Tʜᴇ Dᴀʀᴋ Lᴏʀᴅ's Aɴɢᴇʟ | Tom Riddle √

35: Unforgiving Desires

Cassiopeia stood before the solemn graveyard, where numerous tombstones dotted the landscape. She wasn't entirely sure what had drawn her here, but she wandered among the graves, searching for a specific name.

Vivien Lola Flint

(1961 - 1980)

Kneeling before the grave, Cassiopeia conjured a bouquet of flowers using her wand. She didn't know how long she had gazed at the name, but tears welled up in her eyes as she imagined what it would be like if Vivien were still with her, guiding her through the complexities of life.

Wiping away a stray tear that trickled down her cheek, Cassiopeia rose to her feet. She secured her wand back in her boot and left the graveyard, the cold breeze tugging at her jacket, embracing her like an old friend.

The turmoil in her mind was deafening, driven by the mission she had undertaken. She grappled with conflicting emotions about the murderer who had taken her mother's life and been the catalyst for her father's demise. Her brain told her not to love him, to remember him as the killer who had tried to take her life. Yet, her heart whispered, urging her to believe in the possibility of change.

Her boots echoed against the empty street, shattering the silence that surrounded her. To her surprise, she heard another set of footsteps drawing nearer. She halted in her tracks, and the footsteps mirrored her, drawing closer. Cassiopeia contemplated turning around but knew that there would be no escape from whomever was following her.

"Cassie," the voice was familiar, and she yearned to turn around and embrace him. But she wasn't ready for that, not yet. She knew that much.

Reluctantly, she turned to face the familiar pair of chocolate-brown eyes a few feet away. They locked gazes for a moment, and he closed the distance between them, standing just an inch from her. His hand brushed her cheek, his eyes studying her, as if searching her soul.

"Tom," she whispered, her voice trembling. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down her spine, and she didn't want him to let go.

"You killed my mother, Tom," Cassiopeia accused, her eyes locked with his. "Because of you, I lost my father."

Tom said nothing but continued to look at her with an inscrutable expression. He leaned in, his breath warming her face. His eyes darted to her lips, and then he locked eyes with her, seeking permission. "May I?"

Cassiopeia stared at him, torn by her desires and her lingering doubts. She needed this, she knew, but she also knew she wasn't ready to fully accept him, despite her feelings. She couldn't help but wonder how he could love, having been conceived under the influence of a love potion. Her head nodded in reluctant agreement, defying her rational thoughts.

In the next moment, their lips met in a kiss that was neither hurried nor forced. It was slow, passionate, and filled with love. Her hands rested on his chest, fingers clutching his clothes as she felt the sensation that had been missing from her life. She couldn't stop herself from falling for him, even though she felt like a sinner for loving the person who had torn her family apart and defying her parents.

When they finally parted, their eyes remained locked. A faint smile graced Tom's lips, and Cassiopeia couldn't help but admire him. His curls cascaded onto his forehead as he looked at her.

"I love you, Cassie," Tom confessed.

"You're lying, Tom."

"You're lying, Tom," Cassiopeia whispered, echoing her previous words. She was met with darkness, her surroundings bathed in the faint light from the stars outside. Her fingers played with the ring hanging from a simple, thin chain around her neck. She clung to it, wishing to feel closer to him, even though she hadn't dreamt of him again. Somehow, it pained her.

Cassiopeia glanced at the clock, which displayed the ungodly hour of four in the morning. She carefully got out of bed and observed the girl who was sound asleep on the other side of the room.

Running her fingers through her tousled hair, she contemplated the vivid dream she had just experienced. It was just a dream, she reassured herself, nothing more. The thoughts swirling in her mind had merely conspired to create a somewhat unsettling incident. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to meet Tom in person. She considered asking Harry for a description of Voldemort's true appearance, but that might raise suspicions. No one in her year knew the true nature of her relationship with Tom, except for Draco.

Cassiopeia walked over to her desk and opened a drawer to retrieve her diary. She had been advised once to write down her feelings rather than overthinking everything. She flipped the diary open to an empty page, took up a quill, and poised it above the paper. But she couldn't bring herself to write. She was unsure of what to say.

Opening the drawer again, she found a pencil that Draco had gifted her the previous Christmas. She twirled it between her fingers, recalling the last time she had sketched something – Draco, in their third year, as a token of gratitude for his gift.

In the next instant, her hand with the pencil began to sketch. She wasn't certain if she was capturing his likeness accurately, as her skills were better when she had the subject in front of her. Her mind raced, recalling every detail as the pencil glided over the blank page.

Sometimes, she thought of him as a living nightmare dressed as a daydream. Despite the numerous doubts she harbored about her feelings for him, the deep and intimate connection she felt was impossible to ignore. His chocolate-brown eyes, sharp jawline, the curls that tumbled onto his forehead, and his alluring lips remained etched in her thoughts. She wondered why she felt so close to a man she had never met in person.

Cassiopeia lost track of time as she sketched, only realizing that the morning light had broken through her window, marking the first day of her fifth year at Hogwarts.

"Whoa!" A familiar voice gasped behind her. She turned to see Pansy's wide-eyed amazement as she looked at the sketch. "Who's this boy? He looks so real! Oh, Merlin, you never mentioned you could draw like this."

"You never asked," Cassiopeia replied nonchalantly, receiving a playful tap on the shoulder. She turned her attention to the finished sketch. "Is it really that good?"

"The best," Pansy gushed, examining it closely and running her finger over a quote at the bottom. "I'm smitten."

I'm bleeding in love

"Is this the boy you—"

Cassiopeia nodded before Pansy could finish her sentence. Pansy continued to study the sketch carefully, her brow furrowing. "But he looks more mature. You said it was from before your fourth or third year."

"Sometimes, Pansy, life has its complications that are beyond understanding," Cassiopeia chuckled, closing the diary.

"Try me," Pansy challenged with a raised eyebrow.

"Let's say you lost someone you loved because of a person you love. Would you still have feelings for that person?" Cassiopeia asked, watching as Pansy's brows furrowed in an attempt to comprehend her meaning.

"It would depend on the circumstances, Cassie," Pansy replied, gazing at her. "Why do I feel like you and Draco are keeping something more significant about your 'boyfriend' story?"

"I don't know," Cassiopeia quirked her brows playfully. "Perhaps it's because you're the perceptive one."

"You're exceptionally good at hiding thingsfrom others, Cassie," Pansy said with a shake of her head. "Now, getready. Our first class is Defense Against the Dark Arts with the newteacher."