Fics like no one suspects the butterfly

“And you, Evans? What are you doing after graduation?” “Dunno,” Evans replied, staring up at the sky from where he was laying on the courtyard floor and impeding foot traffic like the menace he was. “Maybe I’ll dismantle the government. It could use a good spring cleaning. Might be fun.” Everyone laughed like it was a joke, and Tom felt a part of him wither and die at the stupidity of his generation. Harry Evans was, to those that met him, rather average. A brilliant student, definitely. Kind and dedicated, absolutely. Handsome, maybe. But otherwise unremarkable. He slipped into the ranks of Hufflepuff without a whisper and would have remained a bland face in the background of Tom’s life—if not for the fact that something was quintessentially wrong with him. Tom, the only person who seemed to see beneath the veneer of banality and recognise the dangerous cunning that lurked there, found himself facing an opponent he had no idea how to combat. OR, how Tom Riddle went from dreaming of ruling Wizarding Britain to dreaming of punching Harry Evans in the fucking face.

Fics like no one suspects the butterfly

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