Chapter Text
The blot pooled dangerously in his throat; breathing was a luxury he unfortunately couldn't afford. The gasps and gurgles the black ink produced whenever he spoke were muffled by a frenzy of thoughts.
"Insolent ones! How dare you defy your queen!" she shouted, raising her scepter. The being connected to her body moved at the same time, and a rosebush shot out toward her enemies.
He is the executioner and they are the criminals.
"You will be punished! Off with your heads!"
More rosebushes covered in beautiful blood-red roses and sharp thorns hurtled toward the small group of students. In their frenzy to dodge the projectiles, they failed to notice the small red figure falling like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
The screams of rage ceased, but the being continued attacking, oblivious (or perhaps not) to what had happened to its creator.
They didn't know it yet. They'll call him, shed blood for him, and complain loudly about how difficult things are being. They'll want things back to normal so they can talk and reach an agreement.
Although it was already too late. Riddle Roseheart had breathed his last, amidst cries of rage and pain for a life that would never truly belong to him. Some would offer their condolences, others would say, "Poor thing, he was so young and intelligent." Perhaps Trey would weep, Ace would clench his fists in frustration, as if that gesture could somehow turn back time, Cater would post about his passing on all social media through tears, and even (if he was lucky) turn off his phone at his funeral, and Deuce (poor, naive boy) would also mourn him; he never doubted his kind heart, he just hoped he could move on.
Che'nya would find out last, but she would help Trey through it. It would be difficult; Trey had always cared deeply for Riddle. He would likely blame himself for Riddle's death because he hadn't seen the signs of the blot.
Those weren't the best seventeen years, between expectations and rigid rules. If you ask Riddle (though no one would for fear of his wrath), he'd say he lived as best he could. He would have liked to eat more cake, play with Trey and Che'nya, break as many stupid rules (because he knew they were stupid) as he could, and make his mother proud.
None of these things could happen at the same time. His mother would never allow it; her son couldn't be anything less than perfect, and for that reason, ever since he became aware of himself, his life had been a fixed schedule.
Wake up, have breakfast, classes, lunch, study, independent study time, classes, food, sleep.
Wake up, have breakfast, classes, lunch, study, independent study time, classes, food, sleep.
Wake up, have breakfast, classes, lunch, study, independent study time, classes, food, sleep.
Wake up, have breakfast, classes, lunch, study, independent study time, classes, food, sleep.
Wake up, have breakfast, classes, lunch, study, independent study time, classes, food, sleep.
Then the NRC arrived, but the damage had already been done.
Poor Riddle. The boy who just wanted a cake for his birthday and his mother's unconditional love. Unable to have a voice in his own life.
Isn't fate a bit too capricious?
We can't choose our parents, he knows that, so why? Why couldn't he be braver? Why couldn't he stand up to his mother? Realize that what she was doing was wrong. Contradict her. Live his own life.
Instead, he became a needy boy who would do anything to make her proud. He killed himself. He failed his mother. He failed his friends. He failed Heartslabyul. He failed the NRC
So that?
He turned into a monster. He almost killed people (please let no one die, please let no one die, please let no one die, I beg you! He's dying! Don't kill Trey! Cater! Ace! Deuce! Yuu! I won't be able to rest in peace! Not like this!)
If he were still alive, he would cry. Instead, Riddle is conscious without being alive. As if he exists in two different realities. In this place, there is no here and now. There is no body. Not even walls. The typical black/white/gray space they always describe? Not that either.
It's like floating in nothingness itself, and that's so overwhelming for your consciousness that you feel it splitting apart and going mad.
Madness, that comforting spiral that always swirls in the Kingdom of Roses; few (almost no one) can claim to be sane. Perhaps his mother was mad too. In his beloved country, all sorts of characters exist (Riddle is one of them, more by upbringing than anything else), and they take pride in their culture, even if it is... well, utter madness.
Just thinking about home made her chest ache (who cares if she doesn't have one?). She'd been to so few festivals that she marveled at the stories Trey and Che'nya told her. The Kingdom of Roses is full of all sorts of extravagances, and that was clear at its festivities.
If by some miracle he regains consciousness and all this (his death) turns out to be a dream, Riddle vowed to himself to travel to his hometown and attend the next festival.
Whether her mother likes it or not.
With that newfound courage coursing through his veins, Riddle tried to move, bumping into something and realizing that (yes!) he had a body. And he was trapped.
Perhaps the Spot Monster devoured him to speed up the process?
It wouldn't make sense. She remembered losing consciousness. Even though it was a matter of seconds, she could never forget how the ink replaced her blood and how every orifice in her body oozed it out. Then darkness.
A chill ran through him. His body (heavier than ever) reacted to the terrible thoughts and kicked hard, breaking free from his prison and drowning him (again) in liquid.
