
The girl smiled sadly. “It has some pretty nice stuff about you in there. Besides, I’m sure she would want to share this with you.”
The boy took another deep breath as he flipped to the page where it was first written in, and began to read, not yet knowing how immensely closer this would make him feel to her…