As Fast As You Can
"Run, run as fast as you can, you can't catch me I'm the Gingerbread Man." A Tom Riddle fic on a descent into darkness that was paused, based on the fairytale The Gingerbread Man. NOT HUMOUR.
Once upon a time, there was a Gingerbread Man, who decided he would not be eaten like the others.
"So, Lord Voldemort, Your Honour, what are you going to do after you graduate?" Simon Escharmir teased, pretending to bow deeply.
"Don't do that, I might get used to it," Tom said lazily to his friend, who put on a face of mock terror.
"And we shall all fall minion to the Great Slytherin," he gasped, with the air of a terrified sibyl. Tom whacked Simon with a book, although he was smiling as he did so.
"I wish you wouldn't discuss our future so publicly," Tom said, gesturing to the rest of the Slytherin common room. Everyone was in year-end high spirits, and so the room was rowdier and noisier than usual. He wouldn't put it pass anyone to make a snide remark at what lofty plans the Head Boy was harbouring.
Simon was sober for once. "I know you're got plans, and I know most Slytherins are enamoured with the Dark Arts, got a reputation to upkeep, don't we? But frankly Tom, Dark wizards come to very sticky ends."
"They made mistakes. Of course they got caught," Tom pointed out.
"What about those whose successors decided they were taking too long to die?' Simon countered. Tom considered this slowly. "Well Tom, don't know about you, but I might take a job with the Ministry. I'm too interesting to die."
"Typical stickler for rules, Simon? Never struck me as the type."
"Oh, if you do need classified information in the midst of your pursuit for world domination, feel free to ask me. Never wanted to be goody-two-shoes. Now, my Lord, if you'll excuse me, I will retreat to my personal chambers. Firecrackers deafen at close proximity."
"You go ahead. I've developed an immunity to noise."
Left alone, Tom sank into deep thought. There was nothing he wanted more to do than to get back at his Muggle father, make him rue the day he left Tom's mother to die wretchedly. But there was a shard of resentment at his mother, for making a wrong decision. If she had loved a pureblood, she'd have been among her kind, instead of being scorned for who she was. Nobody should be allowed to make that mistake.
Tom decided that he had his mind set. He just was going to be very careful about it. He wasn't going to get caught.
So he ran away.
Tom sat on the garden wall just outside Neils' home, staring down at the wand in his hand. He remembered doing the same thing in Little Hangleton, sitting on the garden wall after he had killed the Muggle half of his family. Then he had laughed to himself of the inefficiency of the Ministry of Magic, and Apparated away. Now, reflecting on how his father's death had taken place, he was slightly annoyed at how brisk it was. Strained conversation, a little needling...and then he'd killed his father, his grandparents soon after. He ought to have made them suffer, scream for mercy, beg for it to all end...but of course, he didn't know the curses he knew now. He had so badly wanted his first blood spilt to be that of his father's, not some inconsequential person whom he killed in his study of the Dark Arts.
Finally, the person he had been waiting for, Neils, left the house. Tom quietly hid his wand. When Neils saw the person sitting on his garden wall, he scowled. "Who're you? What're you doing here?"
"Lost," Tom replied simply. It wasn't wise to explain too much to Neils.
Neils' scowl deepened. "Well clear off!" This is my property."
Tom 'cleared off'. The Memory Charm on Neils was holding. Tom would have preferred to kill his teachers; they were too slippery to leave running around, and a careless word from any of them might doom everything he had worked for. But he couldn't kill them, there'd be too many dead bodies. And there was just this small glimmer of chance that he may need to call upon their expertise in the future.
Some problems are best left unsolved.
And nobody could catch him
He had initially been furious when the transformation he had undergone had marred his handsome features into a parody of a snake. How could he lure anyone into joining his Death Eaters if he looked like a nightmare?
But he had soon learnt fear was a powerful factor, crushing instead of ensnaring. And his voice still had its old charm, keeping his listeners under his thrall.
