a/n i am true to my word... this is a HP/TR fic. draco will not be jealous. he will not hit on either harry or tom. there will be draco interaction with harry, but it will be solely platonic.

non-canon tom: actually has intact soul, no wizarding prejudices to fall under, and different childhood altogether. i mean he actually got to play his 'im special' card. but what i believe is his core – his callous nature, that is – should hold true

if it doesn't then im incompetent lol

"I wasn't about to incriminate myself out there." Riddle said calmly when Harry demanded why he hadn't revealed his identity sooner, shrugging his blazer back on. "There are always eyes and ears. I'll pull a few strings to wipe the logs later."

Riddle's home was surprisingly cosy and humble. The house itself was small, but the large garden that surrounded it was a nice sort of pristine. Harry was sat in the living room on a very comfortable couch, surrounded by odd contraptions. There appeared to be many grooves as handles. Harry would investigate later.

The place had a running theme of black and white with hints of glossy wood here and there. Harry idly traced the white armrest. Draco was beside him; he had woken with a well-placed enervate.

"Now tell me, how are you two out here?" Riddle asked politely, moving into his kitchen where he began opening cupboards and preparing tea.

"We were unlucky." Harry explained. "In the wrong place at the wrong time."

Draco nodded and added: "with the wrong people." Harry ignored him.

"The Muggles have probably stolen the sun and moon." Harry said. "They must've managed a small hole in the wards, like the one Draco and I slipped out of, and taken it."

Riddle padded over to them, offering cups of tea. They both took the drinks gratefully. "The sun is a powerful artifact?"

"Very." Harry nodded, tasting the drink and brightening. The tea was good. Damn. "It's both the sun and moon. The sky, I guess. It's how we kept surviving after the Muggles blocked out the sunlight."

"Then it'll take a few months for all the wards to fall." Riddle said, leisurely sipping his drink, although Harry was anything but calm. Only a few months? "Muggles work quick, and surpassing the wards isn't as difficult as you think."

The man placed his tea down on a table in front of the couch before he began to pace, his hands in his pockets. "I'm sure you've heard before that too much magic renders electricity defunct." They hadn't. What in Merlin's name was 'electricity'? "The opposite is also true. With your sun relic acting as an energy source, the Muggles will have a modified generator set up in no time. Their huge surge of electricity will overcome your magic. Your wards will fall."

Harry absently noted that Riddle didn't consider himself 'one of them.'"So we have to stop them." He ignored Draco's eyeroll.

Riddle looked at him curiously. "Yes, 'we' do." He stopped pacing to lock eyes with them. "One thing you should know before you fling yourself wholeheartedly into this conflict is that, as long as they are alive, Muggles will always attempt to break your wards. This stunt is only one of many in the past, present, and future."

"So you mean–"

Draco cut in. "He means that he personally thinks the easiest way to end this is for all Muggles to die, right?" He eyed the tall, lithe Tom Riddle that stood before them. "I've heard people like you before. People who think we should drop the wards and go to war." Harry knew Draco's stance on the subject: the bloody blond wanted to eradicate Muggles, too. Except he was probably too much of a coward to get into the fight himself. Harry, of course, thought some sort of peace was achievable. They could gather all the wizards from all around the world, all the magical creatures, stuff them into a dome, and still maintain a fragile sort of peace. Why should Muggles be otherwise?

"That is only a matter of my personal opinion." Riddle said smoothly. Diplomatically, Harry whispered to himself. "Muggles will continue to grow. They will continue to harness power from their sun, their wind – everything in, and eventually out, of this planet. Your magic will not keep them at bay forever. They must be halted."

"They've got the sun and moon, we don't have a plan, and you're already talking mass murder?" Harry asked disbelievingly. "Mass murder doesn't even cut it." He knew he was being rude (Malfoy's dirty look told him that enough), but he had to speak up.

"I don't have a plan?" Riddle asked airily, a glint of a threat in his eye. "Oh, no – surely not – my entire life I have been working towards thwarting Muggles. I go up in the month. Worry not about your precious wards."

"Up where?"

