Cold

The horcrux of the Diary has drained the life force of 4th year Ginny Weasley and is waiting for the so-called 'Saviour', the 'Boy-Who-Lived', the 'Dark Lord's Slayer', to show up. When he does, he really isn't what Tom was expecting. [AU: Chamber of Secrets in Harry's 5th year][Apathetic!Harry][Matrix style!Harry][Harry/Tom]

[Inspiration: Icona Pop – I Don't Care] Does not fit with story at all.

Tom had waited, for the past thirty minutes, before the so-called 'Saviour', the 'Boy-Who-Lived', the 'Dark Lord's Slayer', finally decided to show up. From all the spiel the red-headed 4th year had written in the Dairy, he expected some 'light-wizard' short-pint dressed in Gryffindor red with a moral-compass the size of his head, so excuse him when he didn't recognise the black-leather: trench coat, trousers and tight sleeveless vest, wearing man as Harry Potter.

The man had winced at his birth name, telling Tom bitterly that he could call him that if he must but had much preferred his new name; Hadrian Hallows.

He mostly ignored the fact he'd mistaken the sixteen year old for an adult in favour of smirking at the Gryffindor. "It's too late Potter. She's almost dead and I've already regained my body. There's nothing you can."

Potter just quirked a brow and tilted his head to the side. "Who's dead?" Strange. Why did Potter come down here if it wasn't to save the Weasley? The Gryffindor seemed to spot the strands of ginger hair. "Oh, so it's weasel's sister then?" He was thoroughly confused at the smirk that Potter's lips lifted into and the half-lidded dark eyes alight with pleasure. Why wasn't he upset at all? Where was the blubbering rage? Or the crushing grief?

Tom only realised that he didn't have a wand on him when his black-leather clad nemesis began stalking towards him like a predator. The other teen must be after revenge then. As he took a measured step back, he mentally cursed the ginger headed girl for leaving her wand in the dormitories so he couldn't swipe it. He was proficient with wandless-magic but, a few minor spells here and there, but not enough to face someone armed. He also cursed the basilisk for dying before his rebirth.

Potter's boots echoed against the metal tiles while he leisurely prowled forward, cold grace and deadly elegance. Tom's shoe hit the ginger head's arm, causing her to groan and he veered to the side. It was only then that he realised that Potter wasn't heading towards him but the ginger head girl. He frowned; did Potter think he could save her?

"H-harry." She rasped, her voice coming up in stuttering splutters but she smiled nether the less. "I k-knew you'd come to s-save me."

Did she really believe that Potter could perform some miracle and save her? Could he?

Potter kneeled down and held her up, cradling her against his chest. One of the teen's hands snaked around her waist and the other caressed her cheek before holding up her chin.

Unexplainably, Tom felt like he was intruding but he squished that down mercilessly. Why would he care if he interrupted this moment between the two? He should, actually, and while he was at it, destroy any hope they have by absorbing the rest of her through the link to let Potter watch helplessly as she withered away before his eyes. It would teach him to ignore him; Tom Riddle, the past, present and future of Lord Voldermort.

At just that moment, Potter began talking. "Ginerva" The low purr was commanding and it froze Tom once more. His eyes riveted on Potter's form as he bent his head over hers, retracting the hand on her chin as he leaned into her ear. The other teen's eyes intensified behind the half lids and his lips curled into another smirk as he whispered, voice somehow managing to carry all the way over to where Tom was standing.

"Sweet Dreams." Bang.

There was a round, almost-blackened hole in the middle of the girl's forehead and the skin surrounding it was ripped back, exposing the raw red tissue beneath it. The flesh around that was rippled and distorted. Only a few drops of blood actually fell from the hole.

…A metallic ring echoed in the chamber as if something small hit the ground. The bullet shell, Tom thought.

He looked at Potter.

The teen was still crouched, arm wrapped around her corpse as he did seconds ago with the same cold smirk on his face. From his angle, Tom could see that his trench coat had been swept aside revealing a multitude of guns and knives strapped to his waist and at his sides. Tom shivered when he noticed the hand gun in Potter's other hand; the same hand that so gently stroked the girl's face.

The other teen swiftly stood up, carelessly letting the corpse hit the metal floor with a thud.

Was this really the light's saviour?