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Voldemort's Origins Chapter 7

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Snake Oil


She was bleeding. Again.

Scarlet beads swelled from her skin, growing at a steadily mesmerizing pace. They puckered like ruby kisses before rolling down her fingertips and splattering against fabric, spreading fire across the white sheets through geometric designs. Each drop created a slightly different shape. Most were perfectly round and flat like a period after a sentence. Others were runny and star-like, following the pattern of crisscrossed threads. Fewer droplets were smeared abominations, no rhyme or reason to them – failures in their own right.

Why Sorrow found her injuries more fascinating than her studies was beyond her, but the fact remained she was thoroughly involved with the gruesome scene and that was all that mattered.

Madam Demzai had been nothing but helpfully annoying during her shift. The woman liked to stay busy and often that resulted in a cosseted (and even more vexed) Sorrow. The nurse was an overprotective goose of her goslings with the way she crooned over patients. There were plenty of victims to her attention, but Sorrow was by far the main sufferer. Madam Demzai incessantly asked if she was all right, if she was hungry, if she was tired – and, of course, Sorrow's favorite: if she had remembered anything new about the accident.

No, she certainly hadn't! She had decided she probably never would, not that it mattered. Well, it didn't matter anymore. She had skimmed every memory, asked every visitor, probed every house-elf, and still came up short as to what had really happened that night. It was natural that she would be suspicious; after all, she knew she would never touch ecto, but the way the nurse continued to question her lead Sorrow to wonder why they, the teachers, were doubtful. None of it made sense, and the more she thought about it, the more nonsensical it appeared. She wasn't used to not understanding. She didn't like it. Not one bit.

And so she was bleeding. Bleeding all over the ridiculously crisp linens. Bleeding and smiling and bleeding some more. She knew the cause for the blood; not so much for the smirk that was growing in size on her tired face. Had isolation morphed her into such a brat that ruining the nurse's pristine infirmary was fun?

Yep. She was having loads of fun.

Demzai's head would have spun if she had heard Sorrow's thoughts. How out of character for a Ravenclaw! In Demzai's book, students were mere caricatures of their Houses, not individuals who shared similar desires and interests – camaraderie if you will. Instead, Ravenclaws were bookworms lacking a sense of humor and panache; Gryffindors were obnoxious idealists; Hufflepuffs were naïve, talentless schmucks with a sweet streak; And Slytherins were narcissistic time bombs – the fashionable villains of their school with a penchant for schmucks.

Sorrow had certainly been enlightened during her stay in the infirmary; however, she couldn't say the same for Madam Demzai. She wondered which house the nurse had been sorted into then pitied whichever one that had suffered the woman's closed-mindedness. Despite her dislike for the Madam, she couldn't deny that Demzai had notable healing skills. Skills that required brains. She guessed that whichever bits she possessed were consumed with being a nurse, and so the rest suffered from neglect.

If you don't exercise the muscle, it turns to jelly.

Sorrow sucked in a breath, hissing through her teeth. Her hand was stinging now; the pain had finally caught up with the crimson. The sheet stretching across her lap was speckled red. She would have be more careful next time she attempted such a complicated spell. This was her third failed attempt at siphoning memories and her hand was smarting for it. She frowned while looking down at the empty pensive. Things weren't going her way at all. Sorrow took a deep breath and shut her eyes momentarily before deciding the pain was too much to tolerate and that calling Madam Demzai was her only option. She grabbed the pensive with her good hand then proceeded to hide it in the middle drawer of the dresser by the bed.

When she glanced back up, she noticed a boy lying catawampus across a neighboring cot…spying on her. He was very unattractive with goofy auburn hair and ruddy skin. His eyes, however, were stunning. They were the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. The white of one was red and inflamed; she assumed that's why it looked so vivid in color. She smiled at him while still leaning over her bed, "I'm bleeding."

"And that makes you happy?" there wasn't an ounce of sarcasm to his voice, just honest curiosity.

"Not overly, no," she smiled bigger while lying back down.

"Then why are you smiling?" He was looking more interested now.

"Because Madam Demzai's going to have to clean this up."

He squirmed in bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. He decided lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling was more polite than retaining eye contact. "What's with that cup you had?"

"Just a sadistic tool I use to cut myself, didn't you notice?"

"I'm so sick of all of you," he whispered, his eyes still locked on the ceiling in a cold, hard stare.

All right, that was a bit melodramatic.

Her hand was still stinging, but she dismissed the pain. What was with this boy? So she had been a little sarcastic; you'd have thought it had been the end of the world.

"Is that why you're here? Because you're sick of us?"

"I hate you," he hissed. The words caught in his throat before he could add the last touch of venom to the inflection. It sounded more like a weighted confession than an insult, and in that Sorrow was taken aback.

