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I feel like in some of these time travel fics it’s just so confusing. Like I was reading one where this guy goes back in time and goes back to high school, and he has a relatively large age gap with the ml. You would think that if he goes back in time then the ml would get younger.(he’s like 29 in og and ml is like 17) but no he just stays the same age. It makes no sense. Especially because it’s a regression not him going to a different universe. Anyway thanks for reading all of this.

#fanfic #ao3feed #complaining

alohomorate-esta

Lovelovelove the tomarry dynamic where Tom's like "Merlin, he wants me so bad, it's honestly a little pathetic"

Meanwhile, Harry's in his own little world like "I could choke him out with shoe laces...... i won't.. but, like, I could."

And they're insanely in love

messywhore

It’s always a little funny seeing Tom pop up in other hp spaces because he’s so different. He’s the abusive ex, or shitty dictator- and to be fair he is all these things or can very easily be them but like.

This isn’t my tom riddle. My tom riddle is writing shitty poetry about Harry in his gay ass diary and jacking off in his terrible knock turn apartment while thinking about Harry. My Tom is a loser. Even dictator him comes across as a tryhard. It’s terribly funny to watch him portrayed as suave and dangerous. Like yeah I guess he is danger to Harry’s peace and health but like. Beyond that. He’s a loser guys can’t you see

A lovely mistake is back from hiatus

Hi my lovelies I’m proud to say that A lovely mistake is finally back from hiatus! I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

#tomarry ao3 #a lovely mistake or maybe not #tomarry #tomarrymort #tmrhp #tomarry fic #harrymort

mikailakay

Harry is the only person who came close to truly knowing who Voldemort is. That’s why I ship Harrymort.

reallydelicious

#I need a fanfic like this #got any recommendations?#tomarry

eidelvyd-deactivated20260107

Tom: are you... manipulating me?

Harry: yes

Tom:

Harry:

Tom:

Harry: are you crying?!

Tom: i'm just so proud

oldangrymagpie

Could you write a fic where Harry goes back in time and instead of trying to kill Tom he seduces him, and they’re both obsessed with each other?

sorry it took so long, ill try and make a multichapter thing

The whispers started before the Sorting Hat even touched the first head.

The Knights of Walpurgis huddled together at the Slytherin table, their gazes sharp as they observed the new crop of first years filing into the Great Hall. The Sorting Ceremony always held some interest for them—it was a time to measure potential allies or assess potential threats. But tonight, their curiosity was heightened by a rumor.

“A transfer,” murmured Lestrange, his voice low.

“A Hogwarts rarity,” Rosier added, leaning forward with intrigue.

No one knew much about the supposed transfer student, only that he was arriving under unusual circumstances. The speculation ended when a figure trailed in after the last of the first years.

The chatter in the hall faltered. Heads turned.

Tom Riddle’s gaze shifted lazily toward the commotion, and for a moment, he thought he understood why even the Gryffindor table had grown quiet. The boy was scrawny, yes, but there was something unnerving about him. His neck was marked with faint scars, pale lines crisscrossing like relics of old battles, and his posture held the taut strength of someone used to fighting.

Tom’s seat didn’t give him the best vantage point, but he could see how the boy’s mere presence rippled through the hall. Some of the older girls whispered behind their hands, their faces pink with something between fascination and pity. A Ravenclaw prefect thwacked her giggling friend, both of them blushing as they stole glances.

Tom’s lip curled faintly, a mix of curiosity and disdain flickering in his chest. What’s so special about him?

The Sorting dragged on, the hat taking its time with the younger students. They scattered to their new homes like mice, squeaking and scurrying to the tables that welcomed them. The boy, however, stood at the back, waiting with unnerving patience.

Finally, his name was called.

“Peverell, Harry.”

Tom stiffened.

Peverell.

The name struck a chord, sending whispers coursing through the Knights around him. Tom glanced at his companions, noting the same spark of recognition lighting their eyes. His curiosity sharpened, his gaze snapping back to the boy as he approached the stool.

The Sorting Hat was slow to decide. It spoke in tones too quiet for anyone else to hear, and yet the delay only added to the tension. The boy sat there, unmoving, until the hat finally roared, “Slytherin!”

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the Slytherin table, the Knights relaxing back into their seats. Peverell stepped down, his expression unreadable as he moved toward them.

But then, he hesitated.

He was about to sit beside one of Tom’s least-favored housemates, a sneering boy who looked entirely too pleased with the prospect. Tom acted before he could think. Rising smoothly, he shot the boy a pointed glare, one that sent him slinking off to another spot with a scowl.

“Peverell,” Tom said, his voice smooth and unyielding. “Why don’t you join us here?”

The boy paused, his green eyes narrowing faintly as they flicked to Tom. He seemed to sense the shift in attention around him, the way the other Slytherins watched with bated breath.

