1 Prologue

That was it. He was officially dead, and there was no coming back this time.

He had to say, the Potter boy was quite strong. Not having any parents. Having to live with his muggle relatives who hated anything related to magic. Having to be on guard everyday, not knowing when I'll come to try and take his life. A strong kid indeed. Worthy of being his rival.'

Does he feel bad for the kid? Yeah, sure, a little. Does he still hate him? Yes, definitely so. Would he had killed him if the tables hadn't turned ? Yes, without hesitation. Just because he feels bad, doesn't mean he'll give up his dream for him. Speaking of dreams, that's sort of like where he was now. A dream, a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep.

'But I'm not asleep. I'm dead.'

Tom wandered around his 'dream' for a while. There were thousands of crystal balls floating around the ground and above. This endless white space seemed to go on for eternity. It was truly a sight to behold.

In each crystal, there was a memory.

A memory of when he was being beat up by the other kids at the orphanage. He frowned at that memory.

A memory of when he was happy. Which consisted of very few.

A memory of when he was angry. A memory of when he was sad.

A memory of Christmas. The very first Christmas he had received a present for.

A memory of being thrown into a cupboard- wait. That was new. He didn't think he remembered ever being thrown into a cupboard before. An attic sure. For weeks on end, forgotten about and alone... But never a cupboard.

Perhaps it was Potters memory. Yes. It made sense, with him being apart of the boy, that he would see his memories as well. The boy had lived a rough life. And he had caused that.

Maybe it was because his soul was no longer scattered and back in one place. Perhaps it was because he had gone even more crazy. But for some reason, the fact that he had caused this boys suffering didn't sit well with him. He had made the same thing that happened to him, happen to Potter.

And now he had payed for it. Harry Potter had killed him and now he is stuck in this place rewatching his many memories. Voldemort. AKA the dark lord. AKA Tom Marvolo Riddle, was killed by Harry Potter. His rival.

His opposite.

Himself really, if you thought about it.

Except, Harry wasnt him. Harry Potter was similar to him and had a similar childhood sure. But Potter had people to save him. People who cared for him. People who would risk their lives for him as long since he was okay. People who he could call family.

Tom Riddle never had any of that.

He had people who wanted to use him. People who wanted him gone. People who thought that he was just a tool. Now that he thought about it, his life was pretty sad. He just wanted to prove himself. Prove that he was a person and not a tool. He wanted to get rid of the muggleborns, the mud bloods, because there was a chance that they could expose the Wizarding world. There was a chance that they could change it and he didn't want that. Oh merlin he didn't want that. When he first saw the Wizarding world, he thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and probably will ever see.

Maybe Magic herself understood that. Or maybe the universe took pity on him. But all he knew was that the eternal white that he had been in for Merlin knows how long had suddenly dissapeared. And he had too.