She was about to yell at him when she suddenly noticed a tear rolling down his plump cheek. He was crying. She felt awful. Why did she always have to be such an arse? "I apologize, I…"

"Always thinking you're better than me?" he interrupted.

"I never said I was bet…"

"Always looking down on me because I'm fat and younger, because I'm a bit slower than most?" This time he turned his head to look into her eyes – her very confused eyes. "Oh, I try, though. I try so hard. But it's never enough for you people, is it? You don't care that I can't sleep at night because I obsess about the morning and what it will bring. You don't care that I fear screwing up and even more about what you will do to me because of it. You don't care that I have feelings or that you squash them repeatedly with your condescending remarks!"

"Uh…" Sorrow's mouth fell open. What the hell was going on?

"No, I bet you enjoy it, don't you? You enjoy making others feel badly about themselves because it helps you feel better about your life. Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Oh Supreme One, but you're life is just as pathetic as the rest of ours. Worse because you're too consumed with ascending that you can't even see it! Hah! Well, I see it…at least with one damn eye! And so does everyone else; they're just too frightened to tell you to your face. Don't you worry, though. One day they won't be scared of you," his face contorted into complete malice, "then you'll be sorry." He hissed the last word, practically spitting on her in the process.

Oh! Okay, she got it; he was mad. No point in arguing with crazies. She didn't respond well to emotions and definitely not irrational ones. She continued to stare at him, though, not really knowing where to go with the conversation – or rant. She made a mental note to request a new bed…stationed far away from the deranged redhead. "I should get this looked at," she gestured with her bloody hand.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead," the boy scoffed, turning over and pulling the blankets over his head. All that could be seen was a mound of cloth, and a rather large mound at that.

Strange. This was all too strange.

She surveyed her hand noting how it had stopped bleeding. It still ached, but the dried blood had become a sort of natural bandage shielding her tender flesh from the iciness of the air. She sighed before forcing herself up, her feet dangling from the mattress searching for her slippers. They were where she had last left them by the end table. Taupe and plush, they brought with them a welcomed warmth and comfort to the chilly room. She slipped her feet into the shoes then pushed herself from the bed. She really hated feeling like an invalid, but it had been the role she'd been cast and so she would perform it flawlessly.

Here comes the cripple; make way lest she hurts herself further!

She watched her feet as she walked, taking care to hold her injured hand high. She could see the aqua veins in her feet; the skin there was so thin and translucent much like the rest of her body. She liked it. She wasn't sure why, but she did. She had always been fair, but it had become a sort of private challenge to see how pale she could become. So far, she was splendidly ghost-like. Maybe she'd been playing with her own ectoplasm! Now that made much more sense.

Suddenly, she rammed into something unmoving, popping her hand against the object.  Light blinded her vision, causing her to see stars.

She lost her breath for a split-second before gasping, "SHIT!"

Well, there went her composure; now everyone in close proximity was staring at her including the nut-ball ginger who had uncovered himself long enough to whimper then hide again, this time shivering under the blankets. Sheesh, you'd think he'd never heard a curse word before.

"Are you all right?" a voiced asked.

She knew that voice. She had only heard it once before, but it hadn't required repeating to be embedded in her mind. Why was he here? Her mind raced with different answered until finally she looked up into that handsome face where all rational thoughts ceased. He was much taller than she remembered, but maybe it was the closeness they shared that displayed how big he truly was. He stood at least two hands taller than Sorrow and twice as broad, which wasn't much considering she was quite small for her age. However, for his age, he was quite big and a bastard to ram into. She also noticed he smelled of soap and pomade. It was comforting, and she was more than a little irritated with herself that she found it so. "Yes, I'm sorry. My fault. I wasn't watching where I was going."

She stood straight to meet his eyes. He was staring over her shoulder – quite intently she realized. She glanced behind to see whatever it was he was seeing, but only saw the lump of her quivering bed neighbor. Confused, she turned back to find Tom smiling down at her.

Oh, boy, was it a smile...

His eyes flickered over her face then down her body where they stopped abruptly somewhere around her waist. "What's the cause of this?"

Momentarily confused, Sorrow followed his gaze then answered quickly, "oh, this? It's just a reopened injury. Nothing really; it looks worse than it feels."

He grabbed her hand to examine it closer; it hurt like the devil and he wasn't taking care to ease the pain with his roughness.

"Probably because you severed nerves," he pointed. "It's quite bad."

"Really?" Sorrow jerked her hand away and pressed it as close to her face as she could manage without looking absurd.  Oh! Damn! Had she ruined her fingers?

He chuckled and waited for her to return his attention before continuing, "No, they're paper cuts, but I'm flattered you believed my diagnoses so hastily."

There was a long silence between them as Sorrow grew stiff from the statement.

"Reopened wound you say? What could you have possibly done to reopen such a nasty injury?"

