QLFC- Season 7: Round 5
Montrose Magpies
Chaser 1: (Dark World Dimension) Write about a parallel world where the characters' worst fears come to life.
Thanks to Lady Rogue, Frank and Pansy Weasley for looking over the story and ironing out the details.
True Colors
The shop was located in a small town just on the outskirts of London. Tom had discovered it completely by chance after running away from the orphanage that supposedly had been his home since birth, even if he'd never called it such.
He didn't know what had first drawn him to enter the shop, but once inside, the mixture of sights and smells enthralled him. It was an old fashioned apothecary stocked with countless herbs, small bundles of various incense sticks, jars with cotton swabs, and glass decanters filled with different colored liquids ranging from everyday shades to abnormal pigments that Tom wasn't quite sure he had seen before.
He'd never been in an apothecary before, but the draw to it had been strong and the attachment immediate. Whether it be fate or a wonderful coincidence, the owner had needed a shop boy and Tom hadn't hesitated for a moment to put in his bid for the position.
That had been almost a year ago, and now, at 17 years old, Tom found himself closer to being a partner in the shop than a mere shop boy. But even with his growing influence within the apothecary—and as a result, with the town in general—and his attachment to the shop, the one place he'd ever considered home, Tom felt an emptiness and longing inside of him. It was a longing to be something bigger than he currently was—someone with more… power.
Here, in this small town, he had only so much influence, and what he did have was dependent on how charming he could be. This was no type of real power though. His success was directly linked to how much the person was willing to give him, and if his facade cracked even a little, they weren't willing to give him much.
No, he decided, charm would only get him so far. He needed something more.
Tom was standing slumped behind the long wooden counter at the front of the shop, trying to devise a plan on exactly how to accomplish his goals, when the bell over the front door tinkled to alert him of someone entering the shop.
He quickly straightened, letting his customary warm smile spread across his face, making sure that it reached his eyes. He'd learned that trick back when he'd still been at the orphanage. People seemed to notice when the darkness in your eyes conflicted with the brightness you were trying to portray. The trick was to think of something that made your eyes come to life, even if those thoughts weren't necessarily appropriate for the situation.
"Mrs. Davenforth," Tom beamed, eyes alight with thoughts that he knew were best kept to himself. He walked around the counter to greet the elderly woman. "The usual I presume," he said as he took one of her hands in both of his own, squeezing it softly.
Mrs. Davenforth smiled at him unabashedly. "You know I only come here for two reasons, Tom. Your employer's elixir that seems to be the only thing that helps my aching bones, and that magical smile of yours, second only to the elixir itself."
Tom wished he'd found a way to bring pink to his cheeks in order to realistically portray bashfulness, but he hadn't, so he merely grinned shyly and dipped his head.
"I believe Ms. Smith finished a batch just this morning. Let me pop in the back and get it for you."
"Thank you so much, dear."
Tom lightly squeezed her hand again before releasing his grasp and turning away from her. As soon as his back was turned, he allowed the mask to slip from his face.
He massaged his jaw as he threaded his way through the shelving to the back of the shop. The very act of pretending exhausted him, but not pretending had led to him being ostracized as a child. So, he endured the facade that he created in order to cater to these less than ordinary people, no matter how demeaning it was.
He relaxed his face, dropping his hand from his jaw as he stepped into the back room. There was no need to pretend around Ms. Smith; he had never kept secret his ambition from her, or his darkness for that matter, and it hadn't seemed to bother her in the least.
The back room was as neatly organized as the front room, but infinitely more interesting. The jars that lined the shelves were full of strange ingredients, most unfamiliar to the average person.
The shop owner, Ms. Smith, stood behind a long table upon which a large cauldron was set. She was closing the lid of a jar filled with large black spiders and looked up at Tom's entrance as she flipped the latch closed.
"Mrs. Davenforth is here for her usual, Ms. Smith."
"I just finished filling the vials this morning." She gestured toward the cabinets to her right with a jerk of her head. "They're right over there."
Tom walked past the jars of ingredients, not giving a single one of them a second glance. When he'd first been permitted to enter the back area a few months ago, he'd not been able to peel his eyes away, but he'd long looked his fill now.
He had known from the beginning of his employment that there was something unusual about the apothecary—something special. He'd probably realized it long before he'd been hired, and it's uniqueness was what had drawn him here in the first place. Either way, he didn't just need to be a part of the shop, he needed to be so completely immersed in it that it became a part of him. He didn't know why, but he felt as though this shop held the key to the power he so longed for. So, he had begun gently pushing Ms. Smith as soon as he could, until she'd felt comfortable allowing him to see the back room operation. She was still, however, hesitant to allow him to do more than just look around, and very rarely was he present for the actual brewing process.
