Rage flooded through the boy. How could Tom Riddle stand to see all this destruction; all this death, and still say that he wanted the boy?
Tom Riddle was human; he had never claimed to be humane. The boy realised that Tom was many things, but not a liar. More people would die if he didn't go; maybe that was why he went. Maybe he was just tired of fighting. The spark that had fuelled him had gone out; it had gotten dimmer and dimmer with every step he took. Every corpse he saw; he may not have knew them, but someone did. Every person he saw, slumped over another someone, their body racked with sobs.
This fuelled a new fire: the fire for it to end. Not the war- just him partaking in it. He couldn't just disappear, the Wizarding World would either give up, or Voldemort would claim this as his victory. He was a beacon of hope to the Light side. He couldn't forget that.
But he also couldn't forget how Ginny looked when she saw Fred. How Remus and Tonks had been placed hand in hand. Or the graves at Godric's Hollow. Or at Shell cottage. Or Sirius falling into the Veil.
He couldn't let this keep happening. Not to the people he loved. Not to the people other people loved. The ones who had family, who didn't have family, who was all their family had left.
He was walking to his death: he knew this. He wasn't scared, just desperate. He couldn't take it any more. No one else could. But they would have to if he didn't.
He didn't know if he was the only one who saw it like that. He just wanted someone to understand. To see why he did it. He stopped walking.
"Hello, Tom."