This time he took her hand gently in his own before removing his wand from his robes. He whispered a complicated healing spell while Sorrow watched as her hand was restored to its flawless self. His long, equally pale fingers curled softly around her entire hand, "something tells me you haven't been using this time for rest and recovery."

His devilish eyes flashed back to her stunned baby-blues. She was feeling weak. He terrified and mesmerized her all at once. How could a boy so young evoke such a sophisticated response? A fire quickly spread from where he held her wrist to her cheeks as she blushed pink.

"That was amazing!"

"Paper cuts," he waved his free hand dismissively.

"No they weren't! That was an impressive show of magic seeing as how those cuts were caused by an advanced spell," she blurted.

He cocked an eyebrow then smiled, "Really? Then I suppose I don't give myself enough credit."
He released her hand (much to her disappointment) and glided around her messy bed, glancing here and there, but never long enough to form a proper observation of any one thing. He sat down on the opposite bed, placing a large bag next to him.

"I have something for you," he said, patting the backpack.

"You do?" This was interesting. He had already returned her wand, what else could he give her?

"Yes," he smiled while gesturing for her to sit on the bed in front of his own. It really was a dazzling smile. She was starting to see what all the fuss was about.

"Before I accept anything else, I would like to thank you for returning my wand and…well, for returning me. I'm sure you understand how grateful I am."

"I'm sorry I didn't return the wand sooner. I was preoccupied."

"It was there when I awoke, that's what matters," she replied while moving to take her seat on the bed. She stopped in front of it, "You'll have to forgive me. I've been sitting all day; I'd rather stand if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

He drew the bag open then removed a flat square box, but as he did so, a clear ball rolled onto the ground, bouncing across the stone in violent leaps. Sorrow immediately ran after it, catching the sphere within a few quick strides. She drew the globe closer for inspection to ensure it hadn't suffered any blemishes. Suddenly she noticed the ball wasn't clear after all, but was red and turning a deeper shade the longer she held it within her grasp.

"Talk about useless information. I already know I can't remember something significant about that night. I don't need a Remembrall to tell me," she laughed while handing the instrument to Tom. "I hate to have to say this, but they're a waste of gold. A gimmick for first years desperately seeking help in managing their schedules."

"I couldn't agree more. Luckily, I didn't purchase it. It was a gift." He cradled the ball in his hand as he watched the internal smoke return to the default white. "However, sometimes they prove useful."

"Do tell me when you discover one of those times," she laughed.

Tom only smiled in response before returning his attention to the box in his lap. He ran a hand over the casing. "I thought you might become bored during your stay in the infirmary. If you don't like it, just tell me and I'll return it. I thought it might perk things up for when you have visitors. Maybe even for when I visit…"

When he visits? She definitely hadn't missed that. Tom Riddle, the infamous recluse was giving her a gift and planning for his next social call? This was an odd day indeed.

"It's beautiful. I'm sure it will entertain us for hours," she smiled.

With that, he realized he hadn't actually given her the present to open then hastily handed her the box. It was heavier than it appeared. The wrapping was plain paper tied across with yarn. She untied the string and ripped the paper down the middle to reveal a stately picture of Wizard's Chest plastered atop an unopened board game container. "I love it! How did you know that this is my favorite pastime?"

"I didn't. I gave what I would have appreciated for a gift. It appears we just so happen enjoy the same game. Combine that with your frequent studying in the library, and we have quite a bit in common, Sorrow. "

She smiled. Maybe they did.

"Would you like to break it in?" she asked, unpacking the pieces. She had a lot of questions that were desperately seeking answers. A round of chess would be the perfect icebreaker, and she really wasn't ready for him to leave just yet.

"No, thank you. I must be on my way. There's an exam tomorrow that requires extensive studying." He stood, his long legs had already been touching the ground before the act. He proceeded to close his book bag then straighten his robes. "Next time, however, I expect the board to be setup in advance."

"Of course!" Sorrow leapt off of the bed to escort Tom out of the infirmary. "I'll be ready for you."

He turned to look at her one last time, his eyes glowing hot. She felt as if there was a very real possiblity that she might melt in those eyes. He smiled the same striking grin she'd already grown fond of while his hand found her own. She wasn't aware of what was happening until he had drawn it close to his lips then kissed the skin softly.

"Be warned. I show no mercy."
Side Note: 1 hand in the unit of measure equals 4 inches, and for my friends abroad, that means 10.2 cm. Tom equaling 2 hands taller than our petite Sorrow means he's quite the looming presence!

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Second: [link]
Third: [link]
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I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make a profit from these works. This short story is created for entertainment value only, and is not intended to diminish the original fable.
© 2011 - 2024 VixenPro
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remember-alice's avatar
AAAAAhhhh!!!!!! OMG , favorite chapter so far. Who knew that Tom was quite the charmer with Sorrow?!?!? Love love love it! Can't wait for more! As always, beautiful writing style and diction :)