He opened the cabinet doors and grabbed a set of vials with a familiar blue liquid, labeled with a barely legible scrawl that read 'hip pain'.
"You know," Tom began as he carefully held the case of vials in one hand and closed the cabinet door with the other, "I really wish you would let me assist you in the actual process of brewing. I want to do more around here, and," he drew out the word as he turned to gauge Ms. Smith's reaction, "I would be of great help to you."
Ms. Smith eyed him carefully, contemplating his words. She kept her gaze on him for a moment longer before finally looking away.
"Yes, I suppose you would be," she said softly.
Tom stood waiting for her to say something more, but she merely waved him off as she opened a large book and immersed herself.
Tom held back a sigh of frustration, overcoming the temptation to push the matter further.
He headed for the door.
"Mr. Riddle?"
Tom stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
Ms. Smith was looking at him determinedly. "Tonight, after you close up the front, meet me here in the back and we'll see whether you can be of any help."
Tom nodded, smiling, and left the shopkeeper to her work, returning to the main part of the shop to give Mrs. Davenforth her "magical" elixir.
The back room at night looked exactly as it did during the day. Small windows placed high up in the wall didn't really alter the lighting of the room very much, but the room felt different to Tom as he entered it. Perhaps it was due to the fact that his purpose for entering the room now was completely different than every other time before.
Ms. Smith stood at her usual place behind the table with the cauldron placed in front of her.
"Are you ready, Mr. Riddle?" Her voice was low and quiet but Tom heard her as if she had been standing right next to him whispering in his ear.
"Yes," he said, not quite able to keep the shake out of his voice.
She gestured for him to stand next to her.
She slid a cloth bag over to him with a tag that read 'Alihotsy'. "I need you to cut five of those leaves into fine strips."
Tom opened the bag and pulled out a handful of dark green leaves with red spots that he hadn't seen before. He counted out five leaves and began cutting them with the knife that lay next to the cauldron.
For the next half an hour, Ms. Smith handed ingredients—some of them completely normal and others not so much—and instructed him on what to do with them before adding them to her potion.
Tom noticed that the long wooden spoon she used to stir the potion with had a very intricately designed handle and didn't seem to quite match the wood of the rest of the spoon. What was even more interesting was the fact that she stirred the potion in different directions a specific number of times after adding an ingredient and as she did so, she giggled or laughed loudly.
He made no comment, however, merely observed carefully.
After the last ingredient was added, she waved her spoon over the potion. "It is complete."
Tom looked over the rim at the bubbling purple liquid. "Is that the antidepressant?"
Ms. Smith nodded her head appreciatively. "Very good, Mr. Riddle. And since you recognized it so quickly, I'll allow you to pour it into the vials and label it."
Tom smiled, pleased with himself; he went over to a shelf with empty vials and carried over a case.
He carefully ladled the potion into the vials. "Ms. Smith?"
"Hmm?"
"I don't really expect an answer, but are you a witch?"
Tom didn't look up from his work. He knew he was treading in dangerous territory and, if he were honest with himself, he was nervous about where his line of questioning would end.
"Yes, Mr. Riddle, of course I am."
Tom looked up quickly, her reply throwing him for a loop. "Seriously?"
Ms. Smith laughed. "Did you ask expecting outright denial, Mr. Riddle."
Tom blinked. "Well, yes."
"There's no reason to hide myself from you, Mr. Riddle. We're from the same world."
Tom's brow furrowed. "Excuse me? I'm not sure I understand."
Ms. Smith's eyes sparkled. "I could sense the magic on you as soon as we met. It's not strong, mind you, but enough to indicate that you come from wizarding blood."
"Do you mean to say that I-I'm a wizard?" Tom could feel the excitement brewing inside of him at the thought that he'd been right all along about being better than everyone else.
"Well, not exactly. As I said, the magic isn't strong, and since you haven't had any magical incidents, I'm guessing you're a Squib."
Tom felt the excitement ebb away. "What does that mean?"
"The short of it, the magic in you isn't strong enough to actually do anything with. There's just enough there for you to be drawn to magic and for me to be able to sense it."
Tom's eyes searched her face, hoping that she was joking with him, but her face said she was extremely serious. His eyes dropped back to the vials and he began haphazardly sticking paper labels on them.
