Marvolo•Tom Riddle FanFiction

Folsom Prison Blues

I'm tempted to ask him about it. Extremely tempted. But the hope that I've gained whatever Tom's substitute for trust is keeps me from asking. He does look awful though; pale skin has turned to spots of fainted yellow and red, eyes that were once radiant are now dull and lifeless, his black hair clashes uncomfortably with his skin and the smirk I once loathed is now gone. The feeling that I would recognise as sadness is quickly whipped away.

He's acting normal. Well, trying to act as normal as he can. He slurs on some of his words and does this thick and thin laugh at the wrong times. It's painful to watch.

So, under the circumstances that he's already dying, I take out a cigarette and light it. Tom finally looks up at me since I arrived, which was only twenty minutes ago, with a revolting look on his face.

"Those things will kill you," Tom manages to comment. I can tell it hurts him to speak, I hope it hurts even more that he's smirking. "Haven't heard." My tone is plain. It's usually only reserved for people I don't know and can't stand. So Tom fits perfectly in between.

"Just your problem, isn't it?" He judges, his tone now mirroring mine. I cock an eyebrow at him and he shakes his head lightly. "Too pretty for your own good. That's why you destroy everything you touch."

His words stun me. Because they are so sharp and surprising yet so honest. Destroy everything I touch. That's been true so far in life, yet people around me ignore it and try to comfort me or seek comfort from me. Never has anyone accept it nor spoken it aloud. I guess that's just Tom, though.

Pretty? Why would he call me pretty? I can't speak for a while. His eyes bore into mine again, as always, and I swear they have regain a glimmer. Finally, I speak, hoping to let off the same effect. Because I've never meant anything more in my life.

"Well, too much of anything can kill you," I throw in a matter of fact tone. "Just like too much darkness could kill, but too much light could blind." Tom just looks at me with a considerate expression.

"You never cease to amaze, Karamakov," Riddle comments. A sly smile creeps on my lips but then fades when I remember why we are here. "You suppose to be teaching me?" It phrased as a question yet my tone is challenging.

Tom's face has grown serious and a feeling of regret washes through me. At least, it feels like regret. The flicker that was once in his eyes is now gone and they have returned to dark blue.

"Nothing physical today." I'm guessing this is because of the pain he looks like he's in. "Take these books. They explain a lot about the Dark Arts." He hands me two books, once thick and small and one big and skinny, both worn out black hard covers with gold letters carved into them.

It's clear they are old and the old ones are normally the good ones when it comes to the Dark Arts, or so I presume. I nod quickly and give a small smile.

"Why did you get into the dark arts?" I attempt to spark a conversation but Tom quickly shots me down with, "you know why". We spend ten minutes in silence; me picking at my book and him not really doing anything. Then I finally think of something that might boost his spirits.

"I forgot to thank you. For Myrtle. Your not as bad as them gi...others. I could never repay you." The compliment is served with a side of bright smiles and sparkling eyes.

"I'm not an idiot, Kenna." He mutters, uninterested. So I begin a next approach. "Sorry. It's easy to forget sometimes." Tom looks at me and that smirk, that goddamn smirk, paints onto his face.

His skin has seemed to regain some colour and the sparkle that had disappeared is now brighter in his eyes. "It's not like there's much going on up there." Now it's my time to smirk.

The bickering and snide comments continue in between him talking more about the hide out and the spider that killed Myrtle. Tom doesn't tell me much, only that he found who did it and glad that he did. He also said he didn't feel sorry for Hagrid which we argued about for about five minutes before we just went back to bickering.

Tom hadn't taught me anything on the Dark Arts today but I'm not complaining. Doing it and just talking about doing it are two different things.

"Tragic, I was hoping for a hand to hold and protect me," I joke. After an hour that went by surprisingly quickly, I'm ready to leave and try get Teddy in my good books. Tom's face goes uncomfortably neutral when I tell him that I'm going to Teddy but I know it's because he has so many other comments he would love to make.

He's also decided to stay back here. "Goodbye Kenna," Tom sighs as he rolls his eyes dramatically. I'm about to leave when I remember something. Why do I always wait till the last minute?

"You were in Myrtles bathroom, weren't you? Be honest, Tom." He doesn't answer me for a long time until, unsurprisingly, a slow sly grin grows in his face. "Why is it that your always in the wrong place at the right time?"

"I could never be in the wrong place," I state in a bored tone. His smirk shrinks but his eyes still glisten. I've always liked his eyes, they mirror mine but have a hint of darkness. I've also always liked that darkness. Tom slowly stands up and walks towards. He stops when he's a decent distance away.

"And why is that?" Question after question after question. It's different though. When I say stuff like that, stuff that is going crazy in my head, people just back off. Teddy gave up pressing me a long time ago and just hugs me. But when Tom asks I just tell him. I assume it's because he might be thinking the same.

"My point is, there's no place for me." The words come out carelessly and I am almost surprised at how much I don't care for myself.

Everyone assumes what comes out of my mouth is a cause of drinking or drugs. I hate that, Because what they don't understand is that what comes out of my mouth is the reason I do the things I do. No one ever understand what you've been through until they've seen it.

"Well then. We better find you a place." I don't know have to respond so I just nod and turn to walk out. "Oh and Kenna," He calls. "Remember, damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive."

Again, I nod and then leave quickly before he can say much more. I rush to a tree and slam my back against it with a huff. What was that? How can he just say that stuff but be him? Maybe this was a bad idea. I have no idea what Dumbledore is playing but I know these study lessons weren't brought on for my benefit.

Great man Dumbledore but extremely selfish when it comes to other peoples business. This whole pushing him in the right direction confuses me. I was consent with my life before Tom.

But then a thought comes to mind. A thought that makes me jump of the tree and walk faster towards the castle.

Maybe Riddle is saying this stuff because I'm breaking them. The layers - or the walls. I'm getting into what's behind there because he's already drawn me in and I don't think he wants to let me out. And maybe that's what Dumbledore wanted. Maybe he put the parentless godchild and tragic mess together because we are the same. That man is brilliant. 

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I know, it's getting kind of boring. Sorry I just only seem to find time to write when I'm suppose to be asleep.

I'm going to add a cast up soon but can seem to find the person to play Teddy. I really like his character and don't want to mess it up.

So please, any suggestions are welcome. Who's your perfect Teddy?