Actions

Work Header

Farther Away

Work Text:

A/N: Please do not repost, recreate or translate.

Farther Away 
‘I took their smiles and I made them mine.
I sold my soul just to hide the light.
And now I see what I really am,
A thief, a whore, and a liar.’ 


‘I thought you was that Muggle,’ whispered Morfin. ‘You look mighty like that Muggle.’

‘What Muggle?’ said Riddle sharply.

That Muggle what my sister took a liking to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way,’ said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. ‘You look right like him. Riddle. But he’s older now, i’n ‘e? He’s older’n you, now I think on it…

Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support.

‘He come back, see,’ he added stupidly.

Voldemort was gazing at Morfin, as though appraising his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, ‘Riddle came back?’

- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, pages 341 & 342


Tom stupefied Morfin before he could disrespect his mother any further, his hands shaking, his eyes wide and his lips quivering.

His father was still alive and he was near.

Tom was unsure of what he felt in that moment. He felt outraged for actually being related by blood to such a disgusting man as Morfin – for having to acknowledge that his mother had lived here, in this ratty shack with nothing but spiderwebs decorating the walls and the ceilings.

How was it possible that Tom, someone who was so clearly meant for something great, had descended from not only a filthy Muggle who had abandoned his mother and Tom, but from these filthy people hardly being worth called wizards as well?

Tom’s heart was racing in his chest. He’d been plotting for years, naturally, had practiced dark magic on animals before. He’d known how to use the Imperius curse at the mere age of 14.

But never had he attacked an adult.

Adrenaline went through him. It was not entirely unlike the way it’d been when Myrtle had died. That one had been an accident – Tom had panicked, but he had managed to figure out a way to make it seem like it hadn’t been him.

But this wasn’t a silly teenage girl chasing him.

This was Tom’s uncle lying on the ground, his face barely visible underneath all this hair covering it.

Tom took a deep breath through his nose and steeled himself. He was stronger than this. Stupefying someone was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to feeding a body to a basilisk. Bending down to pick up his uncle’s wand, he curled up his nose in disgust at the smell of him. He smelt like he hadn’t bathed in a long time.

Tom cast a Lumos charm with Morfin’s wand just to get used to the feel of it.

It responded just fine to Tom.

With one last lingering look, Tom abruptly turned around, his steps confident, determined. And even if his mind had not completely caught up with his body just yet, it was like something from within the inner depths of his wretched soul already knew the way. He was going to the man who has started all of this. He was going to meet his father for the first time.

Tom walked on a narrow dirt track, plunged into utter darkness, and went through the gap in the hedge.

Memories of curling up in his bed and clutching a ratty pillow to his chest as he struggled to ignore the sharp sting the festering wound called loneliness brought upon him at the tender ages of 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11 until the void had somewhat been filled by the knowledge that there was something special about him after all, until Tom learned that he indeed was better than everyone in the orphanage, reoccurred to Tom and he tightened his grip on his wand while a phantom ache throbbed in his chest. He remembered crying himself to sleep when he’d been a little boy after yet another day in which no one had cared to come save him from the dark place the orphanage was and his lips pressed together in a thin line.

And still there was that childish hope that tonight, Tom would finally have a father. That maybe tonight, Tom would find a place where he belonged.

He rounded a corner.

He knew this was extremely idiotic to hope for. His father had left his mother – nothing could justify this. A Muggle leaving a witch. There would never a good reason for that. Muggles were below wizards and witches, or so Tom had told himself throughout these past years to make sense out of the fact that he hated his father.

Maybe he did not know she was pregnant, a traitorous voice whispered in Tom’s mind. Maybe they had a fight. You do not know the specifics.

Tom scowled at his own thoughts and kept walking. The air felt humid and his mouth was dry, but he could not come up with a reason why.

Actually, he could.

He’s been looking forward to this moment all of his life hasn’t he? Been waiting for this man to come find him and welcome Tom into his family, been waiting to be someone’s son. Tom took a deep breath through his nose and lifted his chin up higher. A couple of teenage boys passed him, side-eyeing his clothing. Tom did not care. One day, he told himself, he would be dressed in robes made of the finest silks, the softest sorts of cotton.

