Chapter 1
My favourite colour has always been red.
Red like the door to my house, faded and worn, yet still so bright I get embarrassed and plan to repaint it at least once a month. Red like the ribbon Hermione wears in her hair every day tirelessly. I tell her constantly that it’s getting repetitive after years of this, but she only smiles and ignores my complaints.
My favourite colour has always been red.
Red like the liquid that covered my hands as I held a small body close to my chest. Red like Hermione’s eyes, mascara running, face swollen and worried. Red like the velvet in the coffin as they gently lowered my best friend deep into the ground.
My favourite colour has always been red.
Red like my floor after I cut purposely into my thumb, making a promise that night, swearing I would do everything in my power to stop the cruel murderer who ruthlessly slaughtered an innocent human-
Red like the name painted on the wall carelessly- 'His Skeleton May Be Taken, But His Soul Will Lay In The Chamber Forever, Lord Voldemort'
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Hermione called me an idiot after that. It was her who found me after all. I was cured into a ball, sleeping on the cold tiles of my kitchen, the floor caked in dry blood, my finger soaked, my cheeks still damp, and my breathing erratic. She called an ambulance. Even though I was fine, the hospital was hesitant to discharge me, understandably worried for my mental health which undoubtedly had been affected by Ron’s passing not even 2 days prior.
Mrs Weasley clutched my hand tight as she repeated the same rushed words, 'At least you tried Harry'
I think it was the pitying glances the nurses would give me in the corridor or the hushed whispers of the gossiping reception ladies that seemed to make me sick. Hermione pursed her lips whenever she noticed it, she had even threatened to confront them on multiple occasions, yet I simply dismissed her worries and concerns of the nurses and doctors alike breaking confidentiality between coworkers.
My name was published in newspapers, I made front headlines for my bravery and foolishness of running into a dangerous home just for the pure possibility of saving someone. Maybe if I had merely a few minutes earlier, Ron would still be here- Luckily Hermione was able to pull me out of these haunting thoughts with a nudge of her bony elbow.
'At least you tried Harry'
“What?” I hissed, carefully but quickly trying to soothe my racing heartbeat from the fright she just gave me.
'At least you tried Harry'
“Read this!” Hermione thrust her phone with maximum brightness under my face. My eyes squinted at the blinding light before they widened.
“What on earth?!” I scowed. It was some online news article about Ron and his murderer still being at large. It was fully rubbish, accusing Ron of rendezvousing with the wrong crowd, and blaming me and my foolishness for running into an unknown situation and therefore risking my own and Ron’s life in case he was still alive and just hurt.
'At least you tried Harry'
Tears sprung to my eyes yet I just couldn’t look away and stop reading. I furiously scrolled down through the article, inspecting every single piece of utter bull shit they pulled from nowhere. Utter nonsense, the immoral and inhumane humans writing this must have run out of anything else of interest if they thought it okay to adapt and fully lie about a situation they know nothing about just for 5 minutes of fame.
I stared emotionlessly at Hermione who had red eyes from her no doubt rubbing at them.
'At least you tried Harry'
“That’s not even the worst of it,” Hermione scowls but forces her voice to sound lighter just for my sake, trying to soften the blow that will sting furiously.
I hummed questionably, bracing myself for the pure worst. If I had tried to prepare more in that moment, it would be impossible.
'At least you tried Harry'
Yet nothing could have helped soften the blow, for her next words cut deeper in me than a knife could ever reach.
'At least you tried Harry'
“‘Killer still at large,’”
well. Harry has only one place to go. To the most widely recognised as the best detective in town.
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Mr. Tom Riddle smiled welcomingly as a young man, short and skinny, shyly poked his head through Tom's office door.
"Mr. Riddle?" The sweet angel's voice asked hesitantly, frowning as his gorgeous emerald eyes fixed straight into Tom's red ones.
And well, Tom couldn't be held accountable for what he must do to have this sweet angel on his side, after all, his favourite colour has always been green.
"That is me," Tom softly murmured as if he was not to spook the poor angel who helplessly fell into his grasp.
The young man's face brightened considerably, and Tom found himself cooing at the sight.
"I need your help," His angel asked carefully, biting his lip.
Tom would do anything for this angel he just met. He would watch the world burn for him.
"Anything," Tom hissed slightly, his voice rough and dangerous.
His angel's eyes widened before setting his facial expression on a pleased grin.
"I need your help to find and kill Lord Voldemort," His poor mistaken angel whispered, and with that command, he had just sold his soul to the devil.
Tom found himself surprised, yet not at all disappointed. His teeth pulled back into a vicious grin, showing his pointy teeth, like the real heathen he is.
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