Riddle must've been incredibly patient. He picked up his tea again, draining it and placing it away in the kitchen. He was heard opening and shutting a few drawers, doing who-knew-what. "They've called it the Omega power plant." He explained. "It's a nuclear power plant right above your Wizarding World. And now, I expect, they'll be keeping your sun up there."

"So wait, what?" Harry asked when Riddle re-entered the room. He wasn't sure whether to be more stunned that the thing blocking their sunlight actually had a 'nuclear power plant' on it, or that Riddle had the permission to visit it. "You don't need us to do anything."

"Correct. I am a..." The man smirked, "capable individual. Young as I may be, I have finally secured myself enough authority to fly up to oversee the processes in the power plant, and will subsequently shut them down." His smirk grew slightly wider, as if to a joke of his own. "Now, as you two are both safe and secure in my home, I am going to have to go back to work. Especially considering I need to clear the logs of your arrivals. Good day."

"Thank you." Malfoy said stiffly from his seat, successfully unhinging Harry's jaw in the process. Malfoy thanking somebody?

"Good...bye?"

Riddle gave them a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Do not attempt to leave the premises. Do not perform magic." Grey eyes met green. "I will know." And then he swept out of the living room, out the front door. Harry and Draco sat in suffocating silence for a moment on opposite sides of the couch.

Harry sipped at his tea.

Draco finished his cup. He set it down delicately.

"Do you trust him? I don't." Harry blurted, the words tumbling from him.

"I knew you were going to open your mouth, Potter, but you've truly outdone yourself this time with your lack of finesse."

"Oh cut the bullshit Malfoy, you know what I'm saying."

"I'm not enough of a Gryffindor to blubber out everything I know."

"But you're going to, aren't you? I swear, Malfoy, don't you dare–"

"Don't I dare?" Malfoy's eyes were glittering now with promised malice. "This man, this Riddle has both the right ideas and the means. Of course I'm going to tell him about what the sun and moon can and should do."

"That's a sentence to slaughter." Harry said darkly. Any heir of the four founders, allegedly, could unlock the sun/moon relic's 'true power'... If the relic was enough to sustain the Wizarding World for hundreds of years, then its unrestrained power would be something terrible to witness. It could eradicate Mugglekind. Or, consequently, it could probably strengthen the wards. The four founders had previously cast their strongest enchantments on the relic, preventing it from ever falling into nefarious hands of their future generations, securing its place as nothing but a star in the Wizarding sky.

But now the shooting star had fallen and a wish could be made.

"Do I care for Muggles?" Malfoy leant back against the armrest, looking wholly unconcerned. It made Harry's blood boil. He was such a stupid, arrogant prat.

"Are you kidding me?" Harry demanded. "Have we even tried any sort of peace? Or are you really that self-entitled that you think you should eradicate an entire planet? This isn't just Muggles, this is the entire Earth you're talking about raining armageddon on. Will the wards even hold against that sort of thing?"

"You could just as easily use the moon to strengthen the wards." Malfoy hummed. "Of course I'm not confident about the details, but I'm sure Riddle could use it."

"You're insane, Malfoy–" Harry began, because even though in Hogwarts they were fed tall tales about Muggles, Harry would never condone a brainless… sweep.

"Insane?" Malfoy laughed, swinging his feet up onto the couch. "No, no. That might be you. Do you want a war, Potter? We can let them live. We can let them eventually break the wards and overwhelm us with sheer numbers. The wards are already faltering! Don't you remember the populations they predicted in class? Eight billion Muggles. We won't stand a chance.

We can tell Riddle to end it all before it happens. Hell, if you want to satisfy your Gryffindor urges, you can go ask if you can help him. Get that sun into Riddle's hands and turn it up full blast."

There was a pause as a plan began to form in Harry's mind. He could ask to go with Riddle… because he was a descendant of Gryffindor. As long as he could get to the relic first, he could use it to– to–

Well, he wasn't entirely sure of that part yet, but he knew he could do something.

The conversation dropped to a lull as Harry ventured to explore the other sections of the house. It was humble: a living room (and a balcony) connected to a kitchen, a bedroom behind a shut door, and a pristine-seeming bathroom. Harry was intrigued at the designs, actively opening and shutting odd cupboards (ovens) that made noises at him (microwaves) and seemed vaguely alarmed when he turned a knob and caused a flame to spark (stoves). Everything seemed slick. Clean cut, with defined edges and little embroidery and embellishment.

