Two Dimensional

For years I was trapped in a memory. Walking through the pages of a diary, the words swimming over my skin and being absorbed into me. Myself fading away under thick black matter until I was nothing more than the words I lived in. Two dimensional and hollow and easily erased.

My first chance of escaping slipped through my fingers, my plans ruined by a little boy with messy black hair and vivid green eyes. Naive in his belief that good would ultimately triumph, he stood before me, wand in one hand and shaking with emotion. I could feel his rage, almost taste it. But then again, I could always find the darkness in someone. He ended my short life in a spurt of black ink, flowing like blood and mingling with the water on the floor and I disappeared.

~*~

I was returned to the diary, staying there for what seemed like another eternity. Until the idea formed in his head. He sought another as powerful as him, to aid in the destruction of the green eyed boy we both despised. He spent months in preparation, and when the day finally came, the plans ran as smoothly as glass.

~*~

I opened my eyes to a dark room, and, looking around, I saw him seated on a throne that appeared to be constructed of flesh and bone. He smiled down at me, his pale face twisted grotesquely and his red eyes glittering. I picked myself up, assuming a defiant stance, and stared back at you.

"Hello, Tom," he said.

"Who the hell are you?"

He laughed, a high, cold sound. "I am your future."

"That is all fine and dandy, but can I get a name?"

"I am Lord Voldemort."

I felt the air leave my lungs. If he was Lord Voldemort, then he was me. I was staring down my future. And I didn’t like it at all.

He stepped down and advanced on me, placing one thin, spider-like hand on my shoulder.

"What is wrong Tom?"

"You must be lying. I would never allow myself to become a subhuman."

"You sought immortality, and you achieved it. One must make sacrifices for what they want."

His hand moved to the back of my head, the other snaking around my waist. I sneered at him, and he smiled again before crushing his lips to my own. The kiss exploded in a burst of white hot pain. It was agony, ever cell inside me fighting against him. But he did not yield, holding me tighter and sliding his tongue into my mouth. Every touch was like being hit by the Cruciatus Curse, and when he finally pulled away, I felt like retching.

"You are disgusting," I spat.

He laughed and moved his hand from the back of my head to my shoulder, and down my arm, resting on my forearm. He gripped it tightly and whispered something under his breath. My skin began to burn, and a moment later, I was consumed by pain like I had never known. My vision was swimming with bright lights, the pain pressing down on me and almost bringing me to my knees.

When he pulled away, my skin was marked with a familiar design. I remembered drawing it in ink on Lucius Malfoy’s arm. A skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. The mark of my followers.

He had branded me as his slave. I felt rage and disgust rise within me.

"You are mine now, and I can do with you what I will."

I said nothing.

I would show him. No matter what it took.

Tom Riddle was no one’s slave.