Serpents and Roses

Chapter 1: The Things He Never Said The first thing Aurora Farrow noticed about Tom Riddle was not his intelligence. Everyone noticed that. It was impossible not to. His name was spoken throughout Hogwarts with a strange mixture of admiration and curiosity. Professors praised him, students looked up to him, and even those who disliked him could not deny that Tom Riddle was extraordinary. He was always the best. The highest marks. The most elegant answers. The perfect manners. A person without flaws. Or, at least, that was what he wanted everyone to believe. Aurora had always been interested in things that did not make sense. And Tom Riddle did not make sense. She first saw him properly during her fifth year at Hogwarts, though she had known who he was long before that. Everyone did. Tom was the kind of person whose reputation arrived before he did. When he entered a room, conversations shifted. Not because he demanded attention. Because people gave it to him. He carried himself differently from other students. There was confidence in every movement, every word, every expression. He never seemed uncertain. Never nervous. Never embarrassed. Aurora found that strange. Everyone was human. Everyone made mistakes. Everyone had moments when their carefully built image cracked. Except Tom Riddle. At least, that was what it looked like. "You're watching him again." Aurora looked away from the Slytherin table and frowned at her friend. "I am not." "You are." "I was simply observing." Her friend laughed quietly. "That is a very complicated way of saying you were staring." Aurora ignored the comment and reached for her goblet. Tom Riddle was sitting among a group of students, listening to their conversation with a polite smile. He looked comfortable there. But Aurora noticed something. He was not really participating. He was studying. People often mistook his attention for kindness. Aurora was not sure it was. There was a difference between caring about someone and understanding how to use them. And Tom Riddle seemed to understand people very well. Perhaps too well. --- Their first real conversation happened because of a book. It was always something simple with Tom. Never dramatic. Never accidental. That was another thing Aurora noticed. Tom Riddle did not do accidents. The library was almost empty that evening. Rain tapped quietly against the tall windows, and the golden light from the candles reflected on rows of old books. Aurora reached for a book on the upper shelf at the exact moment another hand reached for it. She froze. Tom Riddle stood beside her. "Interesting choice," he said. Aurora looked at the book in his hand. "Are you saying my choice is unusual?" "No." His eyes moved briefly to the cover. "I am saying most students your age would not choose something like this." "And what would most students choose?" "Something easier." Aurora took the book from his hand. "Maybe I don't like easy things." For a moment, Tom simply looked at her. It was not the usual polite look he gave everyone. It was genuine interest. "That explains a lot." She raised an eyebrow. "You barely know me." "That is why I find it interesting." Most people would have found his answer charming. Aurora found it suspicious. "You always talk like you are giving people puzzles." "And you always talk like you are trying to solve them." The reply was so quick that she almost smiled. Almost. "Maybe I am." Tom tilted his head slightly. "Be careful." "With what?" "Searching for answers." Aurora looked at him. "Why?" "Because sometimes people do not like being understood." The strange thing was that Tom did not sound like he was talking about other people. He sounded like he was talking about himself. --- After that, they began speaking more often. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But enough for Aurora. Tom would appear in the library when she was studying. He would ask her opinion about certain books. He would start conversations about magic, history, and people. Especially people. He was fascinated by human nature. By choices. By weaknesses. By ambition. Most students thought Tom was simply intelligent. Aurora thought he was hungry. Not for food. For something else. Something she could not name. One evening, they sat opposite each other in the library while the rest of Hogwarts prepared for dinner. "You are quiet today," Tom said. Aurora looked up from her notes. "You noticed?" "I notice everything." The confidence of the answer should have annoyed her. Instead, it made her curious. "That sounds exhausting." "What does?" "Always watching. Always analyzing." Tom's expression changed slightly. Only slightly. But she saw it. "I don't find it exhausting." "Because you are used to it?" "Because it is useful." Aurora closed her book. "Do you ever do anything just because you want to?" The question hung between them. For once, Tom did not immediately answer. That was rare. Very rare. "I want many things." "That wasn't my question." His eyes met hers. And for a moment, Aurora saw something behind them. Something colder. Something much older than sixteen. "You ask dangerous questions, Aurora." She smiled faintly. "And you avoid dangerous answers." A silence followed. Then, unexpectedly, Tom smiled. Not the perfect smile he showed teachers. Not the charming smile he gave other students. Something smaller. Almost real. "You are different." "I know." "Most people would deny that." "Most people care too much about being normal." Tom watched her carefully. "You do not?" "No." "Why?" Aurora looked at the rain outside. "Because normal is usually