Harry suddenly realised there was only one bedroom, and that there was only one couch. He supposed he'd have to sleep on the floor because pretty princess Malfoy wouldn't deign to such plebian acts. And Harry wasn't uncouth enough to just boot him off.

He opened the door to Tom's bedroom at one point, just for a peek, and what he did manage to glimpse of it was light. Soft creamy colours mixed in with the occasional black panels on the walls. A wide bed framed with white. A huge window spanning one of the walls. With the curtains drawn, the afternoon cast a glow across the room. Harry wasn't sure it matched Tom's personality. Tom seemed to be harsh and curt and commanding, whereas his bedroom... was otherworldly. It was ethereal and soft in places, yet there was still the stylish contrast of black and white. Harry glimpsed an immaculate desk and shelf, and then decided that he had pried enough. The door shut behind him as he returned to the living room.

"Okay." He said, drawing Malfoy's attention. The blond on the couch looked like he had been preparing to go to sleep. Lazy ass. "So, say I want to Gryffindor this. What then?"

Malfoy gave him a piercing look – one that made Harry seriously wonder if Malfoy knew what he was intending to do. And then the blond kicked one of his feet up, resting it along the top of his couch. Harry wrinkled his nose at the lack of manners. "Use your own head."

"What?"

"I'm not a Gryffindor. I'm not going to come with you, why would I conjure a plan for you?" Malfoy sneered at Harry's idiocy.

Harry stared at him for a moment. What exactly had he expected? Of course Malfoy was a Slytherin through and through: self-preservation. He supposed he thought maybe Malfoy would've been a little ambitious… or maybe Harry just wanted someone equally as ignorant of the Muggle world to accompany him, if he wanted to get to the sun/moon before Riddle. He'd have to ask Riddle to take him up alongside him. But Riddle seemed to be someone who acted alone.

Harry knew nothing about the Muggle world. He didn't know how Riddle was 'going up' or how he'd get up too. After all, Riddle had spent his entire life securing a place in this 'nuclear power plant'. Harry didn't even know what a nuclear power plant was! He didn't know where the sun would be, he didn't know what weapons the muggle would wield, he just didn't know anything.

He needed Riddle. That was fact. Gryffindor as he might be, Harry wasn't stupid enough to leave the house to go searching for answers. As a wizard, if he was found…

He needed to hope Riddle would give him a chance to come with. As for now, he couldn't do anything.

Leaving Malfoy on the couch, Harry crossed the living room, throwing open the curtains and exposing the black and white into bright sunlight. The balcony stood outside. It wasn't really a balcony, he realised. It was a room with walls of glass that doubled as huge sliding doors. It was filled with sunlight, black pillars at its four corners, white marble at its floor. Outside the garden bloomed in its full glory, shielding the home from the outside world.

The queen of the home – the centrepiece – Harry recognised to be a pianoforte.

He didn't know at all how to play. He'd never seen one, actually. He turned. Malfoy was watching. That rich ponce probably had one in his home. The most piano-like instruments Harry tended to see were harpsichords, fortepianos, clavichords… Even so, he couldn't help but think that the piano here stood in a glass display. Like a cabinet: for show. It had its own stage in Riddle's home, as if it were a priceless antique.

How far had muggles advanced, truely?

The house was beautiful, intimate. Harry couldn't help but feel like an intruder. As if the architecture spoke of Riddle's soul; as if the place, small as it was, was the only land where the man felt free–

–(as free as he could feel… a wizard who had never lived with his kind–

–and who would see to his cage burn in the flames of the sun.)

–––

Tom Marvolo Riddle drove in silence, listening to voices that were relayed to his headset. He had left a bug in the living room. Rigging up his own home was distasteful, but in this case...

How very interesting.

He pulled over at the compound, lost in thought. He had things to mull. A long-held rage to simmer. A bittersweet victory to savour. But first things first, as his black shoes clicked against the concrete, he had a man to visit.

