Chapter Text
Roses are red, violets are blue,
They first meet in the bumbling crowd of students rushing in the tide that pulls in and out against the compartments of the Hogwarts Express. Within this chaos, time seems to stop in one particular compartment. A young boy sitting within the shadowy corner of the compartment, threadbare clothes hugging his thin frame and a young girl bathed in silky garments, panting as she stands at the doorway — the two stare at each other for a few long seconds.
“Hey, sorry about that.” The girl brushes her robes, smoothing out the small folds that have made their way to the cloth’s skin in her hurry. “I was wondering if I could join you in your compartment, my brother’s being annoying.” The girl does not stop there, words slipping off her lips in her excitement. “You’re a first-year as well right? I’m Roseanne Potter!”
The boy noncommittally hums, turning a page in his book. For the faintest of moments, his eyes hold a certain glimmer in them — a sheen of what could be described as hope.
Friends. He has never had one of those at the orphanage before and did not see himself wanting to make any. But what if… For the briefest of moments he lets himself dare to think such thoughts: what if those with magic were different to the muggles he had to live with at the orphanage? Surely they would be different, better. Could he then dare to make a friend? His eyes glaze over her robes — high quality by the looks of it — and he assumes she is from a rather well-off family. Tom sucks in a small breath — it wouldn’t do him any good to be impolite, and surely not make the same mistake he had made in front of Dumbledore.
He puts on the best smile he can. He has practised this smile many times, in front of the mirror and in front of the occasional couples that had come looking to adopt. “It’s nice to meet you Miss Potter, I’m Tom Riddle.”
The girl waves her hand dismissively. “There’s no need to call me Potter, call me Roseanne — or Rose if you prefer, I don’t really mind that much.”
Rose. If the girl wishes to be called that, then who is he to deny her wish? “Then, Rose, call me Tom.”
“So, Tom.” She breathes his name, making something so ordinary sound like something so much more, eyes staring into his as she plops herself onto the seat opposite his, the compartment door sliding closed leaving the two of them alone in a gentle calmness. “What house do you think you will be in?”
He doesn’t even need to think — he has read the books and he has long known his answer. “I think Slytherin would suit me very well.”
And the girl laughs, a bright laugh that fills the compartment room. “Well, I don’t know where I’m going personally, only the hat can really answer that question. But I think I’d look quite good in red and gold, don’t you think so too?”
He looks at her and her bright green eyes, a shade of green he has never seen before, so brilliant and full of light, and thinks that red and gold would not suit her very well — that it would clash with the beautiful colour of her verdant eyes. He does not voice this aloud, nor does he answer her original question. “Then, I suppose we’ll be sitting on opposite sides of the Great Hall.”
The girl licks her lips slightly as if saddened or perhaps nervous at the thought. “I suppose so.”
His first glimpse of Hogwarts is shared by Rose, the two with their knees pressing against each other in the small boats that seem as if they could topple over any moment against the seemingly endless stretch of inky sea. The castle’s spires and towers seem to grope for the sky, peeking far over the clouds and the castle’s walls seem to reach so far down, digging into the earth and spreading itself against the rolling hill, parts of it sinking into the endless depths of the water.
Her lips part slightly at the sight. “Beautiful.” Her voice is barely heard against the strum of the wind and the rhythmic hum of the land around her, but Tom, so close to her, hears.
His eyes are wide, a rare emotion peeking through them, the faintest of smiles on his face.
“It is.”
☾
Neither is surprised when they are sorted into their respective houses — Slytherin for Tom and Gryffindor for Rose. And like that, they go their respective ways, yet to meet each other in class.
As Tom leaves the Slytherin common room, three days into his Hogwarts journey, he finds himself ambushed by a group of slightly older Slytherins.
“Mudblood,” they jeer, speckles of spit landing on his face. He doesn’t know what the word means and is only left angered that others dare look down on him.
A blinding light of red is thrown at him, and he ducks, too slowly he thinks, as he braces for impact.
A second passes. Then another. And finally, he dares open his eyes.
In front of him is none other than Rose, arms on her hips as she towers over the two boys. She’s shaking slightly, almost exhausted as she points her wand at the two boys.
“Never, ever, say that word again.”
