Redemption
Some believe the world to be merely black and white, good and evil – like the day with its warm and gentle sun and the night with its cold and distant moon. Some believe that there's no middle ground, an area of various shades of grey where the boundaries between villains and heroes blur until no one can be certain of where one ends and the other begins. Some believe that those who walk in the darkness are no longer human – they feel no guilt, no regret, no love – when Death's arms tighten around them to never let them go.
But they do.
Those whose hands are stained with inky darkness and bright crimson; those who have dealt the fatal blow to countless others and watched bright eyes fog over with the sleep that always comes with Death…those who are still human behind the madness and beyond the bloody rivers they so freely make.
They're still human – still flawed with countless imperfections that cause them to make mistakes…like letting themselves care for someone else. Still so heartbreakingly human in the end…
Nothing will ever change that fact.
Glowing red eyes stayed wide and blank as he took in the impossible scene before him as the wind grew stronger, and with it, long raven coloured strands of hair fluttered weakly; the colour red marring the beautiful black with its ugly brightness.
They say red is for passion. For love so deep that only a few could ever know; and for an unwavering strength and stubborn determination that only a few could ever possess. But they also say red is for blood. For that precious life-giving substance within us all; for that insurance that a next breathe will come and not the eternal sleep that we fear so much.
He never hated red, not until he saw it. He hates it now, hates what it represents since then.
The sun's harsh rays serve to highlight the unnatural glint of cold unyielding steel that teasingly peeks from behind the strands of fluttering hair and through the deceivingly delicate body of a wizard he knew well.
They were wizards. Beings who used wands instead of muggle guns, who used curses and hexes instead of nuclear bombs, and who lived in a world long lost by the muggles. Then why…why was he killed with neither a curse nor hex from another wizard's wand, but rather, by a single stroke of metal made by a foolish boy who had played with something beyond his knowledge?
Bright red blood spatters noiselessly onto a bleach-white face that still held traces of baby fat, wide brown eyes staring straight into the face of his soon-to-be victim. The childish face of a lost boy is reflected in the fogged over emerald green eyes of the wizard he had just impaled on the sword of Gryffindor.
They had both been young – the killer and his victim. So young. Both only boys in the end; sixteen years old and yet, their hands had been the same. Tiny, childish hands stained with that ugly brightness that comes from warm red running, slipping, through chilled fingers.
They had been almost the same – same wide eyes though the colour might have differed, one an ordinary shade of brown while the other had been an unnaturally life-filled emerald green. Brown hair verses night black, tanned skin instead of pale skin, one tall while the other was unhealthy short…almost the same, and yet, never the same.
A heavy silence descended on all those present when the slender body was suspended mid-air by the unforgiving sword until low and mocking laughter was heard from the dying wizard; his lips stretched into a disbelieving half-smile as blood slowly leaked from the corner of his mouth. "I suppose Dumbledore had been right…I shouldn't have underestimated you. But I did. And look where that got me?"
Sometimes, when the silence becomes unbearably loud he hears the quite whispers of a green-eyed youth long since departed from this cruel world. Hears his childish comments that always overlap with those last words that always hurt just a bit more every time he fails to block them out of his mind. And then he hears the laughter –whether it's the sweet one or the mocking one – he never knows until it's too late.
He remembers how his wand goes completely still, as his steps stop and his gaze is stuck on that terrible scene burned into his mind. "Let him go. You foolish child! Let him go!" Those words echoed hauntingly throughout the still air and it takes a moment for everyone, including himself, to realise that it had come from him.
He knows he grew to close, let himself become too weak, when he realises that the boy's death meant something to him. Meant that one day out of the entire year is dedicated to standing silently in front of a lone grey stone with white lilies held loosely in his grasp; and that days long since passed are more than old memories – they're treasured ones.
Longbottom does as demanded, harshly jerking his sword out and letting the bleeding body hit the ground without mercy. He's there in an instant, arms wrapping around the fragile body even as his mind comes to a screeching halt since it wasn't supposed to end like this, not like this.