Beep. His keycard was accepted. He stepped through a door, suddenly plunged into darkness, and said softly, "good afternoon, Geoff."

The door shut silently behind him.

Ahead there was the glow of screens – the glow of an entire wall of communications and security. "Heya Tom," Geoff said at where he was seated. His back was to the approaching man, his face illuminated by the white. The chair was enormous. It covered Geoff like a shield – no easy spells here. It was bulletproof, too. Tom knew.

The man spoke on glibly. "I'm just running over footage of the blowup at the fence now. I honestly have no idea what on earth happened there-"

Tom's footsteps were steady. His handgun slid from its holster slowly, like a serpent rearing to strike. The click of the safety was deliberate, distinct, over the sound of Geoff's speech.

"–what an electrical surge outta the blue, I mean it must be unnatural–" Tom was right behind the chair, now.

Geoff dove for the floor.

Tom's smirk widened. Geoff rolled, bringing up his weapon. He never even saw the hand Tom had pointed at him.

"Obliviate."

The security man's head lolled back, the pistol from his hand clattering uselessly against the floor. Tom crouched down to look at the man's suddenly blank face and chuckled. Good man, Geoff. Tom knew how Geoff liked to play his games. The man was a 'shoot first, ask questions later' man. And Geoff was renown for being lightning quick. But of course, he wouldn't turn around in his chair and shoot if he thought Tom had a gun.

Tom fished into the man's pocket and brought up a small, entangled device. Made for creating sudden surges in electricity. It was off.

Evidently, Geoff wasn't a very cautious man. Tom knew that. He knew Geoff thought it was either magic or the gun, and he knew Geoff thought Tom had been about to pull the trigger.

But Tom could do much worse than put a bullet between someone's eyes.

"Imperio."

–––

"Muggles haven't diverged that far from us." Malfoy said. "You should know how to prepare a meal."

"No," Harry said, holding a frying pan and pot. They were in the kitchen: Malfoy at the bar and Harry by the stove. Evening had emerged, but the two hadn't managed to puzzle out the lights and they didn't want to risk any magic lumos, so they were stumbling around in an environment that was just a little too dim. "No."

"Of course I can't. Malfoys do not cook–"

"Are you just doing this to piss me off or are you actually stupid." Harry asked flatly. "We live in Hogwarts. We don't cook. We wouldn't have made anything when we were younger than eleven. Are you sure there's anything going through your brain?"

Malfoy seemed to ignore him as he plowed on. "There's a pan, a fire, and food. It's really just an automated version of your kitchen. You'll puzzle it out. I'm sure you've got experience with the dish-making itself. You must've been made servant in your household before, as you're much too poor to afford a real one."

Harry returned the utensils to their rightful place on the wall with an expression of disdain. He wondered how Riddle would feel to have Draco's teeth somewhere in his carpet. "My parents are both Aurors." He gritted. "Yeah, you're right, we must be poor."

Draco snorted a bitter laugh. "Yes yes, the righteous brigade is here. I hear you. Your parents play heros. Mine play people. There's a difference."

"There is, and that's that my parents are looked upon as good wizards responsible for holding up society–"

"Is that what you think?" Malfoy bit out, his tone suddenly terrifyingly cold. "The difference is that there's one hell more of a chance that one day you're going to find out that your parents aren't going to come home anymore."

The blond took a deep breath. Harry was frozen by the countertop.

"And when people come for you, it's a mindless act of vengeance." Malfoy spoke detachedly, now. "When people come for me, it's a bribe. A political play."

Why was he…? Harry scrambled after Malfoy's train of thought. "You're thinking about dying." He concluded.

"Aren't you?" His biggest rival in Hogwarts asked. "You're thinking about all those Muggles. Dying… without a choice, without a trace. Just gone in an inferno."

"We've been over this a hundred times, Malfoy."

"A hundred times and you still don't get it." A hint of the normal Malfoy peered out from under the mask. "What is it about Muggles that's demanding you to risk your parent's lives? Your friends? People who live down the road. That old coot Dumbledore. Your mother's coworker who keeps sending you biscuits…? Don't lie, I've seen you receive them at breakfasts.

"You think Muggles are still salvageable. You think they'll give up and kneel. You think they won't rip out our throats."

