Metanoia~ Tom Riddle

Chapter 35

Veruca had provided food, shelter, and companionship to Merope Gaunt for just over a week now, and she had learned very little about the young woman. Ultimately Veruca found that her head wasn't screwed on quite right, most likely due to the magical abuse she had suffered. She enjoyed books, and sewing, and was very beautiful, but there was something in her eyes, something in the way she spoke. As if, something had tormented her younger years, something purely evil.

It was December 27th, 1926, and Veruca was tired. Tired of time travel, tired of the dangers, and strangely enough, tired of missing Tom. She missed the almost friend that he could have been. The almost friendship that brewed between them. She and he were so alike- the adventures they could've had, the legacy they could have built.

She had been so torn, the last few days she kept her thoughts primarily to herself. She could end it now, it'd be very easy, and she'd be guaranteed to succeed. That option, ever so tempting, drew her in like a moth to a flame.

However, the way her heartstrings tugged at that idea made her spiral into an abyss of 'what ifs'. So, no, she could never kill him, she could never kill Merope, but, heal the young mother? Make sure she lived through the delivery. Make sure she would be able to raise Tom with love and happiness. That was something she could do.

So she waited with Merope, in their room at the inn, for the 31st to arrive. Every night they went for a walk and found some dried herbs and new books. Tonight, however, Merope stayed in bed and Veruca left her alone to wander the gardens out back. The flowers were all dead, and the bushes dried up and covered in snow. It was natural for December, still, Veruca could not find peace.

The moon climbed higher, and it got colder until finally, the girl decided to get some sleep. Veruca had felt something in the air during her wandering. It seemed quieter than usual. Upon entering her shared room she choked on the air in her throat.

A very tall, ghostly pale man stood at her window, his back to Merope's sleeping form. Veruca did not know the stranger, but she knew he was dangerous, the billowing black cloak in the still room showed her that much. His magic was intense, almost full-bodied on its own.

There was a silence between them, both knew the other was there, but words were lost. The buzzing of noise inside their skulls was loud enough without verbal communication. The girl allowed her eyes to leave his figure only for a moment, to scan Merope for injuries, discomfort, or any sign of waking.

"I have been waiting for you, Veruca."

Her eyes snapped back to the man's back. His voice was cold but familiar, and it tugged at something within her.

"Who are you?" Veruca swallowed, as the tension in the room began to rise.

"That's such an ignorant question, considering you've spent so much time with me."

There was a hiss in his voice. A hiss so familiar that the girl blushed with embarrassment. She then noticed who the stranger was.

"Tom."

"Correct," the man turned and narrowed his gaze. If he was slightly startled when she held his stare, he did not show it. Nor did Veruca show any disdain or discomfort with his staggering appearance.

"From the future," she clarified, her eyes leaving him to scan the rest of his form.

"My future and your future are very different."

Veruca swallowed again, her throat bone dry, "But, why are you here? Why were you waiting for me?"

"It seems, you've been making a mess of things, darling."

"I beg your pardon," her eyes flickered back to his. She did not see Tom, she could not find any humanity in this creature.

"My younger self is.... distracted. And you are the reason."

Just then, Merope groaned and rolled over, burying her face in the covers. Veruca watched carefully, silently sending a muffliato spell toward the bed, "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."

Tom's gaze turned, and something in his eyes flickered to life, "Don't play with me, Veruca, I know about your little time travel endeavors."

"How?"

"While you are clearly very clever, there is one thing you didn't take into consideration while hopping through time...," his tone was sarcastic and when he paused, she could see the disappointment in his eyes. With one flick of his wand, which went unseen by Veruca, the two were outside, in the deadened gardens.

"My mind, in its future, remembers everything that has ever happened to it. Every new memory you created, flashed forward, and naturally, unless one has had issues with short-term memory loss, one doesn't take strange 'new' memories lightly."

".....I-" Veruca couldn't form a sentence, her brain was moving a mile a minute. Sirens were going off in her head, she had failed. This wasn't Tom, this was Voldemort, and while both were equally dangerous, Voldemort meant business.

"Yes, you, my dear have stalled a great deal of my work... and, well... You could say I'm simply not happy. My patience has run out. Your time with me is up."

Veruca's gaze fell to the ground. She felt as if all of the air had been sucked from her lungs. Her stomach dropped to her toes and her head began to swim, "So, I failed then."

"What?"

"I failed," she looked back up, meeting the serpent's eyes. "My mission to change you, to help you- I failed."

Tom titled his head, feigning sympathy, "Devastatingly so."

The room filled with silence, as Tom prepared his wand hand. Pointing the wretched stick at Veruca, who knew all along this would be her end. Tom looked as stoic as he had the day she had met him.

"Any last words, old friend?"

Veruca shed a tear, "I am truly sorry, Tom."

There was a moment of hesitation. Tom was taken aback by the tear. This was not the first time he had made her cry, he knew that, and tears had never stopped his wrath before. Tears didn't earn mercy or second chances. But, something about how hopeless she looked, the flame he once saw, the Veruca he met in his memories, was gone.

A sense of pride and maybe guilt flooded the serpent's senses as he realized he was saving the both of them. She had nothing left to give. And he would not spare her life, for his younger self was still too attached, but even then, he would no longer have to live with the knowledge that there was a girl capable of his downfall.

Veruca knew it was pointless to fight back, and really, Voldemort was right. She was too tired to even try. Her shoulders sunk as she focused on her breathing. The air was cold but sweet. The faint smell of the flowers she had used to make tea for Merope helped to ease her stomach. Veruca looked up, determined to face her monster, even as he slayed her.

Their eyes met for the last time, dead black slits against firey brown orbs.

"Avada Kedavra!"