Who was that voice, singing in the warm velvet darkness?
Helen? Rosemary, who he hadn't met yet in this life and conceivably never would, though he hoped differently? Belladonna?
--Mother?
Tom Riddle slowly opens wipes at his eyes. Stupid dreams. Stupid!
"Tommy? Wha? Come back to sleep..."
Helen grabs at his sleeve. Tom lets her pull him beneath the blankets he transfigured again.
He'd better re-transfigure the mattress' they both were sleeping on too. It wouldn't do for it to turn back into a rotting wooden platform when they were still using it, after all.
The moon was a warm waxing crescent, arching across the cloud-streaming sky...
Applefield was bigger then it looked on the map. He should have remembered that things usually did.
Especially when one was a child...
Maybe they could hitch a ride on a haywagon or something, tomorrow.
If they could find one going the right way...
And then...what?
There would be wards and protections where they were trying to get to, that was for sure.
It wasn't that he was not up to a bit of "kekkai-busting"( as a former acquaintance of his had put it), even now, armed with just a obviously home-made not-really-a-wand...but there was a certain matter of...diplomacy, maybe?
So many things he had to think about.
But not now.
Now he would just lie next to a warm breathing Helen, a miracle in herself, and watch the clouds chase themselves over the night sky...
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(Posted Sat, 16 Apr 2005 11:32)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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