"I don't think that." Harry said, hollowly. "You're prejudiced. I just think they deserve a chance."

Malfoy paused, and instead he said: "Who gives chances? Do they give chances in the Wizengamot when they've got a murderer of hundreds under their nose?"

"That's only one person. They know that person well."

"If you're so adamant, then go out there and get to learn Muggles." Malfoy said curtly. "Go. See if they're worth your 'chance'."

"I can't go out there just like that, I'll have to have Riddle guide me, and Merlin knows he's prejudiced–"

"With good reason." Malfoy snapped.

"No," Harry replied, equally as sharply. "If you want me to build a judgement, it'll be my judgement."

Malfoy looked away, and he slipped off the bar stool he had been seated on. The blond seemed to sway as he walked. This was a lost cause.

He knew what Harry's call would be. It would be exactly what it always was.

As the blond disappeared back into the living room, Harry heard the front door open, and so he also peered out from the kitchen.

"You seriously didn't find the lights." Came Riddle's voice from where he was removing his shoes. Harry saw him silhouetted by the open door, the evening light, straightening up and shutting the door behind him. Then dim yellow light blinked on and the house transformed. The lights had been embedded in the walls, interwoven with the lined patterns on the walls and the ceiling. It reminded Harry of Riddle's room: a soft, homely glow emerging from behind black wooden panels.

Merlin, what was Harry doing here? Here, listening to Malfoy preach morality; here, watching the actions of two mass murderers unfold; here, intruding on a man's private home… The incomprehensibility of the situation seemed to strike him all at once. What on earth was he doing.

He was doing this because he was stuck and lost. He was doing this because he had to save people, Muggles or no. Foolishly gallant as it may be.

(He knew somewhere in him that this was an impossible decision. Like letting a criminal go, not knowing if rehabilitation had succeeded. It was a battle between hope that the crime would never occur again. Despair that it would. But his heart was set. So was Riddle's and Malfoy's.) Bloody hell. And the powers of the sky relic were still vague.

Riddle was entering the kitchen, in his black slacks, grey tie, white shirt and socks. Socks… For years of divergence, Muggles had developed such similar attire. Riddle in socks was strange. What an immaculate, guarded man with his shields down. Except, really, his shields weren't down at all. Harry and Malfoy prevented him from peeling away his masks while they were there.

"One of you, come in and I'll teach you how to cook." Riddle didn't even know their names. Harry supposed they just mattered to him so little. Which was sad, really. Truly, truly, saddening. Riddle had likely never met a wizard before. Never met somebody like him, and now… he'd come to terms with being so alone that he didn't care for their company at all.

Harry couldn't possibly place himself in those shoes. In a world so devoid of hope.

"This is a refrigerator." Riddle said, pointing at the box of cold Harry had previously peeked at. "Stove, dishwasher," he gestured again. "I'm going to pay for what you're eating, but I'm not going to fry them for you. This knob turns on the gas – you don't need to manually light a fire like you might back at home. And you're set."

Harry stared blankly. Riddle's instructions were essentially as vague as Malfoy's directions, but here, Harry wasn't allowed to complain. He approached the fridge and opened it to scour for familiar foods, while Riddle exited the kitchen as he loosened his tie.

He froze as he heard Malfoy speak to Riddle. "You know, the sun can grant you what you want." There was a pause as Riddle undoubtedly focused his full attention on the blond. "As the heir of Slytherin, it can do your bidding. You can touch it and feed it your magic until the world becomes a desert. You can use the moon to strengthen the wards on the Wizarding World and then the sun to incinerate everything else."

There was a very, very, long pause. Harry stood stock still with a bag of carrots in his hands.

"At one price." He heard Malfoy murmur. "The sun demands fuel. You'll burn to ashes."

Harry hadn't known that. He felt like Malfoy was saying it as much as for him as Riddle.

"How terribly unfortunate it is," came the other man's tightly controlled reply, "that I've wasted so many years of my life. That I've wasted all of this: the home, the work, the everyday I have lived hiding what I truly am... All of this to create a Tom Riddle to come home to, a Tom Riddle that would walk the streets as a Muggle just so I could thwart them again and again. Over and over. A Riddle who would tear them down every single time–"

–(to protect a people he had never met,) Harry thought, mournfully–

"–A Riddle who'd one day find a woman, rear a child and give them his secrets and his legacy. A world so far removed…" He trailed off, musing.

