Crimson Rose Chapter 12: I am blind, a harry potter fanfic

A creepy song for a creepy chapter!

Disclaimer: Nope, no owning Harry Pawter here!

My victims are rich or poor, young or old, strong or weak
I cause millions of accidents, I am cancer in your bones
I fathered the lie, twist what you say, speak not the truth
I am insidious, impartial, deep inside your chromosomes

I take what you love, and leave you in tears
I imprison your soul, your hopes are my games
I strip you of pride, my promise is in vain
While you burn at the stake I dance with the flames

I bring poverty, sickness and death
A worthless handshake, the slickest thief, I steal your wealth
I answer your prayers for greed and lust
More than evil, I laugh at your trust

I am more powerful than all the armies of the world
I am more violent than violence, more deadly than death
I have destroyed more men than all the nation's wars
I am relentless, unpredictable, waiting for your last breath

Evil, more evil than violence
Violent, more violent than death
Deadly, more deadly than man
yeah, yeah, I'm evil I am

My kingdom corrupt with dissent
Your sins erupt by my intent
I loathe your prayer, I wallow in sin
Let the nightmare begin
Prince of darkness, your satanic highness
Prince of darkness, the devilish serpent, the dreaded Lucifer
Prince of darkness

I take what you love, and leave you in tears
Imprison your soul, your hopes are my games
I strip you of pride, my promise is in vain
While you burn at the stake I dance with the flames

Prince of darkness, your satanic highness
Prince of darkness, the most beautiful angel
Prince of darkness, the devilish serpent, the dreaded Lucifer
Prince of darkness, unpredictable, the prince of darkness

The next morning something was different. No one could tell what exactly was wrong, it just was.

The sixth year Slytherins went down as normal, causing their entrance and sitting down sedately, as if they didn't know every single eye in the hall was turned towards them.

Ron hid his grin and winked across the table at Riddle, who did not respond. He saw the action, but there was no flash of familiarity in his eyes – no sense of amusement at all. He blinked at Ron and continued to eat his food.

The redhead frowned at the action but thought maybe it was just their return to Hogwarts that had his change in mood. Ron's mind wandered back to the first date in the enchanted diary that his sister had once found and he tried hard to pretend that it didn't bother him. And for the most part, he succeeded.

Ron walked to the first lesson of the day, Charms, with Eileen and Sherleen, leaving the rest to take their own sweet time. 'So, what's wrong?' Eileen prompted as soon as they were out of ear shot.

'Tom, he's acting weird,' Ron said quietly, then shook it off, saying in a falsely bright tone, 'but – but I'm sure it's nothing.' Eileen raised a questioning eyebrow at him, but the other girl decided not to push it, choosing instead to compliment Sherleen about the bright pink of their usually green Slytherin emblem on her cloak, ignoring the glare that Sherleen had sent her way.

Obviously someone had hexed her last night, secretly.

This plan to distract from the topic of Tom failed, though, 'Aw, come on, Prince. It's hardly my fault that Tom was in a particularly vindictive mood this morning, now is there?'

Eileen winced at Tom's name, realizing that it had been the wrong thing to say.

'Tom's in a mood this morning?' Ron said, jumping to the subject like a dog to a bone.

'Don't get me wrong, Tom's always in a mood in the mornings–' Ron nodded, remembering the mornings during the holiday when he'd tried to get him up early. '–but he was in even more of a mood this morning than usual.'

'Ron?' Eileen prodded gently, seeing the look on her friend's face.

Ron turned to Eileen with concerned thoughtfulness written all over his feature. 'I'm not sure, Eileen. I have my theories, though. I guess we'll just have to wait until third period.'

'Potions?' Eileen asked in momentary confusion.

Ron quickly confirmed that, 'Potions. With Slughorn as a teacher and Tom as my partner.'

The other girl swiftly picked up the significance as they arrived at the Charms classroom and filtered through the doorway, both of them turning back to teasing poor Sherleen about her badge.

