Tom reaches out to where the professor's hand would be, the ghost of a memory of a history touching nothing at all.
I would read an entire fic of nothing but this. *That's* the damn fucking intensity of the Boy who Would Be Voldemort, these sort of thoughts. Thanks so much for writing more of this pairing.
That's so cold and spookily effective...the empty plates. I've been totally blown away by your comment fic lately, especially the Harry/Snape one, also the poem about the woman walking away from a shipwreck. I'm hopeless at feedbacking stuff I really, really like, so ....
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Tom reaches out to where the professor's hand would be, the ghost of a memory of a history touching nothing at all.
I would read an entire fic of nothing but this. *That's* the damn fucking intensity of the Boy who Would Be Voldemort, these sort of thoughts. Thanks so much for writing more of this pairing.
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*scatters glittery belated virtual fb* :)
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