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 WARM LIGHT OF THE LATE AFTERNOON STREAMED THROUGH THE TALL WINDOWS OF THE SAFE HOUSE, CASTING A GOLDEN GLOW ACROSS THE RICHLY FURNISHED ROOM.
Outside, the world seemed far away, the dangers and darkness kept at bay by the safety of these walls. Inside, however, the tension was almost palpable, like a storm about to break. Tom Riddle stood by the fireplace, his usually stern face softened with anticipation and something akin to fear. He had prepared himself for many battles, but nothing had ever felt as daunting as what was about to happen.
His thoughts were a swirling mass of emotions, a rare vulnerability creeping into his heart as he awaited the moment he had both longed for and dreaded. The reunion with Rosie would be bittersweet—she was back, yes, but what they had endured to reach this point had changed them both. And then there were the children. The thought of their two daughters, so small and fragile in this vast, cruel world, caused his chest to tighten with emotions he had learned to suppress.
He glanced at the door again, knowing the moment was imminent, though it felt as though time had slowed to a crawl. The door creaked open, and his breath hitched in his throat as Rosie stepped into the room.
Rosie's presence was like a breath of fresh air after a long, suffocating drought. She was thinner than before, her once vibrant hair now hanging in soft waves around her pale face, her eyes shadowed with the weight of all she had been through. But when her gaze met his, a flicker of the woman he had fallen in love with sparked to life, even if only for a brief moment.
"Tom," she whispered, her voice fragile, yet filled with a deep-seated longing. She had imagined this moment a thousand times, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of it. The emotions were too intense, too overwhelming.
"Rosie," Tom replied, his voice steady but laced with unspoken emotion. He took a step towards her, then hesitated, unsure of what she needed from him in that moment.
Her eyes scanned the room as if searching for something—or someone. Her heart pounded in her chest as she asked, "Where is she?" Her voice trembled with a mixture of hope and fear. "Where's Ana?"