Let them have a laugh at his worn shoes and flimsy jacket. It was fine. Tom could do things they wouldn’t even dare to dream of. He stood above them.

Tom walked into a lane that curved to the right and started walking onto an upward slope.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Tom did not know what to expect. Would his father recognize him? Morfin did tell Tom that he looked an awful lot like his father… Tom reached up to touch his face for a moment, tracing his lips and his straight nose. He vaguely wondered if his father has had to deal with annoying women chasing him, as well. Probably.

Tom’s hand dropped to his side and he paused abruptly the moment he caught sight of the manor.

The manor was built across the valley, set on the opposite hillside and it was the biggest and most beautiful house Tom had ever lied his eyes on. Even from all the way up here Tom could see the lights, could practically feel the warmth the house radiated. It was entirely alluring.

Home.

Tom was not a sentimental person, or so he told himself, but something just clicked for him as he stood there. This is where, had his father come for him, he would’ve grown up. Tom would’ve been allowed to call that manor his home, he would’ve had his own room there. He would’ve been loved.

The phantom ache in Tom’s chest grew worse and he took a shaky breath.

Perhaps it was because Tom was still a child himself no matter how much he tried to tell himself that he wasn’t, that he felt hope, and he had not felt that for the longest of years. It wasn’t the kind of hope he had felt every time he had watched a gentleman with a pretty lady step into the orphanage – it wasn’t the kind of hope that got crushed with each passing day he remained stuck there in that hellhole. This was the kind of hope that warmed Tom up, that made him hesitant of taking other steps, that made him wonder if perhaps he could start over again.

To be a good son. Something he had never had the chance to be.

Tom gazed at the manor a little longer, studying the wide expanse of velvety green lawn it was surrounded by. He could almost smell the flowers on it, could almost feel his feet sinking away into the grass.

Tom glanced down at his clothing. He wished he had worn something more fancy, something that would've been more suitable. The thought struck him by surprise and he shook his head to himself. It did not matter, right? It did not make him more of the man he was already becoming. It sure as hell wouldn't make him any less of a man either.

Tom started walking again and licked his lips. The closer he got to the manor, the more uncertain he grew. What was he to say to a man who had abandoned him, what questions could he possibly ask?

Hello, father. Here I am. Will you love me now that I have found you?

Tom frowned to himself. Love. He had never understood the prospect of love – maybe that was because no one had ever loved him genuinely without expecting anything in return? Tom was uncertain and he did not like this. Perhaps this was normal. Perhaps love was not meant to be understood and perhaps that was the sole reason why Tom initially disliked it.

Hello, mister Riddle. I am your son. Do you recognize me? I have your face and your name.

He would just give himself this one chance. He had not started making Horcruxes just yet, even though disposing of Myrtle’s soul had torn his soul apart. Maybe he could learn to regret. Maybe Tom could learn to grow a heart…

Can I come in, please? It’s cold and the orphanage did not give me clothes warm enough for this kind of weather. We need to talk.

Could Tom forgive his father? If he apologized, if he told Tom that he had tried looking for Tom but that he had not been capable of finding him, if Tom would sense that he was telling the truth? What reasons could possibly be good enough to abandon your own child?

Why didn’t you come find me, father?

Tom’s hands had tightened around Morfin’s wand, his heart beating so fast he could practically feel it drum through his entire body. He felt sick. Was this what it was like to be nervous? Tom had never been truly nervous before, not even when he’d gotten sorted at Hogwarts because Hogwarts was where he belonged… What kind of a person would Tom have been if his father had come for him?

When Tom finally stood on the doorstep, he was at a loss of what to do. Don’t get him wrong – he knew how to knock on a door, he was not an idiot. He just did not know what to expect.

Inhaling a sharp breath, he knocked on the door. He half willed it to remain shut so he could come back another day, when he did not feel so nervous. Tom absentmindedly twisted the ring around his finger, the one he had stolen from Morfin. Maybe his father would tell him to return it. Would Tom listen?

