He knew the boy before he was born, before his parents were even born. He dreamed dreams of sex, in the gloomy cold Slytherin dungeon, The laughters of those Slytherins in commen room could not get through the heavy curtain around his bed. He dreamed, dreamed of a boy.
Those soft hair is as black as his but tousy, the liquid clear eyes are emerald like his, skin paler, body suppler. He knew entirely well while the child struggled underneath him. He dreamed those tangly and weary dreams. Slytherins are feared for his oddities, he muttered in his dreams, spoke in a strange language sounded rather more like hisses. He the wisest in Slytherin that no one could compare, his response and the strange language he used no one ever dared to question, and no one would approach to his bed with those closed heavy curtain to listen to those evil syllables and soft moans seeps from his dreams.
Only himself knew what he said.
He dreamed dreams of tangled limbs, he murmured his ferocious ecstasy and satisfaction, orgasms faded like waves struck and retreated shore of his body left only void. His seeds tainted the sweet supple body underneath him, he entered deeply into the innocent place no one ever touched, his mouth appreciated the creamy skin vibrated slightly at the touch of his tongue. His breath poured on those tightly curled lips, he smiled and murmured-
He didn't care spoke like snake, because he knew the boy beneath him with wide hooded eyes gazing at the ceil through his shoulders, the secrets he carried is just as great as his, and those secrets are the fate after his born brought by the man who's inside him at the very moment. The boy would know darkness as well as he. The man inside him would lead him to the despaired abysm, then he would be great like he, he would stand against him at the other side of the abysm, aiming his wand at him and shout out the deadly curse. Tom Riddle would never be killed but the abused skinny boy in the orphanage or the filthy mudblood abandoned by his muggle father, the awful past would be buried by the Avada Curse in the raucous voice from the boy.
Like phoenix rises slowly from the hopeless vicious abysm which leads to no ending, and he would open the crimson eyes staring at the boy once innocence swallowed by his thought his dream his curse and his seeds. He would smile satisfyingly, enjoy the emerald green eyes widen and darken in panic.
Not revenge, but possess.
Tom Riddle is a patient man.
Then that day would come, he would see the boy come to him, lower his head that once held high, willingly to be taken and possess.
He would carefully plan everything, step by step, prepared. He would let the child see that there's no way to escape from Tom Riddle and the sweet trap for him built of sin.