Yes, he was truly Lord Voldemort now. Nobody would be able to associate him with Tom Marvolo Riddle, who was only too human, only too mortal. He had left both Tom Riddles behind, and stepped onto the path of immortality and infamy.
Nobody could catch someone who didn't exist, could they?
"Run, run as fast as you can. You can't catch me…"
It was always the same when he visited any home with the intention to kill. People taking their treasured belongings, parents taking their children, running as fast as they could, away, away.
It didn't matter. Lord Voldemort would always succeed in the end. The number of bodies didn't matter either. For he wanted them to be found, cast the Death Mark into the sky at each spot where they fell. The world quaked, but they still could not catch him.
And then he came upon a pond, and the only way to cross was by a fox who could eat him at any moment…
The only thing that irked Lord Voldemort was that some wizards and witches of talent, those he would have liked to number among his own Death Eaters, were aligned against him, under that Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore. Things would have been very much simpler if Dumbledore could be swayed to his side, but Dumbledore would not budge. As long as Voldemort was set on his view that only purebloods were worthy, Dumbledore would always be against him.
Not that Voldemort hadn't tried, but every time he had tried to talk Dumbledore over, he had been keenly aware that Dumbledore could have taken the opportunity to kill him, only that he was too noble to do so. To constantly feel indebted to Dumbledore was not what Voldemort wanted, and so Voldemort desisted, quietly gathering his powers, waiting for the day he could defeat Dumbledore.
"I can bring you across. Climb on my tail if you are afraid of me eating you."
Even so, while the Order of the Phoenix still existed, not all of the wizarding world would bow to Lord Voldemort's will, not while there was hope that the gathering forces of darkness would be pushed back. The Order of the Phoenix was too dangerous to keep unleashed. Yet how to harness it? They never would consciously agree…
There were always those who could see the folly of their ways. Once he had pointed out how silly their beliefs were, that only power mattered, they were only too happy to spy for him. But that wasn't enough. No, there were some that were too dangerous to have against him.
Now what was their greatest fear?
"You'll get wet. Climb onto my back."
Lord Voldemort had wanted to gain control of the wizarding world before starting on the Muggle world. There were too many details that had to be taken care of, and in one corner of his mind he had a vision of the wizarding world standing proud against a world that was all too ready to condemn them. United against those who had chased them into the shadows, watch them crumble in the face of what they could not accept, but had to. But those Muggle lovers would not co-operate.
The fools. He would show them what ingrates the Muggles could be. And after all, it was time the Muggle side found out about the other half of the world…
Even so, it could prove to be a risky diversion; he was not as confident of holding out against a combined onslaught of wizards and Muggles. With luck, his Death Eaters would use the slyness they employed against their own kind to keep themselves safe, and the Muggle lovers would suffer at the hands of those they were trying to protect.
Let the burning begin. Only that the Muggles had devised crueller ways to die over the times…
"It'll be safer on my neck."
But this was still not enough. There were some that needed…more personal attention.
The fight some of them put up made him feel almost sorry for those who decided to fritter away their lives for fleeting ideals. Such talent, simply wasted! But if they were silly enough to believe that their brave actions would eventually put an end to him, he was only too happy to correct their foolhardiness.
So Lord Voldemort worked his way up the ranks of the resistance, sending deeper and deeper waves of fear and horror through the wizarding world. True, he did make some losses, and some from his side, blinded by their own folly, attempted to defect. But Lord Voldemort does not forgive…
"How about my head?"
Lord Voldemort had not expected the weakest link in Dumbledore's inner circle to be so … easy to win over. Still Wormtail, bumbling though he was, had his uses, supplying information that was occasionally critical. Both bided their time, until luck would have it, Wormtail was made the Potter's Secret Keeper.
It seemed almost too easy…
"Onto my nose…"
It was painfully similar to other murders he had committed. He'd killed the girl first as she vainly tried to protect her child. Her husband had put up a good fight, despite having already lost one of his loved ones. Lord Voldemort subdued him almost lazily.
His gaze fell on the young one. It was always good not to leave revenge seeking kin behind.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green light, and then pain.
A toss, and then Snap!