The door opened and Tom licked his lips. To his surprise – or dismay, he could not tell – an elderly woman opened the door and her eyes widened at the sight of him. He couldn't tell if it was a good or a bad thing because she broke eye contact before he could read into her mind.

‘Excuse me for disturbing you at this hour, but is this the Riddle manor?’ Tom asked, using his charming smile because he’s quickly learned at Hogwarts that using his charm would get him what he wanted faster than intimidation. For the longest time, the woman kept staring at his face, his body and Tom shifted. It was just an old woman, why did she stare so much, why did she somehow make Tom feel small underneath her gaze?

‘Tom!’ she finally yelled and Tom opened his mouth to ask her why she yelled his name when he was right in front of her, when he realized that oh.

She was calling his father.

‘Come in, come in,’ she stated and Tom was so bemused that he wound up following her into the hallway. It was beautiful, more beautiful than it had been on the outside. For a moment Tom could just stare in disbelief at all the luxury that surrounded him.

It was warm in the house, and when Tom shed his jacket and a maid took it from him. He stared at everything in disbelief – was this even real? It was like the warmth from the house seeped straight into his cold bones and he felt himself smile, genuinely, for the first time in his life.

He instantly felt more related to these Muggles than to his own poor wizard family because this was home. This was it. He’s been waiting for this his entire life.

‘Did anyone see you?’ the woman asked. Tom gazed at her. If she had called his father so familiarly and was wearing such fancy clothes, did that mean…?

‘Are you my grandmother?’ Tom asked. The woman’s eyes narrowed and she called Tom’s father again.

‘Tom!’ She did not answer Tom’s question and it rendered Tom a bit baffled. He wondered if he had come at the wrong time. Tom’s musings were cut short when both his father and an elderly man – Tom’s grandfather, his heart jumped in his chest at that knowledge – walked into the hallway. 

They all just stared at each other for an awkward moment.

‘I’m -’

‘Merope, that foul bitch,’ Tom’s father spat suddenly and Tom’s eyes widened for a moment. He had expected anything but anger aimed toward him. ‘Where is she? Did she put you up to this? Well you can tell her that I am not falling for it this time, she won’t bewitch me aga -’

‘My mother died after giving birth to me,’ Tom stated in a wavering voice. ‘I came here because I wanted to meet my father. My family.

He knew that cold look in all of their eyes because it was the exact way all the caretakers looked at him. They all treated him like a nuisance, always, like he was a roadblock in their way. It was oddly hurtful and disappointing all at once and it was overwhelming. Tom straightened his shoulders and looked his father straight in the eye. His father hadn’t even known his mother had died...

‘I grew up in Wool’s orphanage. Every night, when I went to sleep, I dreamed that you would come pick me up the following day. You never did. You never came.’

His father and grandparents all shared a look, before finally Tom’s grandfather shook his head.

‘Come, Mary. Let Tom deal with this.’ Tom glanced at him – he looked tired, if anything. Mary glanced at Tom before slowly nodding. When Tom tried to read her mind, he thought he picked up something achingly similar to he looks so much like Thomas...

Tom didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing anymore.

Tom licked his lips and stared his father for a while longer. Tom was not an uncommon name at all, in fact – he shared his name with one of his classmates, with a cat at the orphanage… And with his, apparently, father and grandfather. Tom mulled over the probable fact that maybe one Tom in their family line had done something special. He would have to look into that. 

His father released a long sigh and Tom instantly looked at him.

‘Very well, come,’ the man sighed. Tom watched his shoulders for a moment, his strong back. His father was tall, just like Tom was, though not as thin. It came either from his body being fully grown or his wealth making it impossible for him to starve. Tom was reminded of the own ache in his bones after yet another growth spurt. He had no idea when he’d stop growing. One of the kids at the orphanage always made fun of him when he came back during the summer break, calling him a beanstalk.

