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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‼️ THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT THAT COULD BE TRIGGERING. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION ‼
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THE ANTISEPTIC SCENT OF THE HOSPITAL ROOM CLUNG TO ROSIE'S SENSES, MINGLING WITH THE SHARP TANG OF SWEAT AND THE FAINTEST HINT OF LAVENDER FROM THE CALMING POTION SHE HAD BEEN GIVEN EARLIER.
The sterile surroundings of the hospital felt alien, cold, and unwelcoming—a stark contrast to the life that was about to enter the world. Her fingers dug into the bed's metal rails, knuckles white as she braced against another wave of searing pain. Each contraction was a thunderstorm raging through her body, but Rosie focused on the light at the end of the tunnel—the moment when she would finally hold her daughter in her arms.
Beside her, Tom's presence was a steady anchor. His usually composed demeanour was softened by concern, his dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that was both comforting and unsettling. He held her hand, his thumb brushing against her skin in a rare show of tenderness.
"You're almost there, Rosie," Tom murmured, his voice low and steady. But beneath his calm tone, Rosie sensed a tension, an underlying current of worry.
She nodded, unable to speak as another contraction ripped through her. The room felt too small, the air too thick, but she clung to Tom's voice, his presence, as her only lifeline in this overwhelming moment. The healer's gentle instructions blended with the pounding of her heart, each beat bringing her closer to the edge.
"Alright, Rosie, it's time," the healer's voice broke through the haze, calm and authoritative. "On the next contraction, I need you to push as hard as you can."
Gritting her teeth, Rosie bore down with everything she had left, her body trembling with the effort. The pain was all-consuming, a blaze of fire that threatened to swallow her whole. But then, just as she thought she couldn't bear it any longer, the pressure eased. A sharp, high-pitched cry filled the room, piercing through the fog of exhaustion.
Rosie collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for breath, her body spent but her heart swelling with joy. The healer moved quickly, wrapping the newborn in a soft blanket before placing the tiny, squirming bundle into Rosie's waiting arms.