just another word people use when they don't understand something." For some reason, that answer stayed with him. She did not know it then. But Tom Riddle remembered everything that interested him. And Aurora Farrow had become interesting. --- The days that followed did not change much. At least, not on the surface. To everyone else, Tom Riddle remained exactly the same. The perfect student. The talented Slytherin. The person professors trusted and students admired. But Aurora noticed small things. The way his expression changed when someone mentioned his past. The way he avoided talking about his family. The way his smile sometimes disappeared the moment he thought nobody was watching. People often believed that knowing someone meant knowing their habits. Aurora thought it meant noticing their silences. And Tom Riddle had many of them. --- The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet that evening. Most students were either finishing their homework or enjoying the last hours before curfew. The green light from the lake outside moved across the stone walls, creating strange shadows. Aurora sat near the fireplace, reading. Or, at least, pretending to. She had been staring at the same page for several minutes. "You are distracted." She looked up. Tom stood beside the armchair across from her. "You always appear without making a sound." "I was not aware I needed permission to enter a room." "I didn't say that." "No." He looked at her book. "You were not reading." Aurora closed it. "You seem very confident about that." "I am." "That must be convenient." "What?" "Being certain about everything." Tom sat down opposite her. "It saves time." "Or prevents mistakes." His gaze sharpened. "You think mistakes are important?" "I think people learn from them." "People also suffer because of them." Aurora studied him. There it was again. That strange seriousness that appeared whenever the conversation became too personal. Tom Riddle spoke about many things. Magic. History. The future. But never himself. "You really hate being wrong, don't you?" A small pause. "No." The answer came too quickly. Aurora noticed. "You do." Tom looked at the fire. "I dislike weakness." "Those aren't the same thing." "Most people are too weak to understand the difference." The words were colder than usual. Aurora expected arrogance. Instead, she heard something else. Fear. Not obvious fear. Not the kind people showed when they were frightened. Something deeper. The fear of becoming powerless. "Who taught you that?" she asked quietly. Tom looked back at her. For a moment, his expression became unreadable. Then he smiled. "You ask too many questions." "And you avoid too many answers." "I suppose that is why we continue having conversations." Aurora smiled slightly. "Because we annoy each other?" "Because you are interesting." The answer surprised her. Tom noticed. "Did you expect me to say something else?" "Actually, yes." "What?" "I don't know." That was a lie. She had expected him to say something charming. Something calculated. But he had simply told the truth. And somehow, that felt more dangerous. --- A week later, Aurora found herself walking beside him through the empty corridors after dinner. She was not sure how it happened. One moment, she had been leaving the Great Hall. The next, Tom was beside her. Neither of them mentioned it. They simply walked. "Do you ever wonder what people say about you when you are not there?" Aurora asked. "No." "Really?" "No." "Why?" "Because I already know." She looked at him. "That sounds impossible." "It is not." "You think you understand everyone?" "Not everyone." "Then who?" Tom glanced at her. "The people who matter." Aurora was quiet for a moment. "And do I matter?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. She almost regretted asking. Almost. Tom stopped walking. The corridor around them was empty. Only the sound of distant footsteps echoed through the castle. His expression was calm. Too calm. "You are asking dangerous questions again." Aurora looked away. "Maybe I like dangerous questions." "I noticed." "Is that a bad thing?" Tom stepped closer. Not enough to be threatening. Just enough for her to notice. "No." His voice was quieter. "It is not." For a moment, neither of them spoke. Aurora could see the careful control in him. The way he measured every word. Every movement. Every emotion. It was like he was constantly fighting against himself. And she wondered what would happen if he ever stopped. "What are you afraid of?" she asked. The question changed everything. Tom's expression froze. Only briefly. But enough. "I am not afraid." "Everyone is afraid of something." "Not everyone." "Yes. Everyone." He looked at her for a long time. Then he said: "Fear makes people weak." Aurora shook her head. "No. Fear makes people human." Something about those words unsettled him. She saw it. And for the first time, she wondered if anyone had ever said something like that to him before. Not admired him. Not feared him. Not wanted something from him. Just understood him. "You are strange, Aurora Farrow." She smiled faintly. "You have said that before." "And I meant it both times." "Is that supposed to be an insult?" "No." A pause. "It is an observation." She laughed quietly. And to her surprise, Tom did too. Only for a second. But it was real. Then the sound disappeared, replaced by his usual expression. Controlled. Perfect. Almost untouchable. Almost. Because Aurora had seen behind the mask. And once someone saw something hidden, it was impossible to pretend they had not. --- The strange thing about Tom Riddle