Rosie ⎮ Tom Riddle

Forty Five

The Family

  The early morning sun cast a golden glow over the small French town, its narrow cobbled streets and quaint market stalls coming to life with the bustle of muggle life. Tom moved through the market with a purposeful stride, his dark robes a stark contrast against the vibrant hues of fresh produce and colourful fabrics. He had wandered these streets countless times, but today, every corner held a glimmer of hope. The news that Rosalie might still be alive had driven him to this town, where their past seemed almost tangible amidst the lively chaos.

  The air was rich with the aroma of baked goods, mingling with the scent of freshly cut flowers. Children darted between stalls, their laughter ringing out like music, while vendors called out their wares with cheerful insistence. Tom's eyes, however, were scanning the faces in the crowd, searching for any sign of Rosalie.

  His mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. The grief of her presumed death had gnawed at him for years, a constant ache that had never fully healed. The thought of her being alive was both exhilarating and tormenting. Each day since the news had felt like a desperate chase, a race against the past and his own haunting memories.

  As he passed a stall laden with ripe peaches, a voice cut through the market's clamour, sweet and familiar. "Tommy!" The voice was unmistakably Rosalie's, tender and filled with the warmth that Tom had longed to hear. It was as though a beacon had been lit, guiding him through the fog of his doubts.

  Tom spun around, his heart pounding in his chest. He could hardly believe his ears. He scanned the crowd, his eyes wide with hope and disbelief. Then he caught a glimpse of dark blonde hair, braided loosely and tied with a blue ribbon. It moved swiftly around a corner, and without a second thought, Tom plunged into the crowd, shoving past startled shoppers and nearly toppling a vendor's stand.

  His breath came in ragged gasps as he rounded the corner, just catching sight of the woman's red ribbon tied around her wrist. His pulse raced with a mixture of panic and exhilaration. He felt as though he were chasing a dream, his heart torn between hope and the fear of another cruel illusion.

  Tom pushed through the outer edges of the town, the familiar landscape of trees and winding roads guiding him toward the chateau. The forest was dense and shadowed, a stark contrast to the vibrant market. The sounds of the town faded, replaced by the whisper of leaves and the occasional call of a bird. His steps quickened as he neared the chateau, the once-familiar sight now a symbol of both his greatest joy and deepest sorrow.

  As he emerged from the forest, his gaze fell upon the chateau. It was as majestic as he remembered, its stone façade bathed in the soft morning light. Tom's eyes fell upon the figure at the base of the grassy pathway. Rosalie stood there, her profile illuminated by the sun. She was looking out toward the lake, her hat held loosely in her hand, a blue ribbon fluttering in the breeze. The sight of her—so vivid, so real—was almost too much to bear.

  Beside her, a small boy with a mop of dark hair skipped along the pathway. Tom's heart clenched as he watched Rosalie take in the scene, her gaze soft and affectionate. The boy's laughter was a melody that Tom had yearned to hear again. It was their son. He could tell it from here because he looked exactly like him.

  Tom's voice broke the silence, trembling with emotion. "Rosie..."

  She turned sharply, her face going pale as she recognised him. Her hat slipped from her fingers, falling to the ground. The world seemed to pause as Tom ran toward her, his steps hurried and desperate. He reached her and pulled her into his arms, his touch both urgent and reverent. The warmth of her body, the softness of her hair, and the scent of her—Merlin the scent of her... everything was so familiar, yet so painfully out of reach.