Title: The Power of Pink
Summary: Pink is a color fit for little girls, not former Dark Lords. It's just too bad that Tom Marvolo Riddle, the great and powerful Lord Voldemort, is now both.
Author's Note: Just a one-shot of a little thought I had.
Pink. Tom loathed that word.
He hated his new predicament. He glared at his reflection, leaning in so close to the mirror that his breath fogged the glass.
He reached his hands up to his head and grabbed his...hair.
Waves upon waves of soft, shimmering pink locks ran through his hands. He wishes he had gone and really died that day. This had to be worse. Much, much worse.
He glanced down at the clothing he was wearing, the 'adorable outfit' his new mother made him wear. A dainty red dress with white lines running down the sides, supposedly a good luck charm for his first day as a 'real' ninja. His lips twisted into a scowl. His predicament was beyond infuriating. He wasn't even the right gender anymore, for Merlin's sake!
He remembers how it all came to be.
Like all bad things, it started with Harry Potter.
Harry Potter had bested him.
Tom could see the insolent boy standing there, watching with those unnatural green eyes, as he died. He could feel it, as his magic ran dry and his heartbeat begin to slow.
Time froze for an instant. His eyes met green, the inhuman color that seemed to be reflecting an ocean of sorrow and regret. The Potter boy, with his arms limp by his sides, had his face tilted down at him. Tom felt his body grow weak and fall over, making him kneel as he died.
Harry mouthed two words at him, his face twisted in a look of pity, as if he knew something Tom would never possibly understand. Two. Words.
Goodbye, Tom.
He had always feared death, the possibility of dying and never making a mark on the world. Never being Lord Voldemort, but instead Tom Riddle, the lonely mudblood boy who grew up in some no-name orphanage. But to be killed by a boy who had not even graduated from Hogwarts...death as a nobody may have been the preferred option.
He, the great Lord Voldemort, killed by a mere boy. He loathed the Harry Potter more than ever in his final moments, as animalistic scream of rage and pain tore itself out of his decaying lips.
Damn you, Harry Potter. Damn you…
Everything went dark. Purgatory.
His ability to keep track of time was lost. A single moment trickling by seemed like a millenium to him.
He was alone, but it didn't bother him. He had been alone his whole life, ever since the moment his mother chose to die and leave him alone in that horrid orphanage.
In his…purgatory, he did not have a physical body. His consciousness was just.. there, stuck in the never ending silence.
Until one day. Pain. The feeling came to him like a hot iron, searing his mind. He was ripped away from his dark purgatory and put into a bright, unfamiliar place. Relief flowed through his mind. He was alive. Confusion followed. How? Had he been somehow resurrected to aid a dark wizard? Had one of his loyal followers finally done something useful and learned the dark art of Necromancy?
For a moment he heard panicked shouts, and then a quiet whisper by his ear. A warm liquid dripped down his face. Something was screaming, wailing, like a baby. He tried to speak, and the screaming became a wet gurgle. Had he been the one who was...crying?
"Sakura-chan..," said a woman, exhaustion lining her voice. "Welcome to the family."
...what?
Author's Other Note: I'll let you fill in the extra details with your imagination. Please tell me I'm not the only one who thought this would be hilarious. Thanks for reading!