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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THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAD BEEN OPENED.
And it was all everyone at Hogwarts was buzzing about — the ominous message that had been scrawled on the wall.
The news had spread like wildfire, and Rosie couldn't escape it. It lingered in the corridors, whispered through the halls, and weighed heavily on her mind. As she sat in the Great Hall for breakfast, the sound of students chattering filled the air, but her thoughts were miles away. She absentmindedly pushed her scrambled eggs around her plate, her eyes scanning the room. Faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, reflected a mixture of fear, excitement, and suspicion. The sense of unease was palpable.
Rosie's gaze drifted to the Gryffindor table, where Esmie Grisky sat among her friends. The second-year was paler than usual, her eyes wide with anxiety. Everyone knew the rumours about the Chamber of Secrets, and Esmie, being Muggle-born, had every reason to be worried. Rosie's heart ached for her young friend, but she didn't know how to ease her fears — not when her own were growing by the minute.
"So, is Esmie still freaking out about the Chamber of Secrets being opened?" Mattheo Riddle's voice cut through Rosie's thoughts, pulling her back to the present. He was speaking to Lorenzo Berkshire, who sat beside him, his face tense.
"Can you blame her?" Lorenzo replied, his voice tight as his eyes flicked towards Esmie. His protective nature over the young Gryffindor was clear, and Rosie could sense the worry in his tone.
Draco Malfoy, seated further down the Slytherin table, leaned forward with a sneer, his voice dripping with disdain, "I don't get why you're still hanging around with that filthy little Mudblood."
Rosie's stomach twisted at the insult. The word was like a curse, venomous and cruel, and she hated hearing it. She shot a glare down the table at Draco, who sat smugly, as if proud of his foul words. Blood purity was a concept she'd grown up hearing about, but she despised it with every fibre of her being. To think that a person's worth was defined by their heritage was ridiculous. Even though Rosie herself was a pureblood, she never understood why it mattered.
