Tom Riddle, the son of the Dark Lord, has always been burdened by the weight of his lineage, destined to follow in his father's footsteps as the heir to a reign of terror. Yet, in Rosie Hart, he found a glimmer of hope-a love that made him dream of...
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LONELY.
That was the overwhelming emotion that filled Rosalia Hart as she stepped into her dorm room at Hogwarts. The heavy silence that greeted her was almost deafening. Her sixth year had just begun, and while she had expected to feel a sense of excitement at returning to the place she had called home for the past five years, all she felt was the weight of isolation. The once comforting space seemed colder and emptier than before, lacking the warmth of shared laughter and companionship.
Rosie sighed, her gaze drifting around the bare walls. Her belongings were still packed away in her trunk, waiting to be unpacked, but the act of settling in felt like too much effort. She missed Genevieve. The past summer had been chaotic — filled with noise, pranks, and her younger sister's endless chatter. Despite how much of a mess Genevieve could be, the eleven-year-old had been a constant source of joy and light in Rosie's life, but now, Genevieve was a first-year, and while she was at Hogwarts too, it wasn't the same. Rosie would no longer wake up to her sister's rambunctious energy or the sound of her throwing clothes around in their shared room at home.
"You're on your own now, kid," Rosie muttered under her breath as she began unzipping her suitcase, pulling out robes and neatly folding them into her wardrobe. The emptiness of the room made the sound of her voice louder, more hollow. She tried to shake off the feeling of unease that was creeping up on her. Sixth year was supposed to be a new chapter, right? She had big plans for this year, academically at least. She was determined to secure the top spot in all her classes, continue her prefect duties, and maybe even go for Head Girl next year. That was enough to keep her busy — enough to push aside the ache in her chest from missing her sister.
As she stuffed her clothes into the wardrobe, a knock on her door made her pause. Frowning, she crossed the room and pulled it open, half-expecting to see a house-elf or another Slytherin prefect. Instead, her gaze landed on Thomas Riddle. He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes, his expression as unreadable as ever.
"Rosalia," he greeted, his voice low and calm.
Rosie blinked in surprise, her mind scrambling to figure out why he was at her door. "What are you doing here, Thomas?" She asked, her voice more curt than she intended. She had known Tom since her first year. He was the son of Voldemort, an unsettling fact that everyone at school knew, but it wasn't his lineage that unnerved her. It was him — his calculating nature, his quiet arrogance, and the way he always seemed to be three steps ahead of everyone. He was her rival, the one person who consistently challenged her for the top spot in every class.