Tom Senior started climbing the stairs he had descended from earlier and Tom instantly started following him. Their footsteps sounded loud on the wood and Tom thought to himself that perhaps this is what it would feel like when one would get scolded by their parents. Tom’s fingers were still clutching Morfin’s wand tightly, ready to hex someone if he needed to.

But his father even smiled at him as he led Tom into the study.

‘Wait here, I’ll go tell a maid to bring you a chair,’ Tom Senior said before walking out. Tom vaguely heard his voice, indeed calling for a maid.

And no matter how intelligent Tom was, it all felt surreal. The ring around his finger was the only real proof that this wasn’t yet another one of his pitiful dreams, but Tom had to admit that even in his dreams, his father’s house had not been so grand, so gorgeous. Tom walked over to the large bookstand and was not surprised to find all of them to be Muggle books. What baffled him most was that he did not mind very much. All his life he had been told that Muggles were filthy, yet how could they be, if they were so wealthy and strong too? If they were related to Tom?

Tom’s fingers lingered on the spines and he came across a bundle of Shakespeare’s works. He had never heard that name before. It sounded promising.

For a moment, Tom was willing to forgive his grandparents, his own father for their earlier attitude. His sudden appearance had surprised them and Tom understood this much. People were always bound to hate what they did not know.

‘Do you like to read?’

Tom’s shoulders tensed, and when he looked to his side he found his father standing next to him. There were two butlers dragging in a heavy armchair that looked comfortable.

Tom nodded.

‘Good. Your mother could not read,’ Tom Senior said. He pulled a face as if speaking of Tom’s mother brought a vile taste into his mouth.

‘You do not seem to enjoy speaking of my mother. Can I ask why?’ Tom asked with a frown on his face. Charming his way into getting what he wanted had always seemed to work. Or, well, most of the time. Only that wretched Dumbledore seemed to have it out for him and Tom knew it was because he’d been too stupid to reveal his true self that day when Dumbledore came from him. Old fool. One day, Tom would be a greater, more powerful wizard than Dumbledore.

One day.

‘What do you know of your mother?’ Tom's father asked him evasively as though Tom's answer would influence his own. Deciding that he could always obliviate his father if sharing this information proved to be a hassle, Tom told him the truth.

‘I know that she used to live in that shack, near your house. And that her family did not think very highly of her.’

Slut. That word rung into Tom’s ears and his hand tightened in his pocked around the wand again. His father did not seem to notice.

‘What did she name you?’ he asked instead. This question surprised Tom and he glanced at Tom Senior.

‘Tom Marvolo Riddle,’ he stated. He had never liked his name. it was too common for a man who was destined to do great things, and the only name he had really loved was his middle name because that was his true connection to the Wizarding Community. Though now, Tom wasn’t quite as certain anymore. Being related to such disgusting people only made Tom want to erase his name and start all over again.

Tom Senior snorted.

‘Figured. Come, let’s sit.’ It felt as though he was in Dumbledore’s office, but it was okay because this time, Tom was in control. He would be able to stop his father if things went wrong. Tom looked at his father with a skeptical look in his eyes. ‘I did not know if she was with child. She told me, but your mother… She did something to me. She gave me something and it made me fall in love with her.’

Tom carefully kept his face schooled. Love potion. He was conceived under the influence of love potion… Was that why love was so hard for him to understand?

‘She told me that she kept giving me less and less of it, but she had already tricked me into marriage. When I tried to leave, she told me she was pregnant. Of course – I did not believe her.’

Tom couldn’t sense a lie in his father’s eyes. In fact, he found himself silently agreeing with his father. Why trust someone who has deceived you in maybe the worst kind of way?

‘You have to understand, Tom, that even if I had never intended on being with your mother, on sleeping with her -’ this seemed to disgust Tom Senior, and when Tom looked into his mind he saw images of a woman with lank hair and a plain, pale face and eyes staring in opposite directions.  For the first time in Tom’s life, he was grateful for having had inherited his father’s looks. ‘- I am a responsible man. I would have come for you, had I known of your existence.’

