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Moody reclined in his chair, his prosthetic scratched over the floor. “What year is it, Riddle.”
It wasn’t phrased like a question, maybe that was why Tom finally answered.
“September.” Tom clipped out coldly. “1942. You know this.”’
Harry inhaled so sharply he choked on his spit. He hurriedly turned away, hacking and wheezing as he nearly asphyxiated on his own saliva.
“Yeah,” Moody grimaced with a slight disgruntled noise hidden in his tone, “that’s a problem.”Or
Tom Riddle, 15 years old, in the middle of the London Blitz suddenly finds himself in a future with no allies, resources, information, and everyone he knows treats him with enough restraint to not murder him on the spot. It takes a lot to truly ruin a human being, to rot them so thoroughly even fruit flies avoid the stench. Tom doesn't want this bullshit, Tom only wants to-
'Please God, let me live.- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 176,043
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- 25/25
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- 30
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Bookmarked by OperaGuest
04 Jun 2026