melody [tom r.] - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Lying on his chest after they were done was Melody's favourite part of their sinful affair. He'd play with her hair, whisper things to her, profane things sometimes, other times he'd praise her beauty.
She was torn. How long would this go on? The female Malfoy was already a Seventh Year and her graduation was coming painfully soon. For once, she didn't want to leave Hogwarts.
Tom had her smitten. He'd waltzed into her daydreams, cynically painting her world a dark shade of emerald; the elegance of Slytherin and the sharpness of his eyes. He tied red threads to her limbs, moving her at his own accord, completely taking over her world.
Tom had the toxicity of arsenic and the pureness of honey. He had the heaviness of mercury and the lightness of gossamer. He was a paradox all in himself, a jumble of complexities that even he wasn't able to understand sometimes.
"I can't understand why your family doesn't give you the appreciation you deserve. You're so priceless, Mel."
Her heart thudded at the nickname, eyes not looking into his but at a certain spot of his bedroom door. Her forefinger traced shapes on his bare torso, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed evenly. Tom had an arm wrapped around her, simultaneously playing with her hair while the other remained by his side.
She shrugged in response, "I'm not, honestly."
He furrowed his eyebrows at her, pausing for a second. "You are, and I will be the one who treats you right."
Melody sighed, letting silence drape over them for a few minutes. Finally, she spoke. "They hate me, and the feeling is mutual."
Her lover continued to tug at the roots of her hair, reaching all the way to her ends. He hummed in thought, causing her to finally look up at him.
"You shouldn't be caring about them when you have me."
She let a smile stretch on her face, her lips reaching to kiss his for a couple of seconds.
Finally, something else hit her. "A-about Manson. . Have you done this before?"
Tom bit his lip, replying with a quick nod. "I killed a lot of people in my early years as well."
She didn't know why he trusted her with this information. Perhaps he'd known how she wouldn't dream of causing him any harm, and would take the secret with her to the grave.
"How many?" Melody asked, her eyes wide with thrill and anticipation. He stroked her hair absentmindedly, thinking for a moment: his father, his grandparents, Myrtle Warren, the muggle traveller in Albania and..
"Come here, boy," Mrs. Cole ordered, grabbing his arm and pushing him into her dull office. Just like the rest of the hellhole he lived in, her workplace smelled like mould and dust, and nothing he laid eyes upon could be pleasing.
A stench of alcohol wafted into his nose and Tom scrunched his face in disgust, but she didn't seem to notice. The matron was certainly an alcoholic, and she often seemed in a haze every time she dragged him to this damned room. It had started just when he turned twelve, and he could do nothing about it.
Tom hated it, the feeling of someone taking advantage of him in a revolting way and it was all out of his control. He couldn't kill her, no. He was underage and he had the trace on him still. Besides, everyone knew Tom was the dark kid, he was the outcast in the orphanage and he didn't think he'd get away with killing her without being blamed.
He couldn't stand her, he desperately wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and strangle her until she thrashed beneath him, until her eyes stared lifeless; just like that orphanage he'd been thrown in.
Mrs. Cole was in her late forties, she was a pathetic muggle and her own husband left her to wallow in this ugly place. She had no appeal to her, she was a dull woman that often seemed like a living corpse.
She would say things to Tom – inappropriate things, she would touch him places she shouldn't touch. Tom especially dreaded spending summer in the orphanage because of her, she wouldn't leave him alone.
"You're such a handsome kid," she would say, her blasphemous mouth smelling like the usual reek of gin. "You won't say a word about this."
Every time Mrs. Cole touched him Tom would vow to himself that he will kill her once he turned seventeen. He would be free then, free of this prison and completely able to use his magic.
He wanted to watch her scream in agony and beg at his feet, just where she belonged. Then he'd kill her, in whatever way he pleased, because Tom Riddle left the orphanage, who would blame him?
Mrs. Cole's body was found on a late summer night in 1945, lifeless and sprawled on her messy desk. The crime scene was gruesome: her arms were missing and her lips were stitched together tightly.
Karma had bitten back.
"I lost count." Tom finally spoke after staring off into the ceiling for several minutes, shrugging a shoulder dismissively. He had a faint smirk on his face.
She chuckled, a sadistic undertone to her voice. Indeed, Melody Malfoy was perfect for Tom Riddle.
And Tom Riddle sought perfection.
But he wanted to fulfil that on his own, he wanted to be perfect alone. He didn't exactly need Melody.
She was the one who needed him.
"You know, I always thought you were a person of this sort."
"A murderer?"
"Not exactly, just someone who doesn't forgive easily. You revel in punishment, as well. But I know for a fact that you wouldn't hurt me."
Tom smiled, his head tilting to the side slightly. "Of course I wouldn't, love."
His soft voice awakened a feeling in her that was so strange it was indescribable. She felt like she was drunk on wine, all warm inside like he'd dropped a match in her stomach. She was truly struck by him.
"I want to ask you someth-"
Melody was interrupted when Tom's door barged open, causing them to sit straighter and pull the quilt over their chests with the quickness of lightning.
It was Headmaster Dippet.
"Professor Riddle, a student has gone missing!-" Dippet halted, standing still in shock. He was utterly flabbergasted by the sight ahead of him, a wrinkled hand covering his mouth shakily.
Acting hastily, Tom grabbed his wand from the nightstand beside him and stupified the Headmaster nonverbally, getting to his feet to wear his clothes afterwards.
"Quick, put this on and leave!" He handed her a cloak to wrap around her naked body, which she did quickly and sprinted to the door, stepping over Dippet's motionless figure and heading to her common room. She was certain that Tom would obliviate him.
Just as she was out of Tom's office, Melody's eyes widened when another figure came into view. She halted for a second, her heart dropping to the depth of her stomach. No no no no!
"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," she spoke quickly, her words almost jumbling over each other as she ran past him, not waiting for his suspicious scolding, or any answer whatsoever.
It was obvious now. Tom easily took Dippet down, but Melody wasn't sure if that would be the case with Dumbledore. She was worried for him, her heart thudding the whole way to the Slytherin common room.
Dumbledore had seen her leave his office with nothing but a cloak covering her.
She wasn't ashamed, though. And she'd never be. Melody was in love with Tom, and that would always be her priority even if the whole world turned against her, their swords of fictitious moralities tearing at her with humiliation and shaming.
She only cared for him.
And perhaps that was her fall.
Wrong. What's considered wrong? It was all subjective, morality was subjective, at least to them. Maybe the world saw their actions as immoral, but to Tom and Melody, it was bliss. It was everything that could be possibly right.
They chose their own wrongs and rights, moralities and immoralities, vices and virtues. To them, the rest of the world was below, too inferior to judge their actions.
But maybe it was all an illusion. A twisted mirage.