Finally, a slow, deliberate smile spread across Harry’s face. He extended a hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Tom reached out, gripping the boy’s hand. The moment their palms met, a sharp jolt of electricity shot through him, like static but more deliberate. His fingers tightened slightly, but he masked his discomfort, meeting Harry’s gaze with calculated coolness.

Those eyes.

Tom was taken aback by their intensity. They weren’t just green—they were vivid, alive, like fresh leaves dappled with sunlight, or a shard of the Killing Curse itself. And yet, there was something dark lurking in them, something far older than the boy who bore them.

Harry sat down beside Tom, and the subtle press of his leg against Tom’s was impossible to ignore. Tom forced himself to focus, keeping his eyes on the rest of the table. But when he glanced at Malfoy, he saw the boy staring openly at Harry, his expression caught somewhere between fascination and unease.

Malfoy jolted when Harry turned his gaze on him, mischief dancing in his eyes.

Harry woke on a field of grass, bruised and broken. Blood oozed sluggishly from cuts on his arms and face, and his chest felt as though it had been crushed. He blinked against the sunlight, struggling to rise, when a shadow fell over him.

It wasn’t human.

The figure was cloaked in black, the fabric trailing along the ground like smoke. It loomed, skeletal hands clasping a scythe that gleamed like moonlight. Its face was obscured, but its eyes—green as poison—burned with an otherworldly light.

Death.

It spoke without words, its voice crawling into his mind. “You have a choice.”

Harry stared, his lips cracked and bleeding. “What choice?”

“To return,” Death said, its bony fingers extending. “To fix what's broken.”

Harry’s breathing hitched. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you remain.” Death gestured at the horizon, where shadows writhed and whispered.

Harry’s mind raced. He thought of Tom, of the countless lives that had been destroyed, of the future he could change. “If I kill him, will it end everything?”

Death tilted its head. “It will end him. But you may lose yourself.”

Harry frowned. “Then what?”

“There are other ways,” Death said cryptically.

The green eyes burned brighter as Death leaned closer. “Will you take this chance, Harry Peverell?”

Harry hesitated only a moment if it were only for the surname. His hands grip the wand, noticing the sudden light weight of the cloak over him, and on his finger the ring. He was tired. Tired from ruining, from fighting.

He could rest for a bit. Have fun.

And if it all became too much he could die.

Tom couldn’t stop glancing at him.

Peverell’s presence was a disruption, a crack in the carefully constructed hierarchy of the Slytherin table. His sun-kissed skin was a rarity in their world of pale complexions, and his lean frame carried a quiet strength that seemed almost casual.

Tom’s gaze trailed over him, unwilling yet drawn. The boy’s shirt clung slightly to his form, and Tom noted the faint curve of his collarbone, the shape of his neck where the scars marred it. His hands, though slender, bore the faint calluses of someone accustomed to hard work—or battle.

He realized, with a jolt, that Harry had caught him staring.

Those green eyes locked onto his, a glint of amusement flickering in their depths. Harry leaned slightly closer, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile.

“Something on your mind?” Harry asked, his voice low.

Tom straightened, masking his surprise. “Just considering the... unique company we’ve acquired.”

Harry chuckled, and Tom swore it echoed in his chest like a drumbeat.

The dormitory was dimly lit, the green and silver accents casting eerie reflections on the polished wood of the furniture. The room was spacious enough, yet it felt oppressive under the watchful gazes of his dormmates. Harry stepped inside, his trunk trailing behind him as his wand hovered it lazily off the ground.

“You’re over there,” Malfoy said, gesturing with a flick of his hand. His tone was sharp but edged with something less certain.

Harry followed the direction to find his bed nestled on one side of the room, flanked by Malfoy’s and Avery’s. Opposite them, the beds of Black and Lestrange stood, each marked by the boys standing with an aura of subtle superiority.

“Fetching,” Harry muttered under his breath, his tone dry as he surveyed the arrangement.

Malfoy stiffened, his pale face flushing. Harry ignored him, setting his trunk at the foot of his bed before pulling off his shirt. He heard the sharp intake of breath behind him, the almost imperceptible sound of someone holding it too long.

He didn’t turn. He knew what his back looked like—the scars, the burns, the remnants of things he would never discuss. They stretched across his skin like a map of past battles, a testament to survival more than strength.

As he changed into his sleeping clothes, pulling his trousers up with practiced indifference, he glanced back. They were all looking away, their postures stiff and their faces turned to their respective belongings.

“Where is Riddle?” he asked, his voice casual as he sat on the edge of his bed, his hands resting at his sides.

Avery glanced at him uneasily, as if reluctant to answer. “As Head Boy, he has his own private quarters,” he muttered.

“Good to know,” Harry replied, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

Avery opened his mouth as if to question the response but thought better of it. Harry grabbed his toiletries and headed toward the bathroom, only to pause when Malfoy pointed toward a door.

“Through there,” the blond said stiffly.

Harry found the bathroom spacious and luxurious, with marble tiles and multiple stalls. He brushed his teeth quickly, his thoughts elsewhere. When finished, he pulled the collar of his shirt down slightly, inspecting the freshest wound on his shoulder—a long, angry line that hadn’t yet faded.