The boys sneer, it crawls up their faces, cruel — a reminder that it isn’t the end. Then they pick themselves up, running and tumbling over their loose shoelaces and robes that drag against the ground.
She turns to face them and he thinks he hears him mumble ‘cowards’ under her breath. The fire in her eyes makes Tom realise that yes, red and gold suit her very well.
“What’s a mudblood?” For the briefest of seconds, he regrets asking the question after seeing the way her face falls and the fire in her eyes dims.
“A bad word used to describe muggle-borns — utter bullshit if you ask me.”
Tom is surprised to hear the muggle profanity flow so easily from her lips.
She stares long and hard at him. “Tom, always remember that you aren’t, and will never be a mudblood. ” She spits the last word out, venom on her tongue as she glares towards the direction the two boys have scrambled off to.
Tom slumps against the floor. “But that’s what I am right? A muggle-born who was born and raised in a muggle orphanage.” In his mind, he hides the fact he believes his father is a wizard — he is special , and his mother had been far from special if she had weakly perished giving birth to him — after all, if she had magic, surely she wouldn’t have died. He refuses to believe himself muggleborn.
Rose raises her eyebrows at the new piece of information but does not comment on it. “Well, it has always been silly the importance wizards have placed on the purity of blood. My mother always told me that it was our actions that defined us and not our blood, so Tom, why don’t we head to charms together, I do believe it’s one of the few classes we share together?”
“Your mother sounds like a rather noble woman,” Tom quips.
Rose chuckles, stowing away her wand and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Oh, she was a Gryffindor alright.”
Of his classes, he finds the ones he shares with the Gryffindor most interesting: charms, transfiguration (which is surprising considering how Dumbledore always seems to watch him with a guarded gaze), and his favourite of all, defence against the dark arts.
He spends the year perusing books, digging in the library, spending time after class talking to the teachers bar Dumbledore, helping other students with their homework, and slowly the image of Tom Riddle he wants everyone to see is built. He’s charming, handsome and smart, always willing to help others. The teachers pity him for his childhood and send extra praise to him, calling him brilliant.
The other Slytherins slowly start leaving him alone. They still send him heated glares, mouthing ‘mudblood’ behind his back, but they no longer directly attack him. If he had a galleon for every time that Malloy had his nose upturned at him, he’d easily be rich.
He keeps note of their names and faces, making sure to remember those who have slighted him — those who dare ignore him and treat him as lesser.
He will remember and he will punish them. Tom has always prided himself on his memory.
He somehow finds his greatest memories to be those spent with Rose. She’s loud and brash, short-tempered and fiery — Gryffindor through and through — yet somehow, he doesn’t mind her presence. He finds himself enjoying the afternoons they spend at the library together. Even when Dumbledore seems to favour Rose, and Rose back, he cannot bring himself to be bothered, as much as he dislikes the old man. He enjoys her witty remarks and the sound of her laugh and treasures how she is always there for him.
He doesn’t know when he started enjoying her presence — the idea so foreign to him. Perhaps it was slowly built up from all the classes they shared. Perhaps it was from the moment she had stepped in to protect him or perhaps, it was the very moment their eyes — verdant green and dark brown — had met for the first time on the Hogwarts Express.
They’re so different he thinks. And Tom wouldn’t change that for the world.
☾
It’s in his second year that he meets Rose’s brother, Charlus Potter in person. He’s two years older, dressed in the distinctive red robes of the Gryffindor house. He can see the similarities between Charlus and Rose — the same eyebrows and lean build, the small dimple that appears on the left cheek. It would be impossible not to see the similarities if they stood next to each other and it pains Tom slightly to realise just how similar they look. The fourth year bows his head slightly upon seeing him, the two having brushed past each other while walking across a narrow corridor that leads to the greenhouses.
Charlus seems to have an amused grin on my face. “Tom Riddle, I suppose? My sister talks about you a lot. Didn’t think that I’d get to meet our resident celebrity so soon.”
He’s jesting, Tom knows, and yet, Tom finds himself irked by the older boy in front of him. He has heard plenty about him from Rose, and plenty more from the rumours and gossip that trails around the school grounds. Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and likely to be future captain, a prankster who had broken the record for time taken to receive a detention (it had only taken Charlus one day within stepping onto Hogwarts for the first time to receive a detention for who knows what), and a monster at transfiguration he has heard, perhaps his only redeeming quality if you didn’t include the fact Rose is his sister, Tom thinks.
