Destroying Myself

Chapter One

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It's five o'clock on Halloween morning, and I'm wide awake; my eyes staring, blood-shot, unblinkingly at the ceiling. Patience is not my thing, and anticipation is the worst feeling in the world to me.

I start the spell tonight at eight. That's fifteen hours from now. I hear my roommate Cal's snore; he is incredibly loud, and any other morning I'd toss him out of bed - but today, I don't care, because I'm not sleeping anyway.

Cal was once my best friend. That was before I realized how different our priorities were. Why my thoughts drift to this, I'm not quite sure; probably because this spell - I call it Aspici Spell - is the thing that sparked our hatred.

When you stop caring about someone, they usually stop caring about you. Well, that's my experience.

I grab one of my pillows and press it to my face, closing my eyes; even if I can't get any sleep, it doesn't mean I can't try.

5:07 and I throw off the pillow, and pull open the curtains with a yank. Cal starts and stares at me through the gap in his curtains.

"Tom?" he says sleepily. "Go back to sleep."

"You go back to sleep," I hiss. He does.

I roll my eyes and quickly get dressed, plain black robes, nothing special because today, I have no one to impress.

I head down to breakfast, but of course, that's not been served yet. There are a few teachers decorating the hall however, including Dumbledore, who has just glanced at me.

I look away, wanting a quick escape, but I'm not quick enough and Dumbledore is talking to me.

"Good morning, Tom," he says.

"Morning, Professor," I say. "How are you this morning?"

Yes, I am pretending to care, and yes I find it disgusting, but charming is my middle name.

"I'm quite fine," Dumbledore says, eyeing me. He's not buying anything I say, as always. "Couldn't sleep again?"

I shrug. "It happens. Need help, sir?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Oh no, I think we're about finished here."

"Alright," I say.

"Have a seat," Dumbledore says. "Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes."

Dumbledore moves away, positioning another glowing pumpkin. I look towards the Slytherin table. I had wanted to sit there, but now that Dumbledore has told me to sit, I just can't bring myself to.

I turn and leave the room; after all, I have things I can be reviewing for tonight, though it won't take me very long.

I pass by portraits, most of which are still sleeping. I hear the laughter of two first year boys, heading my way. I see that it is two Slytherins, a black-haired, rich boy named Darwin and a tall lanky boy named Warren; they're interesting enough, and they look up to me.

"Tom," Darwin greets me.

"What's up?" Warren asks.

"Hey," I say. "Nothing."

"Where you headed?" Darwin asks.

The trouble with Darwin is he always likes to know your business.

"Around," I say, blowing him off.

They don't take it offensively, and I continue down the hall; after all, we're Slytherins and our business is our own business.

I sneak into my bathroom - it's not really mine, it's just a girls bathroom that has been out of order ever since my fifth year; actually, I'm the one who caused it to become out of order, though no one -- but Dumbledore even has a clue. After that little incident with the Basilisk, I discovered something about myself, and I needed to know more; that's why I set out to find the Aspici spell.

In the bathroom is a girl - actually, a ghost of a girl - named Myrtle. She doesn't know that I'm the one who killed her, and she trusts me entirely. As I said before, charm can do wonders.

"Hello, Tom," she says gloomily to me.

"Myrtle," I say in greeting.

Myrtle watches me carefully as I search for a set of books I have hidden.

I think she likes my company, and if truth be told, her gloomy company is usually more tolerable then most of the other students around here; but I still cannot stand her incessant questions about what I've been up to.

I've been in this bathroom, studying with her watching over me for the past year and a half at least, and well, I've gotten used to her.

"Are you going to tell me what you're up to yet?" she asks.

She has asked me this every day since I began my little project; but for the first time I actually pause, considering telling her - after all, confiding in someone might put my fears at ease. Yeah, I said fears, fear that I might have screwed it up somehow and destroyed myself in the process.

"You really want to know?" I ask, giving her an annoyed look.

She looks at me wide-eyed; Myrtle is actually a very bright witch, though she is always very glum - even more so -- since she became a ghost.

"It's happening tonight, isn't it?" Myrtle says.

"Well, aren't you bright?" I say, turning back to my books.

Myrtle pouts but I eagerly start reading again.

I grin, not looking up from my books. "You still want to know what I'm doing?"

"You won't tell me," Myrtle says, sitting on a counter, watching me closely.

I look up at her. "I've discovered a spell to show me my future. I'm going to see my role in our future."

"What if you find out you're a failure?" Myrtle asks.

"Won't happen," I say. "There's no way."

"If you say so," she says morosely. "Are you leaving me after tonight then?"