"Run, run as fast as you can, you can't catch me I'm the Gingerbread Man." A Tom Riddle fic on a descent into darkness that was paused, based on the fairytale The Gingerbread Man. NOT HUMOUR.
Once upon a time, there was a Gingerbread Man, who decided he would not be eaten like the others.
"So, Lord Voldemort, Your Honour, what are you going to do after you graduate?" Simon Escharmir teased, pretending to bow deeply.
"Don't do that, I might get used to it," Tom said lazily to his friend, who put on a face of mock terror.
"And we shall all fall minion to the Great Slytherin," he gasped, with the air of a terrified sibyl. Tom whacked Simon with a book, although he was smiling as he did so.
"I wish you wouldn't discuss our future so publicly," Tom said, gesturing to the rest of the Slytherin common room. Everyone was in year-end high spirits, and so the room was rowdier and noisier than usual. He wouldn't put it pass anyone to make a snide remark at what lofty plans the Head Boy was harbouring.
Simon was sober for once. "I know you're got plans, and I know most Slytherins are enamoured with the Dark Arts, got a reputation to upkeep, don't we? But frankly Tom, Dark wizards come to very sticky ends."
"They made mistakes. Of course they got caught," Tom pointed out.
"What about those whose successors decided they were taking too long to die?' Simon countered. Tom considered this slowly. "Well Tom, don't know about you, but I might take a job with the Ministry. I'm too interesting to die."
"Typical stickler for rules, Simon? Never struck me as the type."
"Oh, if you do need classified information in the midst of your pursuit for world domination, feel free to ask me. Never wanted to be goody-two-shoes. Now, my Lord, if you'll excuse me, I will retreat to my personal chambers. Firecrackers deafen at close proximity."
"You go ahead. I've developed an immunity to noise."
Left alone, Tom sank into deep thought. There was nothing he wanted more to do than to get back at his Muggle father, make him rue the day he left Tom's mother to die wretchedly. But there was a shard of resentment at his mother, for making a wrong decision. If she had loved a pureblood, she'd have been among her kind, instead of being scorned for who she was. Nobody should be allowed to make that mistake.
Tom decided that he had his mind set. He just was going to be very careful about it. He wasn't going to get caught.
So he ran away.
Tom sat on the garden wall just outside Neils' home, staring down at the wand in his hand. He remembered doing the same thing in Little Hangleton, sitting on the garden wall after he had killed the Muggle half of his family. Then he had laughed to himself of the inefficiency of the Ministry of Magic, and Apparated away. Now, reflecting on how his father's death had taken place, he was slightly annoyed at how brisk it was. Strained conversation, a little needling...and then he'd killed his father, his grandparents soon after. He ought to have made them suffer, scream for mercy, beg for it to all end...but of course, he didn't know the curses he knew now. He had so badly wanted his first blood spilt to be that of his father's, not some inconsequential person whom he killed in his study of the Dark Arts.
Finally, the person he had been waiting for, Neils, left the house. Tom quietly hid his wand. When Neils saw the person sitting on his garden wall, he scowled. "Who're you? What're you doing here?"
"Lost," Tom replied simply. It wasn't wise to explain too much to Neils.
Neils' scowl deepened. "Well clear off!" This is my property."
Tom 'cleared off'. The Memory Charm on Neils was holding. Tom would have preferred to kill his teachers; they were too slippery to leave running around, and a careless word from any of them might doom everything he had worked for. But he couldn't kill them, there'd be too many dead bodies. And there was just this small glimmer of chance that he may need to call upon their expertise in the future.
Some problems are best left unsolved.
And nobody could catch him
He had initially been furious when the transformation he had undergone had marred his handsome features into a parody of a snake. How could he lure anyone into joining his Death Eaters if he looked like a nightmare?
But he had soon learnt fear was a powerful factor, crushing instead of ensnaring. And his voice still had its old charm, keeping his listeners under his thrall.
