Do I Save the World or Just One Troubled Kid?
Suddenly, everything was deathly still. The only sound I could hear was my own heartbeat, thundering in my ears. A giddy laugh almost bubbled out of me, but I swallowed it down. This was no time for hysterics.
"Tom Riddle," I repeated, my voice sounding far away to my own ears. "That's a...a nice name." I forced a smile on my face, trying to look casual, to hide the panic coursing through my veins. "Very... distinguished."
He cocked his head to one side, scrutinizing me. "You're acting strange," he remarked, a furrow of suspicion marring his brow.
"No, I'm not," I countered, too quickly. I cursed internally. I was messing this up.
Desperate to divert his attention, I picked up the children's book I'd been reading, holding it in front of my face. "Look, isn't this a cute drawing of a dragon?" I pointed to the colorful illustration, praying he wouldn't push the issue.
Tom merely frowned at me, looking unconvinced. Thankfully, he didn't comment further, turning his attention back to his book. I exhaled a shaky breath. That was close.
In the following weeks, I found myself hyperaware of Tom's every move, every word. On the surface, anyone but Tom himself would be oblivious to any change in my behavior, but the boy had always possessed an uncanny perceptiveness.
As I treaded more carefully around him, choosing my words cautiously to avoid awakening any latent darkness and spending less time in his presence to gather my thoughts, I knew he was taking notice. His scowls grew more frequent, and occasional flashes of exasperation betrayed his awareness of my not-so-subtle shift.
I felt a pang of guilt for my initial reaction to his true identity and scolded myself for jumping to conclusions. This wasn't the Voldemort I had read about in the future. This was just Tom—a stubborn, remarkably intelligent boy with whom I had shared my life since our earliest days in the orphanage. It was unfair of me to label him a "psychopathic murderer" when he had yet to traverse that path of darkness.
Yet, despite my best efforts, a lingering unease clung to me—a fear of the unknown, the potential for the darkness that could one day consume him. It was a simple human instinct, difficult to shake off entirely.
I was in too deep with Tom, that much was clear. I had developed an attachment to the boy, and the thought of attempting to guide him onto a different path—a path that could alter the grim future I knew awaited him—crossed my mind more often than I cared to admit. But it was a dangerous game, one that could upend not only my own life but also the future of the entire world. I had to tread carefully, ensuring I didn't inadvertently reveal any critical information to Voldemort in case my efforts to change Tom were in vain.
The weight of the task ahead weighed heavily upon me, leaving me feeling utterly out of my depth. It was then that I caught a glimpse, a mere sliver, of the burden Harry Potter had borne as the savior of the magical world. The mental stress he endured was unimaginable. How did he manage it all?
But let's face it, I wasn't some sort of savior. I was just an ordinary person, thrown into a twisted deal with life. How was I supposed to reform a dark lord in the making without a manual? The years I had spent with Tom had taught me one thing—he was the most stubborn brat you could ever encounter. Once he fixated on something, nothing could sway him from his goal. Would my presence alone change the outcome? Could I truly make a difference in the final outcome?
I pondered these questions, my mind grappling with the uncertainty that lay ahead.
It was a daunting task, one filled with countless risks and unknowns. But I couldn't ignore the nagging feeling within me, the conviction that I had to try. Perhaps I couldn't save everyone, couldn't rewrite the entire course of history, but if I could make a difference in Tom's life, in his destiny, then it would be worth it.
My uncharacteristic behavior lasted for all of two weeks until I couldn’t bear to see our relationship grow colder and more estranged. The morning light streamed through the window, filling the room with a soft glow, as I welcomed the day with renewed determination.
There, to my right, lay Tom, still lost in dreamland, his sleeping habits ever so tidy. I couldn't help but give him a sidelong glance, not exactly impressed by his slumbering style. He was lying on his back, looking like a picture of perfection, with his hair neatly combed and his arms resting delicately on his stomach. It was like he was auditioning to be the star of a funeral, waiting for a grieving family to give him their final farewell.
What a weirdo.