"I see," he said.
Ms. Smith seemed to sense his disappointment and quickly followed up with, "That doesn't mean you can't be a part of the magical community of course. You can still be a big help."
Tom looked up at her, a smile plastered to his face. "Of course, I would love to help any way I can."
Tom saw her smile at him, but he also saw the accompanying—probably involuntary—shiver. The sight of it made his smile more genuine.
Over the next few weeks, Tom would close up the shop and then head to the back to assist Ms. Smith with various potions. He kept an exterior persona of interest and eagerness, but on the inside, his blood boiled and his bitterness, which had begun when he discovered he was a Squib, compounded.
His resentment had latched on to Ms. Smith simply because of the fact that she had introduced him to the knowledge and acted as though it was just a simple fact instead of a knife to the heart.
And with each day that went by in which he was required to chop leaves, crush herbs and gather spiders, the bitterness grew.
Even the spiders play a bigger role in the potions than I do, he thought to himself as he gathered them. He watched as one scurried away from his advancing shadow. Instead of chasing it around with his hand, he stepped forward and brought the full weight of his foot down on it.
He lifted his foot and examined what was left of the spider. Not very significant now, are you? he thought, an evil smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
It was a cloudy day, one that matched Tom's mood perfectly. The clouds had gathered and looked as if they were ready to pour down torrential rain at any moment.
Tom had watched for weeks as he had helped brew the potions, memorizing all of the moves that Ms. Smith performed, stubborn in his pursuit of magic. Today he would ask her. Today he would try to do magic. They were brewing another antidepressant—which he'd since learned was known as a laughing potion in the magical world—and he was confident that he knew the recipe forwards and backwards.
After he had gathered all the ingredients, he approached Ms. Smith. "I was wondering, Ms. Smith, if I could attempt the potion myself today."
Ms. Smith merely shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not."
Tom was not going to be deterred that easily. "If I have a little magic in me, then surely I am capable of doing something as simple as stirring a potion and laughing uncontrollably over it."
Ms. Smith pursed her lips as her eyelids drooped. "I'm sorry, dear, but it's just not possible. The magic, as I've said before, is not strong enough to do more than be registered by those attuned to such a low presence of it."
Tom looked at Ms. Smith, anger rising up inside of him at the look on her face. She pitied him. She actually pitied him. He clenched his fists.
How dare she! He was greater than she would ever be, magic or no magic, he could feel it. Yet, here she was, pitying him. A bitter taste filled his mouth, and before he knew it, he was tackling her to the ground.
Ms. Smith had no time to react, and even if she had, she probably would have been too shocked by Tom's actions and the twisted look of anger on his face to do much of anything at all.
As soon as he had her pinned to the ground, Tom's hands closed around her throat, his fingers nearly meeting at the back of her neck, which, he hadn't noticed until now, was relatively thin. Her mouth opened and she began to say something, but he pressed his thumbs against her larynx, cutting off whatever words she was attempting to utter.
Her eyes grew wide from a mixture of fright and the pressure that was building in her head as her body cried out for air.
Tom's eyes widened as well, but his was due to the sudden fascination he felt as he watched the initial rush of blood to her face dissipate leaving her pale and tinged with a beautiful blue. The veins in her face became more prominent, and her fingers scrambled against his hands in an attempt to pry them from around her neck. When she realized she was pulling at them in vain, she reached for his face, attempting to scratch him hard enough that he would lighten his grip enough for her to suck air down her throat.
Tom smiled at her attempts, his eyes lighting up with thoughts that had now become reality. He looked deep into her eyes so that she could see his excitement and so that he could see her despair as the light slowly left her eyes.
Her struggling suddenly stopped, and Tom slowly pulled his hands from around her throat, noting the bruising that was quickly forming. His hands shook as he leaned back, allowing them to drop into his lap, staring down at Ms. Smith, almost as if she were some rare work of art.
He slowly looked down at his hands, the strength which they had exerted leaving him feeling intoxicated.
He'd crossed a threshold. The look on Ms. Smith's face as he stole the very life from her body had filled that emptiness inside him. He'd discovered true power—taking what he wanted with no care of what the other person was willing to give. He was still staring at his hands, and he realized that he couldn't stand at the threshold forever; he had to make a choice. He let his head fall back, and smiling, gladly, he succumbed.
Optional Prompts:
[Creature] Spiders
[Weather] Cloudy
[Last Line] Gladly, I succumbed.