Friendly conversation soon started up, but was cut across as their teacher entered the room.

Shortly after their professor's arrival it became clear – to Ron's delight – that they would be talking about animagi. This was not a subject that would be covered in the future, so the material was new. Since Ron was becoming more determined than ever to become and animagus, he fell upon the information greedily, his notes more scribbled and accurate than any that he had taken in previous weeks – even years.

Eileen watched him with a very slight smirk on her face – the two of them both had a free period next, so she'd be sure to get to the bottom of it then. As for the teacher – he was a little baffled by the sudden attention from a student who previously had not paid much attention, but as all good teachers do, he recognized that thirst for knowledge and found himself teaching three lessons worth of information in just one lesson simply for Ron's sake.

The rest of the class, though vaguely interested, spent the lesson doodling absently, contrary to Ron's fastidious attention.

Consequently the end of the lesson came far too soon for the teenager, who, after bidding Sherleen goodbye, found himself being cornered by the ever-perceptive Eileen.

'Have you started yet?' she asked, choosing not to introduce the topic of Animagi. They had, after all, been learning about it for the past hour.

'Started what?' Ron asked, feigning innocence.

Eileen rolled her eyes.

'The preliminary potion.'

Duh.

'I don't know what you're talking about, Eileen,' Ron muttered, desperately trying to create the image of confusion and failing miserably.

'I'm not going to turn you in, you know,' Eileen assured him.

'But…?' Ron continued, knowing that Eileen did not want to just stop there.

'But can I help? Become one too?' the other girl asked, fluttering her long, dark eyelashes at him in a pleading way. Ron sighed and ran a hand through his fiery red hair.

He didn't want to say no, but he didn't want to say yes, either. Eileen was one of the closest friends he had in this time, and if Ron had been planning this before, he most certainly would have told Harry – and probably Hermione, Ginny, Luna and Neville too.

But he still felt alienated in this time. To him, it wasn't real, not really.

It may be a life or death situation for hundreds that he was holding in his hands, but the whole situation was so surreal.

It was one huge game that he only had one go at.

If he failed, he'd probably die, along with the rest of the light side in the future.

If he succeeded, he'd probably have to disappear in a puff of non-existence.

Either way, on a personal level, it was a lose-lose situation.

'Yes, OK,' Ron agreed after a couple moments' hesitation.

A slow grin spread across Eileen's face, her obsidian eyes glittering.

'But no one else can know. I have reasons beyond just wanting to try it out, and it needs to be kept secret.'

Eileen looked at him for a long moment, and shook her head very slightly, 'It has something to do with Tom and you aren't going to tell me, are you?'

It wasn't really a question.

'I'm sorry, Eileen. I have a million and one secrets that I'm bursting to tell everyone – anyone. But I can't. I just can't. One day, maybe, I'll be able to tell you about it,' Ron paused for a moment, timidly bringing his eyes meeting Eileen's as he made his promise, 'One day, when we're wrinkled and old and have our grandchildren running around our feet I'll tell you the truth. The whole truth – everything. I doubt you'll believe it, and pass it off as senility, but I will tell you.'

The words 'If we live that long,' hung between the two of them as they sat down in their usual spot in the library.

Neither of them spoke their doubts – not wanting to make their admission verbal – but it was there, almost palpable in the dusty atmosphere.

'Listen, Ron. Thank you. Something tells me that, if you could, you'd tell me everything right here and now. But there would be consequences,' Eileen started, uncertain where she was going.

Ron nodded his affirmation. 'And, unfortunately those consequences far outweigh my need to tell someone that I really trust. Tom, and you, followed by the others.'

Eileen studied her hands for a long moments, the thin, nimble fingers winding and twining around each other in constant movement. Then a thought struck her.

'Why don't you write it down?' she suggested.

'What – in a diary?' her friend asked hesitantly.

'Sure, why not?'

