𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, ᵗᵒᵐ ʳⁱᵈᵈˡᵉ. ✓

039.

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The air in the Slytherin common room was unusually quiet, a stark contrast to the usual murmur of students plotting or studying. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. It was late, and most of the students had retired to their dormitories, leaving the room empty except for Daphne Rose.

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She sat cross-legged on one of the plush green couches, her blonde hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders as she carefully placed the finishing touches on a small, intricately wrapped box. It was simple—no grand flourishes, just elegant emerald ribbon tied neatly around a dark box—but it was perfect, or at least, she hoped it would be.

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Today was Tom Riddle's birthday, and Daphne had been planning this quietly for weeks. Tom wasn't one for celebrations, particularly not for something as trivial as a birthday. To him, it was just another day, and acknowledging it was an unnecessary distraction. But to Daphne, it was important. Not because he expected or even wanted it, but because she cared for him in a way that no one else did. And in her heart, she knew that even Tom Riddle deserved something special on his birthday.

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The sound of footsteps echoed faintly from the stairwell leading to the boys' dormitories. Daphne's heart quickened slightly as she recognized the familiar, purposeful gait. Tom was always so precise in everything he did, even the way he walked carried an air of command. He appeared moments later, stepping into the common room, his dark eyes immediately locking onto her.

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He stopped in his tracks, a faint crease forming between his brows. "What are you doing here, Daphne?" She smiled, her soft blue eyes meeting his with a warmth that contrasted sharply with his cool demeanor. "Waiting for you, obviously," she said, her tone light. Tom raised an eyebrow, stepping closer but keeping his distance, his expression unreadable as ever. He looked down at her with that familiar mixture of curiosity and guardedness, as though he was always calculating, always thinking ten steps ahead. "Why?"

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Daphne bit her lower lip, glancing at the small box in her hands before extending it toward him. "It's your birthday, Tom. I thought... well, I wanted to give you something." He didn't move at first. His eyes shifted from the box to her face, his gaze intense, as though he were trying to read her intentions. Birthdays, gifts, sentimentality—they were things he had never cared for, things that belonged to a world he saw as weak and unimportant. But there was something different about Daphne, something that made him hesitate.

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"I don't need gifts," he said, his voice cold, though there was a flicker of something deeper behind his words. Daphne gave him a small, knowing smile. "I know. But this isn't about what you need, Tom. It's about what I wanted to do for you." He hesitated for a moment longer, but then, without a word, he stepped forward and took the box from her hands. His fingers brushed against hers briefly, and Daphne felt the electric tension that always seemed to exist between them. Tom sat down beside her, though he didn't open the box right away. Instead, he turned it over in his hands, examining it carefully, as though he were trying to figure out the hidden meaning behind the gesture.

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"What is it?" he asked, his tone almost skeptical. Daphne laughed softly, shaking her head. "You'll have to open it to find out." With a small sigh, Tom finally untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside was a small, silver pocket watch, intricately detailed with the image of a serpent coiled around the base. The craftsmanship was delicate, almost ancient-looking, with Slytherin green gemstones set into the serpent's eyes. It was a piece of art as much as it was practical, something that suited Tom's refined taste but also had an air of mystery and history to it.

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For a moment, Tom said nothing. His dark eyes studied the watch carefully, his expression unreadable, but Daphne could see the faintest flicker of something in his gaze—approval, perhaps, or even gratitude, though he would never say it aloud. "I found it in an antique shop in Hogsmeade," Daphne explained softly. "It reminded me of you." Tom closed the box gently, his thumb brushing over the lid as he considered her words. "And why would it remind you of me?"

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Daphne smiled, leaning back against the couch as she looked at him. "Because it's timeless. Strong. Uncompromising. But also elegant, with a hidden depth to it." She met his gaze, her voice softening. "Just like you." Tom's eyes darkened at her words, and for a moment, the cold mask he always wore seemed to crack ever so slightly. He wasn't used to this kind of attention—genuine, heartfelt, without expectation. Most people feared or admired him from a distance, but Daphne had always been different. She saw him for who he was, not just the persona he projected to the rest of the world.

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After a long moment of silence, Tom spoke again, his voice low. "You shouldn't waste your time on things like this, Daphne. Gifts, birthdays... they don't matter." "They matter to me," she said quietly, her eyes holding his. "And you matter to me." Tom's jaw tightened at her words, and for a brief moment, something like vulnerability flickered across his face. It was rare—so rare—that he allowed anyone to see even a glimpse of the person behind the ambition, behind the cold, calculating exterior. But with Daphne, it was harder to keep his guard up. She had a way of disarming him without even trying.

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"I don't need anyone," he said softly, though his tone lacked the conviction it usually carried. Daphne reached out, placing her hand gently on his. "I know you don't. But that doesn't mean you have to be alone." Tom stared at her hand on his, his mind racing with thoughts he didn't want to entertain. He had spent his entire life building walls, keeping everyone at a distance. Love, friendship, trust—they were weaknesses he couldn't afford. And yet, here she was, sitting beside him, offering him something he didn't know how to accept.

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For a moment, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the shadows danced on the walls, casting long, flickering shapes across the room. Tom's hand remained still beneath hers, but he didn't pull away. "Thank you," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. It was the closest thing to vulnerability he had ever shown her, and Daphne's heart swelled at the quiet sincerity in his words. She squeezed his hand gently, offering him a small, understanding smile.

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"You're welcome," she said softly. They sat like that for a while, side by side in the quiet of the common room, the flickering firelight casting a warm glow over them both. Tom still held the box in his hand, his fingers brushing absently over the lid as if grounding himself in the tangible reality of the gift she had given him. For once, Tom Riddle allowed himself to simply be in the moment, to let the weight of his ambitions and his plans fall away, if only for a little while. And though he would never admit it aloud, having Daphne beside him on this quiet, unremarkable night—on his birthday—meant more to him than he could ever express. And perhaps, in the end, that was enough.

Word count: 1242