Warning: Self-harm, kind of suicide? I apologize to anyone sensitive about the subject.

Eyes-

Inspiring Me

'Do it,' whispered the voice again.

Laura hesitated, knife angled in her delicate hands.

'It is for the best, my sweet girl. Do it, and your dreams shall come true,' promised the lilting voice.

But still, she tried to rationalize to herself. How could death ensure her dreams?

Should it not be the opposite? How can one dream in death?

'Please, love. Do it. Do it for me,' the voice whispered, just as gentle as the first request.

The voice was so pleasant, though. The sweet nothings caressed her mind, removing all of her doubts and insecurities. No one had ever made her feel this way. Surely…

Surely it wouldn't lie to Laura.

Yes, yes, it had to be the truth.

And so, with a smile on her lips, Laura did as she was asked, and plunged the knife deep into her heart.

O-O

Deep in a dark cavern, thousands and thousands of miles away, a cloaked figure sighed.

A crimson string held in two hands glowed brighter and brighter for all of two seconds. Suddenly, the string's light dimmed until a gray string was left in its' place between fingers.

She had thought that this one was it.

She was so sure this time.

Oh well, on to the next.

O-O

Rodd Grindelwald considered himself an honest wizard.

Well, perhaps not honest as in sincere.

He was simply meant to be. A wizard such as him came about as often as an asexual Abraxas Malfoy, which is to say hardly ever.

The thought of Abraxas reminded him of the Malfoy heir's late appearance. Unlikely to miss this meeting due to an appropriate desire to remain alive, Rodd decided to overlook the teen's tardiness.

Anyways.

When he was just a babe, still coddled to his mother's chest, Rodd could already manipulate his magic well enough to break glassware with his incessant cries. An even as his father, Roderick Grindelwald, enchanted the entirety of their manor's fragile pieces with anti-wreckage wards, the blonde babe still managed to crack mirrors and fracture wood.

His mother insisted upon accidental magic, but his father claimed a disregard of his authority.

Rodd's future actions indicated that his father's allegations were indeed justified.

Regardless of intention, the simple truth held true on into adolescence; his affinity for wandless magic never waned. Maybe this reason alone caused the interest of the Dark Lord, although Rodd preferred to think that he and his uncle shared a similar sense of humor – if you considered an inclination towards murder as humorous.

And while he recognized his natural ability to be rare and noteworthy, Rodd nevertheless felt overshadowed.

For even at the age of seven, Rodd understood the magnitude of Harry Potter's birth.

Yet, as he glanced at his cousin's bored face, almost childlike in his continuous state of petulance as of late, he couldn't muster even a bit of jealousy.

Rodd wouldn't deny his tendency to dote on his younger cousin. Admittedly, their relationship began on the rocks as his uncle showed undoubted preference towards the quiet infant, but that quickly changed as Harry became a toddler, following step for step behind Rodd.

Step for step evolved into spell for spell, until five-year old Harry, prodigy that he was born to be, mastered a spell twelve-year old Rodd failed to properly execute.

But Harry, adorable, innocent Harry, smiled so big, and Rodd understood what adoration truly meant.

Adoration is an inclination towards affection rather than jealousy.

And the sentiment was shared between the two. Despite Harry's detested dependence upon his wand, he admired Rodd's ability to keep his wand at bay.

As Rodd sensed his cousin stiffen at his side, he broke from his musing. The viridian eyes, so similar to his own but at the same time not, nervously cut to the closed door into the Black's spacious drawing room, and pale hands lifted a goblet full of wine, downing the alcohol in one drink.

Rodd grinned, leaning lazily against the stone wall behind him and a bronze hand ruffling blonde locks.

Now this, he would undoubtedly enjoy.

O-O

With about the grace of a stumbling giant, Abraxas tripped crossing out of the Black's fireplace.

A step ahead, Riddle ignored him, sharply focused on the entrance to the boardroom, and the blonde felt relief.

That relief melted into his stomach, burning hot with shame yet bleeding into something cold and solid, forcing a lump to form in his throat. Fear and dread made him audibly swallow, causing the feelings to repeat all over again.

Merlin, would this be the end?

Tardiness, in any form, was unacceptable among Pureblood traditions, especially in relation to those of superior standing.

In fact, many a wizard had fallen under the Dark Lord's wand for far less disrespectful acts.

Doomed. Tom Riddle had doomed him.