Tom only smiles charmingly. “Please, there is no need to praise me so highly, I’m sure much of what you have heard is exaggerated.”
Charlus turns to face his friends. “Look, he’s humble as well.”
Then Charlus smacks his forehead. “Ugh, I’m going to be late for transfiguration. Thank Merlin Dumbledore is the teacher, he should let me off the hook this time again.” He turns back to Tom. “Well, it was lovely meeting you. I’m afraid me and the boys have a class to attend to, and so do you.” Charles flashes him a goofy smile that easily settles onto his face.
Tom nods slowly. “And it was lovely meeting you too.” He stares at the retreating figures of Charlus and his friends. What Rose admired so much about her brother, Tom didn’t understand, nonetheless, he supposed for Rose’s behalf, he could somewhat tolerate Charlus.
Unless that person happens to be Dumbledore. What had initially been mild dislike turned into complete annoyance and hatred. He’s always watching his every move, never trusting him and preferring to ignore him in transfiguration class which bothers Tom. Of all the teachers, Dumbledore is the only one who has never fallen prey to his charms.
Second year passes by rather uneventfully. He grows stronger and his knowledge vaster. He spends more time in the library and practising magic within the confines of an abandoned classroom, Rose by his side.
When the school year comes to a close, he finds himself stuck at Wool’s orphanage again and hates how utterly lonely he feels. And scared. He hears whispers in the wind. At Hogwarts, it had been whispers of Grindelwald’s name. At Wools, it’s the hushed voices of Mrs Cole and the other matrons in the night. He sees the newspaper clippings buried in the trash, their headlines peeking at him. He sees the leaflets scattering in the wind, landing upon rooftops and across cobbled pavements.
He hungers for home. Hogwarts — it’s the only place he has ever dared call home.
☾
Everyone knows Grindelwald’s name.
Tom believes it would be nice if people knew his name like they knew Grindelwald’s.
And so he starts tightening his grip around the Slytherin house. He needs allies. People whom he can trust to follow him and fight for his cause.
It’s hard however, he is still scorned for his blood.
Rose’s voice drifts into his mind. My mother always told me that it was our actions that defined us and not our blood.
With her words echoing in his head, instead, he shows them his magic and its power. He knows the effect it has on other people and he smiles widely as he watches as his dorm mates shiver as his magic spreads around the room. He watches the awe on their face and loves how it’s mixed with fear. He drinks the sight of their faces up and laughs knowing that he has control over his fellow dorm mates.
“Malfoy, look at me.”
And Malfoy does, and what a beautiful sight it is to be bossing the blond prick around. Tom licks his lips in anticipation.
“My, my, little snake. Don’t tell me you’re scared?”
Tom knows that what he speaks is the language of serpents and he relishes the way their faces instantly switch.
The fear is more palpable but there is something that was never there before – respect and full loyalty to him.
He smiles sharply. “I trust that not a word of what happened in this room will leave this room?”
Together they form the Knights of Walpurgis and Tom is the leader of them all. They are not friends, not at all.
By the end of the third year, the Slytherins all look at him differently and Tom knows that soon, he’ll have all of Slytherin wrapped around his little finger.
☾
It’s on a snowy Yule night that Tom asks Rose if she’d like to go to Hogsmeade with him. They talk and they laugh (a lot) over drinks and different pastries. He relishes the sight of her smile and drinks up all her witty remarks and appreciates her knowledge. He soaks up every part of her, engraves it in his brain and smiles back.
Rose Potter is the most beautiful woman he has ever met. She has been the only one whose grades keep up with his own and he loves the challenge she is. Being with her makes his life so much more exciting, taking him out of the mundane drone of those who had once dared to look down at him.
The ends of her scarf flutter slightly in the wind and a few wispy stray baby hairs gently bounce against her face as the faintest hint of pink traces its way to her cheeks. Tom quickly moves to wrap his own coat around her, assuming her cold, only to grow more worried when her face burns a brighter shade of red.
“Rose, are you good?” His eyes meet hers.
Her fingers tighten themselves around his coat. “I- I’m good.”
