Sensibly Sinister 1: High Definition
Disclaimer: Joanne K. Rowling is the creator of the universe Harry Potter. It is not completely understood how such a feat is humanly possible, but upon extensive examination of her as well as Olympic athletes we have come to this conclusions: they are all aliens.
The Slytherin common room was perfect.
Hogwarts was perfect, really.
No, nevermind that. Tom's forehead creased and brow narrowed. No, he corrected. Almost perfect. Extraordinarily close, true, but not quite there.
Better to stay small, for now. Bigger things could come later, but it was always better to not get ahead of oneself. The Slytherin Common room, which was perfect as long as it wasn't disproven as so.
The torches' firelight flickers in sharp relief against the stone walls, without blunting itself around the entire room, and without blinding the viewers. Sharp, but subtle. As were the finely fitted stones that comprised the elegant walls... One could almost miss them, but the fine line that deems the description "almost" necessary is unbelievably present. Consider, then, a finely structured figure leaning against the rough wall, with brows sharp under a subtle handsome face, movements sharp but subtle... How he relished that combination of words- even the sounds themselves. Sharp, such a gentle caressing of air between your tongue and roof, and subtle, in which the control snaps and it strikes your roof so quickly before retreating that once can scarcely believe that anything transpired.
Was it merely coincidental that such two English words put together, "shhhps't!l...", was Parseltongue for danger? Or that "pffk!t..." was a synonym, simply more difficult to pronounce? Eh. Such queries are mere distractions from real work. Subtle, but not at all sharp. Such wouldn't do, not at all. Forget that he mentioned it.
It did help that a perfect person was in Slytherin. But it was not only one, Tom contested. Slytherins themselves were, almost by function, perfect.
Well, at least, the females were. How he relished them. There was something altogether satisfying, like wiping red stains off of a knife with a finger, in the sharp but subtle combination of feminine wile and Slytherin ambition. They made for suitable nemeses- and thrilling allies.
Subtle eyes- sharp lashes and piercing gaze. Smooth lips- razor incisors and muscled jaw. Gentle hands- rough nails and washable blood. Quiet voice- cutting tone and menacing theme. Silky locks- whiplash strike and violent strand. Soft demeanor- dark intention and wicked way. Associating with such intriguing specimen of this premium brand was consistently fantastic... Of course, some of them were hopelessly unattractive or unintelligent, but such were often so undeserving that Tom discounted their Slytherin-hood. These leftovers would make effective servants and Death Eaters, of course; but Tom just hated those- or at least, most of them.
He did like the way they so reverently spoke his name, though. Voldemort. The end was the finest part. The unpronounced "T" of the French word had to be one of Tom's greatest masterpieces, symbolic of his hate for the overly common and completely blunt "Tom" he had been burdened with since birth.
Flight from death, Tom mused, smiling. How utterly fitting. The ring on his finger was just another beautiful, sharp, subtle ornament on the perfections that he could place.
Death was always sharp and subtle in its progression, and Tom would be the one to know. Avada Kedavra, whispered or shouted, the effect was the same- rather than a stupidly hazy spell that some produced, the Killing Curse was a clean, straight line that sliced through the air entirely soundlessly- while still drawing every eye to it. There were other methods, of course, cutlery being Tom's favorite. Small, pocket-sized (occasionally belt-sized instead)- but always producing the same effect on victims. Wide eyes, with their sharp and entirely not subtle veins visible- pale palors, which spread across their bodies and sucked the beauty out of their faces. Dribbles of red liquid that remained sharp and subtle even when their owner was completely ineffectual.
Conversely, many things were not sharp at all, and this was another aspect of life that Tom's unfortunately sound and spectacularly perceptive eyesight did not fail to acknowledge. There was Albus Dumbledore, to begin- bold and entirely disregarding subtlety. The "light," those who barreled through lives for only the sake of "happiness," "freedom"... All distracted from the elegance of the sharp and subtle. Morals banned the beautiful, simplicity shunned the subtle, obtuseness obstructed the interesting, and high-minded principles neglected nature. Muggles really disturbed him- they happily destroyed the Earth that wizards unfortunately had to share with them for no reason other than selfishness, their weapons were loud and messy, and their dull minds were always far too fast to assume. Mudbloods were also wrapped up in this vicious cycle of hideousness- their causes for equality caused them to disprespect the delicate heirarchies; the confusion of their mixed families brought stress, not sharp or subtle in the slightest; their ignorance of social standards mucked up the eccentric but devout and thorough purifying of magical blood.
The Slytherin Common Room was perfect.
For Dumbledore, for Mudbloods, for Muggles, and for non-Slytherins, Hogwarts was not.
But if Tom had something to say about it, it would be.
A/N: I haven't written a new one-shot in a while, something my friend AJ was quick to comment on, so I figured I might as well when this little idea popped into my mind. Most of this is speculation, of course.
I would like to credit PlonkerOnDaLoose and Flaignhan for inspiring me with their eloquent writings on the demented mind of teenage Tom Riddle.
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