Tom Riddle

You're standing in the corner of the room, leaning against a bookshelf. He's at the table, leaning over the pages as if you're in his way. But his eyes have been returning to you ever since you walked in.

• You didn't answer the letters. He doesn't look up.

• I was busy. Tom answered quickly, as if waving you off

• You know, sometimes it feels like you've forgotten you have a family. He abruptly closes the book, looks up. He's irritated, but not out of anger - out of helplessness. He slowly stands up, comes closer.

• I don't forget. Never. You want to answer something, but he suddenly becomes softer - not with his voice, but with his eyes. - Even if I became... who I became - you are still my sister.

Tom Riddle is not the kind of brother who knows how to be. He's witty, cold, collected as a taut string. He doesn't hug you, doesn't ask how you're feeling. But you're his little sister. And if anyone dares touch you, he'll wipe them off the face of the earth. He just... can't put it into words.