TWO FACED. || TOM RIDDLE

prologue

HER NAME echoed in his mind.

"Potter."

That name.

Her name.

Potter-Reaves.

-

31st of December 1947.

He stared into the crumpled letter in his hand, as he always does on this exact day. It was snowing an awful lot outside, and the room's insulation didn't help matters.

Josie. She was the only person who occupied his thoughts. He was always like this, every day, every year. And today, it hit it's lowest low.

He wonders how she's doing, but he has no clue.

He misses her touch, but that feeling was long gone.

He yearns to know what's on her mind, but he can't.

He wants to see her again, but every attempt at getting there fails.

His head falls into his hands as the piece of parchment brushes his eyes, becoming wet with his tears.

The man whispered to himself, his own voice shaking.

"Happy birthday."

-

31st of December, 2068.

She was at the cemetery again.

In all-black, monochrome fashion, with a bouquet of flowers in her left hand, a ring on the other, clutched in the palm of her hand.

She stepped out of the car and her soft footsteps on the dirt reminded her of the continuous rhythm that was life. Something that the person she was going to visit didn't have. At least, not anymore.

A small gravestone was before her. Not too tall to make a statement, but not too small to go unnoticed. She stared at it for a moment, and looked to the floor and closed her eyes.

"Happy birthday."

Flashes of memories whizzed through that crowded mind of hers.

"I don't want anything to do with you, Reaves. Not now, not ever."

"You know that's not true."

"Really now?"

It hasn't been long, but every year without him feels like centuries passing by.

A smile crept upon her lips before she asked another question.

"Do I ever leave your thoughts?"

-

2001.

"Never." The man faintly whispered before exhaling his last breath, dropping the sheet of parchment he's held onto so dearly his entire life.

I'm sorry.

Tonight will be the last time we will be able to see each other.

I should have thought about this sooner. I regret not planning everything out, trying to find a way to stay longer. But please, don't turn back to the darkness when I go.

Even though I would go back, back to where I came from, I'll always remember your name, Tom Riddle.

The 1940s treated me well. You treated me well. I never thought I would ever find love until I met you. I've matured so, so much from the naive 16-year old I was not so long ago.

You taught me love, you taught me pain, and you taught me how to forgive.

Forgiveness. It's something we all had to learn growing up. Forgive and forget. I know you'll never forgive me for what I'm about to do. I wouldn't be able to live with myself, either...

When tomorrow morning comes, you're going to wake up to an empty bed. And 85 years from now, I'll be back at home, trying to live a normal life.

But I know I can't.

I can't be able to live a normal life when I know you're going to be alone in our cabin.

Ours.

I will try to get to you, Tom. Please, for the love of Merlin, don't give up on me.

I will get back to you. I swear my life on that. I will abandon every single award or bloody Auror title just to find you.

I love you, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Or Voldemort. Whichever you prefer.

-Josie Potter-Reaves
Godric's Hollow, 31st of December, 1944.