𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, ᵗᵒᵐ ʳⁱᵈᵈˡᵉ. ✓

001.

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In the dim, echoing chambers of the Hogwarts library, two figures sat at a secluded table, separated by a gulf of silence despite their proximity. Tom Riddle, handsome and tall with pale skin, jet-black hair, and dark brown eyes, flipped through the pages of an ancient tome with deliberate precision. His eyes, grey, cold, and calculating, moved with the efficiency of a machine, absorbing information as if it were nothing more than fuel for his ever-growing ambition. Across from him sat Daphne Rose, eyes crystal blue, eyebrows straight, skin light cream, button nose, light blonde hair, her delicate fingers tracing the worn spine of her book. Her soft, thoughtful gaze flickered between her reading and Tom, lingering on him longer than it should have, though she knew better.

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Daphne had been paired with Tom for a project in Defense Against the Dark Arts, though in truth, it had been more of an unspoken command from Professor Merrythought. She had been intrigued, albeit wary, of the reserved and brilliant boy from the start. He was known for his solitary nature, for his ability to make those around him scared, hurt, and afraid and make them feel irrelevant and invisible. And yet, beneath that mask of indifference, Daphne suspected there was something more - a darkness, yes, but also a wound. She didn't know Tom's past as well, he had a secret. His mom passed right after giving birth to Tom. Tom had murdered his father and grandparents later on and then lived in an orphanage for a bit of time before getting adopted by the Gaunt family. She had always been drawn to the broken things in people, even if they didn't show it.

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The only sound that punctuated the silence was the soft rustling of the pages and then the occasional scratch of quills against parchment. Daphne shifted in her seat, the tension between them suffocating. She wanted to speak, to break through that icy wall he kept so firmly in place, but the words stuck in her throat. She had watched others try and fail, dismissed by a cold glance or a cutting remark. But she wasn't like the others. She wasn't seeking approval, power, or the allure of his reputation. She only wanted to understand.

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"You've been quiet, Rose," Tom said suddenly, his voice as cool and distant as winter's breath. He didn't look up from his book as though her presence was only a mild inconvenience. Daphne blinked, surprised that he had acknowledged her at all. "I didn't want to disturb you," she replied, her tone gentle, almost cautious. He finally lifted his gaze, his sharp, grey eyes locking onto hers. There was no warmth in them, no flicker of curiosity - just a steady, calculating gaze that seemed to peel back layers of her soul with ease. "Disturb?" he echoed. "It wouldn't make a difference."

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Her heart gave a small, painful twist at the bluntness of his words, but she didn't let it show. Tom Riddle was not someone who granted kindness easily, nor did he accept it. "I suppose you're right," she said softly, lowering her eyes to her book. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it was steady. "I imagine you don't need anyone, do you?" He didn't answer immediately. When he spoke, his words were measured and calculated. "Need is a weakness, Daphne. It ties you to others and makes you dependent. Power is the only thing that matters. The rest... is irrelevant."

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She felt a pang of sadness for him, though she knew he would neither want nor understand it. "That must be a lonely way to live." Tom's lips curved into a shadow of a smile, but there was no humor in it. "Loneliness is irrelevant, too." For a moment, they sat in silence again, the heavy weight of his words hanging between them. Daphne could feel the chill in the air, the coldness that Tom carried with him everywhere he went. But she didn't turn away. She never had.

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"You may think that," she said quietly, daring to meet his gaze once more. "But I don't believe it's true." His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something - irritation? Amusement? - crossing his face. "You don't know anything about me, Rose." "Perhaps not," She admitted. "But I'd like to." Tom's expression hardened, he leaned back in his chair, closing the book with a soft thud. "Why?"

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Her answer came without hesitation, though her voice remained soft, gentle. "Because I think there's more to you than what you show. And I don't mean your power or ambition. I mean you." For the first time, something shifted in Tom's gaze. It was a brief, almost imperceptible, but it was there - a crack in the ice. But just as quickly, it was gone, and the cold mask returned. "You're wasting your time," he said, his tone final. He stood, gathering his books with an air of dismissal.

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Daphne watched him in silence, her heart aching for reasons she couldn't quite explain. She didn't expect gratitude or even acknowledgment. She only wanted to remind him, if only for a moment, that he wasn't as alone as he thought. But Tom Riddle was a fortress, his walls impenetrable, and no amount of kindness or warmth would thaw the frozen barrier he had built around himself.

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As he got up and turned to leave, Daphne spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't believe any time spent trying to understand someone is wasted." Tom paused at her words, but he didn't look back. Without another word, he disappeared into the shadows of the library, leaving Daphne alone with her thoughts, her head still soft, even in the face of his unrelenting coldness. 

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She didn't know if she would ever get through to him. But she would try her hardest to. 

Word count: 972