Rosie ⎮ Tom Riddle

Forty Nine

Rosie

Forty Nine Years later

  The air was thick with an eerie stillness as Harry stood over the remains of the monster he had just defeated. The reality of the moment settled around him like a heavy cloak, and he felt the weight of history pressing down, as if the very ground beneath him mourned the loss of what had once been. In that silence, he noticed a flicker of movement from the shadow of Tom Riddle's fallen form—above him, a flicker of light shimmered, drawing his gaze as a figure materialised before him.

  The woman who appeared was young and radiant, her straight nose and flowing blonde hair framing a face that bore an expression of serene kindness. A smile, gentle yet poignant, lit her features as she knelt beside Voldemort's lifeless body. Harry watched in astonishment as she cradled the Dark Lord's face with a tenderness that seemed almost unreal against the backdrop of destruction and despair. It was a gesture of compassion he had never expected to witness to a man such as that.

  As she stood, the woman turned to face Harry directly, and a jolt of recognition surged through him, an inexplicable familiarity that sent a shiver down his spine. "Who are you?" he murmured, his voice barely escaping his lips, tinged with disbelief.

  "Rosie," she replied softly, her voice a soothing balm to the turmoil that surrounded them. She placed a hand over her heart and lowered her head, as if honouring a sacred moment. She knew who this boy was to her, and what his grandfather had done to him, his friends and his family. Their family.

  Harry's heart raced as he absorbed her presence. The air around her shimmered with a hazy glow, a light piercing the shadows where darkness had reigned. It was as if she embodied hope itself, illuminating the truth hidden beneath the chaos.

  Kneeling before Voldemort, Rosie studied him with an aching tenderness. She noticed how her grandson mirrored his grandfather's youth, the same striking features that had once captivated a world. A flicker of sadness washed over her as she gazed into his grey-blue eyes, swirling with emotions that whispered of love and pain. In that moment, she wondered how much Harry understood of the legacy he had inherited, and at what point Tom grasped the significance of who Lily Evans was.

  Harry watched in bewilderment as a figure emerged from Voldemort's lifeless form. The man was younger than he had ever known, the same angular face he had glimpsed in Tom Riddle's diary. A radiant smile broke across his face as he locked eyes with Rosie.

  "Tom," she whispered, extending her hand toward him, her eyes sparkling with warmth and understanding.

  For a brief moment, Harry thought he saw a flicker of the man Voldemort could have been. The boy who once dreamt of greatness now stood before the woman who had never meant to abandon him, the love that had tethered him to humanity. In that fleeting moment of clarity, Tom didn't look back at Harry with hatred or scorn; instead, he stepped forward, intertwining his fingers with Rosie's.

  Together, they stood there, hand in hand, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from their shoulders. The darkness that had consumed Tom Riddle for so long faded in the presence of the woman who had always believed in his betterment. Her love illuminated the shadows of his past, illuminating a path toward redemption he had long thought lost. Their eyes locked in a gaze that spoke of forgiveness and understanding, a love that transcended the cruelty of their shared history—a love Voldemort could never know.

  For Voldemort was a creature shaped by fear and ambition, his heart encased in cold stone, incapable of feeling the warmth of genuine affection. He could not comprehend the depth of what Tom had for Rosalie, nor could he fathom the sacrifices that love demanded. Tom Riddle had known love in its purest form, the kind that could inspire greatness or lead one astray. But for all his power and cunning, Voldemort could never claim that kind of love. In his twisted existence, he had made his choices—choices that locked him away from the very essence of humanity.

  And now, as Tom stood beside Rosalie, he embraced the truth that his love would endure beyond the dark facade Voldemort had created. He knew he would love her forever. The woman who had given him everything when he deserved nothing.

  They turned away from the castle, away from their grandson who knew nothing of their connection, and walked away nestled into each other as they faded into nothingness. The bond they shared was unbreakable, a testament to the power of love over hatred, even amidst a world forever marked by loss and darkness.

  Harry could only watch as they vanished from his sight, the truth of their connection shimmering in the air like a fading echo. He would never fully grasp what had transpired on that bridge, nor would he ever comprehend the depth of the love that had propelled him to victory.

  In that moment, it didn't matter. No one but Tom would remember who she truly was; some might speculate about her identity, perhaps even labelling her as Rosalie Grindelwald. But her real name, the one that would linger in the hearts of those who dared to love, was simply Rosie.

A/N

Well. For those of you who wanted a happy ending?

Thank you all for supporting my story. I love you all. xx

3thirteenAM.