‘And you never worried about her? You never wondered what if she had not been lying?’ Tom couldn’t help but demand, a hungry look crossing his face. He was hungry for it all – for knowledge, for some justice. Had his mother truly been in the wrong all along? 

‘No,’ Tom Senior instantly replied. The certainty in his voice was startling. ‘What she did to me… It ruined me. I had to see a therapist for years. I lost the woman I ought to truly marry, people did not take me seriously anymore for marrying a tramp… it took me three years, to fully recover. I never heard of her again, and I was not intending on seeking her out. Perhaps in fear of what she might do to me.’

Tom noticed his father was keeping from telling him the details because he thought Tom was going to think he was crazy. He could see it in his mind, see memories of people staring at his father, whispering, a pretty woman crying and screaming at him to get out and go back to his horridly ugly wife.

‘I apologize for my earlier behavior. I feared that this was yet again one of her tricks. I regret that you had to grow up in an orphanage, I cannot imagine how lonely you must have been. Was my mother rude to you?’

Tom shrugged his shoulders. She was, but he supposed it was understandable. His eyes glanced over the office. There was a beautiful painting hanging on the wall next to the bookstand.

‘You must understand that she only wants to protect me. I am a grown man, but she hasn’t quite overcome what happened when I returned.’

‘It’s alright. I hadn’t been expecting to be welcomed with open arms.’

They shared a look, and Tom was forced to acknowledge that his father was most likely more intelligent than he got credit for. He liked this man. He did not have the knowledge Tom was most interested in, but Tom was certain that if he had been a Muggle, he would’ve looked up to him. Perhaps Tom could learn to become proud of his father.

‘You’re very handsome, Tom,’ Tom Senior said Tom looked back up to him again. His father’s eyes were blue, just like his own.

Tom managed a little smirk.

‘Are you saying that because I look like you?’

Tom Senior laughed and Tom instantly envied him. Never had he been capable of laughing like this – so joyously, so carelessly. Every time Tom had laughed it had been cold, high, cruel and at the expense of others. He wondered if there were any jokes in the world that could make him laugh this way. He wondered if he could learn that, from his father.

Tom Senior reached over for a notebook and a pen, and Tom watched him carefully. There were crow's feet at the corners of his father's eyes, but he looked very handsome nonetheless. In fact, it added character to his face and Tom quite liked them. He had never quite understood why everyone was so obsessed with looking young, when elder people were always much more intelligent and powerful than the younger ones.

‘What was that orphanage you came from, you said?’ Tom Senior suddenly asked.

‘Wool’s orphanage,’ Tom replied. He watched as his father scribbled it down.

‘Alright. I’ll have the paperworks ready as soon as possible, and then you’ll live here. We’ll need to pick out a better school for you, I don’t know what they’ve been teaching you these years but -’

‘I already go to school. A special one,’ Tom added. Tom Senior paused and glanced at him.

‘Special? You’re not mentally ill, are you?’ Tom frowned. What an odd question – why would Tom be mentally ill?

‘No,’ Tom answered with an incredulous tone seeping into his voice. ‘Of course not. Do I look mentally ill?’

His father regarded him as though he had grown a second head. ‘Why on earth would you go to a special school, then?’

‘Because I am special. You may be a Muggle, but my mother was not, I am not a Squib -

‘You are using her words, why are you using her words?’ there was a frantic tone seeping into Tom Senior’s voice and Tom paused, regarding him coolly. Finally, he released a long breath.

‘…I am a wizard.’ For a long, long time it was quiet. Tom shifted, kept staring his father in the eye, and he almost missed it when his father suddenly whispered ‘Get out’.

‘Excuse you?’ Tom asked, his eyebrows quirking up. Surely he heard it wrong.

‘Get. OUT!’ Tom Senior bellowed, getting up so fast that Tom had to draw his wand. Tom Senior paused, his eyes wide as saucers as his eyes flicked from Morfin’s wand to Tom’s face, back and forth, as if trying to make a decision.

