𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, ᵗᵒᵐ ʳⁱᵈᵈˡᵉ. ✓

009.

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It was a cold, moonlit night when everything changed. Daphne had been walking alone through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, her mind still reeling from the events of the past few days. She had tried to stay away from Marcus after finding out he'd cheated on her, but he wasn't making it easy. His temper had been flaring, and she'd overheard him talking to his friends, mocking her for being "so easy to fool." It had stung, but Daphne refused to let him see how much he had hurt her. She had tried to move on. But tonight, everything took a darker turn.

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As she turned a corner toward the quiet courtyard, Marcus Flint appeared, his face twisted with anger. There was something dangerous in his eyes—more than just the usual arrogance. He grabbed her arm, his grip bruising, and dragged her into the shadows. "Let go of me, Marcus!" Daphne struggled, her heart racing in fear. She could smell the alcohol on his breath; he must've snuck it in from the latest Slytherin party. His voice was slurred, but his grip was ironclad.

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"You think you can just walk away from me, Daphne?" Marcus spat, shoving her against the stone wall. The sharp impact knocked the breath out of her, and she winced as pain shot through her side. "You humiliated me." "I didn't humiliate you," Daphne snapped back, trying to muster the strength to fight. "You did that to yourself!" Marcus snarled, his hand tightening around her wrist, twisting painfully. Daphne bit back a cry, her vision blurring with tears. She felt helpless, and the fear that coursed through her veins was suffocating. "You think you're better than me?" Marcus growled, his voice dripping with venom. "You and your precious Tom Riddle, both of you think you're so superior."

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Daphne's pulse quickened at the mention of Tom's name. Marcus had always been jealous, though she'd never given him a reason to be. She had never been anything more than friends with Tom—if you could even call it that. But Marcus's insecurities ran deep. Before Daphne could reply, Marcus yanked her forward, and the world spun as she felt the sickening crack of her head against the wall. Darkness danced at the edges of her vision, and she slumped to the ground, dazed and struggling to stay conscious. Pain radiated through her body, but she forced herself to stay awake. Through the haze of pain, Daphne heard the sound of footsteps—swift and sure, moving with purpose. And then, as if summoned from the shadows themselves, Tom Riddle appeared. He was as calm as ever, his expression unreadable, but Daphne could see the cold fury burning in his eyes. The sight of Marcus standing over her, his hand still gripping her arm, had triggered something in Tom—something dangerous.

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"Marcus," Tom's voice was low, deadly, as he approached. "What do you think you're doing?" Marcus turned, his face pale as he registered Tom's presence. For a split second, there was fear in his eyes, but he quickly masked it with arrogance. "Stay out of this, Riddle. This is between me and Daphne." Tom didn't say anything at first, his eyes flicking to Daphne, taking in her injured state—the way she was slumped against the wall, her wrist twisted in Marcus's grip, blood trickling from a small cut on her forehead. Something dark crossed Tom's face. "Let. Her. Go." Tom's voice was cold as ice, and even Marcus, arrogant as he was, could hear the threat beneath the calm exterior. But he was too drunk, too furious to care.

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"Why should I? She's mine," Marcus sneered, though his voice wavered slightly. "Not yours." Tom's gaze hardened, his expression turning to stone. "She doesn't belong to you, Flint." Daphne watched through blurred vision as Marcus took a step toward Tom, clearly intending to challenge him. But Tom didn't move. He didn't flinch. Marcus swung his fist, aiming for Tom's face, but he was too slow. Tom caught his wrist in midair with lightning speed, his grip like iron. For a moment, Marcus struggled, but Tom's strength was surprising, and within seconds, Marcus was the one on the ground, gasping for breath. Tom crouched beside him, his wand slipping from his sleeve into his hand with practiced ease. Daphne's heart skipped a beat as she realized what was about to happen.

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"Tom..." Daphne's voice was barely a whisper, her head throbbing with pain. But he didn't hear her—or if he did, he chose to ignore it. Tom looked down at Marcus, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were cold, dark, and filled with malice. "You don't deserve to walk away from this," Tom said quietly, his voice so calm it was terrifying. "You don't deserve to breathe another breath." Before Marcus could even scream, Tom raised his wand and whispered the words that sealed his fate. "Avada Kedavra." A flash of green light filled the courtyard, and Marcus Flint's lifeless body slumped to the ground, his eyes wide with shock. The air was still, heavy with the weight of what had just happened. The courtyard fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the distant sounds of the castle beyond.

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Tom stood, his expression unreadable as he lowered his wand, tucking it back into his sleeve with a practiced movement. He didn't look at Marcus's body again. It was as if the act itself had been inconsequential to him. His gaze shifted to Daphne. She was still sitting against the wall, her body trembling, her mind barely able to process what had just happened. Tom had killed Marcus—just like that. No hesitation. No second thoughts. He had done it for her. Tom moved toward her, his footsteps quiet on the stone, and crouched down in front of her. His eyes softened slightly, the fury gone but replaced by something just as intense—something protective, possessive. "Daphne," he said quietly, his hand reaching out to brush her cheek. "You're safe now."

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She blinked, tears welling up in her eyes as the weight of everything crashed down on her. The pain in her wrist and head was nothing compared to the whirlwind of emotions inside her. She didn't know how to feel—grateful, horrified, numb. "Tom..." she whispered, her voice breaking. He didn't say anything; he just looked at her with that same calm intensity. He didn't apologize, didn't explain. To him, there was no need. What he had done was simple, necessary. He had removed the threat. Daphne knew that this was who Tom Riddle was—cold, calculating, and terrifyingly efficient. But tonight, she had seen a side of him she wasn't sure she was ready to confront. He hadn't just killed Marcus. He had done it for her. He had taken it upon himself to protect her in the most extreme way possible.

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And somehow, that realization scared her more than anything. Tom's fingers lingered on her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle, and for a moment, Daphne let herself lean into it, closing her eyes against the pain and confusion. But as the weight of Marcus's death settled over them like a shroud, she couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had changed between them. Tom Riddle had crossed a line for her—a line that couldn't be uncrossed. And now, nothing would ever be the same again.

Word count: 1212