Rosie ⎮ Tom Riddle

Twenty Seven

Rosalie

  At what point did caring for someone so deeply turn toxic?

  Rosalie watched Tom's face about a ruler length from her own, his eyes shut gently, his eyelashes fluttering ever so lightly when a thought passed his dormant mind. Soft blows of air left his mouth every few seconds, his hair sprawled across his forehead messily. Light shades of freckles were seen falling across his face when you got close enough to see his near-perfect light skin.

  She marvelled at his beauty, feeling as though she might be overwhelmed by it. The urge to reach out and touch him surged within her, but she savoured these moments of silence, basking in the sight of his handsome features. In her mind's eye, she crafted a world where they were just an ordinary couple, far removed from the shadows of their true identities—her father's association with Grindelwald and Tom's looming presence as Voldemort. In this fantasy, they resided in a quaint cottage, shielded from prying eyes, cherishing the simplicity of their solitude.

  In this alternate reality, perhaps Tom wouldn't feel compelled to carry out the deeds he believed necessary. Maybe the weight of countless lives wouldn't burden his conscience. But in this world, all Rosalie could do was watch from the sidelines, torn between her love for Tom and the knowledge of his dark path.

  As she turned around and sat up on her side of the bed, her gaze lingered over her shoulder, drinking in the sight of Tom's naked form. The sheets draped over him, exposing his muscled back, which flexed subtly with each movement.

  "Where are you off to, love? It's Saturday. Stay with me a while longer," Tom groaned, reaching out for her. Rosalie hesitated, her robes draped over her shoulders.

  "Sorry, Tom. I promised Lily I'd join her for breakfast," she replied softly, torn between her desire to stay and her sense of obligation.

  Tom seized her hand, pulling her back onto the bed and into his lap. He pressed his lips hungrily against hers, urging her to stay. Rosalie returned the kiss, but when his hand ventured beneath her shirt, she gently pushed him away.

  "Not now, Tom," she said, slipping off the bed and straightening her disheveled appearance. With a coy smile, she bid him farewell and left his room.

  As she walked away, she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for leaving Tom behind. But she knew she had to keep her distance, to resist being drawn too deeply into his world of darkness.

  Tom watched her leave, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Soon," he murmured to himself, returning his attention to his book as Rosalie closed the door behind her.

  The journey to the great hall to meet Lily felt shorter than Rosalie expected, her steps echoing in the corridor as she navigated the familiar path. Yet, the frantic pacing in her own room along the way caught her attention, prompting her to pause and listen. She glanced to her side before cautiously opening the door, finding Lily in a state of distress, questioning everything.

  "Lily?" Rosalie approached cautiously, her heart sinking at the sight of her friend's anxious demeanour.

  "Rose," Lily replied quickly, her eyes wide with worry as she ushered Rosalie to the corner of the room.

  "Where have you been? This is important. Bad important," Lily said, her voice trembling with urgency.

  Rosalie's mind raced with possibilities as she braced herself for the worst. "What's wrong?" she asked, her concern growing with each passing moment.

  Lily's hands dropped from her mouth as she pulled Rosalie into an embrace. "I'm so sorry. I don't know why he's done this. It's so stupid," Lily murmured, her words muffled against Rosalie's shoulder.