The betrayal Tom felt in that moment was immense. How twisted this was – as soon as Muggles found out he was different, they instantly shunned him. Tom was supposed to be this man’s son.

And now he was just going to kick Tom out? Like he was unworthy? Tom’s father was the unworthy one, he was lucky to have a son like Tom!

‘You don’t want me?’ Tom whispered, incapable of stopping the tremor in his own voice. His father’s eyes were blazing. Tom dully noted that he looked alive, and then had to question if he had ever looked like that. Even if they practically shared the same face his father looked so much more expressive, open. Had he never learned the importance of hiding your truest feelings?

‘I want you to leave – you are just like your mother, you’re going to ruin me, you’re going to kill me -’

Tom had reached forward and pressed Morfin’s wand so unexpectedly against his own father’s throat, that the elder male choked on his own breath, on his own words. He abruptly stopped talking and stared at Tom with disbelieving eyes.

‘You’re very handsome, Tom.’ The words rung in Tom’s head like a broken record, but they only brought anger upon him now instead of delightful amusement, making his lip curl up in disgust.

And then a plan occurred to him and his mind became blank, in the same way it had when he’d come up with a way to hide Myrtle’s body. Tom didn’t feel anything when he mumbled a soft ‘imperio’ and he felt nothing when he forced his father to sit back down into his chair again.

He was completely numbed when he started unbuttoning his own shirt.

Blue eyes bored into his. The fear and hate was so intense that if Tom had been any less of the person he was he would’ve felt intimidated by it. But he didn’t, because he was in control, and because he’d been right all along.

His father didn’t love him, he wouldn’t take Tom for who he was.

His shirt fell to the ground and his nipples stiffened. The room was cooler than the rest due to the open window. The candle flickered on Tom Senior’s desk.

Tom would have to make him. There was no other choice.

‘What -’ Tom’s father’s voice came out muffled before he could finish his sentence, nothing covering his mouth, but Tom’s own magic forcing him to become incapable of saying another word. No need to attract any attention, after all.

You’re very handsome, Tom,’ Tom mocked. Blue eyes widened, pupils dilated in fear. Cold sweat was breaking out at the elder male’s temples when Tom popped the button of his slacks and unzipped his zipper. He stepped out of his shoes, his eyes never leaving his father’s.

His slacks pooled down his ankles. Tom stepped out of them.

‘I’m making you want me, father. You said you would have come for me. Let’s see if I can make you come for me.’

Tom felt like demolishing the entire room. He felt like – he couldn’t believe it – crying, like screaming and hexing the living hell out of his father and then torture his parents in front of the male.

But why should Tom, when he could violate his father in the worst way possible? When he could, when his father valued social stature and what others thought of him so much, break him into pieces first? Tom dropped his underwear, completely bare to his father. His father’s eyes flicked over his naked body, at Tom’s half-hard cock – Tom was still a virgin. This was the first time he had been naked in front of another person.

Never had he thought that said person would be his own father.

‘Do you like what you see?’ Tom whispered as he stepped closer, his cock growing harder in dark delight at the fear in his father’s eyes, at his handsome face and his strong shoulders. Tom had never liked girls. He had never met a strong girl in his life before, had never met an equal before.

Tom was now standing right next to his father, unzipping his father’s zipper now too and releasing his cock. He was slowly hardening and Tom didn’t know why that made him angry the way it did. He tried to be calm to himself.

All he could think, spitefully because he needed his father to be hard for this to work, was you narcissistic pedophile. You fucking bastard.

Tom gripped him almost too tightly and started jerking him roughly, his movements dry and not entirely pleasant, but they did the trick anyway. He sucked his own fingers of his free hand into his mouth and slipped them behind himself. He arched his back to reach better.

Tom Senior’s moan was muffled and Tom’s eyes narrowed.

‘You actually like this, don’t you. You pathetic excuse for a man.’

Tom added a second and a third finger inside of himself, stretching himself barely enough. He didn’t care. He didn’t do this for pleasure. Pulling his hand off Tom Senior’s cock to spit into it to slick him down enough, he couldn’t help but snarl at the sob that tore from his father’s throat.

