Tomarry One Shots

If Life Was A Fairytale

Summary: Drunk and disillusioned on his 22nd birthday, Tom Riddle makes an uncharacteristically reckless decision and designs a ritual that should summon him his soul mate.

Ship: HarryPotterxTomRiddle

All credit goes to Rararae on Ao3

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In a creaky worn down flat down the alleyway of the notoriously dark underbelly of wizarding Britain; a young man was drunk off of cheap liquor. Spending his 22nd birthday alone. Five years ago, Tom Riddle was graduating, top of his class from the most prestigious wizarding school in Europe. Everyone had high hopes for his future. Tom had high hopes for his future. He had worked hard during the 7 years of his schooling. He was already coming in at a disadvantage as a poor orphan in a very classist society.

Tom grimaced at the sting of his cheap whiskey as he thought about young Tom Riddle. He had already been jaded but had a small amount of hope that hadn't yet been smothered in wool's orphanage that hoped that Hogwarts would be where he'd fit in. A place where he wasn't a demon to be exorcised. It didn't last long. Probably as long as it took for the first of his aristocratic peers to look at his humble secondhand supplies and his neat but worn uniform and call him a mudblood. Tom scoffed as he flopped wobbly into the lumpy couch that had come with his flat.

He had shown them. Tom thought viciously. Tom had learned early in life that he didn't need anybody. The only person you could count on was yourself and he made his own opportunities. It took a combination of hard work, sheer charisma and his natural good looks to have all the faculty and most of the student body wrapped around his finger. The more stubborn/ bigoted of his peers learned to fear and respect him in equal measure. Tom let out a deep tired sigh and let his head flop back against the back of the sofa. His hand sloshing sticky liquor over his fingers and stained couch.

He had broken Dumbledore's previous academic record and achieved twelve Os in his NEWTs. Despite all of this Riddle ended up in his shitty flat, working down Knockturn alley in a pawn shop that sold dark, questionable artefacts and books. He wanted to teach, work on his reputation, maybe go into politics and change the world. That was the start of his bad luck. Dumbledore somehow blacklisted him within the ministry and when he interviewed at Hogwarts Armando Dippet told him that he was too young to work at Hogwarts and to go and get some experience.

So here he was working in retail spending his birthday alone. Tom's lashes fluttered shut creating purple shadows against his pale skin. He sighed and sloppily set his drink down on the coffee table in front of him. Right now at this moment he was feeling lonely. Even young Thomas Riddle would have scoffed at the idea that he needed or wanted anytime but every so often Tom would have a moment of weakness where he would yearn. For someone who wanted him. Someone who could love him maybe, for who he was. Even little 'demon spawn' Tom from wool's orphanage.

Tom suddenly jackknifed upright. He had an idea. A brilliant reckless idea that at any other time, were he more sober he would scoff at. He stumbled to his feet and wobbled around his sparsely furnished house, uncharacteristically lacking his usual grace. Tom knocked over chairs and tumbled hoarded piles of scrolls from his shelves in his rush. He was going to create a ritual. A fiendishly difficult ritual that if it were anyone else attempting to do as drunk as he was could have been a death sentence. However for all his many faults Tom was a genius. The sun was cresting the sky when Thomas finished his intricately drawn runic circle on his living room floorboards. He briefly considered snatching an old hag or vagebond off of the street outside to sacrifice as fuel for his ritual before he had a very brief moment of clarity and decided that his senses were too impaired for him to take the risk. Instead he recklessly decided to anchor the ritual with his own blood.