Yes, he was truly Lord Voldemort now. Nobody would be able to associate him with Tom Marvolo Riddle, who was only too human, only too mortal. He had left both Tom Riddles behind, and stepped onto the path of immortality and infamy.
Nobody could catch someone who didn't exist, could they?
"Run, run as fast as you can. You can't catch me…"
It was always the same when he visited any home with the intention to kill. People taking their treasured belongings, parents taking their children, running as fast as they could, away, away.
It didn't matter. Lord Voldemort would always succeed in the end. The number of bodies didn't matter either. For he wanted them to be found, cast the Death Mark into the sky at each spot where they fell. The world quaked, but they still could not catch him.
And then he came upon a pond, and the only way to cross was by a fox who could eat him at any moment…
The only thing that irked Lord Voldemort was that some wizards and witches of talent, those he would have liked to number among his own Death Eaters, were aligned against him, under that Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore. Things would have been very much simpler if Dumbledore could be swayed to his side, but Dumbledore would not budge. As long as Voldemort was set on his view that only purebloods were worthy, Dumbledore would always be against him.
Not that Voldemort hadn't tried, but every time he had tried to talk Dumbledore over, he had been keenly aware that Dumbledore could have taken the opportunity to kill him, only that he was too noble to do so. To constantly feel indebted to Dumbledore was not what Voldemort wanted, and so Voldemort desisted, quietly gathering his powers, waiting for the day he could defeat Dumbledore.
"I can bring you across. Climb on my tail if you are afraid of me eating you."
Even so, while the Order of the Phoenix still existed, not all of the wizarding world would bow to Lord Voldemort's will, not while there was hope that the gathering forces of darkness would be pushed back. The Order of the Phoenix was too dangerous to keep unleashed. Yet how to harness it? They never would consciously agree…
There were always those who could see the folly of their ways. Once he had pointed out how silly their beliefs were, that only power mattered, they were only too happy to spy for him. But that wasn't enough. No, there were some that were too dangerous to have against him.
Now what was their greatest fear?
"You'll get wet. Climb onto my back."
Lord Voldemort had wanted to gain control of the wizarding world before starting on the Muggle world. There were too many details that had to be taken care of, and in one corner of his mind he had a vision of the wizarding world standing proud against a world that was all too ready to condemn them. United against those who had chased them into the shadows, watch them crumble in the face of what they could not accept, but had to. But those Muggle lovers would not co-operate.
The fools. He would show them what ingrates the Muggles could be. And after all, it was time the Muggle side found out about the other half of the world…
Even so, it could prove to be a risky diversion; he was not as confident of holding out against a combined onslaught of wizards and Muggles. With luck, his Death Eaters would use the slyness they employed against their own kind to keep themselves safe, and the Muggle lovers would suffer at the hands of those they were trying to protect.
Let the burning begin. Only that the Muggles had devised crueller ways to die over the times…
"It'll be safer on my neck."
But this was still not enough. There were some that needed…more personal attention.
The fight some of them put up made him feel almost sorry for those who decided to fritter away their lives for fleeting ideals. Such talent, simply wasted! But if they were silly enough to believe that their brave actions would eventually put an end to him, he was only too happy to correct their foolhardiness.
So Lord Voldemort worked his way up the ranks of the resistance, sending deeper and deeper waves of fear and horror through the wizarding world. True, he did make some losses, and some from his side, blinded by their own folly, attempted to defect. But Lord Voldemort does not forgive…
"How about my head?"
Lord Voldemort had not expected the weakest link in Dumbledore's inner circle to be so … easy to win over. Still Wormtail, bumbling though he was, had his uses, supplying information that was occasionally critical. Both bided their time, until luck would have it, Wormtail was made the Potter's Secret Keeper.
It seemed almost too easy…
"Onto my nose…"
It was painfully similar to other murders he had committed. He'd killed the girl first as she vainly tried to protect her child. Her husband had put up a good fight, despite having already lost one of his loved ones. Lord Voldemort subdued him almost lazily.
His gaze fell on the young one. It was always good not to leave revenge seeking kin behind.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green light, and then pain.
A toss, and then Snap!