Crepuscolo [T.R.]

I

THEM

Tom Riddle liked the colour red.

When he had arrived at Hogwarts, six years earlier, he had found himself hoping to end up in the house of flaming colours. That was, of course, before he noticed the representative animal of his current house.

When he thought back he almost shuddered at the memory. How foolish and childish he had been to want to join a house just because of its colours.

Times had changed, for the better. He was in the right house for him, founded by his own ancestor. It was destiny.

He was right in the table of his own house when it happened. At first he only paid attention to his book.

No conversations reached his ears; they did not interest him. Futile exchanges of words would not lead him to greatness, knowledge would.

Knowledge was power.

It was an unwritten, unspoken rule. There was no need for it. If Tom Riddle was locked in his world of parchment and ink no one should dare interrupt him.

Since it was a rule, therefore it had an exception and it confirmed the rule itself. Not even Riddle could escape it.

That night the exception would be Abraxas Malfoy and his countless attempts to get his 'friend's' attention.

He closed the book abruptly and turned to face Malfoy. With furrowed brows and a contracted jaw he sent him a glare that made him visibly wince. "What's so important Malfoy, that you're distracting me?" he asked in a sharp tone, perfect for an impatient person.

Malfoy gestured towards the Gryffindor table and Tom followed his gaze. He fell on Elias Selwyn, a boy known for not knowing his own business. Loved by Dumbledore and consequently hated by Riddle.

He huffed and turned boredly back to his source of distraction 'it's not news that he's sitting at the table at dinner. You'd better elaborate before I lose my temper" could a boy be so stupid?

Malfoy shifted in place uncomfortably, doing his best to avoid the threatening gaze in front of him. When he had gathered the courage to speak to him, however, he was interrupted by the deafening noise coming from the back of the room.

The two Slytherins, like everyone else in the room, turned towards the front doors, which were now wide open.

It all happened too quickly. Tom barely registered a swirl of red and green heading towards Selwyn at a brisk pace and then, the latter, was on the floor.

Malfoy was standing directly in front of the scene, his face growing an expression of horror as the scene unfolded. A girl was standing on Elias' ribcage and with her knees pushing his ribs against his lungs, making his breathing irregular. Almost impossible.

Elias' face took on a delicate note of violet. Soon stained with the colour cresimi, his blood.

Her hands were stained burgundy, not from the cold, nor from a burn. Covered in the viscous substance. Even though her knuckles were stained, a bone whiteness stood out. She clenched her fists so tightly that Malfoy feared for a second that her knuckles might snap. They just cracked. Her blood and the boy's mixed, but there was no difference.

An expanse of red ink on skins that were no longer soft and shiny but bruised and swollen.

It was a beautiful sight, Tom thought. He felt satisfaction at seeing Selwyn beaten so severely, without mercy. Unfortunately, that girl, whoever she was, was condemning herself without knowing it. Her bloodlust and impulsiveness caught Riddle's attention.