It was enough to make Harry’s head spin, and he had to close his eyes again. This was just as much of a mind fuck as learning his father would never exist. Riddle was right; he wasn’t Voldemort, yet, and maybe he never would be. Harry tried to think about it objectively; so far the worst thing Riddle had actually done, to Harry’s knowledge, was butcher an owl to teach a bully a lesson. And that was awful, yes, but compared to what Voldemort had done? Compared to what Riddle had done by this age in the past? The Tom Riddle of now was practically a saint, though a ruthless, ambitious, amoral one. He certainly hadn’t done anything awful enough to warrant Harry refusing to marry him when it could save so many, in any case.