Tom stumbled through the forest cursing every diety he didn't believe in. Dumbledore. He blamed Dumbledore. It was his fault, as always. Chancing across a clearing, he practically fell in before freezing like the icy shards around him. Tom couldn't believe his eyes. Harry Potter his mortal enemy lay before him. He looked so calm and serene with a peaceful look on his face that Tom had never seen on him before.
Voldemort had always been obsessed with Potter. The Boy Who Lived to be a pain in his ass. But since fourth year, it had been harder to hate him. He was just so similar to the boy. Powerful, strong. Alone. Harry had grown handsome over the years. The fierce determination and magic drew to Tom like...well ,Voldemort to power. But Harry was happy with that whoring weaslette and fighting for the so called light. Besides, he had only been fourteen. Whilst Voldemort admitted he wasn't the most stable of people, he wouldn't go that far.
But now here he was, sixteen and lying in the snow in the middle of winter looking stunning and strangely innocent. Dark sweeping lashes framed closed lids. He knew they hid luminescent killing curse coloured orbs (absolutely enrapturing in Tom's opinion). Pale creamy skin lay unblemished, save for his, no Tom's, mark. The scar on his forehead. He looked like perfection with his ebony hair flared against the wintery canvas. White skin striking against the blood soaked snow.....wait? Blood?
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You could never know me
Teen FictionTranslation in Spanish available with GioRiddle83 Trigger Warning: Illusions to abuse, mentions of abuse, mentions of torture, religious bodies,cannibalism, eating disorder inplied. Harry was giving up. No more hiding. No more fighting. No more livi...
