𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, ᵗᵒᵐ ʳⁱᵈᵈˡᵉ. ✓

021.

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Daphne had always been curious about Tom Riddle, and his mysterious, shadowy world. It was a part of him she found both fascinating and intimidating. One rainy afternoon, while he had stepped out to attend a meeting, she found herself alone in his dorm, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. As she glanced around, her eyes landed on a small, leather-bound diary sitting on his desk. It seemed innocuous enough, yet something about it called to her. Unable to resist the urge, she walked over and picked it up. The leather was cool against her fingers, and she could feel an almost palpable energy radiating from it.

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She flipped it open, revealing page after page filled with Tom's neat, precise handwriting. The entries ranged from mundane observations about his classes to deeper thoughts about power and ambition. The further she read, the more captivated she became. It was like peering into the mind of someone who was destined for greatness—or darkness. But then she stumbled upon something that made her heart race: a series of entries detailing his fascination with dark magic, and even hints at plans that made her stomach churn. It was one thing to admire Tom's intellect and ambition, but this... this was something else entirely.

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Suddenly, she heard the door creak open. Panic surged through her, and she quickly snapped the diary shut and placed it back on the desk, but it was too late. Tom stood in the doorway, his expression shifting from surprise to something darker. "Daphne," he said, his voice low and edged with irritation. "What do you think you're doing?" Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she scrambled for words, but none came. "I was just... I mean, I was curious." "Curious," he echoed, stepping closer, his eyes narrowing. "You had no right to invade my privacy like that."

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"I didn't mean to invade! I was just—" "Just what? Snooping? Looking for some kind of leverage?" Tom interrupted, his voice rising slightly. "You think you can just go through my things without consequence?" Daphne felt a wave of shame wash over her. "I'm sorry, Tom. I didn't think—" "That's the problem," he cut her off, his voice icy. "You never think. You act on impulse without considering the repercussions. This isn't a game." The words stung, and she could feel her heart racing in her chest. "I understand that now. I really am sorry."

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For a moment, the room was thick with tension, both of them standing in silence as the weight of the confrontation hung in the air. Tom's expression was hard, unreadable, and Daphne could see the anger simmering just beneath the surface. Finally, he turned away, his back to her as he ran a hand through his dark hair, clearly trying to regain his composure. "I need some time alone," he said coldly, his tone final. Daphne felt a sense of dread settle in her stomach. "Tom, please—" But he didn't respond, instead walking toward the window and staring out into the rain-soaked courtyard, leaving her feeling small and defeated. She hesitated for a moment, wanting to reach out, but instead, she slipped quietly out of the room, her heart heavy with regret.

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Days turned into weeks, and the silence between them grew louder. Tom had effectively ghosted her, avoiding any encounters, his cold demeanor an impenetrable wall. She could feel his absence like a gaping hole in her life, and it left her questioning everything—had she really crossed a line she couldn't come back from? But deep down, she knew he was still watching her. He was ever the master of his own carefully crafted world, and even in his silence, she could sense the tension between them. She missed their conversations, the way he challenged her and made her feel alive.

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Then, one evening in the Great Hall, as she sat with Bridget and a few other friends, she caught sight of Tom across the room. He was deep in conversation with a group of Slytherins, but as if he felt her gaze, he glanced over, meeting her eyes for just a brief moment. In that instant, something shifted—an understanding, perhaps, or a hint of forgiveness. Later that night, after the hall had emptied and she returned to the common room, she found him waiting in the corner, as if he had been expecting her. The tension that had lingered between them seemed to hang in the air, but his expression was now neutral, his eyes betraying nothing.

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"Daphne," he said, his voice smooth but devoid of warmth, "I see you've been keeping yourself busy." She swallowed hard, the weight of their previous confrontation still heavy on her heart. "I... I'm sorry about the diary, Tom. I really didn't mean to intrude." Tom regarded her for a moment, the corners of his mouth turning slightly upward as he tilted his head. "It's amusing, really. You're always so drawn to things that don't belong to you."

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His words were light, almost teasing, but she could sense the underlying tension. "I didn't mean to pry," she insisted, her voice earnest. "I've missed you." "Have you?" he replied, a hint of curiosity in his tone. "Or have you just missed the chaos I bring into your life?" Daphne felt a rush of frustration and longing. "Tom, can't we just move past this? I know I messed up, but I'm not the only one who's done things they regret." He studied her, his expression shifting as if he was weighing her words. Finally, he nodded slowly. "Very well. Let's pretend it never happened." Relief washed over her, and though he hadn't exactly offered a warm reconciliation, it was a step in the right direction. "Thank you," she said softly, meeting his gaze.

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Tom smirked slightly, a flicker of his old self returning. "Just remember, Daphne: curiosity has its price. Next time, perhaps ask before you delve into things that aren't yours to uncover." Daphne chuckled lightly, the tension easing a bit more. "I promise. I'll be more careful." As they fell into easy conversation, she realized that while the trust might take time to rebuild, she was grateful to have him back, even if he was still wrapped in layers of complexity. In the world they navigated together, she knew that their bond—tested but unbroken—was worth fighting for.

Word count: 1050