"The Serpent's Teeth"
(A Tom Riddle love story)

9th February 1945
Sunday

I wake up to the sun rising.
Its warm, soft light floods the room.

I'm still laying naked under the warm blanket with Tom, and take a deep breath of his intoxicating smell.

Nothing could be more perfect than this moment.

Tom is laying very still under me and breathes evenly.

If I wasn't sure that the curtains were closed last night, I would assume that he is still asleep.

Still sleepy I slightly lift my head from his chest, and look up to get a bettee view or hus face.

Tom squints blankly down at me, his hand gently gliding through my hair.

"Good morning, Hazel."

"Good morning, Tom," I smile at him happily and cuddle closer to him.

"I hope you slept well?"

"Just fine," he answers and turns his head toward the window.

"Looks like it has been snowing all night."

"And?"
I happly lay my head back comfortably on his chest.

"I thought you might want to take a walk with me in the snow," he suggests with.

I look at him surprised.

"You want to take a walk with me?"

"Why not?"
He shrugs nonchalantly.

"I thought you liked the snow."

"Of course I do," I beam at him and sit up.

"Can we go before breakfast?"

"Get dressed, do your hair, then we can go down."

I scramble out of bed, take some warm clothes out of his closet that here going, and make my way to the bathroom.
Of course fully aware of his eyes on my body.

Once inside the bathroom I shower quickly and then slip into my warm clothes.

Frowning, I stand infront of the mirror, pull my hair up into a bun and think about wearing a third pair of woolen tights as Tom comes into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

We both stand in front of his mirror, and the sound of our toothbrushes seems to synchronize automatically.

With difficulty I suppress the grin that threatenes to sneak on my features and would make the whole foam run out of my mouth.

I quickly spit and rinse out my mouth before I clean the toothbrush and go back into the room.
There I lay scarf, gloves and coat for him and me on the bed and wait for him to come out of the bathroom.

"Shall we?"

"Sure, Tom," I smile at him tenderly and grab my things.
I prefer to put my coat on now as it is very cold throughout the castle.

We silently make our way to breakfast in an almost empty hall.
None of our friends are present so we just together at one end of his house table and eat in peace.

Professor Dippet looks happily over at us and

Dumbledore's looks slightly conflicted.

He had never liked Tom.
From the moment when he visited the Orphanage for the first time.
How right he was.

Too bad that my sympathy for him has diminished considerably.

How can he just treat people like chess pieces?

Where does he get this right?

"Can we?" Tom gets up before I can answer, so I hurry after him tying my cozy wool scarf around my neck and putting on my gloves over my stiff.

The cold winter air strikes against me, stinging like icy needles on the exposed parts of my skin.

"Ready for a snowball fight, Tom?"

"Snowball fight?" Tom looks at me questiongly.

Laughing, I jump down the front steps shape my first snowball and throw it at him.
He quickly pulls out his wand and smashes the snowball with a spell.

I stand there, laughing at his undignified expression until a snowball strikes my arm.

Startled, I look at him, before a cheeky grin spreads on my face.

"Shall we take the Battle to the lake?" I ask him.

"Come," he orders and stamps trough the ankle-deep snow.

With a slight smile I follow his dark figure and reach for his hand, as soon as I catch up with him at the lake.

He immediately tightens his grip around my hand as we walk on the frozen shore.

I wonder what the giant squid is doing down there...
Can the squid freeze?

"I love the winter," I sigh with relish and kick at the snow in front of me.

"There are worse things," he agrees.

"Exactly. And in Scotland, there is at least snow. Can you imagine that there are countries without seasons?"

"That is quite logical, Hazel."

"Yes I know. But still. They never have snow,no colorful levees or no sun."

"It could be worse," he appeases.

"It can always get worse."

"Always?"

"Always," I nod in agreement.

Even your tyranny could be worse.
Even that.

I quickly shake my head to get rid of that thought.

"Instead of in an orphanage, you could have grown up on the streets."

"I wouldn't have. If my mother had given birth to me on the street, I'd be dead."

"She loved you." I smile at him.

"No, my mother loved herself and my father in a sick way. They have forsaken me. "

Sighing, I express my side just to him, whereupon we continue to run silently. I do not want to destroy the afternoon mood.

Thoughtful I'm sitting next to Tom in his room by the fireplace. We were just dinner and once I go to sleep go to Gryffindor Tower.

The conversation this afternoon will not go out of my head easily.

Does he have a childhood trauma?
A parent trauma?
His words were very derogatory, as if he didn't respect his mother.

Are all who die weak and unworthy in his eyes?

Does that mean that he doesn't regret any of his actions?

Is his character, his delusion simply a result of a trauma?
A false picture of the world that he learned in his childhood?

Is it because he had no one who ever really cared about him?

"Just like she was probably," I whisper more to myself than to him.

"Who do you mean?" Tom asks unexpectedly.

"Your mother, Tom," I explain carefully and pull my legs to my body.

"She was a bad mother. She preferred death."

"I think she loved you, Tom. She gave her life for you. "

"She was weak."

"Love is not a weakness, Tom."

"There is no love," he hisses menacingly and stands up.

"She could have fought for her live. Every witch takes care of her child. But she preferred to die instead to of getting out of her own misery. But she sent me into hell."

"You would have had a really tough life. She had no money for food. She didn't have money for anything. You would have starved to death and her with you. She gave you your life, Tom."

"Goodnight, Hazel," he says.

Inwardly sighing, I reach for my cloak.

"Good night, Tom. I'll see you in Transfiguration,"
I say a little disappointed, although I could have expected it.

This reaction is typical for him.

I quietly I close his door behind me and stay for a moment in the cold hallway before I quickly make my way to the tower.

What did he experienced to not believe in love?

The failure of this belief, his ignorance of the power of the human soul, is a weakness and ultimately that will bring him down.