In another life, Tom would have spent the summer after his sixth year tracking down his family. He’d have worked in a dingy second-hand shop off Diagon Alley during the day, and returned to the muggle orphanage each night, his rage and resentment simmering inside with every reminder of his forced poverty, when he, the greatest Wizard of his age, should have been elevated so much higher. When he finally found them, he would have been as disgusted by his Gaunt uncle’s weakness and poverty as he would have been enraged by the Riddle family’s wealth and privilege. On August 16th, 1943 he’d have committed his second, third, and fourth murders, and been happy to do it.