"so we meet again."

mattheo riddle didn't like to consider himself a killer. but with a father like lord voldemort, that was a feature decided before his birth. when war broke out, like a spark to dry spindles turning to a flame, he was working for his father. it was was his nature.

he pointed the wand at you, cornered in a room in malfoy manner, his expression impassive. he knew you, of course; but that didn't matter. it'd never matter, not during the war.