Thomas Potter-Love is a Different Dimension

Kiss Me Real

Harry's Universe, Summer 1943

Tom Riddle POV:

Trembling. His magic is a vibrating violin -high strung in a deadly tune, black spots cloud his vision, the pounding in his head overwhelming. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart beat in his ears.

He forced his shoulders to still and his hands to drop. Staring at the lifeless bodies in front of him. It wasn't his first time seeing death. Not even the first time he cast the Killing Curse. Yet this building storm, the climbing heat, and the all-encompassing power of his rage - his own anger, shook him in a way he could not have foreseen.

"I don't have a son, I paid the woman to keep you,"

His world, his universe had tilted then. Upended and dismantled right before his eyes.

He had known his father was a muggle. Had shelved and boxed the idea to find the man. But rumours of his only living relative-the Gaunts- had led Tom to Little Hangleton. Meeting his pathetic excuse of an uncle, sick and demented, made Tom want to vomit. Raging pitifully, Morfin's eyes wild, "You look like the muggle my sister fancied, "

By twisted fate or petty chance, Tom found the man up the hillside. And like a moth attracted to flames he went.

"She dosed me and forced herself onto me!" The man is a visual older copy of himself. "Bewitched me and no one believed me!" Tom Riddle Senior's eyelids peeled into themselves in black terror. Backtracking so fast into a glassed case, causing the doors to shake, rummaging for his gun. "I NEVER wanted you,"

A second can feel like a lifetime. Time was fascinating like that. All his life's moments ran through his mind, slow pages of a book being flipped over and shone in a new light. His mind felt like it had left his body, zooming out to the abandoned and polluted river not too far away, to miles and miles of destroyed buildings ruined by war, to an imaginary map of Great Britain, of the world. Then it zoomed back in just as fast. To the twitch of his fingers, the wet beating of his heart, the realization that he shared his father's eyes.

Maybe, a different version of himself would have acted differently. Used a different spell. The muggle was delirious. There were things he were saying that could have been important. The gun was still raised. His wand was quicker.

"Avada KEDAVRA!"

The little flicker of light he had in himself just...snuffed out. He's mind, heart and soul embraced darkness.

Darkness like the blanket that covered Aethon Malfoy's dead body.

Darkness like tall shadows in the Slytherin Common Room plotting his revenge on everyone who doubted him and his worth. Who jeered at him- Mudblood . Vowing to make the purebloods kneel before him. Dreaming of them kissing the hem of his robes.

Darkness like a smoky fog, erasing his eleven-year-old self. The child that stood in front of the mirror of Erised with want. Whose heart hardened every Christmas and Summer.

Darkness as cold as the orphanage and the Cellar. A devil was raised there and now it will burn and take the world with it.

Alone.

The curse struck its intended and Tom could feel his own soul crack.

Breathing harshly, wand in a tight grip. He tried to stop the small tremor in his hand. A part of him can never go back and turn back time.

Tom stood over his father's lifeless warm body. Examining it in a daze. He rubbed his chest, confused by the ache. The way those eyes, that face, froze in horror. Tom's mind snapped and he began kicking the dead body on the floor, thud-thud-thud. Just a plethora of violent energy. The pristine body bloody and blue. Screaming so loud that his own ears bled.