Me and the devil
Tom Riddle knew many things. He knew that there were 365 days in a year. He knew that he was superior to muggles. He knew that the reason for his existence was magic. Tom also knew that he wasn't good. He knew that the matrons at the orphanage thought he was the devil reborn. They had wanted another picture perfect boy, a believer in God, a follower.
Tom Riddle had tried to be good. He had cleaned until his hands bled, he obeyed. He had cried in the solitude of the darkness of his room, wondering why no one wanted him. If he was unlovable.
Tom Marvollo Riddle was labeled as the devil even before he could walk. And so he decided he would. He would show the world the greatness he was capable of. He would show them all his strength. He would be admired. He would be a leader.
He would be loved.
Harry Potter didn't know much, he was never allowed outside his cupboard, except for doing his chores. He did know that he was a freak. He knew that magic didn't exist. He knew his parents had abandoned him. He knew he was unlovable.
Harry Potter had tried to be good. He had performed the tasks given to him by his uncle to perfection, yet he still got hurt. He was punished for his cousin's mistakes. Often he wondered how he was still alive.
Harry James Potter tried his best, but everyone can only be pushed so far before they break. Harry had laughed like he had never before. He had cried as he laughed, his voice bordering insanity. He now knew the truth. Had finally accepted it. He was different. He was better.
He would watch the world burn.
At the end of his first year, when Harry met Voldemort for the first time, Harry laughed.
Many would call the boy beautiful, he was admired by his classmates, his teachers called him a prodigy, but Tom swore if anyone saw the angelic eleven year old in this moment they would know true fear.
His eyes glowed with life and bleed with death.
He truly was a fallen angel.
Harry Potter never stopped smiling. He laughed as he felt Voldemort's flesh burn beneath his fingers. He laughed as his own skin started to peel away from his flesh, his blood painting the floor crimson.
The second time they met, the world seemed to hold its breath as it watched.
Harry Potter stood still as he examining the girl lying at his feet. It had been so easy, too easy. How no one had realized what was going on was beyond him. He knew he was better then them, yet to not have realized what the monster was, or better who the monster had been simply ignorant. Lifting his gaze, green meeting crimson, he smiled.
Tom Riddle knew power. How could he not, he was Power. Yet he could not deny the unmistakable taste of magic that filled the chamber. Filled him. He knew he had never truly lived before, not like this. He needed more. He had to make him his. He had to own him.
Harry Potter never stopped smiling. He smiled as he pierced the muscle and bone of the Basilisk. He smiled as the fang tore into him. He smiled as he stabbed the diary.
Harry Potter's smile brightened as the chamber filled with a green glow. He would be the only one returning tonight.
The next time they met, the heavens started to cry.
Tom Riddle couldn't take his eyes off the boy monster, noting just how much he had changed. He still bore that angelic like face, white as the moon. His black hair tinted red by the dying sun, yet his eyes seemed colder then ever.
He wasn't the sun or the moon, he was a supernova.
Harry Potter had killed before. Harry didn't feel remorse as he whispered the curse, sending a purple light to the unexpecting boy. Harry bent down, ignoring how the warm sticky wetness clung to his figure. He would be victorious.
Tom watched as Harry stood, trophy clutched in his bloodied hand, Cedric laying beneath him. Looking down at the body he could make out shallow cuts painting his face, the yellow shirt soaked in scarlet.
Tom Riddle Voldemort smiled as he watched Harry Potter inspect his work. The child in front of him was expecting the corps with child-like curiosity as if it was a piece in a puzzle he was yet to solve.
Straightening his spine, Harry Potter gazed at the being in front of him. He stood tall covered in a dark robe, his face perfect as porcelain, the only thing amiss was the small smear of red that covered the white flesh.
Pushing his body into a mocking bow, Harry Potter smiled.
Tom Riddle stood still as the enigma was whisked away from him, leaving behind the corpse of a soon to be forgotten boy.
When the two shards of a soul grazed each other for the fifth time the world was ready to burn.
Tom Riddle faced Harry Potter.
Harry Potter faced Tom Riddle.
Extending his hand, Harry Potter smiled at Tom Riddle.
As their souls connected, the heavens wept in desperation.