Ron blinked a couple of times before he realized that it really was a very good idea. The idea of writing in a diary certainly brought back bad memories, but there was no chance of a repeat performance – especially if he bought a notebook new. Ginny had slipped easily into writing in a book everyday years ago, it would be easy enough for Ron to slip into that habit, even if the book didn't reply.

It also sparked of another idea.

There was no reason to give up on Tom just yet, as he may well just be adjusting back into school life, but if he ever did turn into the same boy that Ron had wished for, then he needed a plan. And now, thanks to Eileen's suggestion, he had one. And it wasn't nearly as complicated as splintering his soul and forcing a bit into a diary in the hopes Tom might pick it up and write in it. Ron knew he was probably making a big deal out of nothing.

So what if Tom was in a mood this morning? – that was no abnormality, especially in the morning.

But that blankness in his eyes when Ron had winked at him earlier worried him. Tom's emotionless mask was good, but even he was not the infallible. Maybe for someone else, but not for Ron; not after the two weeks they had enjoyed in each other's company getting to know the other, from their talk to their silences.

'Ron, you alright?' Eileen asked nervously.

He glanced up and smiled apologetically. 'Sorry. Yeah, I will try the diary idea. It just made me think a lot about certain things.'

Eileen gave a carefree laugh. 'Things,' she repeated.

Ron grinned back, claiming innocence again. 'Things,' he confirmed.

The two of them looked at each other for a moment before a bout of unexplainable laughter overtook them for a few minutes, only fuelled by the furious glare of the librarian. They soon settled down into their studying, however. After all, Ron's notes were nearly illegible and they needed that information if they truly intended to go through with their plan.

Ron leant casually against the door frame of the potions classroom. All of his classmates were milling around, chatting quietly, but he had eyes for only one of them. And he had not arrived yet. To the casual onlooker it would seem as though he had fallen asleep standing up, his eyes closed and his head tilted so the honey red hair was mussed slightly by the wall. His school bag had slipped from his shoulder and was now pooled at his feet, blue ink slowly staining the flagstones, a clear sign it had been dropped.

But Ron was not asleep – far from it. He knew that his ink was leaking, but did not care – all the books had protection spells and with a flick of his wand the ink would return to the pot anyway.

But with his eyes closed, it was easy to sense other peoples' magic.

It wasn't a precise art, as lots of people had very similar magical abilities, but you could tell someone apart from others by the amount of magic they held. Most people did not know they had this ability to sense magic, and those who did know knew that it was mostly a waste of time.

Ron was one of those who knew that.

But with Harry and Tom it was not quite as pointless as it usually was. Ron's ex-best friend was cloaked in a soothing amount of power that, whilst it exceeded greatly those around him, could easily be mistaken for the average. It was a gentle, calming sort of power that took pride in its ability to sustain, rather than change.

Tom, on the other hand, was entirely different matter.

There was more than one reason why people did not enjoy being around him, whether they were consciously aware of it or not.

He bristled with power.

Every movement he made could be sensed by feeling his magic and Ron had become acutely aware of this quite early on in their relationship. Being around that sort of magical capability was not painful, per se, more slightly discomforting. It was like when you bruised yourself; you knew it was there, couldn't help but notice, but it became a dull sort of ache in the background that you soon forgot even existed. Of course, Tom had become proficient in masking the power he emanated, but he usually didn't bother.

So, as Ron stood there looking as though he was asleep he was actually awaiting Tom's arrival. It wasn't like hearing or smelling, but it was a strange combination of the two.

Magic had a strange, sweet taste that tempted, yet threatened at the same time. The stronger it got, the more tangible it became, tasting stronger and smelling spicier. And that was exactly how Ron knew of Tom's arrival outside the Potion's classroom ten seconds before he turned the corner and became visible.

Visibly all he did was open his eyes and pick up his bag, a quick flick of his wand taking good care of the spilt ink. Then, he went back to leaning against the door frame, ignoring the class mates surrounding him and smiling benignly at the newcomer.

'Hey, Riddle,' he said casually.

