Summary:
Voldemort, the Dark Lord, was defeated as the prophecy tells, by a teenage boy who had nothing but love and friendship at his side, his reign of terror over in a single night.
After darkness enveloped him, Tom Riddle woke up in his eleven year old body, with the knowledge of the future and his past mistakes… Now the question is, will that knowledge help him avoid his destiny?
Notes:
(Title comes from the song Blood On My Name, by The Brothers Bright)
DISCLAIMER; I do not own the Harry Potter universe and this isn't made with the purpose of turning profit, BUT TOM RIDDLE IS MY SON AND JK ROWLING CAN PRY HIM OUT OF MY COLD DEAD HANDS. Seriously, fuck that terf.
Now that said… This fic is marked mature due to the heavy themes that might me mentioned and the violent nature of certain parts of the story, but there isn't anything inherently sexual —at least not yet. If rating should change, I will mark it as such! Every chapter will be marked as well, with any trigger warnings pertaining to that section. This is NOT appropriate for all ages and I don't make myself responsible for any unsavoury reactions.
All character interpretations are MY OWN HEADCANONS as well, so please keep that in mind.
PAIRINGS:
Main couple is yet to be determined! When it is chosen you will be notified in the respective chapter notes.
Chapter 1 Notes:
TW: mentions of canonical character death, and death of children, although nothing is graphic.
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The world darkened at the edges, bright red and green sparkling in an explosion of light that came closer and closer, soon obscured by black dots and swirls of shadows. The noise of screams and voices around them slowly disappeared, as did the hot air charged with magic and the hum of power beneath one's skin.
This is what death felt like… like an illusion bleeding away slowly and the ground opening up to an endless fall in pitch black.
Voldemort's death was— wholly anticlimactic for him. Mundane, even. In his last moments, all he could think of was that he had been truly defeated, all he felt was anger and reluctant resignation, so much so he never had time to be scared at all.
Darkness enveloped him as he was reduced to nothing but a fleeting thought, an endless drifting through a void of nothingness. Minutes drifted by, then hours and days and months, then years, and then time stopped moving when it reached an abrupt death, the end of all as it has been written from the start. Helpless thoughts of desperation and pointless pleas for mercy slowly died away to give way for a strange calm and acceptance, old angers and frustrations becoming nothing more than a distant dream half forgotten.
And soon Death grew like a poison to infect each flaming ember of that lost soul, until pliant and complacent it did not fight its claws digging into it, nor its maws closing in on it. And as Death swallowed, the world burned into colour.
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Light, cold air and harsh cement. The sky above was pale blue and free of clouds, but the smell of ash and blood lingered in the air with the smoke of a burning building. Lifeless blue-silver eyes lingered open through lashes painted white much like every inch of the ground and the bodies littering it.
No birds circled above, but perhaps soon they would as the rot and putrid air of death settled in, once nobody started stirring from their new endless dream.
Eleven year old Tom Marvolo Riddle, lying in the remains of a building's foundation, gasped for air for the first time in his new life and coughed, turning on his side as his extremities tingled and his magic core settled after such furious flame, his brain struggling to keep up with the sudden burst of adrenaline. His heart beat as fast as it could to restart each dead organ, lungs burning with each desperate grasp for air.
He laid curled upon himself, shivering and fighting rigor mortis, until he could remember how to properly breathe and blink and move.
In between little corpses and the ruins of Wool's Orphanage, he lived.
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Firefighters and police scavenged between the ruins but miles down the empty rode walked a lost child, blue eyes cold as Death who had kissed him reacquainting themselves with the world he had forgotten long ago.
Where…?
You know where you are. You remember.
He did, but it all seemed blurred by a cloud of mist. Why here? Why him?
You were great, greater than many others. Greater than the one who put you down.
A weak laugh slipped past his lips, eerily childish in this small body.
"I was a calamity" he said, voice raspy and barely audible, to nobody as he walked alone, "I have spilled blood, done the unthinkable"
I do not want a puppet to do my bidding. I do not need you to be good, I need you to be great.
The child's steps came to a stop and his eyes drifted slowly to his left, towards a dead field and the figure seen only to him, the walking corpse.
"If I choose the same path, would your interference have been for nothing?"
Slowly, a fisure appeared on the shapeless being, like a smile from ear to ear full of sharp teeth he knew all too well, fangs that had torn at his putrid flesh.
I will return you to the start as many times as it is needed, cursed one.
The boy blinked drowsily and his fragile starved figure swayed in the wind like a blade of grass.
"Until what? Until I've stopped the destruction of magic, or until I've destroyed it myself?… I am not scared of you any longer"
Are you not? Who am I, nameless child? Who do you see?
He turned to face it fully, never looking away.
"Everything"
The entity stayed silent for a long while.
… So you have learned your lesson.
The boy laughed vaguely hysterically.
"I had plenty of time… Alright. I will do as you ask"
Death -life, magic- slowly vanished from sight and the child turned back towards the bumpy road that winded beyond the distant horizon, and started walking once more. There was much to be done.