Disclaimer: Not mine, not yours, get over it.
The Last Laugh
Tom Riddle sat alone in the corner. His eyes were narrowed on the pair of teenagers by then fire in the Slytherin common room. He hated it. Every time he turned around, some lovey-dovey couple was kissing or cuddling. It made him feel sick, watching their teasing hands, hearing muffled laughter as they enjoyed themselves, completely lost to the world in their own bubble. One day, one day, he was going to stop them, tear apart their world, destroy it, decimate their relationship, leaving shattered shards of glass underfoot.
Years later, he heard it again. His mind flickered with past memories. He heard a slam of a door and a thud as the couple pressed against it, that telltale laughter echoing around the stone halls. He knew that laugh. He knew that scream. One day, one day, he would get revenge; it would make honey taste sour.
He jumped as his forearm burned, the mark stinging, shooting jolts of pain up his arm. "I've got to go, he's waiting for me." Regulus pulled away from the woman regretfully, disentangling his fingers from her fiery tresses.
She moaned, with an almost pained expression on her face, "Just one more hour?" She begged, she was tired of him leaving her. The few times they were able to escape to one of the many rooms in Regulus's childhood palace, he would always say that he had to go. She knew that when Voldemort called his followers, he expected them immediately, but she couldn't help feeling that when Regulus said he was called away, sometimes, it was not Voldemort that called him. She rarely felt the burn from his arm, engraved with the cruel mark of darkness. Before she had assumed that it was because her own skin felt on fire; now, she was not so sure.
She needed to find out, a plan destined to prove his love for her. He said he would risk everything for her; did that include his life?
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