With practiced ease, he applied a salve, ignoring the sound of movement behind him. He didn’t bother looking; he already knew someone was watching.

When he finally adjusted his collar and glanced up at the mirror, he caught a glimpse of dark eyes disappearing around the corner.

The Great Hall buzzed with life the next morning, the low hum of conversation filling the air as students helped themselves to an impressive breakfast spread. Harry arrived later than most, his footsteps unhurried as he approached the Slytherin table.

The Knights of Walpurgis were already seated, their usual confidence exuding from their every motion. Tom Riddle sat at the center, commanding the attention of those around him without a word.

Harry walked straight to him.

Placing a hand lightly on Tom’s shoulder, he felt the boy stiffen beneath his touch. Tom turned sharply, irritation flashing across his face before his expression faltered. He blinked at Harry, his lips parting slightly.

“Could I sit?” Harry asked, his tone polite but faintly amused.

Tom hesitated, then gave a small nod.

Ignoring Avery’s glare, Harry slid into the seat between him and Riddle. The weight of their stares didn’t bother him; he was used to it. As he glanced over the spread of food, he yawned lazily and summoned a cup of coffee with a flick of his fingers. The cup floated toward him, landing softly as he added cream and sugar with wandless ease.

“Peverell,” Malfoy said, his voice tight. “Maybe don’t use magic like that.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his spoon stirring the coffee on its own. “Why?”

Before Malfoy could answer, Lestrange leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “Dumbledore won’t like it,” he said with thinly veiled disdain.

Harry sipped his coffee, unfazed. “Why?”

Malfoy’s voice took on a haughty edge. “He doesn’t want the Mudbloods to feel... inadequate,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “It’s to avoid making them feel lesser.”

Harry’s laugh rang out, clear and bright, cutting through the tense silence.

“Inadequate?” he repeated, his eyes gleaming. “I had a friend once—a Muggle-born. She was the most brilliant witch I’ve ever met. Made plenty of pure-bloods fall behind in her dust.”

The room around them grew colder, the disapproval from his housemates palpable. Harry didn’t care.

As he took another sip of coffee, his gaze drifted to the professors’ table. Albus Dumbledore was watching him intently, his piercing blue eyes locked onto Harry’s.

Harry smiled faintly, the shields in his mind holding firm as he felt the old man’s mental probes. For fun, he shoves back. Dumbledore’s expression sours before he looks away.

Satisfied, Harry turned back to his table just in time to catch Tom staring at him.

Their eyes met, and Harry chuckled softly. “Do you need something, Tom?” he asked, his voice smooth. “I’d be happy to help.”

Tom hesitated, his eyes narrowing as though trying to decipher some puzzle. But he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his attention back to his plate, his expression unreadable.

Harry smirked, leaning back slightly as he stirred his coffee again. The spoon spun slowly, glinting in the morning light, as he considered the tangled web of games he was about to weave.

link bc tumblr is once again brken: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61961452/chapters/158442703

tommarvoloriddlesdiary

Hermione: Okay — He’s a 10, but he kills people, calls his sycophants ‘Death Eaters’, and hasn’t gotten over his rather specific fear of babies. Harry: Hmm… and what’s my pet name? Hermione, sighing in dismay: He calls you ‘Darling’- Harry: Smash — we don’t need kids.

eidelvyd-deactivated20260107

I love idiots-in-love Tomarry. I love hurt/comfort Tomarry. I like obsessive Tom vs. Harry trying to live his best life, mutual obsession, murder husbands, Harry and his hopeless savior complex trying to save absolute lost cause Tom Riddle.

That's all good shit.

But God, I love angry, no-fucks-left-to-give, "I swear if you don't stay at least 100 ft away from me at all times, Riddle, I will beat your ASS" Harry.

mybunkerishogwarts

Do y'all know what is more scary than people who ship Sam with Dean, who are literally brothers?

PEOPLE WHO SHIP VOLDEMORT AND HARRY POTTER. WHAT THE ACTUAL F**K IS WRONG WITH YOU FREAKS!!? 😠😭

eidelvyd-deactivated20260107

The tension is fun. Harry literally carried his soul for almost 17 years, Voldemort formed his body from Harry's blood, they live in each other's minds. They're entwined in every possible way, and we're just supposed to what, ignore that?

Harry describes Tom Riddle as handsome every time he looks at him, and I'm not supposed to see potential there?

Plus, hero/villain dynamics are just hot. Might I recommend something less controversial to start off? Dip your toes in some Batman x Catwoman or Poison Ivy, it's fun.

People always love a good villain, just look at Loki. We love bad boys (and girls). And it's interesting to pair them with a hero. Either it's tragic and doomed, the villain has to go through a redemption arc, or the hero has to fall. It's interesting.

Ship bashing isn't cool, babe. Don't like, don't read, simple as that. Happy new year, love!