It seemed like nothing more than his usual greeting – only the Slytherins would know he had adapted to calling the boy 'Tom' and he had only talked to Eileen enough for any of them to see it as different.

It was the first of a couple of subtle tests Ron had set for the boy.

'Kelestral,' the Slytherin acknowledged.

First test: He had failed.

But not to worry, they had only been calling each other by their first names for a day or so now.

'Back to surnames already? It was your suggestion I call you Tom in the first place.'

There was a silence of only about a second, but it was long enough for Ron to know something was definitely not right. Maybe not necessarily wrong, but certainly not right. Tom always had an answer or an excuse ready before you finished posing the question.

'But I did not imply that I would follow your example. You, after all, did not address me by my first name.'

That sounded a little more like him.

'True. But do call me Ron,' he insisted.

'As you wish,' Riddle acquiesced.

Now that really didn't seem like Tom.

No matter what the subject or his opinions on it, if he could think of a way to oppose something with that much of an opening for an argument, he would take the opportunity. Not for any particular reason other than to disagree.

Slughorn chose that moment to make his entrance and shepherd the class into the potions lab. Tom stepped ahead of Ron and he allowed him to, following quietly and observing his movements. He sat where he usually did and did not react as he slid into the seat next to him, taking out his potions book and writing equipment.

It was at this point Ron realized that Tom did not have his bag.

'Do you want to borrow some parchment and a quill?' he asked him, already getting the spare out of his bag.

He nodded once and took the objects from Ron. He frowned once at the bend in the end of the quill, where the feather had broken and lay unevenly. Ron shrugged, a slight smirk dancing on the edges of his lips as he watched Riddle without a hint of apology. His equipment may not be the best, but they both knew his was worse.

'You have money, Ron, why not purchase a new pen?' he asked in an undertone as they began taking notes on Slughorn's lecture.

'I feel no great need. It still works and that is the important thing.'

'Perfection is prerequisite,' Tom murmured, more to himself than to Ron.

But he heard nonetheless.

'Prerequisite to what?' he inquired of him.

Tom stopped writing and glanced up. Ron felt chilled to the core as he watched his eyes that now seemed entirely grey – no hint of color in them at all.

A curious little smile settled on Tom's face. It was neither happy nor sad.

In fact, it was completely devoid of any kind of emotion at all. Yet there it was, curving across his face like it had been placed there by accident. Then he leant towards Ron's so that his lips were directly above Ron's ear.

'I have a secret, sweet little Ron,' he whispered no louder than a breath. 'But I can't tell you. Not yet. But soon I will. Very soon.'

His voice sent shivers down Ron's spine like never before and it took him a moment to realize that he too had stopped writing, his hand shaking slightly as it hovered above the paper. Then he recovered herself and continued writing, his own smile, matching Tom's, decorating his face.

Pretty little doll-smile, more fake than his pretence that everything was normal.

He leant back and continued writing. Then there was silence except for the scratching of quills. Even Slughorn's voice seemed to fade into nothingness as Ron read what Tom was now writing on a clean sheet of paper.

Tom Riddle Sr. (1905-1943) was an affluent Muggle who lived in the town of Little Hangleton. He was the son of the wealthy Muggle couple Thomas and Mary Riddle. Tom was married for a short time to Merope Gaunt and was the father of Tom Marvolo Riddle, but he abandoned them and married someone else instead.

His pen paused then for an undeterminable amount of time. Perhaps it was mere seconds, but for either of them it could have been hours.

Tom Riddle Senior.

Ron's blood ran cold, his face going impossibly pale. Tom stopped writing then and pushed the paper towards him. He knew that Ron had read it – and he was expecting a response.

Uncertain on how to react, Ron slowly ran his shaking fingers over his elegant handwriting. In that truly beautiful script he had told Ron his father's life story in only a paragraph. Ron forced a slow smirk to creep across his face as he lowered his quill to the paper and began writing.

