𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, ᵗᵒᵐ ʳⁱᵈᵈˡᵉ. ✓

033.

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The snow outside was falling in heavy, quiet drifts, turning the grounds of the manor into a winter wonderland. The Rose estate, an old and majestic building nestled among towering trees and sprawling grounds, was alight with the warm glow of Christmas decorations. The house seemed to hum with festive cheer, garlands of holly and ivy draped over every mantle, and enchanted fairy lights twinkling like stars along the banisters. Yet, despite the decorations, there was an unusual quietness in the air, a stillness that was more comfortable than it should have been, especially considering who was there with Daphne Rose this year.

___

Tom Riddle sat in a high-backed chair near the hearth, the orange glow of the fire dancing in his cold, sharp eyes as he scanned a book he had brought along. He had been reading for the better part of the evening, ever since the Roses' had excused themselves to another part of the manor. It left just him and Daphne in the cozy sitting room, a crackling fire keeping the cold of the winter storm at bay.

___

Daphne, for her part, had long since given up trying to get him to stop reading. Instead, she had curled up on the couch near him, legs tucked under her, with a book of her own, though she wasn't making much progress. Her attention kept drifting to Tom, as it always did when he was around. His quiet presence, sharp and severe, had become something oddly comforting over time. There was something about being near him, even if he barely spoke that made her feel less alone.

___

This was not the first Christmas Tom had spent at her home. Over the years, he had become something of a fixture in her life. Perhaps it had started with their shared study sessions at Hogwarts or the fact that Daphne had always been more intrigued by him than wary. Her family didn't seem to mind, especially since they believed Tom to be an ideal guest—polite, intelligent, and reserved. But Daphne knew better. There was more to him than what he showed to the world, a darkness that she had glimpsed, though she didn't fully understand it.

"I still don't understand how you can read through Christmas Eve," Daphne mused, breaking the silence as she closed her book and leaned her head back against the couch. "Isn't it supposed to be a time for something... festive?" Tom didn't look up from his book immediately. His brow remained furrowed in concentration for a moment longer before he finally closed the heavy tome with a quiet thud, placing it on the side table with meticulous care. "I find celebrations to be frivolous," he said, his voice smooth and composed as ever. "Especially those based on sentiment."

___

Daphne rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Of course you do. But just because it's sentimental doesn't mean it's not worth enjoying. It's Christmas, Tom. Can't you let yourself relax for one evening?" His gaze flicked to hers, the firelight casting shadows across his sharp features. There was something almost amused in his eyes, though it was fleeting. "I am perfectly relaxed, Daphne," he said in that same calm tone.

___

She let out a soft laugh, swinging her legs off the couch and standing up. The hem of her emerald-green dress brushed the floor as she made her way over to the Christmas tree that stood in the corner of the room, its branches heavy with ornaments and ribbons. She reached up and touched one of the glass baubles, watching it spin gently as the fairy lights flickered against its surface. "Well, I suppose that's the best I can expect from you," she said, turning back toward him with a playful smile. "But you're not getting out of exchanging gifts."

___

Tom raised a brow, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I didn't bring you a gift." Daphne waved her hand dismissively. "That's not the point. You didn't have to bring one; I just want you to open yours." She moved toward the mantle, where a few neatly wrapped presents sat waiting. Selecting one of the smaller packages, she handed it to him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Tom looked at the gift with mild skepticism before accepting it, his long fingers running over the carefully tied ribbon.

___

"You didn't have to get me anything," he said quietly, though there was no annoyance in his tone. Just curiosity. "I know," she replied, sitting back down across from him and tucking her legs beneath her again. "But I wanted to." He studied the gift for another moment before slowly untying the ribbon and peeling back the paper with precision as if analyzing the gesture behind the gift as much as the object itself. When he finally revealed the contents, his expression didn't change, but there was a moment of pause, a flicker of something in his eyes as he looked at the small, leather-bound journal.

___

"It's enchanted," Daphne explained softly, her voice carrying a note of hesitation now. "The pages never run out, no matter how much you write. I figured... well since you're always studying, you could use something that would hold all your thoughts and ideas. Without the need for multiple volumes."

___

Tom ran his fingers along the spine of the journal, his touch lingering on the soft leather. For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound being the crackling of the fire. Daphne held her breath, unsure of what he was thinking. Gifts, she knew, were not something Tom Riddle was used to receiving. Finally, he looked up at her, his expression unreadable but his voice softer than usual. "Thank you."

___

Daphne let out the breath she had been holding, smiling in relief. "You're welcome." They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments longer, the warmth of the fire wrapping around them as the snow continued to fall outside. Daphne picked up her hot chocolate from the side table, the mug warm against her hands, and took a sip. She watched Tom carefully, wondering if there was more to this moment for him than he was letting on.

___

"It's strange, you know," she said after a while, her voice thoughtful. "Spending Christmas like this, I mean. I used to think it was always supposed to be loud and chaotic. But I think I prefer the quiet." Tom glanced at her, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering flames. "I don't mind the quiet." Daphne smiled, though there was a touch of sadness in it. "I know."

There was so much about Tom that she didn't understand. His past, his ambitions, the darkness that she sensed lurking beneath his carefully constructed exterior. But there was also a part of her that had come to care for him despite all that, perhaps because she saw the flickers of humanity in him, rare though they were.

___

"You don't have to stay forever, you know," she said softly, setting her mug down and leaning forward slightly. "At the manor, I mean. I know you probably have other places you could be." Tom's gaze lingered on her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he shook his head. "I'm exactly where I want to be." Daphne's heart fluttered at his words, though she wasn't sure if he meant them in the way she hoped. Still, it was enough. Enough for now. "Good," she said, settling back into her seat and pulling the blanket around her shoulders. "Because it wouldn't be Christmas without you."

 For the first time that evening, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Tom's lips. It was brief, but Daphne caught it, and her smile widened in response. They stayed like that for the rest of the night, the fire crackling softly in the background, the snow falling quietly outside, and the two of them sitting together in comfortable, quiet companionship. It wasn't the loud, bustling Christmas she had grown up with, but it was special in its way. Just her and Tom, together, in the stillness of a winter's night.

 Word count: 1340