A.N. Hello, I hope you enjoy this! It's been floating around in my head since I watched an Alex Day / nerimon video months ago! The whole 'Picture of Dorian Gray' / Tom Riddle thing. Kind of AU, I guess. This is basically something that I just wrote before going to sleep, so I hope it's alright! I will try to update my other fanfics soon, I have the ideas, just not so much the time… JKR owns it, not me. Enjoy!

I'm trembling in the corner of my room in my old age. The blasted picture is facing me. That is the reason why I am in this situation. He found me here. It's strange. The painting has changed so much over the past years, yet he looks no different. I wish I never painted that blasted thing. It would have saved me so much trouble and terror.

I can heat him. He's coming up the stairs now. I guess I should have known that I couldn't hide from him. If he traced me to here, it's not like I'm a little kid anymore. I can't just hide under the bed and expect no one to find me. The door creaks open. All my life here, I wanted to fix that, but I never got round to it. Strange thoughts before death. I know I am going to die. There is no way out from here.

He comes into focus as he walks through the door, pointing that stick at me. I guess I should call it a wand, as that's what's going to kill me. Death by magic wand sounds better than death my stick. As I see his face looking at me, I think back to all those years ago.

I was younger back then. It was over the summer, I was travelling round London. I was going to see a friend of mine, who worked at an orphanage, when I saw him. Such a beautiful face. A hansom young man, who you could tell by looking, couldn't care less. Apparently, he was leaving for good in a few days. He was 16 years old, and about to start his next year at school. He would not be coming back after he finished school, and only ever came back for a few days at most, now he was older.

I didn't know then what he was. What he was capable of, and what he was going to do with his life. I just saw his face. I saw him as a picture, waiting to be painted. Of course I asked him. There was no way I wouldn't. He asked if he could think about it. He knew then what he was planning to do with his life. He only wanted something that would help him do it.

He agreed to be painted. It took several sittings. He came every time, sitting still in the same position, never once complaining. I guess I should have found that a bit strange. No 16 year old can sit that still, for that long, and that often without complaining. I never saw it then. Of course, I see it now.

When it was done, he asked if he could spend a moment alone with it. I don't know why I never saw that as strange. He did something to it. I didn't know it at the time, as there was no visible change. I can see it now. He must of performed some spell over it, no painting can just change.

The worst thing about the changes in the picture, is that I think that's him. He himself looks just like he did at 16, yet now he must be at least in his 60's. I'm losing track of time. I've been avoiding him so long, trying to hide. He would eventually find me. There was no way I could avoid him forever. Whatever spell he put on my canvas causes it to change instead of him. Almost as if the painting wears all of his battle scars, so that no one else can see them.

Over the years, he changed. By the Christmas after I finished it, the painting was already beginning to change. What did that boy do with his life? What happened to the hansom young man I first saw. In his painting, he is now pearly white. The beautiful black hair that once covered his head is gone. His eyes have turned a murderous, angry, red. His pupils are now slits, and his nose is almost like that of a snake. What can one do with their life to cause that much change?

The painting did not go strait to that. The change was gradual. His features started to blur. At first I thought that the canvas was spoiling, the paints almost decaying. It had never happened to me before, so I thought this might be it. Then the features started to alter. That hansom face turned gaunt. His eyes slowly turned to red, and his hair went. It was over years that this took place.

I was always running. As soon as I noticed the change in the painting, I could not stay anywhere. I caught glimpses of him. I knew it was he. He looked the same. I guess that's when I realised that he was not normal. He had done something to that canvas all those years ago. Sorcery. Witchcraft. I later saw him brandishing a stick. Then a flash of light came out the end. Wand. Wizard. It was the only thing he could be.

Then, he saw me. Not only did I know of his change, but I also knew what he was. He has been chasing me on and off for years. Never too long at a time, that way he can jump out at me, to catch me by surprise. It was working for me. But, I'm now getting old, I'm not as fast as I used to be. I always knew he would catch up. How could I ever outrun a wizard?

The picture is hideous. What used to be a beautiful young man, now resembles a snakelike monster. Even the back has changed. There was a slight reflection of the back of his head, in the backdrop. It now is like a skull. But the strange thing about this skull is it's sticking its tongue out. That's weird in itself. This is going to sound crazy, but if I didn't know any better, I'd say the tongue is a snake.

I swear I'm going mad. I've been running too long. Curse the day I saw his face. If I had one wish, it would be that I never saw him. That I was never captured by his beauty. That I never painted him. That I never left him alone in that room. But that it all the past. It all happened. It is why I'm about to die.

He points his wand in my face. He looks young and innocent. He doesn't look like he capable of evil. I glance to the side. Yes. He is capable of it. Of so much evil, just never any to show on his face. The lips move, and there is a flash of green light. Everything went black.

I look into the old man's eyes. Thank's to him, I've managed to get away with looking like this so long. If he didn't know what I was, I might have let him stay alive. If anyone ever finds any of this out, they'd see right through me. I remember the spell I cast so long ago. If I destroyed the painting, everything would change. I'd get away with it. No one would recognise me. I'd have to stay away from Dumbledore though. He'd know it was me.

I look into the man's eyes one last time. I could leave him alive. I don't have a reason to kill him. But it's so simple, so easy. No one would ever know it was me. I raise my wand, pointing it strait at his face. I say the curse, and he crumples to the ground. Dead. I've done it before. So simple, so easy, so much fun. It's almost a hobby. Something I enjoy.

I turn to the painting, and raise my wand once again. A different curse this time. This one slashes through the canvas, ripping it apart. I look down at my hands. The colour changes, becoming paler, whiter. The picture also changes. As it falls to the ground, it looks like the original. What I looked like a few seconds ago, what the old man painted in the first place.

I look up, and catch sight of my reflection in a mirror. I look like the canvas did. I now have pale skin, long, white fingers, a snakelike nose, with the slits for nostrils. Red eyes, with cat-like pupils. I am now, truly, Lord Voldemort. No one will ever recognize me as that hansom boy who was once prefect and Head Boy at Hogwarts. His name would now be feared by all, because of what he'd done. When they saw him, no one would ever think of that hansom young boy any more. They would be frightened and scared of the powerful man he became.

A.N. I hope you enjoyed that. I believe some of it could be better, but it's nearly midnight, and I'm exhausted, but I couldn't sleep until I'd written it. I really hope you did enjoy it. It's different to what I usually do, so if any of you would like to give me feedback on how you think it was, that'd be great! Thank you! Once again, I really hope you enjoyed! :)