'Alright, class, you now have half an hour to complete the initial brewing. You will be completing the task on Thursday, off you go,' Slughorn announced and turned to sit at his desk, taking out a stack of papers and starting to go through them.

The students immediately moved to start the task, talk already bubbling up. Ron folded the paper neatly and walked around the desk to get to the store cupboard and retrieve his cauldron. The note fluttered from his fingers and landed on the desk before Riddle. Then Ron turned away, watching Riddle surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye.

He saw his fingers – as elegant as his scripture – unfolding the note and his mask breaking momentarily.

Riddle's normally pale skin turned that much whiter and his eyebrows rose considerably. But then the façade was back. And his emotionless smile was back in place.

Funny. Before now his mask had no expression at all.

Ron wondered vaguely where the smile had come from. As he turned fully away from him, Ron allowed a tiny, victorious smirk to grace his features, remembering what he had written back.

Now that you know about him, what are you going to do? Are you capable to kill him with an unforgivable? To watch that very essence of life drain from his body?

Perhaps he shouldn't have wrote about that. But it didn't really matter – he bet that Tom had that idea in his mind upon discovering who his father was, so why shouldn't he write his thought down?

Ron didn't like to think about how Riddle could possibly know all this, but for now he felt confident that he could taunt him for knowing only the truth, and not the future, unlike Ron.

The last half of the lesson passed almost exactly as it always did.

Riddle did not attempt to add the wrong ingredients to the potions of those working around them, but tried with extra vigour to spoil Ron's potion. Again and again, he added the wrong ingredients or gave the potion and extra half stir as Ron was occupied with preparing the next part. Ron did not know this potion, he had never studied it before, but he knew what counter acted the things that Tom had changed, so he acted without saying a word.

However, the redhead did not whistle like he did sometimes and only those who knew the dynamic between the pair could tell the difference between their usual working atmosphere and now. Before it had been – whilst not friendly – a companionable silence.

Now the air was thick with unspoken words, accusations, insults and they berated each other with their eyes.

By the end of the lesson, Ron's potion was exactly as it was supposed to be, though his cauldron contained somewhat more than the others. Slughorn noticed this and raised an eyebrow, a sympathetic twitch of his mouth the only sign that he knew what had been happening.

Oh, he had always known, but as he had yet to catch Riddle in the act there was very little the teacher could do. Ron packed his things away in continued silence, his throat thick with boiling fury.

The boy was insufferable!

Riddle watched Ron's actions with a slight show of actual amusement in the ever-constant smile-that-wasn't. Whilst he had failed in sabotaging Ron's work, he had succeeded in the main aim of his actions – infuriating the redhead. Ron followed his boyfriend-turned-nemesis from the room, his bag swinging and bouncing against his thigh, the brush of it against his school uniform and their footsteps the only noise as the rest of their classmates disappeared as quickly as possible down the corridor to get to lunch.

'How did you find out, Riddle?' Ron asked easily, quietly.

He had already reverted back to calling him 'Riddle' in his mind due to his actions.

'A little birdie told me,' Tom replied in an utterly serious tone.

'What other stories did your songbird sing?' Ron quipped, playing his game.

Riddle's smile grew ever so slightly and he turned his head a little so he could see Ron's expression.

'Oh she told me many things. Including the way my mother, of the purest blood ever known, let the little mudblood fuck her into the mattress like the wanton whore that she was.'

Ron stared at him in shock at his little outburst – the insults falling so casually from his tongue as though he was stating the state of the weather. This was not the Tom Riddle he had come to know over the last couple of months since Christmas. This was not the Tom Riddle he had spilled his heart and soul to all these months.

The Tom Riddle who had tried to infuriate Ron repeatedly, only to see that blush that take over Ron's entire face, according to Tom.

Pity he had failed, really.

As it was, Tom's words were the final straw for Ron. Riddle's magic may be strong, but it was relaxed and almost… hampered by something.

In contrast, Ron was a burning pit of emotions, each one sparking and fuelling his magic so that it reached an energy level it had only ever once reached before when Ron had been told the final battle had started before anyone was ready.