was that the more Aurora learned about him, the less she felt she understood him. Most people became easier to read over time. Tom became the opposite. At first, he seemed like someone who had everything figured out. A person with a clear path ahead of him. But the longer Aurora spent around him, the more she realized that his ambition was not simply ambition. It was hunger. A desire that had no clear ending. One afternoon, she found him in an abandoned classroom on the third floor. She had not intended to look for him. At least, that was what she told herself. The door was slightly open, and through the gap she saw him standing near the window, reading an old book. Not a school textbook. Something much older. Something that looked like it belonged in the restricted section of the library. "Should I be concerned about what you are reading?" Tom did not look surprised. That was the first thing she noticed. He had known she was there. "You should learn not to enter rooms without permission." "You should learn not to leave doors open if you want privacy." A faint smile appeared on his face. "Fair enough." Aurora stepped inside. Her eyes moved toward the book. "What is it?" "Research." "That explains nothing." "It explains enough." "It really doesn't." Tom closed the book. "You are very persistent." "So I have been told." "Does it not bother you that some questions have answers you may not like?" Aurora looked at him. "Does it bother you?" For once, Tom did not answer immediately. "No." She waited. Because she knew him well enough now to recognize when he was choosing his words. "Some truths are unpleasant," he continued. "But they are still truths." Aurora walked closer. "That sounds like something someone says before doing something terrible." His expression remained calm. "You think very highly of my potential for disaster." "I think you think highly of it." The silence that followed was different. Not uncomfortable. Not awkward. Something else. Like a conversation neither of them was willing to finish. "You see too much," Tom said quietly. Aurora tilted her head. "Is that a problem?" "Sometimes." "Why?" His eyes met hers. "Because people who see too much are difficult to control." The honesty of the statement surprised her. Not because it was cruel. Because he said it like he was explaining a simple fact. And perhaps, to him, it was. Aurora should have been offended. Instead, she felt something closer to curiosity. "Are you trying to control me?" "No." The answer came instantly. Too instantly. She noticed. "That was fast." "Because it is true." "Then what are you trying to do?" Tom looked at her. For several seconds, he said nothing. Then: "Understand you." The answer was quiet. Almost reluctant. And somehow, that made it more believable. --- After that day, something changed. Not dramatically. There was no sudden confession, no obvious shift that everyone could see. Tom Riddle was far too careful for that. But Aurora began noticing that he sought her out. Not because he needed information. Not because he wanted help with homework. Simply because he wanted her presence. They spent evenings discussing books neither of them had finished. They argued about magic, about history, about whether power itself was good or bad. Tom always believed power was necessary. Aurora believed power without compassion was dangerous. "You have a very idealistic view of the world," he told her one evening. "And you have a very pessimistic one." "I have a realistic one." "That is what pessimistic people usually say." His lips curved slightly. "You enjoy disagreeing with me." "Maybe." "Why?" Aurora thought about it. Because most people agreed with Tom. Because most people accepted his opinions before questioning them. Because she liked seeing him challenged. "Because you are not used to someone doing it." The smile disappeared. Not completely. Just enough. "You are correct." The admission was unexpected. Aurora looked at him. "You admit it?" "Occasionally." "That must be difficult for you." "More than you know." And there it was again. The rare moment when Tom sounded less like the person everyone admired and more like the boy underneath. A boy who had spent years building walls. --- The first time Aurora saw Tom angry, it was not because of her. That surprised her. She had expected anger to be dramatic. Loud. Violent. Instead, Tom's anger was quiet. Controlled. Which somehow made it worse. A seventh-year student had made a careless comment about Tom's background. Most people did not notice. Aurora did. She saw the way Tom's expression changed. The way his hand tightened slightly around his wand. The way his eyes became colder. Only for a moment. Then everything returned to normal. The other student walked away, completely unaware of how close he had come to something dangerous. Aurora waited until they were alone. "You wanted to hurt him." Tom looked at her. "No." "You thought about it." A pause. "Thoughts are not actions." "No." She studied him. "But they tell you something about a person." Tom looked away. "You should stop trying to find darkness in everyone." Aurora's voice softened. "I am not looking for darkness." "Then what are you looking for?" She answered honestly. "The truth." For some reason, that affected him more than an accusation would have. Because Tom Riddle could handle hatred. He could handle fear. But honesty was different. Honesty required him to be seen. And he had spent his entire life making sure nobody could do that. "You are going to regret being curious about me," he said. Aurora looked at him. "Maybe." A small smile