Tom is surprised – it’s not every day that the Roseanne Euphemia Potter is lost for words.
Then his vision is covered by a blur of black hair as a heavy mass tumbles into him and warm arms wrap around his body and reach for the back of his neck leaving a pleasant tingle.
Green eyes look at him earnestly. “Happy Birthday, Tom!”
She gives him a bag of chocolates, a snow globe of a miniature Hogwarts, a beautiful golden quill, and a small diary with his name engraved into its leather cover.
He smiles a rare smile and hugs them tight.
☾
Rose leans into his body, her head resting against his chest where she can hear the gentle thrum of his heartbeat.
A picture of them together sits on top of Tom’s drawer. It’s relatively small, but framed by gold is him and Rose standing together, a bouquet in her hand as the two lean in closer together, sealing it with a kiss.
He remembers that kiss greatly and its tingle on his lips. Subconsciously, he lifts his finger to his lip, rubbing against it.
His first kiss. And, Salazar, he wants to do it again, and again, and again.
☾
It’s on the 31st of October on a trip to Hogsmeade that Grindelwald’s forces attack.
The first sign there is something wrong is the stench of ash. The air is acrid and burning with the palpability of death. The glass behind them shatters and the dementors start swarming Hogsmead, their spindly fingers groping across the town leaving an icy trail in their wake.
Cracks of apparition echo ominously across Hogsmeade, signifying the presence of multiple of Grindelwald’s acolytes.
Tom is not prepared for this situation and as much as he wants to fight, to test his magic and certain curses he had read about, he knows that he is outnumbered greatly, not that that is usually a problem for him. However, Tom knows these are trained dark wizards he’s up against, and the stronger ones that are closer to Grindelwald’s inner circle. He narrows his eyes and points his wand in their direction. From the shadows, he fires a few milder curses at a few’s backs and watches with satisfaction as the bodies shudder and flop to the ground like ragdolls.
A revolting beam of blue light in his direction forces him out from the confines of the Three Broomsticks and onto the open streets where spells and curses are thrown in rapid succession in a blaze of light. Tom scowls, sharply flicking his wand and soon enough, he is dancing within the maze of light, spells firing to his left and right and his breath sharpens when a white beam of magic nearly grazes his cheek.
This Tom realises, is the thrill of battle he’s always missed. He is no longer stalling, waiting for the Aurors to show up and handle the mess, he’s out here to fight.
It’s not soon after that he realises another presence standing near him and he can feel her warmth permeating towards him. Together, he and Rose continue battling, fighting against the onslaught of spells being fired in their direction.
In the distance, he could see that even Dumbledore had joined in the battle though the man had likely not noticed his presence yet. And had Tom had time, he would have paused to admire the man’s magic. A wave of water pooled from his wand spinning violently and dragging his opponents towards it and he battled with dexterity that revealed years of experience. As much as Tom loathed the man, it would be a lie to say that man’s magic was not impressive.
“Duro!”
In his surprise, Tom had faltered slightly watching as the blue light struck across the field from Dumbledore’s wand. And he watched, as the spell neared its target, an acolyte near where they stood-
Only to watch as the man swerved in the nick of time leaving the spell to hurtle straight towards him leaving Tom in an all too familiar panic. No. He couldn’t die. Not yet. Tom didn’t know if he wanted to laugh at the irony of it.
A body collides into his, pushing him to the ground where he can only watch as the blue light travels and strikes-
“NO!”
“ROSE, DON’T!”
The battlefield turns silent as all watch, only to see Rose Potter jump in front of him and take the spell for him.
Her body haplessly flops into his arms leaving him to notice a hard mass creeping from her heart where the spell hit. It’s stone he realises with panic and he can only watch helplessly as Rose’s breathing becomes more stuttered.
She’s staring right at him, killing curse eyes once so vibrant and fiery… now so dull.
“B- Be kind to Charlus will you?”
He hugs her face to his chest. Her voice is hoarse, he doesn’t want to believe that the body he holds is Rose’s. How could it be? The Rose he had always known was so strong and alive-
The Rose he holds in his arms is so close to brushing death. “No… no, nononono-”
A hand weakly reaches up to his face, stroking his cheeks as stone crawls up her arm, hardening it. “I- I will always be with you, Tom.”
