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 AUTUMN AIR WAS CRISP, BITING AT ROSIE'S CHEEKS AS SHE STEPPED OUT OF THE SMALL COTTAGE THEY HAD RENTED ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF GODRIC'S HOLLOW.
Nestled among the trees, the rustic charm of the cottage made it feel like home from the moment they arrived. It was small but cosy, with its stone walls covered in ivy and a chimney that puffed out wisps of smoke as the fire crackled inside. Rosie had always loved this time of year—the vibrant hues of red, orange, and gold that painted the landscape, the leaves that danced in the breeze, whispering secrets of old times and ancient magic. It was a season of change, of endings and beginnings, and now, it was marking the start of something new in her life.
At 22, Rosie Hart felt a deep connection to October, her favourite month. Full of nostalgia and hope, it was a time for reflection and renewal, a mirror to her own journey. As she watched her two daughters playing in the leaves, their laughter ringing through the air, she smiled. Despite everything that had happened, moments of simple joy like this reminded her that there was still light in the world.
Ana, a ball of energy and mischief, darted through the piles of fallen leaves, her tiny feet kicking them up as she chased after her older sister, Jazzlyn. At two years old, Ana was already showing signs of the same fierce determination Rosie saw in Tom. Her dark hair, the same shade as her father's, flew wildly around her face as she scooped up handfuls of leaves and tossed them into the air, her green eyes—Tom's eyes—sparkling with mischief.
Jazzlyn, or Jazzy as they all called her, was more reserved, preferring to watch the world with quiet curiosity. At four years old, she already had a wisdom about her that was far beyond her years, her thoughtful nature contrasting sharply with Ana's exuberance. Rosie often marvelled at how different her daughters were, each a reflection of different sides of herself and Tom. Jazzy's quiet introspection reminded Rosie of herself at that age—always cautious, always thinking ahead. Yet, there was something unspoken between Jazzy and Tom, a shared understanding that didn't require words.
Rosie's heart swelled with love as she watched them play. She could see so much of Tom in Ana, especially in the way she approached the world with such fearlessness. It was a trait that had once terrified Rosie but that she now admired deeply. Watching Ana grow up had been a bittersweet experience, reminding Rosie every day of the man she loved—of the complex, sometimes dark nature of that love—but also of the light that had come from it.