appeared. "But I think I would regret not finding out." Tom watched her carefully. And for the first time, Aurora wondered if she had made a mistake. Not because she was afraid of him. But because she was beginning to understand something. Tom Riddle was dangerous. Not because he was incapable of feeling. But because he felt things he refused to admit existed. --- Tom Riddle was not a person who trusted easily. Aurora understood that much. Trust, to him, was not something freely given. It was something earned, measured, and carefully controlled. He watched people before allowing them closer. He searched for weaknesses before revealing his own. And yet, somehow, Aurora had found herself standing closer than most. She was not sure when it happened. Maybe it was during the late evenings in the library. Maybe it was during their endless arguments about magic and morality. Maybe it was the first time Tom had looked genuinely surprised by something she said. Whatever the reason was, something between them had changed. Not enough for others to notice. But enough for them. --- The night of the first snowfall, Aurora found Tom outside the Astronomy Tower. It was unusual. Tom Riddle was a person of habits. He preferred places where he had control, where he knew what to expect. The empty tower was not like him. "Are you trying to freeze?" He turned at the sound of her voice. "I could ask you the same question." Aurora stepped beside him. The snow fell silently around them, covering the castle grounds in white. "I was looking for you." The words came out before she could reconsider them. Tom noticed. Of course he did. "You were looking for me?" There was something almost amused in his voice. "Don't sound so surprised." "I am not." "You are." A small smile appeared. "You are becoming very confident." "Maybe I am." "Perhaps I have influenced you." Aurora laughed quietly. "That would be unfortunate." "For you?" "For everyone." For a moment, there was silence. A comfortable one. That was what surprised her most. Silence around Tom Riddle usually felt heavy. Like waiting for something. But this was different. He looked almost peaceful. Almost. "Why are you here?" Aurora asked. Tom looked out over the grounds. "I wanted quiet." "You could have gone to the library." "No." "Why?" A pause. Then he answered: "Because you would have found me there." Aurora looked at him. It was such a simple sentence. But from Tom, it meant something else. He had admitted that he expected her. That he had thought about her being there. "Is that a bad thing?" "No." His answer was softer than usual. "No, it is not." --- The snow continued falling. Aurora watched the castle lights in the distance. "You know," she said, "sometimes I think you are trying very hard to convince everyone that you don't need anyone." Tom did not respond. "And sometimes," she continued, "I think you are trying to convince yourself." The silence that followed was immediate. She knew she had reached something. Something real. "Aurora." The way he said her name made her look at him. Tom rarely sounded uncertain. But now he did. Only slightly. "You should be careful." "There it is again." "What?" "The warning." His eyes met hers. "I mean it." "Why?" "Because you do not understand what you are doing." Aurora frowned. "Then explain it." Tom looked away. That was the answer. He couldn't. Or wouldn't. Maybe both. "You believe there is something good in everyone." "I believe there is something human in everyone." "Those are not the same." "No." She looked at him. "But maybe they should be." For a long moment, Tom said nothing. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand. Not threateningly. Not aggressively. Just holding it. Aurora watched him. "What are you doing?" "Showing you something." She became still. Tom rarely showed anything. Especially something personal. He pointed the wand toward the snow-covered ground. A quiet spell left his lips. The snowflakes around them lifted into the air, glowing faintly under the moonlight. Aurora stared. It was beautiful. Not powerful. Not impressive. Just beautiful. "You could have shown me something dangerous," she said. "I know." "But you didn't." "No." "Why?" Tom looked at the floating snow. Then at her. "Because not everything has to be a demonstration of power." The answer surprised her. Because it was something she never expected from him. Tom Riddle understood beauty. He simply refused to admit it. --- Later that night, Aurora returned to her dormitory with a strange feeling. She should have been more careful. She knew that. Everyone knew Tom Riddle was not ordinary. There were things about him that felt wrong. Things that made her instincts warn her to keep distance. But curiosity had always been stronger than fear. And Tom Riddle was the greatest mystery she had ever encountered. What Aurora did not know was that Tom was thinking about her too. Not because she admired him. Many people did. Not because she feared him. Many people did that as well. But because she looked at him and saw something nobody else bothered to search for. A person. And that was far more dangerous than hatred. Because hatred could be ignored. Fear could be used. But being understood? That was something Tom Riddle had never learned how to fight. And perhaps that was why, for the first time in years, he allowed someone to come closer. --- The following weeks passed in a way that neither Aurora nor Tom could properly explain. Their conversations became a habit. A dangerous one. Aurora had always believed habits were harmless. Something people did without thinking. But Tom Riddle