The Man in the Mirror : Riddle.

‘Like many other lonely travelers, this one was no different. He had the same fears, the same hopes and the same dreams. Then why is it, that as he walks down the ramp and on to the unexplored land, did he feel a million tiny invisible strings tugging at the corners of his chest, pulling him towards a familiar destination which he had been trying to avoid for the past 50 years. On the other end of the strings stood a house. No; a mansion. It was old and yet familiar because if one would have gone back in time, one would have found a boy – a boy named Riddle, sitting on the now rotting floorboards of his house, dreaming about a future he would help create. A future filled with pure blood wizards and immortality because even at the age of 12, Riddle had a fear that would eventually cost him his life —death.’ 

The man opened his eyes. It was only a nightmare, he thought, because someone as powerful as him would definitely not admit it out loud.

He walked over to his sink and rinsed his face. But when stared into the mirror in front of him, the world around him just disappeared. In the vision, he was staring into another  mirror, only to find two figures staring back. The man in the mirror was middle-aged with fair hair and had round spectacles. The woman by side, however, was holding on to a boy. A boy who had an unusual lightning-shaped scar on his prominent forehead.

NO! He wanted to scream as raw fury and hatred boiled inside the very core of his being…and yet, words were unable to form in his mouth. If it were under different circumstances, he would have sent a thousand killing curses hurtling at that wretched boy who he wanted so badly to be dead. After all, this was all just an illusion – in fact, he was very aware that at this very moment, he was dwelling inside the depths of someone else’s mind. Thoughts from a lonely orphan wizard boy who desperately misses his dead parents.

Suddenly, the image in the mirror clouds and changes. The boy with the scar disappeared and in his place stood another boy – of fairly the same age, if not a tad bit older. The new boy was different. He did not smile, nor did he wave. He just stood there, rooted on the spot, his intelligent eyes transfixed. The boy was familiar – too familiar. It was as if he was from a vague dream or some old memory. The picture became clearer. The boy’s parents came in to view. They were standing behind him. Their faces, however were just a blur. Having said that, he still imagined the father having dark eyes and hair just like his son.

The mirror then, slowly focused on the quiet boy. He was now looking straight into the watcher’s eyes. It was a knowing look, so intense and familiar that it almost sent shivers down the watcher’s spine.

He knew that boy. And for the first time in his life, he was scared.

His past had ruined him.

He was not that boy anymore.

“Tom!” called the mysterious woman who was supposedly his mother. The mother who he himself had murdered.

“Tom Riddle!”

Something snapped in him. That name. That wretched Muggle name.

After what seemed like forever, he scowled and backed away from her – away from the blasted mirror.

He was not that boy anymore.

Love is a weakness. He was immortal. This is what he had always wanted. He wasn’t going to let his past haunt him – ruin him like it did before.

He was not that boy anymore.

“It’s Voldemort,” he hissed as he turned and walked away.

The same time Harry Potter walked away from the Mirror of Erised.


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