𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, ᵗᵒᵐ ʳⁱᵈᵈˡᵉ. ✓

023.

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In the dim light of the Hogwarts corridors, tension hung thick in the air. A heated argument had erupted between Tom Riddle and several Gryffindor students just outside the library. Voices had risen, words had been thrown like hexes, and the fallout left a palpable chill in the atmosphere. Tom had walked away from the confrontation, his expression cold and unyielding, but not before leaving a mess of scattered books and overturned chairs in his wake.

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Daphne Rose, who had been tucked away in a nearby alcove with her studies, felt a familiar pang of concern as she heard the commotion. It was all too common for Tom to be embroiled in conflicts; his sharp tongue and icy demeanor often drew ire from others. Though she had not witnessed the altercation firsthand, she could guess the details. With a sigh, Daphne rose from her seat and made her way toward the aftermath of the fight. As she approached, she saw the remnants of the chaos—books strewn across the floor, some pages crumpled and torn, chairs pushed aside carelessly. It was a sight that both frustrated and saddened her; Tom's brilliance was often overshadowed by his inability to navigate the complexities of social interaction.

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Kneeling, Daphne began to pick up the books, their spines cracked and covers bent. She recognized some of the titles—advanced charms and dark magic texts that were favorites of Tom's. As she worked, she couldn't help but feel a mix of anger and compassion. Why did he always have to provoke others? Didn't he realize the consequences of his actions? The more she cleaned, the more she pondered. Tom had a way of isolating himself, even when surrounded by people. He exuded a magnetism that drew others in, yet he often pushed them away just as quickly. Daphne felt a deep sense of empathy for him, knowing that beneath his cold exterior lay a tumultuous struggle for acceptance and power.

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As she finished stacking the last of the books, she noticed a solitary figure lingering nearby. It was Tom, his expression a mask of irritation and something else—something that looked suspiciously like regret. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, watching her with an intensity that made her heart race. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low and tinged with annoyance. Daphne straightened up, brushing her hands on her robes. "Cleaning up after you, as usual," she replied lightly, though the underlying tension in her voice was evident. He stepped forward, and the air between them charged. "I can handle it myself," he insisted, but the defensiveness in his tone fell flat.

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"I know you can," she countered, her eyes steady on his. "But you rarely do. You just leave a trail of chaos behind." Tom's gaze flickered, the sharpness in his demeanor softening for a moment. "It's not my fault they provoked me." "Provoked you? Maybe you should try not to be so confrontational," she said, her voice firm but kind. "You can't keep expecting everyone to bow to your will, Tom." He looked at her, a mixture of frustration and admiration in his eyes. "You don't understand. They think they can just disrespect me because I'm not like them." Daphne sighed, knowing there was truth in his words. "I do understand. But fighting back like this only makes things worse. You're more than this cycle of anger and resentment."

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For a moment, they stood in silence, the tension palpable as Tom considered her words. She could see the internal struggle in his expression, the clash between his pride and the vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface. "I don't want to be weak," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't afford to show any weakness." "You're not weak for wanting to rise above conflict," Daphne said gently, stepping closer. "Strength isn't just about power or intimidation. It's about knowing when to walk away." Tom's gaze softened, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of something deeper—perhaps a longing for connection, for understanding. "You always seem to be the only one who cares."

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Daphne felt her heart swell at his admission. "Because I do care, Tom. I want to see you succeed, not just in power, but in life. You don't have to do this alone." He looked away, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air. "I don't know how," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "Start by letting people in," she suggested softly. "You don't always have to be the strongest in the room." Tom let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "You make it sound easy." "It's not," she replied, her tone earnest. "But you have to try. I'll help you." He met her gaze again, the icy facade slipping just enough for her to see the uncertainty beneath. "Why do you care so much?" "Because you're worth it, Tom," she said, her voice unwavering. "You have so much potential, but you'll never realize it if you keep fighting every battle." A flicker of something vulnerable passed over his face, and for a moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to waver. "I've never been good at trusting anyone," he admitted, almost reluctantly.

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Daphne smiled softly, feeling a sense of hope. "Then let's take it one step at a time. We can figure this out together." For the first time, Tom's expression shifted from cold indifference to something more—a cautious curiosity, perhaps even a hint of appreciation. "Together," he repeated, the word heavy with promise. As they stood amidst the remnants of chaos, Daphne felt a surge of warmth. Cleaning up after Tom had turned into something much deeper—an opportunity to forge a connection that could transcend his barriers. Together, they could navigate the complexities of their lives at Hogwarts, one step at a time.

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With that understanding hanging in the air, she reached for the last book on the floor and handed it to him. "Here. Let's make a plan. You can help me with my studies in exchange for a little less chaos in your life." Tom took the book from her, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Deal." And in that moment, surrounded by the remnants of a conflict he had created, a new chapter began for both of them—one filled with promise, understanding, and perhaps a path toward healing.

Word count: 1100