was not harmless. Nothing about him was accidental. Every word, every gesture, every choice seemed carefully placed. And yet, somehow, he kept choosing her. That thought both fascinated and worried her. --- One evening, Aurora found herself sitting in the library long after most students had left. The castle was quiet. The kind of quiet that only existed at Hogwarts after midnight, when every corridor seemed to hold a secret. She was halfway through a book when a shadow fell across the table. She did not need to look up. "You're late." Tom raised an eyebrow. "Late?" "You usually arrive before I do." A small pause. Then a faint smile. "So you noticed." Aurora looked back at her book. "Unfortunately." "Unfortunately?" "Yes." "That sounds convincing." She tried not to smile. Failed. Tom noticed. He always noticed. "You are different when you are not trying to prove something." The comment made her look up. "What does that mean?" "It means you are more honest." "And normally?" "Normally, you are careful." Aurora considered his words. "Is that a bad thing?" "No." His answer was immediate. "Everyone should be careful." The way he said it made her curious. "You are talking about yourself again." "Am I?" "Yes." Tom leaned back slightly. "You have a habit of assuming you understand me." "And you have a habit of pretending I don't." The silence between them was almost a challenge. Neither looked away. For once, Aurora felt like she was not trying to uncover something hidden. She felt like Tom was allowing her to see it. Just a little. "What happened to you?" The question was quiet. But the effect was immediate. Tom's expression changed. Only slightly. But enough. "What do you mean?" "Before Hogwarts. Before all of this." His fingers stopped moving. A tiny movement. Almost invisible. But Aurora saw it. "My past is not important." "Everyone's past is important." "Not mine." "Why?" Because he had no answer. Or because the answer was something he did not want to give. Aurora could not tell. After a long silence, Tom finally spoke. "I learned a long time ago that depending on people only creates disappointment." The words were calm. Too calm. Like something repeated many times. Aurora's expression softened. "That does not mean you should never trust anyone." "Trust is a weakness." "No." She shook her head. "Trust is a choice." Tom looked at her. "You make everything sound simple." "Maybe because you make everything complicated." For a second, something almost like amusement appeared in his eyes. "You really do enjoy challenging me." "Maybe I do." "Why?" Aurora hesitated. Because she liked seeing him without the mask. Because she liked the moments when he forgot to be perfect. Because there was a loneliness in him that he refused to admit. Instead, she simply said: "Because someone should." The answer stayed between them. And for once, Tom did not argue. --- A few days later, something happened that reminded Aurora exactly who Tom Riddle was. Not the boy from the library. Not the person who watched snow fall from the Astronomy Tower. The other side. The side everyone whispered about. She found him in an empty corridor after hearing raised voices. A younger student stood several feet away from him, pale and frightened. Aurora did not hear the beginning of the conversation. Only the end. "Choose your words carefully next time." Tom's voice was quiet. The student quickly left. Aurora remained where she was. Tom noticed her immediately. "You should not listen to conversations that do not involve you." "You scared him." "No." "You did." Tom looked at her. "And?" The question was colder than she expected. Aurora felt a strange disappointment. Not fear. Disappointment. "That is the part of you I don't understand." "Which part?" "The part that thinks being feared is better than being respected." His expression hardened. "You think respect protects people?" "No." She stepped closer. "But fear destroys things." For a moment, she thought he would dismiss her. Instead, he said: "You still believe people can be changed." "Yes." "Even me?" The question was so quiet that Aurora almost missed it. She looked at him. Really looked. And she understood something. Tom Riddle did not ask because he wanted reassurance. He asked because some part of him genuinely wanted to know the answer. "I don't know," she admitted. Honesty. Always honesty. "But I think there is a difference between someone being lost and someone being gone." Tom stared at her. The corridor was silent. Then he looked away. "You're impossible." Aurora smiled faintly. "So you've said." "No." His voice was quieter. "I mean it differently now." And somehow, that was more meaningful than any compliment. --- That night, Aurora realized something dangerous. She was no longer simply curious about Tom Riddle. Curiosity was easy. Curiosity could disappear. This was something else. She wanted to know him. Not the version everyone admired. Not the version everyone feared. The real one. The one hidden beneath years of ambition and control. But she did not realize something equally dangerous. Tom Riddle had begun wanting the same thing. Not because he needed her. Tom Riddle needed very few people. But because Aurora Farrow was the first person who had looked at him and not asked what he could become. She had asked who he already was. And for someone like Tom Riddle, that was far more frightening. Because power could be gained. Knowledge could be collected. Secrets could be discovered. But being seen? Being truly seen? That was something he had never prepared for. And perhaps that was why he could not walk away.