Dedicated to Speed of Darkness, who's entirely random 'Tom in a clown costume' comment inspired this chapter.
Chapter 8
It was the middle of the night when Libya was woken by the sounds of tossing and turning in the med to the right of her terrarium. Moonlight crept around the edges of the heavy drapes that covered the tall, thin windows. Curtains that were a rich forest green in the light, but in these midnight hours were the amorphous shapes of the deepest black. The tiny slivers of silver light barely penetrated the shadows filling the space beneath the canopy of the bed. Just enough to illuminate the sole occupant thrashing at the sheets, his legs tangled hopelessly in the fine cotton.
Two nights now, he had done this. Moaned and cried out into his pillows- to remember nothing come the dawn. Extracting himself from the Gordian knots that he had made of his bed in the night, and never questioning the change from his usual stillness. But Libya knew better, from her third person perspective, watching as it was his very detachment that hid the answers from him.
The problem was, she didn't know what was causing the dreams in the first place. His moans were unintelligible, muffled consonants and vowels threaded together somewhere deep in his subconscious. Tonight was worse then it had been before and where once there had been breathless murmurs and half swallowed moans- now replaced by the ragged edges of cries that tore at the silence. Moonlight glittering off the myriad tears that wetted his cheeks. A fearful, desperate hand that clawed at the pillows, dragging them close before throwing them violently away.
The little green snake watched with rapt attention at the spastic, jerky motions that had moved into the place of Tom's usual mechanical grace. Beautiful in his torment, an exquisite picture of the sheer agony the human soul could possess. And for the first time since she had met the quiet boy, Libya was frightened. Scared of the depths of emotion he hid from himself- that it would manifest in his dreams this way it could not be healthy.
And so she watched, waiting for whatever it was he dreamed, to pass through. For the lighter shades of rest to pull him from whatever horrors it was he was facing. For with dawn would come the oblivion of forgetfulness. When the subconscious would be locked away, along with the memory of his dreams. Leaving him entirely unaware that he had even dreamt at all. His armor in place so well that it tricked even himself.
When he was younger, Tom had gone through a phase of dream interpretation- curious to know if any of his nocturnal tales were signs of greater things to come. An almost pathological need to know that while he envisioned himself, garbed in a clown suit and handing out cookies (all the while being chased by Malfoy and Lestrange bearing whips) that it was a sign of something.
Of course, such dreams were only the visual reminders of his own fears. The way he couldn't bear to be made to look foolish, his own secret shame that his father had been a filthy Muggle. Someone who's blood was not even fit to carry the traces of the minutest magics.
Later, his despair that the line of Salazar Slytherin had faded into such a pitiable state. But he would be greater, and he would once again bring honor and glory to a blood that had lost its way. He would… He had to. And so away went the dream reading, to dust with Divination in all of its forms.
He was Tom Riddle, and he would make his path.
The sensation of choking, suffocating tears that burned in his throat. Scalded his eyes, and refused to fall.
The little stone marker, cheap and chipped, his handful of daisies already wilting at the base.
A child's grave, made to be forgotten. A name, no dates, no words of comfort.
Made to be forgotten.
Emily…
The grass blending from green, to ash grey and white... To red.
Becoming a carpet of corpses that littered the Great Hall.
The crimson and burgundy that stained his hands, dark against the bodies.
But the hands were not his own.
The hospital bed, hands folded one to the other.
Set against a field of white, a utilitarian gown.
Pain that sliced through him…
Not his body.
A girl, a stranger.
Blending features, the hollowed cheeks filling.
Brown curls fading to the color of honey.
Who are you?
Tom awoke with a jerk, the alarm spell set on his wand beeping annoying in the early morning light. He yawned, brushing the still messy black hair from his eyes. Blinking against the light, he didn't notice the intense way his familiar watched him. Warily, as though waiting for something to happen.
But it didn't, as the young man rose from his bed and began the same ritual he did every morning. His movements like liquid, moving through the familiar motions. All traces of the almost primal clawing gone, as though those jerky actions had been by another person entirely. Or maybe, that they had been made by a marionette, fashioned in the likeness of this man.
Libya suspected it was the other way around. That the Tom she saw, the one currently sweeping textbooks into a well worn bag- was not the real Tom at all. She watched as he rubbed his eyes against the back of his hand, a childish gesture he had never quite managed to rid himself of. At least, not when he was still half asleep. The green snake shook her wedge-shaped head, amazed and aghast that two such incredibly different people could exist within one shell.
Tom..? She hissed, her sensitive tongue picking up the scent of sweat and salt and stress that still lingered in the air. Small, trivial things that human senses could never hope to pick up. She watched as her dear man looked at over at her, his expression a query that didn't require words. Libya looked him over carefully, searching his expression for something- anything- that would betray what he was feeling. But to no avail, it was a blank that met her eyes.
Never mind, have a good day… She said, and he spared her an odd look before heading out the door.
- ---
Hey guys, I'm so sorry it's been so long since I've updated!! But you know how real life is, and I have been house sitting for the last few days. Now I'm back though, and working to get back into the swing of this story, and fresh with a whole bunch of new ideas. Sorry if this chapter sucked though, it just refused to come out how I wanted it to (
So there you have it, after several rewrites, I'm pretty sure it's just not going to cooperate anymore then this.
Svelte Rose- here's the chapter, now you can't call me a tease anymore )
BlindFaith- no Voldie in scrubs, but better luck next time!
Speed of Darkness- I hope my writing style is still growing on you; I'm a bit like mold that way.
Ryn- You can consider your push effective, apparently it works better then nudging
Nerys- No 'Mione this time around, but hopefully suitably tragic
And an enormous thank you to everyone else I didn't mention- after this, I'm going to start keeping notes so I don't feel so guilty about forgetting people!!!