The Architect of Dreams
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Tom Riddle sighed and rested his chin in his hand while he watched the fire burning in the fireplace. He wasn't tired enough to sleep, something that seemed to happen a lot in the last few days. Insomnia seemed to have been stuck in his life since he came back home, so it wasn't rare seeing him awake in the middle of the night, walking around the house, sitting in the living room, trying to pay attention to a book or simply laying down on his bed, waiting for the sleep to come.
The man leaned his back against the couch where he was sitting and kicked his shoes off his feet. His blue eyes were locked in the flames while his mind was far away from Little Hangleton, in London, actually… He was comfortable and warm in his house, but what would have happened to…?
"Stop thinking about ther," the young Riddle passed his hand through his hair, "Being what she is, she'll manage to survive on her own."
'Will she?'
Tom sighed, slumping even more into the couch and putting his hand into his pants' pocket. The man's brow furrowed as he touched something. Closing his fingers around the unknown object he noticed that it was a crumpled paper… Since when was that thing in there? He never left stuff inside his clothes' pockets.
"What…?"
Tom's voice stuck in his throat as he saw what was in that piece of paper: a drawing of an elegant looking house. The man felt his stomach sink while he analyzed the drawing made in graphite, noticing his signature in the lower corner of the page. That drawing was made by him? When? And why?
'This will be our home once we have enough money to build it.'
Our home… That would be their home. His and Merope's home. The house that he had put in the paper and had planned building for them. How that woman had managed to make him do that?
He got up and walked to the fireplace, staring at the flames as he tried to vanish Merope from his thoughts. Merope and the child that she was expecting…
"Stop thinking about it."
The man took a deep breath and looked once more to the drawing, admiring his own piece of art… He laughed. Since when he was good in those kind of stuff? Looking away from the image in graphite and promising to himself that he would never do something that would make him remember that drawing, he threw the paper inside the fireplace.
While he watched the flames licking the paper, darkening it in every spot it touched and slowly destroying the doodle, Tom Riddle didn't know if what he was losing there was only a drawing or something much bigger.
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N/A: Just a short fanfiction that a wrote one of these days (: I bet the translation is horrible, it wasnt corrected by any beta reader ):
Hope you like it (:
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Ari.