The last words he hears are so soft that he almost believes himself to have imagined them.
“Goodbye, Tom. I love you.”
He feels the heat disappearing from her body and her body going limp, her entire body turned rock solid. He clutches her body, it’s cold, her face stark white in contrast to the dark abyss of hair clumped against her skin. He’s shaking violently and before he can stop himself, he screams, a bloody scream that tears his throat and rips across Hogsmeade. In his blast of magic, he pushes away all the others watching, leaving all unconscious except Dumbledore who falters slightly but remains standing, staring at him with shock in his eyes.
For the first time in years, a tear slips down his cheek. With a shudder, Tom realises that it is the first time he has ever cried for another.
☾
Rose was the only student who had died that day. The funeral is a quiet affair – the Potters, Dumbledore, a few family friends, and Tom are the only ones attending.
Tom scowls at the man who stands across from him. How dare that man wear a sorrowful face.
As far as the world was concerned, during an attack on Hogsmeade by Grindelwald’s army, Rose Potter courageously died while protecting the lives of her fellow students.
But Tom knows the truth. He and Dumbledore are the only ones to know the truth.
Dumbledore’s spell killed Rose.
Tom does not forget. Tom does not forgive.
On her grave, he puts down a bouquet of roses – the most beautiful he could find. It was only fitting after all.
☾
One day Dumbledore requests his presence in his office and Tom declines the lemon drop when offered.
Then Dumbledore bows his head. “I’m sorry Tom.”
Tom growls. “I don’t want to hear it, Dumbledore.”
Dumbledore continues as if he hadn’t heard him. “It was not my intention for the spell to hit Rose. I would never dare harm a student of Hogwarts, especially Roseanne.”
And Tom scowls because he knows that if it was him that had been shot with the curse, Dumbledore would not be feeling half as sorry.
He thumps his hands against the table and stands from his seat in a burst of anger before taking a few deep breaths and suppressing his emotions. As much as he’d love to curse, he cannot do so in front of Dumbledore and show weakness. “Respectfully sir, I don’t have time to waste on meaningless conversation like this.”
He walks to the door but stops right before exiting, turning to glare once more at the transfiguration professor that Rose had admired so dearly. “The one you should be apologising to is Rose, not me.”
He slams the door behind him and does not look back.
☾
A month later the Chamber of Secrets opens and a month after that, a student at Hogwarts dies.
Tom frames Hagrid and life goes on, Tom enjoying his newfound knowledge of his heritage. He is Slytherin’s heir, he is better than the rest, his blood more noble than all theirs.
With the girl’s death, he makes his first ever Horcrux from the diary dear Rose had given him. The diary is special – it had been from Rose after all, but it was also proof that he was the Heir of Slytherin. In the comforts of his room, he relishes in the diary’s magic and he grins as he realises he walks closer and closer to immortality.
He is closer to conquering death and he vows will go further than anyone else has ever to conquer it. Death, such a mortal weakness (and what had taken away Rose, a small voice in the back of his head adds), is an obstacle he’d eradicate and rise above.
And Slughorn had been so very gullible but knowledgeable when it came to giving Tom the information he wanted.
With the death of his father and grandparents, he makes his next Horcrux. A part of him hurts at the act, knowing how he yearned for family when he was young. Of course, he had squashed that weak part of him down as he grew older but he had seen the way Rose was around her family: the way she and Charlus laughed together and how she always spoke so highly and lovingly of her father, Fleamont Potter. Once again, he blocks his emotions, locking them with a key he throws away.
He scowls, quickly making work and obliviating Morfin and it would be a lie to say that he is not disgusted by how low the Slytherin family has sunk over the years. He makes a promise that he will bring back the Slytherin name to its former glory.
Once he graduates, the persona Tom Riddle stays behind in the magical world for a bit within Borgin and Burkes before completely disappearing.
Many years later, Voldemort rises. (Some would argue that Voldemort had been born much earlier, from the moment that Roseanne Potter had been killed.)
His name starts circulating around Britain in hushed whispers. But no, they don’t call him Voldemort, they call him You-Know-Who, the greatest dark lord of the 20th century.
Tom Riddle is forgotten by all but a few.
My dear, this song started and ended with you.