Riddle cursed in every language he knew (the language of roses, the international language, and the language of merfolk, which he learned from Floyd), kicked again desperately to escape, but he didn't succeed. A more solid surface cushioned the kicks, and he shook himself. Very violently.
Whether it was his imagination or not, he heard voices on the other side of the barrier; a loud "He's coming!" and "Sirius, don't faint now!" stood out.
Riddle didn't know who Sirius was, but he hoped he was alright. Fainting spells could not only cause brain trauma, but falls (if poorly cushioned) could create life-threatening injuries.
Oh, he was drowning! What the hell does that Sirius guy care! I'm dying! Again!
(Riddle didn't know if he died—he died—or just fainted and was somehow kidnapped, so he'll leave it as 'died' until further notice)
He was only there for a few minutes amidst the commotion and panicked screams outside until someone finally opened the prison door. But the exit was tiny, and everything outside was incredibly bright.
Riddle couldn't complain because, once again, he was dying! And his body was practically being forced out. He didn't know by whom; he suspected magic.
He did not resist because that would solve the problem of drowning.
That would put him at a great disadvantage. That's for sure.
.....
Lily and James Potter. How James loved that phrase. From the first day he saw it, Lily stirred feelings in him that he couldn't fully understand at the tender age of eleven.
Like the fool he was, he did the best he could. It annoyed her; she couldn't understand what drove him to show off in front of her, to stand tall and boast even more. Nor could she understand why she hated Snape, always so close to Lily. Why couldn't it be him?
Then came his third year and many things were revealed.
"You're in love, Prongs," Sirius revealed with great sympathy, taking his hand in his own. The smile on his face was that of a complete idiot who knew it all along and hadn't revealed it until James asked, "Why does it bother me so much?" upon seeing Lily with Snape.
So he focused his efforts on winning Lily over. It turned out that Lily didn't want to be won over by the clumsy, idiotic class clown who was always bullying her best friend.
James didn't give up. Four years later, he could proudly exclaim, "Lily's my girlfriend!" while Sirius handed Remus a hefty sum of galleons with a "Seriously, Prongs?" look on his face. Best friends, indeed.
Two years later. James slept on the sofa for a week, and the culprit was a small box whose contents contained two well-defined red lines and a couple of poorly cast spells.
Even so, the smile on her face did not waver.
It was a difficult few months. Lily had a temper to be feared even without the effects of pregnancy hormones. Now, James survived on a steady stream of "You're absolutely right, darling," "I'm definitely a complete idiot," and "Right away, my love!" The three unwavering ones, Sirius joked, before Lily shot him a look and fled through the Floo Network.
Today, however, her son was still several weeks away from birth. The healers had predicted July 31st as the peak delivery date, and Lily's belly looked ready to burst.
(Be careful about saying it to their face, you don't want to die)
They were all gathered in the room, talking amongst themselves. Lily and the Marauders (James, Remus, and Sirius; Peter was away on a mission for the Order) were doing their best to keep the atmosphere pleasant, despite the ongoing war. They had lost many.
"What do you think, Lily?" Remus asked. James hadn't been paying attention to their conversation for quite some time, preferring to start an explosive game of snapping with Sirius. Judging by Lily's expression, it must be quite interesting, or at least something that covered her general interests.
"Well, I think that..." he said, without finishing his initial thought.
Lily clutched her stomach and grimaced, stifling a gasp. James jumped up and went over to her, asking if she was okay. Remus rushed over, and Sirius, in an attempt to imitate them, ended up blowing one of the cards up in his face.
"He's coming!" she gasped.
James's world crumbled. It was coming quite soon, not unheard of, and it wouldn't affect the child, but they both expected it at least next week.
The news took not only the young father by surprise but also his friends. Remus staggered, torn between running for help or staying put, while Sirius blew away.
"Sirius, don't faint now!" Lily squealed. "Damn it, I'm the one who's pregnant, not you!"
Lily swearing underscored the seriousness of the situation. A quick glance passed between the only two awake besides the mother. They got to work.
James scooped Lily up in his arms. She groaned and called him rough, but made no attempt to get away. Remus used his wand to wake Sirius with a swift stinging spell.
"Ow!" the man complained, rubbing the initial area of the discharge, still dazed.
"We don't have time, Lily went into labor," Remus explained, searching for the hospital bag, full of clothes for the baby and Lily in case their stay was prolonged.
"Shit" was all he replied.
The Floo Network activated with a shout, "ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL!" It was James's voice, already panicking for Lily. They both went through it, followed by a stunned Sirius and an anxious Remus.
The hospital was in complete chaos as soon as the birth was announced. It was 9:30 pm.
At 11:05 pm, on July 24, 1980, Harry James Potter was born, his birth still unregistered.