Feeling mischievous, I couldn't resist the urge to play a small prank. With a grin, I hopped out of bed and tiptoed closer to him. My finger reached out, poised to tickle his nose and jolt him awake.
But before I could even make contact, he swiftly grabbed my finger, his eyes fluttering open. Confusion and annoyance danced in his gaze as he asked, "What are you doing?" His voice was laced with a mix of sleepiness and irritation.
I couldn't contain my laughter at his disoriented state. "Just making sure you're still alive, Sleeping Beauty. Wouldn't want you to miss out on all the fun, would we?"
His sleepy expression twisted into a scowl, but I caught a fleeting glimpse of amusement before it vanished behind a shadow of suspicion and resentment. "What is this about? Tired of ignoring me already?" His words stung, hitting right in the gut.
I maintained my composure, refusing to show any weakness. "Yep, I need a break from your ugly face once in a while."
He scoffed and turned away, facing the other side, the tension palpable in the air.
With a sigh, I admitted, "Fine. I'm sorry."
His ears perked up at my words, curious about what would come next.
"For what?" he grumbled, his voice laced with skepticism.
"For ignoring you," I confessed, my voice softening with sincerity.
A heavy silence hung in the air, stretching for what felt like an eternity. I fidgeted nervously, unable to bear the weight of his silence any longer. Just as I was about to speak up, he broke the silence with a simple word.
"Okay."
Wait, what? Okay? That's it?
Tom stood up; his gaze fixed on me with an intensity I hadn't seen before. "I said okay."
A wave of relief washed over me, mingled with a newfound curiosity. "Do you... do you forgive me?" I asked, searching his face for any sign of resolution.
He rolled his eyes, maintaining his edge. "No."
Ah, there it was. The Tom Riddle I knew, unwilling to let go completely. I understood his need to keep up the facade.
"Well, even if you don't forgive me, at least we can start fresh, right?" I suggested, a glimmer of hope in my eyes.
His brows furrowed, and he cast his gaze downward, studying his hands intently. It was as if he was wrestling with conflicting emotions, his thoughts a whirlwind of complexity.
Vulnerability. The realization hit me like a lightning bolt. Tom Riddle, for all his darkness and secrets, was feeling something he couldn't quite understand. And if this bothered him, it meant there was still a flicker of goodness within him, a side worth holding onto.
"I don't understand what goes on inside that weird mind of yours most of the time," Tom confessed, his tone tinged with a mix of frustration and fascination. "But I suppose I've learned to accept your peculiarities."
I blinked, taken aback by his unexpected admission. Tom rarely revealed any hint of curiosity or interest in my way of thinking. It was as if he had unlocked a hidden door within himself, allowing a sliver of understanding to seep through.
"Does that mean we’re good?" I asked tentatively, unsure of how he would respond.
His lips curved into a half-smile, a rare display of warmth. "I suppose I can tolerate you a bit longer." he said, his voice laced with a playful edge.
I chuckled, relieved by his response. It wasn't exactly a declaration of friendship, but it was progress. It meant that our bond, though strained, still held a flicker of hope.
"Well, lucky for you, I have no plans of leaving anytime soon," I replied, my voice filled with a hint of mischief.
Tom's eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and something else I couldn't quite decipher. "I don't know whether to be grateful or annoyed," he remarked, his tone laced with mock exasperation.
I shrugged, a mischievous grin playing on my lips. "I'll let you figure that out. Just know that wherever trouble finds you, I won't be too far behind."
He raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of intrigue dancing in his eyes. "Is that a promise?"
I nodded, my gaze locked with his. "Consider it a pact. Through thick and thin, we'll navigate this crazy world together."
For a moment, the weight of our unspoken connection hung in the air. Despite the trials that lay ahead, I knew that as long as we faced them side by side, we had a fighting chance against the darkness that threatened to consume him.
Tom's features softened, a genuine smile gracing his lips. "Deal."
And with that simple word, our unbreakable bond grew stronger, weaving us together in a shared destiny. As I embarked on this treacherous journey, one thing became clear—while I couldn't change the world, I could change a single life. And that was a battle worth fighting.