A phantom feeling still lingers even years after, the feeling of that cooling body and warm liquid slipping through his clenched fingers has never really been forgotten. Neither has anything else that happened in those last fateful moments when it all came crashing down. That day, he lost more than his most loyal Death Eater, his right-hand….he lost the war, too.
He isn't sure whether that was a bad thing either.
Fogged over green eyes look up at him, still filled with the same quiet devotion they had always had since the day he offered the young wizard a place to belong…somewhere to be needed. Bloodless lips opened with a silent sigh, words coming out in a faint whisper that contained unfamiliar grief, "I…I failed you, my lord…forgive me…"
Humans are truly such foolish creatures, and yet, he's still one of them in the end. He's still one of those foolish humans that let emotions rule him when it came to green-eyes and quiet laughter.
And he has never regretted it, not really.
"Don't be a fool! You have done your job better than I expected…Thank you, Harry, for everything you have done for me."
Green eyes jerk open from the daze they had been in, becoming brighter than he had thought possible as the other wizard's mind takes in those rare words of praise from the feared Dark Lord. A genuine smile stretches the pale lips even as the pain-filled features soften into peaceful ones. "I glad, so glad, I could help you my lord; I-I wish I could serve you more but it's not possible, not anymore. But I was happy to be your most loyal Death Eater…so happy…"
Even after so long, the cold ache he felt when he saw those green eyes close forever never fades. It doesn't matter that afterwards his Death Eaters were defeated and he was captured by Dumbledore's Order members, nothing truly mattered until he was allowed to give Harry a proper burial. No one liked it, no one, that is, but for Dumbledore himself.
And maybe that's the reason he makes no attempt to escape from Hogwarts – because Dumbledore understood just how much Harry Potter came to mean to him, to Tom Marvolo Riddle…
-0-0-0-
"How did you two meet Tom?"
Dark crimson eyes glanced sideways at his old companion before returning to stare at the falling snow with a slightly longing look carefully hidden from prying old eyes.
"It had been snowing, just like it is now. I was out in the muggle world for some reason or another when I passed by some alleys and came across a filthy little street urchin with the greenest eyes I had ever seen."
A few moments pass in silence, but the old wizard doesn't make a move to push the younger to continue, knowing when to just simply wait for him to keep going.
"Perhaps it was some unknown kindness I had that day or maybe I was really just a complete bastard hungry for some more power, but I offered that little street urchin my hand. I never said anything to him, just offered my hand to see if he would take it and come with me, for better or for worse. He took it. And ever since then until the day he died, Harry followed me without question, but with quiet devotion….i never completely understood why."
Dumbledore shook his head in quiet amusement, "For all your brilliance Tom, you failed to understand Harry's reason? It was a simple one, a childish one: you saved him. He had been abandoned by his own blood relatives and forced to become a street rat and would have stayed one if you hadn't come by…Harry loved you for giving him a sense of purpose that all orphaned children lack. And for that reason he became your feared right-hand man, because that's what would have helped you the most at the time and that's all Harry ever wanted to do for you. Help you Tom, help you to achieve your goal, your dream."
Leaning his head against the chilled glass of the window, Tom closed his eyes and whispered, "Do you believe that Dumbledore?"
Letting out a tired sigh, Dumbledore stood up to leave, "Yes, I do. And I know what you're going to point out; if that had been the case, then it was my actions that led Harry straight into your arms. And you're right."
A low click signals the shutting door as Tom opens his eyes to stare at the snow again. "Then thank you Dumbledore,"
Yeah…I have no idea where this came from. So for anyone that's confused on what the heck they just read, let me clarify that for you: Petunia and Vernon abandoned Harry on the streets and so he grew up as a street rat and was one day found by Tom as he was passing through. Tom, sensing Harry's magic, offers him the choice of coming with him and Harry takes it since all he wanted was to be useful to somebody. (Think Haku from Naruto). Harry is trained by Tom until he becomes his feared right-hand man – wizard? – and then the Final Battle comes during what should have been Harry's sixth year.
Harry is killed and dies in Tom's arms; this which causes Tom to finally let go of his whole plan to take over Britain. In the end, Harry's death was Tom's redemption, if that makes sense.
That's all from me, until next time!
Uchiha Yukime