38 years old and already sobbing like a mere child. Tom wasn’t even getting started.

Tom winced when he abruptly pulled his fingers out of himself and threw a leg over his father’s lap so he was straddling him. Their eyes met – never had anyone looked at him with such a raw expression in their eyes.

It was like his father knew about all of Tom’s secrets, all of Tom’s wrongdoings. And Tom hated it.

Tom sunk down on the thick cock without second thought and groaned in discomfort and pain. The tendons in Tom Senior’s neck were straining and he was moaning again, this time – tears springing into his eyes. Tom knew he himself would never look like this. Tom would never look this vulnerable, afraid, because Tom was stronger than his father.

Both his parents had been failures. He had inherited the only good things they had to offer – his mother’s magic, his father’s face. That was it. Tom knew this, now.

Tom’s fingers dug into his father’s shoulders as he pushed himself up, before slowly sinking down again, reaching a hand between their bodies to grasp his cock and pump himself lazily. He kept gazing into his father’s eyes but even when he permitted his father to speak all the male was capable of was sobbing and begging quietly. His body was still forced into his arm chair.

‘Daddy,’ Tom moaned softly as he kept bouncing up and down Tom Senior’s lap, the sound of the fat cock entering and leaving his body slick and filthy, ‘daddy.’

Tom Senior sobbed and Tom could feel himself smirk while sweat ran down his forehead. It was easy to slip into his role right now. He leaned down and bit his father’s ear.

‘Oh daddy,’ he purred, ‘do you know what this makes you?’

Tom Senior sneered and his body trembled with the strain he was putting against it as he tried to regain control over his own limbs. It wasn’t working, of course it wasn’t. Tom was a strong wizard after all.

‘A pedophile,’ Tom whispered into his ear, ‘you’re fucking your bastard, virgin underage son and you’re enjoying it and that makes you a homosexual as well.’

He sobbed again, and Tom laughed. It was good to make his father feel pain, it made Tom feel better about himself. Tom gripped his own cock tighter, surprisingly enjoying the slick slide of his father inside of him. He felt full, in control. Tom smirked and panted a bit, closing his eyes in concentration. This was…

‘You know what I’m going to do after we’re done with this, daddy?’ Tom whispered cruelly into his ear and Tom Senior barely had the strength to keep his eyes open. He weakly shook his head and Tom smirked at him.

‘I’m going to kill your parents in front of you, and then I’m going to kill you.’ Tom willed his father’s hips to thrust into him now and they did against his father’s will, making Tom purr.

And then Tom Riddle Senior was coming.

His come completely filled up Tom and Tom, Tom had the audacity to whimper and mumble filthy things under his breath. He jerked himself off harder and came around his father’s cock.

And it was completely silent, except for Tom’s panting breaths. He lifted the spell and permitted his father to speak, curious of what he had to say for himself.

‘You’re a monster,’ Tom Senior whimpered in a raw voice once he noticed he was free to speak again, ‘You’re even worse than your mother’.

Tom stared at him for a long, long time before something just clicked for him. Tom smiled an animalistic smile, one that made him look terrifying. Tom Senior realized he was to die at his own son’s hand. And there was nothing he could do about it.

‘If that is what people perceive me to be, then I might as well indulge them,’ Tom stated.

He made Tom Senior call for his parents, made them believe Tom Senior had just raped Tom and then Tom killed them with a simple avada kedavra.

And then, when his father’s eyes were glazed over with unshed tears of humiliation and pain and fear, Tom killed him.

Tom walked out of the house and somehow felt like a whole different person. His mind was clear, there was no need for that annoying little voice in his head that often tried to reason with him and tried to convince him of being good. Tom found no reason to be good anymore, he found no reason to hope anymore.

He craved nothing but the blood of all those who would stand in his way. Never would he allow himself to be vulnerable again.

He was born alone in this world, and he was to die alone too. No, not die – Tom would find ways to make himself eternal. He would become infinite.

Tom Riddle would become Lord Voldemort.