(Music and roses burst through crimson slaughter)

[He can't remember where he saw blue sky.]

Revenge.

It was a poison that killed the mind. It twisted it without another thought, encircling one into its inner depths that you can never get out of. It closed your perspective. It made you a mindless slave, constantly keeping you awake at the ungodly hours of the morning, planning, plotting; making you curl your palms into balls of uncontained fury.

You become blindsided by it, stuck in the spider's web as you were weaved into its cocoon.

But you didn't think of it as poison. You thought of it as a goal, an inspiration- for you to get better and better and to finally, finally get your revenge.

You got your revenge, but at what cost?

Your voice caught in your throat as you looked at the large mansion. Tall and imposing, with marble statues lining the walkway up to the front door, it looked every bit of old money and practically screamed snootiness. It disgusted you, yet at the same time, in the faraway corner of your mind, you couldn't help but be impressed. The little orphan part of you, the traitorous coward (the Gryffindor side, some would call it) marveled over how many people could live inside; how many people wouldn't have to go hungry if the owners sold even just one of their tacky marble statues.

You shook your head to clear your thoughts, and smoothly glided up the walkway.

Stones, tables, pruned bushes and fine flowers, they were all precisely placed to show elegance in the garden of those who resided inside the household. The house itself was also something to be marveled over. Three stories tall, it stood imposingly on the hill, brick and wood molding together with what was no doubt the best money could buy at the time it was built. Your long pale fingers clenched around your wand hidden in your pocket, but you didn't dare bring it out now that you were so close to your goal.

Your heart- oh so alive and beating, your immortal heart that still held such frivolous things such as feelings and emotions, guilt and triumph- beat quickly in your chest. You scowled and walked a little faster, trying hopelessly to calm it down. As you arrived at the front door, you couldn't help but admire the beautiful wood one last time, hesitating slightly as you wondered, 'Am I really going to do this?'.

But then your hand moved upwards on its own accord and your mind whispered bombarda, and the door burst off its hinges and flew into the entry hall.

You ignored the feelings of guilt, instead focusing on schooling your face and trying to get your hands to stop shaking (They don't).

A maid burst out from one of the doorways, looking frazzled and scared as she stared down you.

"Move." You commanded, and she did what you said, wide eyed and clenching her smock as if it would protect her from anything you could throw at her.

"Where's Tom Riddle?" you hissed.

She paled considerably. "H-He's in the p-p-parlor with Master-r and Miss-Missus."

You narrowed your eyes as you fired a quick and silent stupefy, sending her towards the ground, and marched towards where you imagined was the parlour- the sign on the door that had 'Parlour' in cursive writing had absolutely nothing to do with why you were going towards it- and you fired another bombarda, cleanly knocking the wood off its hinges.

Someone let out a scream, and in the dying light of the sun (how suspicious would it be if you did it in bright daylight? No, the evening it was) you could make out the figures of three shapes, one hunched over and the other two frozen in fright as you loomed over them.

"W-Who are you? What are you doing in my house!?" You assumed that he was your grandfather, given his older appearance. Even with grey hair and wrinkles slightly on his face, there was no doubt that he looked like a much older version of you.

"I'm looking for Tom Riddle," you sneered.

"W-What do you want from me?" the youngest in the room asked, as you stepped inside and got a better look at him. Much like his father, the man looked like an exact copy of you; dark hair and pale skin, and had a frightened look on his face.

Pathetic.

"You mean you don't remember me? I'm sure you remember my mother. How you left her for dead and abandoned her." You took your wand out of your pocket and twirled it around slowly in your fingers.

Tom Riddle Senior turned an unflattering shade of red as he stared at you with an intense look of hatred and disgust, and you smirked, knowing that he remembered you quite well. Your fingers itched to fire a spell at him for everything you had to go through. "You're that wench's child! You're not my child! I didn't want you, she tricked me! I-"

"Father, father." How you hated how that word sat on your tongue. "My mother might have been pitiful and a fool, but you even more so. You see-"

"I'm not giving you any money! You're not my son! I have a wife, Cecilia, and an heir, Jonathon-"

Your lips curled. "Crucio."

His screams echoed in the house, and with your acute senses you could tell that the servants had all evacuated the house, leaving yourself alone with the three culprits. Perfect.

You ended the spell, leaving him gasping. He was standing up before, but with the harsh intensity of the spell he had fallen to his knees, pale and looking like death warmed over.

"Do not interrupt me again," you hissed.

The three nodded, and you smiled. At least the woman in the house had some kind of sense, keeping quiet, even though she was in cohorts with the fools.

"Wonderful. I'm glad we are in agreement. Now-"

"If it's money…" the oldest Riddle mumbled.

Your eyes flashed red as you turned on your heel and pressed your wand to his throat, faster than their pitiful Muggle eyes could see.

"What. Did. I. Say?"

He had turned white as soon as you took your wand to him, and you smirked as you grabbed him by his neck and picked him off the ground, his eyes wide and popping out of his head as you choked him.

"S-Stop! Let him go, we'll-"

Anger rolled off you in waves. Didn't these people have enough common sense to follow orders? Didn't they know how dangerous you were, how you could kill them with a flick of your wand?

"Crucio!"

Mrs. Riddle let out a loud screech as she fell off her chair, joining her son on the ground as Tom watched in horror as his parents were tortured.

"P-Please-"

"Crucio! Bombarda! Oppugno! Incendio!" you threw spells rashly, one of them, Crucio, hitting Tom, and the other hitting Mrs. Riddle, making the both of them yell and scream.

Mr. Riddle had almost run out of air, his face purple, and you dropped him, disgusted.

"Avada Kedavra!" you pointed your wand at him, and he was freed from his suffering, a look of horror and pain on his face, his neck swollen from where you had firmly grasped his windpipe.

With two more points of your wand, the other two were silenced by death, and you couldn't help but feel and intense amount of glee as your second Horcrux was made out of your father's soul, and a dully shining ring of black stone.

You looked around the room once you had calmed your intense need to torture somebody- anybody- and hastily repaired the disaster zone that you had created. You cleared up the burnt cinders of what remained of the fine china cabinet, and repaired the hole in the floor that had gone all the way down to the basement.

You smirked, and Apparated out of the house leaving whoever dared venture into the Riddle house to find the corpses.

(You lost your humanity and your sanity that night. And to think, it was all for the sake of revenge.)

Written for QL. Prompts: Conscious by Wilfred Owen, swollen, and disaster.

I don't own Harry Potter.

Possibly dedicated to the lovely Maggie because she loves Tom. *hearts* I completely understand why.

Thanks Sam- as always- for betaing. I love you so much, you don't understand.

(Maybe a little Sasuke snuck in... oops. Sorry if anyone can see any emo duck ass in here, I tried not to. That's really what Sam was for *winks*)