“I watch the edge of his face in the dark. Its beauty is part of what binds me to him. I don’t know how to make this sound virtuous.” (x)

you’re running after something that you’ll never kill

As Tom thrashed through the ankle-deep water a little less carefully than he normally would of, he told himself that he needed to calm down. It was hard, because he was still so angry. The problem was, he didn’t know who he was angry with anymore. Hermione? Lestrange? His parents? Slytherin? Himself? The world? His anger wasn’t as solidified as it usually was; it was more…permeated. Spread out, like a dense fog dispersing across a field at dawn. It made it much more difficult to distinguish.

He ran a hand through his hair as he walked through the murky pipe, and took several deep, steadying breaths.

Once he put into perspective as to why he was down there, he calmed somewhat. He was down there to find anything he could about his birthright, to find any proof of who he really was.

His profile was very handsome to someone looking from a distance. But up close, like this, his appetites bloomed under his skin and his beauty was seized by the throat and made to choke. Sometimes, that monster digging a put inside your chest is your only friend in the world, he had said. Well, his monster was suffocating. She had called it out, and robbed it of breath.

“protego totalum. salvio hexia.”

When I first met young Mr Riddle, he was a quiet albeit brilliant boy, committed to becoming a first rate wizard. Not unlike others I’ve known. Not unlike yourself. If the monster existed it was buried deep within.