Rosie ⎮ Tom Riddle

Thirty

Thirty

A FEW MONTHS LATER

"Lily helped me pick out my dress today. I think you'll love it," Rosie said, her voice low and sultry as she lay on Tom's chest, watching him play with the hair around her face. The soft orange light from the candle on their bedside table was the only thing preventing them from lying there in the darkness.

Tom tucked her hair behind her ear; it was curlier than usual, and he was enjoying it. "That's all well and good, darling, but you haven't even helped me decide the location you want," he said, smiling joyfully at her as she grinned down at him, not one bit sorry.

 "Well..." She chuckled, dipping her head down onto Tom's bare chest. He ran his hand down her spine, enjoying the skin-to-skin contact, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her back.

 "Well, what?" he pressed her, bringing his hand to her face again and forcing her to look at him. His eyes searched hers, a playful yet determined glint in them.

 "I can't decide! You decide!" Her grin was contagious, and she began tracing lines with her fingers on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her touch.

"I'm just the groom. I'll get married wherever you want to get married, love," he replied, his voice tender and filled with affection.

"Would you hate me if we got married in a church?" she pressed, already knowing the answer but loving to tease him.

"Possibly," he said, narrowing his eyes playfully at her.

"Well, you choose then. Please."

"I would get married to you on the darkest streets of Diagon Alley, my love. I would marry you in the middle of nowhere. I would marry you in the kitchen, for Merlin's sake—it doesn't matter where it is, as long as you're there." His voice was filled with sincerity and passion.

She smiled at him, hugging back into his chest as he began to stroke her hair, his touch gentle and loving.

"How about in a field? I've always loved fields... but it has to be the greenest field in all of London. No small, stupid park. I want green as far as the eye can see," she said, her eyes dreamy as she imagined their wedding day.

"You're a difficult bride, you know that?" he teased her, and she slapped his arm playfully.

"Careful—I'll leave you at the altar."

"And I'd track you down to the ends of the earth and drag you back," he kissed the top of her head sweetly, meaning every word. There was no way Tom was ever letting her go again; they would always be together, in the end.

"Are you pregnant yet? You're glowing," he said, hoping for good luck.

Rosie looked at him. "No, I'm not," she reaffirmed, neither sad nor happy about that fact. Tom sighed, holding his hands on her arms, feeling a pang of disappointment mixed with relief.

"We'll have to try again then, won't we?" he asked into her ear lowly. Rosie smirked at him, feeling a sudden hardness against her leg.

"How do you just do that? We've done it at least four times today. Are you not tired?" she asked, chuckling. Tom seemed offended at the suggestion that he could ever wear out.

"You mustn't understand just exactly what you do to me," he said lowly, flipping her over on the bed so he was above her. His head moved to her neck, already bruised from the amount he had sucked at it.

A sudden noise in the living room took them both out of their concentration. The door slammed open, and heavy footsteps rushed in quickly. Tom got up immediately, pulling Rosie up behind him and grabbing his wand.