I do not, nor ever will, own Harry Potter. Read & Review
It frightened her, the look he got in his face whenever he talked about the future, about all the things he could do, all the things that they could achieve to save the human race. He talked about things that made her mind recoil and scream against because he was wrong and his words were disgusting and wrong and immoral and against everything that they were, he was thinking about something that was never ever meant to be done, he was crossing a boundary that could only lead him to suffering and misery and pain and confusion an-and…
She realized that for all his charm and grace and skill, Tom Riddle was still just a boy. Seventeen years old and still trapped within the mind of a foolish, stupid boy who doesn't realize that he too has limitations and that he will fall. Because only a stupid, stupid, stupid boy would not realize the gravity of what he is saying, the horror of the words coming from his mouth because he has no morals or obligations or decency to know that this is wrong and that he is wrong and that when he finds out in the far off future it will be too late and he will suffer.
But what drove in the final nail was when she realized that it was inevitable. Tom Riddle would never be known for his brilliance in magic or being able to overcome the barrier between blood statuses or even a simple boy who grew up bitter and lost, confused about the world.
He is Lord Voldemort, past, present, and future. And all she could do was mourn.