// violence
harry couldn’t understand why he wanted to rip tom’s throat out with his teeth.
obviously, he knew why he wanted to kill tom, finding himself stranded in the past didn’t exactly change his mindset.
what he couldn’t wrap his head around, however, was why when he looked at tom, all he wanted to do was to sink his canines into the side of his throat. why he wanted to rip away at that tender flesh, leaving tom panting and crying in pain.
he didn’t know why the idea of attacking tom with magic didn’t feel appealing anymore. why, instead of curses and hexes, he imagined bashing tom’s nose in with his fists, clawing at his eyes and leaving scars across his cheek.
he couldn’t understand when his ideas of revenge went from avenging his loved ones to tearing tom open with sharp nails, burying his teeth inside of his chest before gorging himself on the excess gore spilling out. why he wanted to watch the light leave those despicably beautiful red-brown eyes.
what harry did know, was that something was wrong with him. that his eyes didn’t always flash golden when he walked too quickly past mirrors. or that trading the typical silver cutlery from the great hall for wooden utensils was an unusual shift from his norm.
the most damning piece of evidence may be right now, with how he had one tom riddle pinned beneath him with the full moon shining bright. its glow illuminating his now furry and feral appearance.
what he also could not understand was why tom’s neck (the one he fantasized about bleeding dry) already seemed to run cold. or how his already pale skin seemed to have a sickly glow in the moonlight. or why when he smiled, showing off a set of incredibly sharp teeth, harry felt something inside of him ache.
they were going to eat each other alive.













