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 EARLY MORNING SUN CAST LONG SHADOWS ACROSS THE IMPOSING FACADE OF MALFOY MANOR, THE GRAND ESTATE STANDING LIKE A SENTINEL OVER THE SURROUNDING LANDSCAPE.
Tom's footsteps crunched softly against the gravel pathway as he approached the entrance, his arms wrapped protectively around a tiny, delicate bundle. The weight of the child in his arms was nothing compared to the weight of the grief that had settled in his chest, a cold, unyielding presence that threatened to consume him whole.
The large, ornate doors of the manor creaked open before he reached them, revealing Narcissa Malfoy. Her blonde hair was elegantly styled, and her eyes, usually so sharp and discerning, softened at the sight of Tom holding a baby. She had been expecting him—Lucius had informed her of Tom's urgent request to visit, but even she had not anticipated the reason. She stepped aside without a word, allowing Tom to enter.
"Narcissa," Tom greeted her, his voice a low murmur, laced with an exhaustion that went beyond physical fatigue. His usual composed demeanour was shattered, replaced with a vulnerability that Narcissa had rarely seen.
"Tom," Narcissa responded, her tone gentle, though her curiosity was palpable. "What brings you here at such an early hour? And with a child?" Her gaze dropped to the tiny face peeking out from the blanket Tom held so tightly.
Tom hesitated, his throat constricting as he tried to find the words. He wasn't one to ask for help—he had always prided himself on his independence, his ability to control every aspect of his life, but this was something he couldn't control, something that had torn his world apart.
"This is Anastasia," Tom finally said, his voice catching on the name as he looked down at his daughter. "Anastasia Riddle. She's... she's my daughter."
Narcissa's eyes widened slightly, but she quickly composed herself, reaching out to touch the baby's cheek with a tenderness that was at odds with her usual cold demeanour. "She's beautiful," Narcissa said softly, her maternal instincts kicking in as she took in the sight of the newborn. "But why have you brought her here, Tom?"