The funny thing is, I don't regret killing her; that thought just struck me. It's slightly chilling, but so completely true; everything with that Basilisk had gone exactly as I had planned, at least until Dumbledore caught on. The only repercussions were the loss of a boy who I particularly hated, and a gain of a place all to myself. And I do not regret what I have done - destroying Mudbloods is a noble line of work.

"Yes," I say.

It's the truth, because really, I can't continue to come back here; Myrtle is nothing but a lost soul to me now.

Myrtle is sobbing, but she's not doing it loudly.

I don't feel bad, but I don't really want to see her crying.

"I should leave," I say. I turn back around before I go. "By the way, Myrtle, I owe you for letting me use your bathroom."

Sarcasm is also a thrilling game to play.

"It's not my bathroom," she says, looking down.

"Oh, sure it is," I say, and leave through the bathroom door.

I check the time; it's only 7:00am.

If a day could go any slower than one second at a time then today was that day. I joined in on conversations with people who had never spoken to me before. I took off my watch and put it in my room; this only made me go upstairs every five minutes to check it, but it still occupied the slow moving time.

Noon came and slowly went; and at one I was sitting in the hall eating lunch, when Brandy sat next to me.

"Hey Riddle," she says, probably using my last name -- because she's mad at me.

"Brandy," I greet her.

Even though I didn't really want to talk to her, conversation seemed to make the time pass by more quickly.

"Are you sure you're too busy to go to the dance tonight?"

"Beyond sure," I say.

"Why won't you go with me!" Brandy asks me in a hiss. "What about me don't you like? I'm a Slytherin, I'm a pure-blood, I'm gorgeous! What else do you want?"

I laugh. To add to her list, I'd say she's also persistent, self-confident and straightforward. Too cocky for her own good.

"I want you to stay and talk to me," I say, flashing her my smile.

"What?" she asks. I've confused the poor girl.

"I can't go to the dance with you, but I want you to talk with me," I say. Hell, I am using her - not the way most Slytherins would use a girl who was practically all over them, but using her nonetheless.

She pauses, considering my words and then says, "Alright. I'll talk with you."

We talk until three. A great conversationalist that one - actually I get bored ten minutes in, but that's the price I pay for pretending to be interested.

I tell her I have to go and she lets me go without much of a fuss, mostly, I think, because -- I was being a bit too dark for her.

I take a walk out by the lake, and watch the giant squid's tentacles come out of the water every once in a while.

Five o'clock. I just have to survive three more hours of this crazed feeling of anticipation.

I see -- the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, and I purposefully let myself be seen by him. He wants to talk to me about something. He talks to me about my recent loss of interest in my Head Boy duties; I tell him I'm sorry, and that I've just been distracted lately.

"Don't worry, Professor Dippet," I say. "I'll get my act together."

More bullshit coming out of my mouth and he eats it up.

He tells me to run along and I do. Six o'clock. I try to read but my attention span isn't that great at the moment.

Somehow the clock's hands reach the seven thirty mark, and I start heading as slowly as I can to the room of requirement - it's a room that possesses pretty much anything you could possibly require, hence the name.

I pass by Dumbledore on my way, he's too far away to talk to me, but that doesn't stop him from watching me go.

When I enter the room it's dark, and there is a clear view of the night sky from the open roof. The walls are solid black and reflect nothing, and in the center of the room there is a white circle with a moon and star drawn in gold on either side.

This is the basic set up for my spell, and when the moon hits exactly over the center of the circle then it will be complete. All I have to do is say a few words a few seconds before eight o'clock.

I glance at the time, 7:50.

I pull out my wand and mutter, "Lumos." I find my notes on the ground and pick them up, reviewing the spell I will be saying in a few minutes.

7:57, I'm counting 1...2...counting up till 60, and I start again. Finally 7:59.

I step into the circle, and I began to recite the spell; I say it flawlessly, pronouncing everything exactly. At eight sharp, I've finished the spell, I look up and the moon is directly above me.

For a moment, I think something has gone wrong because nothing happens, then a moment later, a bright blinding blue flash blurs my vision, and I feel lifeless. I feel like I'm soaring, but all I can see is blinding blue - then nothing but a black tunnel, and all sound is lost.

I'm headed towards the tunnel, and I don't try to retreat. I enter the tunnel - my eyes haven't shut once - there's a brilliant flash of multiple colors, my feet touch the ground, and the blue blur comes back; I can't see anything, but as my hearing slowly returns I hear a muffled voice, an oddly familiar voice...

Other References:

"I'm counting 1...2..." - Is from the book Lullaby, by Chuck Palahniuk.