(Fine, I’ll do it my damn self: part 10 of my silly lil mlm stories <3)
luna (Chapter Two of Watercolors) — tom riddle x male! artistic! hufflepuff! reader
there’s no romantic relationship between luna and tom just fyi <33
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The next thing the wonderful watercolor boy made Tom was a lake. There was no way to tell time inside the diary—it might’ve been an hour since the Watercolor Boy painted Tom the little hut, it might’ve been a year, who’s to say?
But eventually, the color maker returned. Tom sat back against the low stone fence surrounding his hut, watching with rapt fascination as the paintbrush reappeared, moving with wide, confident sweeps as it created a small lake just at the bottom of the hill. He watched, mouth slightly agape, as the brush hesitated, before slowly painting in a wisteria tree that wept dusty lilac petals all over the ground. A petal fell onto the surface of the lake, staying stationary for a moment before sinking below the surface.
It was beautiful.
Tom laughed, loudly and genuinely, as he sprinted down the hill towards the newest treasure, barely stopping to kick off his shoes before leaping into the lake.
It was freezing. As Tom resurfaced, his teeth clacked and chattered. His robes were heavy with water (real water!) and he had to slowly drag himself out of the depths. He laid on the bank, breathing heavily and shivering.
As he looked up at the never-changing paper sky, he wondered (not for the first time) what would happen if he asked the Watercolor boy to paint him something specific.
What if he got scared off?
What if he stopped painting?
No, Tom couldn’t risk that.
So he kept silent.
~~~
The first living thing the Watercolor Boy painted in the diary was a girl. Barely reaching his shoulder in height, she had long, wavy blonde hair and a perpetually faraway look in her eyes. At first, Tom had wondered if Watercolor Boy had made a mistake while painting her to get such a dreamy look on her face, but then she’d introduced herself as a Lovegood. It all made sense then.
Luna.
Her name was Luna.
Tom thought that was the most beautiful name in the world.
Or at least he did.
“Luna?” Tom whispered, his voice cracking from decades of disuse.
“Yes, Thomas?”
They both laid on their backs underneath the wisteria tree, watching the petals fall and the stars glimmer.
(Stars. Stars! Watercolor Boy had gifted them with stars.)
“The Artist. The Creator. Who is it?”
“Who made me?”
“Yes.”
“Y/N,” Luna trailed off, her voice a comforting dreamy sound. Thick like honey, but too light to touch.
(Tom should ask Watercolor Boy to paint him honey. It would go well with the biscuits from the painted feast.)
“Y/N?”
“Oh, he’s lovely. You would quite well get along,” Luna murmured, closing her eyes and humming some unknown song.
“Y/N…” Tom mumbled under his breath.
~~~
“Thomas,” Luna sings, spinning around barefoot in the center of his hut. Her wand (that doesn’t work inside the diary, as it turns out) is tucked behind her ear, threatening to fall with every movement.
“Yes, Luna?” Tom looks up from his copy of the Quibbler. (The issue was from 1997. 1997!)
“There’s a door.”
Tom blinked. “A door?”
“Yes,” Luna murmured, her earrings swinging as she spun around again. “It’s not painted. It just appeared. Right there,” she slows her spin to point at the wall, where sure enough, there is a door. It’s not a true door, though. It looks cut, like someone took scissors to his beautiful hut and left a jagged doorway.
Tom stood. “Do we- should we go in?”
“I can’t leave, Thomas,” Luna smiles. “I already know. I can see it. I’m not real, so I can’t leave. But you’re real.”
“You- it leads to outside the diary?”
“Yes. I’m just a painting, so I am afraid I cannot accompany you. It was lovely meeting you, Thomas. I’ve much appreciated our friendship, however short lived.”
Tom touched the jagged edge of the door and gasped when the paper cut his fingertips. “I can’t just leave you, Luna. I’ll- I’ll miss you.”
“I won’t be truly gone,” she smiles again, that lovely dreamy smile. “If I never existed, then I can’t ever really be gone.”
Her words hit him hard.
“I’ll miss you anyways,” he said stubbornly, feeling a bit like a child again.
Luna stopped spinning entirely, stepping forward to grab ahold of Tom’s hand, and maneuvering it palm up in front of them.
Tom gasped.
His palm and fingers were streaked with blood from the paper cuts.
Red.
Blood.
Not ink. Blood.
Tom was alive.
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