Abraxas would find that word funny in any other situation.

"Tom Riddle. What a pleasure."

The Malfoy heir inwardly cowered and outwardly paled as Lord Grindelwald's voice held zero pleasure.

To their right, the infamous wizard sat in a large wing-backed chair, crimson in color. What drew his eyes the most, however, was not the chair or even the man, but it was the wand in said man's hand, perfectly in view and contrasting with the arm of the seat. While the man's face held not an ounce of emotion, the entire scene was quite horrifying.

Even more daunting would be the way Riddle smirked, turning with an ease that only pure confidence could provide. The atmosphere swiftly changed, and tense didn't seem quite appropriate enough a term for the situation.

Surely his fellow Slytherin was suicidal. Any other explanation surpassed the realm of sensibility.

"Malfoy, be gone."

His preservation skills prompted his feet without much of his own notice. As he hurried out of the room with about the same lack of dignity as his own philandering father, Abraxas thanked Walpurgis and all of her might that he still had lungs to breathe.

O-O

The audacity. And from a mudblood no less.

The teen before him did not meet his expectations.

He surpassed them.

Gellert could feel the glyph the moment the fireplace flared, signaling someone's arrival. Before that moment, he had been a tad smug, assured by the late hour that the boy had refused the invitation out of fear.

Oh no, that inferior bastard dared to be late, purposely, and all because the mudblood knew Gellert couldn't touch him.

His fingers twitched.

"You seem proud of yourself, boy," he stated, muscles rigid underneath his robes. The urge for blood was almost too much to bare after such blatant disrespect.

Riddle lifted a brow.

At him. On the inside, he seethed.

"Perhaps. I'm quite honored. Do you treat all guests with an exclusive greeting?" Riddle sneered. "How benevolent of the Dark Lord Grindelwald."

Said Dark Lord's face darkened. "Watch your tongue mudblood, before I cut it out."

Riddle smirked again, posture reeking of confidence. "I suppose you know not to try. I admit, I had hoped you wouldn't know what this-," the Slytherin flashed his enchanted ring nonchalantly, "-is. But I assumed Potter must have gained his knowledge from you."

Ah, there it was.

A poisoned glyph. If attacked, the blast would deal seemingly no damage, until it was too late. By the time the attacker realized anything had happened, the glyph would have poisioned the blood stream with vampire blood, effectively rotting the body from the inside out in a matter of seconds.

While quite a simple ring, Gellert could feel the power of the rune placed on it. And only runes carved upon glyphs could emanate such an aura as the one that surrounded Riddle. Although, there was something off.

Something wasn't right.

His eyes widened.

Riddle chuckled. "Vampire blood isn't the easiest ingredient to obtain, but the effects are worth the effort. In the case of glyphs, I'm sure you know, there is the writ of the blood of a vampire, and then there is the sacrifice of the blood of an entire coven. While most deem such a thing impossible by most wizarding standards of today, I do not."

The teen glanced at the exit, and then back. "I created this ring for two reasons."

Gellert remained silent.

Maybe, maybe, the mudblood was worth sparing.

"To prove that I am far more capable than the fools that have taken oaths in your name."

At that, Gellert scoffed. Not quite.

"And, I didn't make it for myself."

With that statement, the fool removed the ring and pocketed it.

His jaw went slack.

Gellert Grindelwald, in all of his years, had never seen an aura as expansive as the magic that belonged to Tom Riddle.

This was it. I assumed the ring had been the source, but I…

I was wrong.

Riddle sent him a calculated look. "I do not fear you Grindelwald, just as I do not fear Albus Dumbledore. I will not lie and claim to be your better, but I do not follow anyone."

The teen straightened his back. "Teach me instead."

AN: Wow, so yeah. Two chapters within a week of one another. I feel almost on a roll. Except it's a bit short, and I apologize.

Sorry about even more unexplained stuff. I apologize, we're getting to all of the plot slowly but surely.

If I didn't explain it well enough, vampire blood is poisonous to mortals. Their bite, however, turns a mortal into a vampire. If a mortal battles a vampire, becomes injured, and some vampire blood gets on their skin, it prevents the wounds from healing with magic. It takes the old-fashioned way, even a bit longer. With the rune, it directly deposits vampire blood into your blood stream, and it kills you dead.

But that's my crappy explanation. I hope you enjoyed the first of MANY confrontations.

Any other questions are welcome.