"How terribly unfortunate that I've wasted my life." Riddle finished lightly. Harry heard Malfoy shift uncomfortably. "Because I will not be coming home. Forget 'a month'. I could go up tomorrow and the Muggles would fall.

"You," Harry guessed Riddle had pointed to Malfoy. "How sure are you of your relic's abilities?"

"Very." Malfoy replied. "One of my grandfathers had a client that asked for aid in tearing down the relic's wards. He had a journal written by one of the founders themselves, describing the power of the sun and moon."

"It's settled then." Riddle said simply, and Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Riddle was deciding to execute all Muggles tomorrow? Riddle was willing to give up his life? He shut the fridge and reentered the living room, fully prepared to object.

"Riddle, if we're going to die tomorrow, do you think you could at least take us out to see a bit of the Muggle world tonight?" He asked. Malfoy's words rung in his head. Make a judgement. Perhaps in one night he could try stall Riddle's judgement… just maybe. "Or do you think you could include us in your suicide run?"

"I should bring you both." Riddle said, considering the second question. "Perhaps not tomorrow, then. After all, we are on no strict time limit. I know when the sand in the hourglass runs out. I have my eyes watching and ears listening. The Muggles haven't yet cleared a space for the sun to produce electricity."

Riddle had tossed his tie over the couch, the owner of said tie sitting beside Malfoy, who was sitting with his head tilted back and eyes closed.

"How does all the electricity and magic work, anyways? What is a nuclear power plant? Or at least, what is Omega like?" Harry asked from the doorway that connected the living room to the kitchen.

"A nuclear power plant contains nuclear reactors. Muggles will replace the reactors with your sun, which is essentially a fusion reactor." Riddle explained, as if that was supposed to make sense. "Do you know about fission?" Riddle eyed Harry dubiously as both of the Hogwarts students shook their heads. "How about about the elements and atoms?"

Harry tilted his head quizzically, but Malfoy opened his grey eyes and nodded.

Riddle gave a bit of a long-suffering sigh. "In baby talk, then. Fission is when a heavier, unstable element decays into smaller nucl– parts." He corrected himself. "As it does so, it releases some energy in the form of heat, and Muggles harness that heat to power a turbine that essentially generates electricity. It also releases neutrons, which cause nearby atoms to become unstable in the first place. In a nuclear reactor, this reaction is controlled where a number of control rods soak up excess neutrons to prevent too many fission reactions occurring at a time–" Riddle made an annoyed noise, as if realising his explanation was getting convoluted. "But yes, my initial plan was to raise the control rods. That meant the amount of reactions taking place would've increased exponentially, rather than staying stable. There would've more and more heat generated, and then..." Riddle smirked. "Boom, there goes. All it takes is an imperio."

Harry and Malfoy's eyes both locked onto Riddle as soon as he mentioned the Unforgivable.

"That seems lethal." Malfoy commented, a little awkwardly.

"It is. An uncontrolled fission reaction is what occurs in nuclear bombs: the very same weapons that destroyed an entire city in an instant."

Harry, disconcertingly, noted a flash in Malfoy's eyes when Riddle mentioned that.

"You know, Potter," Malfoy drawled, "I may actually tag along. There's certainly more of a chance that Riddle can ward us up and keep us alive when he lights the world up if we're close by."

Riddle's features were graced with a smirk. "Well then, it's finalised. On a date yet to be settled, we three are going to burn down the world." Harry's gut churned at the thought. "We may also all die. But for now… did you say you wanted to go for a tour?"

–––

After they'd changed into some of Riddle's spare shirts, they left and locked up the house. This time Harry was riding in the front of the vehicle and given reign to mess with all the knobs. However, he ended up spending an unnecessarily large amount of time simply observing the way Riddle drove. The man kept both hands on the wheel, eyes forward, yet he seemed to always know what Harry and Malfoy were doing.