Back then, he had been incensed. Now, he was absolutely furious.

Tom Riddle was standing before him with a broad smirk telling Ron that he knew exactly what he was trying to do, but Ron was, for once, happy to let the Slytherin rile him up. If it ended up with the Slytherin getting what he deserved (and Ron would see to it that it would) he was quite happy to follow his lead.

Tom stood there and practically beckoned to Ron to attack him. Blinded by his flaring temper, Ron disregarded his wand and his magic totally, choosing instead to punch him squarely on the jaw. Unfortunately, he had never really punched anyone before, since in the Magical world, it was considered a Muggle behavior, and so the power behind it was lost in bad technique – making Ron's hand hurt as much as Tom's jaw should.

But Riddle did not seem to want to attack back.

He just continued to smirk at Ron.

Ron lunged towards Riddle and the dagger that the Slytherin had drawn from his pocket slipped easily between the material of Ron's jumper and jeans, then sliding like it was penetrating butter between the redhead's ribs.

Ron, somehow did not stop moving and managed to slam Riddle bodily against the wall behind him, the only sign he gave of receiving a wound was the slight intake of breath that caused his breathing to falter a moment before it once again evened out.

Placing his left hand over the wound, Ron then carefully withdrew the blade with his free hand. He looked up at Tom's cool, nonchalant gaze and thrust the weapon through Tom's left hand, finally getting a furious, roaring response.

Gasping, he staggered backwards a couple of steps, watching stoically as Riddle howled, his hand bleeding almost as quickly as Ron's stomach. No doubt someone would have heard them and would be heading down to find out what was wrong, but right now Ron really couldn't bring himself to care that much. Then, somehow, he managed to find a peace within the swirling whirlpool of his emotions – the eye of the storm.

He clamped both hands over the point where the dagger had entered him and once again looked up to meet Riddle's gaze.

'Are you scared yet, Tom?' he asked calmly, his dark blue eyes seeming almost black.

'Is breathing suddenly difficult? Is your heartbeat getting faster and faster? Because if it isn't then you're a fool.' The raven haired boy snarled.

He let his eyes fluttered shut, and his face looking terribly pale and drawn. Then he leant against Riddle, one hand reaching up to clutch the blade wedged into the wall, the other trying to staunch his own blood flow, but only spreading the dark, sticky substance everywhere.

Then, he leant up and pressed a kiss to Riddle's jaw.

'Do you remember this?' he asked. Riddle turned towards Ron, trying to figure it out, but all in vain. Ron then pressed his pale lips to Riddle's, fiercely trying to bring him back, trying to get his Tom back.

But Tom did not respond to him and Ron felt his legs start to tremble beneath him, about to give out.

'Don't you remember at all?' he asked desperately.

Riddle watched dispassionately as Ron then fell to the ground, the dark stain of his blood growing larger by the second. With a little difficulty Tom managed to wrench the dagger from his hand and the wall.

He leant over the redhead on the floor and wiped the blade quickly on his robes before he slipped it back into his pocket. Casting a healing spell on his hand, Riddle stepped over Ron's prone body and walked off with a slight spring in his step.

As he walked away, he whistled a childish tune – a silly little song magic folk teach their children.

Didn't Mama tell you that I'm blind,
And not to take what is mine?
Didn't she warn you to watch your back,
Cos in the dark he will attack?

Didn't Mama tell you that blood is red,
And that it looks good when it's running straight?
Didn't she warn you to avoid the alleys,
Cos he might grab you and crush you knees?

Didn't Mama tell you that screams are music,
And that it sounds best when you have lose it?
Didn't she warn you not to lose faith,
Cos once you're dead it will be okay?

Didn't Mama tell you that I'm blind,
And never to take away what is mine?
Didn't she warn you I am never kind,
Cos I will soak your eyes in wine?

-Sylver-

I am proud of myself! The poem is creepy, right? Review, review!