𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, ᵗᵒᵐ ʳⁱᵈᵈˡᵉ. ✓

045.

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The air was crisp and cool as Tom Riddle and Daphne Rose ascended the winding staircase of the Astronomy Tower. Night had fallen over Hogwarts, and the grounds below were bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, the stars scattered like diamonds across the sky. The quiet of the castle at this hour was a stark contrast to the usual bustle of student life, making the tower feel like a world of its own—a secret space far removed from the daily complexities of their lives.

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Daphne followed Tom in silence, and her footsteps light against the stone steps. She had spent countless nights studying in this very tower, but something about being here with him made this night feel different. There was a charged energy in the air, an unspoken tension that lingered between them. Tom hadn't said much when he had asked her to join him, merely suggesting the tower as a place they could talk and, as he put it, "clear their minds." But Daphne knew him too well. There was always a purpose behind his actions, always something more than he let on.

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When they reached the top, the view took Daphne's breath away. The night was clear, the sky stretching endlessly above them, filled with constellations she recognized from her Astronomy lessons. The soft glow of the moon bathed the tower in silver light, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Tom moved toward the edge of the tower, his silhouette sharp against the sky, the cool night breeze ruffling his dark hair. Daphne hesitated for a moment, watching him. He seemed so distant, so untouchable in moments like this—like the stars themselves, brilliant and cold.

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"You're quiet tonight," Tom remarked without turning to face her, his voice low and measured. Daphne stepped forward, joining him at the edge of the tower. She gazed out at the vast expanse of sky, feeling small beneath its immensity. "I could say the same about you," she replied softly. Tom smirked, his gaze still fixed on the stars. "I find that the night lends itself to contemplation." Daphne glanced at him, searching for any sign of the thoughts he was hiding behind that mask of his. She had always admired how composed he was, how he could seem completely in control even when she knew deeper emotions were simmering beneath the surface. But lately, there had been a shift between them—something subtle but undeniable. Tom was letting her in more often, even if he didn't realize it.

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"Is that why you brought me here?" Daphne asked, her voice quiet but curious. "To contemplate?" Tom's eyes flicked toward her, and for a moment, they softened—just a fraction, but enough for Daphne to notice. "Perhaps," he said, his tone vague, as though he wasn't entirely sure himself. Daphne leaned against the stone railing, her fingers brushing against the cold surface. She didn't press him, knowing that Tom would reveal his thoughts in his own time—if he chose to at all. Instead, she turned her attention back to the stars, allowing the silence between them to settle. It wasn't uncomfortable, not with Tom. The quiet moments they shared were often the most revealing, even if words were few. They both valued the space to simply exist without the need for constant conversation.

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After a few minutes, Tom finally spoke again, his voice softer now, almost reflective. "Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be... untethered from all of this?" Daphne looked at him, surprised by the question. "Untethered?" Tom's gaze remained fixed on the stars, his expression unreadable. "Free. From expectations, from ties to others. To have complete control over your destiny, without the weight of anyone else's influence." Daphne thought for a moment before answering. "I don't know," she admitted. "I've never really considered it like that. I suppose I've always felt that the connections we have with others are what give life meaning."

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Tom's lips twitched, though whether it was in amusement or something else, Daphne couldn't tell. "Meaning," he repeated, the word sounding almost foreign on his tongue. "And what meaning do you find in those connections, Daphne?" She hesitated, sensing that this was more than just idle conversation. Tom rarely spoke of personal matters unless there was a purpose behind his questions. Still, she answered honestly. "I think it's about trust," she said carefully. "The people we care about, the ones we allow into our lives—they shape us, don't they? They challenge us, teach us things about ourselves that we might not have seen otherwise." Tom was silent for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. "And you trust people so easily?"

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Daphne shook her head, a soft smile touching her lips. "Not easily. But when I do, it's because I believe they're worth it." Tom's gaze shifted to her, and for a brief moment, his eyes were filled with something she couldn't quite place—something vulnerable, almost hesitant. It was rare for Tom to show even a hint of uncertainty, and it made Daphne's heartache in a way she didn't fully understand. "And what about you?" Daphne asked, turning the question back on him. "Do you trust anyone?" Tom's expression darkened, his features hardening slightly. "Trust is a weakness," he said, his voice colder now. "People are unreliable. They betray, they lie, they take advantage. Trusting someone gives them power over you."

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Daphne didn't flinch at his words, though she felt a pang of sadness for him. She had always known that Tom's view of the world was shaped by his own experiences—experiences that had made him wary of others, reluctant to form bonds. But she also knew there was more to him than that. He might deny it, but he cared—about her, at least even if he couldn't admit it to himself. "You can't do everything on your own," Daphne said gently. "Even you, Tom." He gave her a sharp look, but there was no anger in it. Instead, he seemed to be weighing her words, considering them more carefully than he would have with anyone else.

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"You think I need others," he said, almost as if testing the idea. "That I can't achieve my goals without them?" Daphne smiled softly, shaking her head. "I think you're more capable than anyone I know. But I also think that shutting people out... makes things harder than they need to be. You don't have to do everything alone." Tom's gaze softened slightly, and for a moment, the cold mask he wore seemed to slip. "Perhaps," he murmured, though the word carried little conviction.

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They stood in silence again, the cool night air wrapping around them as they gazed up at the stars. Daphne could feel the unspoken words between them, the delicate balance they maintained—Tom's reluctance to let anyone in and her quiet determination to be the one exception. After a while, Tom shifted, turning to face her fully. "Why do you stay?" he asked quietly, his voice low but intense. "You know what I am. What I'm capable of. Why do you trust me?" Daphne met his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. She could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the unspoken fear that she might leave like everyone else had. And in that moment, she knew exactly what to say.

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"Because you're worth it," she whispered. For the first time, Tom didn't look away. He held her gaze, and in the silence that followed, something shifted between them—a quiet understanding, a fragile connection that neither of them fully understood but couldn't deny. Without another word, Tom reached for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers with a tenderness that surprised her. He didn't say anything, didn't make any grand declarations. But in that simple gesture, Daphne knew that he was letting her in if only just a little. And for now, that was enough.

Word count: 1302