"Keep your arm inside unless you want it removed from your shoulder." He said at one point to the blond who had stuck half his body out the window.

Harry had reached for the large throttle beside him at one point, but a cool hand on his own had stopped him. Riddle's grip had been firm. Steady. "Leave that alone." He had warned, leaving Harry reeling a little from the touch. Riddle had beautiful, elegant fingers. A pianist's hands. Deadly hands that could cast wandless magic. Hands that could pull a trigger with no hesitation. Hands that Harry suspected had been around someone's neck at some point. Hands from a rough life.

They continued their journey in the silence of violin strings. Past huge patches of bare land, where huge yellow creatures were felling trees and tearing into soil, where machinery could be heard shrieking across the land. Past small humble abodes much like Riddle's. Past other buildings with brightly coloured signs with glowing words.

"Where are we going?"

"To a place where, if you let slip your magic, no one will report you–"

Harry's eyes widened. Did that mean Riddle had been in contact with Wizards all along?

"–Because if they squeal to the authorities, they turn themselves in, too."

Oh. Criminals and cutthroats, then.

When the car finally stopped in an empty carpark, they walked and walked until Harry looked up to see a monolith of a building. Three, four, five, six, and more stories high… he had never seen a building of that magnitude. Its grey sides were run with filth and grime, blackened at the walls, shattered glass running across the concrete path that led up to the hollowed husk.

Around it stood more unfinished, burnt buildings. Abandoned. Though now and then Harry caught a flicker of movement. A glint of filthy teeth, a sharp knife catching the dusk light.

But the centrepiece was the building. The – on further inspection – building that was also not quite complete. Steel rods rose up from its pillars, into the sky, promising more stories to come. A promise never fulfilled.

"What happened to it?" Harry asked, stones and and glass crunching beneath his shoes. His neck was craned upwards. Malfoy was peering around cautiously at the other, smaller buildings. Riddle simply stood with his hands in his pockets, at ease.

"It fell victim." His gun holster hung unconcealed at his side.

"To what?" Malfoy had turned, now, to watch the two, his eyes glittering.

"To me." Riddle said softly, dangerously. He strode up to the building, up to the doorway missing doors, and stepped right in, gun in hand. "This was an orphanage before it was a high-rise.

"I was incredibly disappointed that some mindless bulldozers stole my revenge from me." Harry followed Riddle into the shadows. In the building, the world seemed different. Dust danced, backlit by the evening rays. A flight of stairs led up, up, and Riddle stood watching like a ghost.

Clunk! A metal cylinder hit the stairs, tumbling its way down, inordinately loud in the silence. It clanged as it rolled to a stop at Harry's feet. It was a faded red, and on it Harry could see some looping silver words. –Cola.

For a brief moment, they stood frozen.

Then Riddle stepped onto the first stair, and very deliberately, loudly, flicked the safety, pointing the gun upwards.

The building held its breath in expectant silence.

Riddle shot. A warning shot. A sound that echoed through the stairs and the not-quite-empty rooms, through the hallways never finished and past the windows shattered.

"But that was fine." Riddle quietly resumed his tale, starting up the stairs without even sparing a glance at the two wizards following him. "The orphanage wasn't the only building that I loathed. The land itself. The filth that it bred. Every, single, face that I recognised. The paved streets. The priest in the church. The lady down the road. The memories and the scars…"

Riddle turned at the top of the stairs, looking down at them. Both Harry and Malfoy stood transfixed as they stared up at the prim, proper man in a suit. The man should've been sitting behind a desk with unbloodied hands. Should've been taking phone calls, smiling at the crowds, laughing with co-workers, should've been at ease anywhere but here. Not here, not so one with the wasteland, gun at his hip, steady step never faltering.

The wasteland he had created.

Riddle's face, his smirk, was outlined by the dying light of dusk. "I let them burn."

a/n in my curriculum a tiny bit of nuclear physics was compulsory before we were even 16. not all curriculums are the same, but if you don't know how fission works then i'm going to have to highly suspect you aren't 16+

or at least you're not a STEM person like me and you've forgotten everything

(honestly? it doesn't matter. never mind i said anything)

has anyone else noticed that so many people spell peeked as peaked haha what why