Mine || Tom Riddle

Chapter Fourteen

The first cut he made was simply out of curiosity, and one might even call it accidental. His actions had to be excused, for how could he have known you were going to fall asleep, mere inches away from him, as his fingers barely touched your skin. How was he supposed to know that you would look so tranquil. And when he saw the smallest drop of blood on your ankle, created, he assumed, from tearing at the chains that held you down, how was he supposed to know how appealing that scarlet blood would look.

The knife you had gifted him over the holidays never left his person. So, with trepidation echoing throughout his entire body, he pulled out the silver blade whose glittery gleam reflected the sin in his eyes back at him. He had thought of this since he had first saw you, the way skin would bend under a knife, peeling back and replaced by droplets of dark blood. And he was not disappointed. He barely let the knife graze your skin, he didn't want to disrupt your seep, you needed rest, but even so the results were just like he had imagined.

The tiniest beads of blood pooled around your collarbone, a stark contrast to your pale skin. His breath caught when he realized what he had done, and he healed he wound instantly. You stirred now, magic had that effect, at least to him, it grabbed onto senses, gloriously overpowering everything. "Tom?" Your voice, just a whisper sounded like forgiveness to him.

"Yes, Ivetta." You shifted, at least as much as you could in the heavy chains.

"You didn't leave." He was not sure what he heard in your tone, but it was somethin he did not recognize.

"No."

"Oh." This time he could tell. It was hope. Happiness, maybe. He thought that maybe he could understand. People had always left him too. "Are staying at the orphanage?"

"Yes." Anger boiled through him at the thought. He expected pity, it was how others always seemed to react. But he should have known by now not to expect anything ordinary from you.

"One day I will burn down this house, Tom. And I can sense your story well enough. Think of destroying it when you go back. One day we will." He smiled down at you. Would you still be talking of these things with him if you knew what he had just did. If you could still feel the blood dripping down your collarbone. He wished he could see it again.

"Tom I need to tell you something. I was mad, so I ignored you but, a while ago, before we left school, I had a vision. I don't know if you can even call it that, but it was strange. I don't now what it means, but I think it was about you." His heart quickened.

All summer he had been looking for something. Immortality. All the known methods did not appeal to him. He needed something better, stronger. And you could have the key. "Horcrux. Horcruxes. That's what it was, the word whispered over you, around you. I looked in the library but I couldn't find it. Gellert told me they were dark objects, but he said nothing more."

He had heard of the phrase, in a biography on Herpo the Foul that Avery had gifted him last year. It was a dark book, and even so had not gone into detail on the object said to be created by the Greek Dark Lord. He slowly registered the use of Grindelwald's first name, but tucked it away. "Ivetta was there anything else? Anything at all?" For the first time he really saw you as the asset he'd always known you could be. He vowed you would never find out about the cut he had made.

"Pain, Tom. Pain. So much pain. It plagued you, your dripping in it now."

"Well thank you for that." He stood. "This has been a lovely evening, very informative really. I must be going now, I'm sure you understand."

"I'll see you in the prefect's compartment I expect." He turned. "You got the letter as well, I presume." He nodded, a small smile forming on his face.