Intertwined → Tom Riddle

CHAPTER ONE

In the moments when you're falling, you don't feel it. The sensation of gradually sinking into an abyss, of everything fading away, of the world slipping out of reach—none of these moments are truly felt until the pull finally grasps you. And when you do finally feel it, nothing else seems as powerful. It's an undeniable force that grounds you in the reality of the descent, and in that profound realisation, there's nothing stronger.

Amara often found solace in this peculiar sensation during her dreams. When she slept, she would drift into a state of weightless free-fall, suspended in an endless void of nothingness. There was no pressure to meet expectations, no judgement, no responsibilities—just the peaceful embrace of emptiness that allowed her to simply be. It was a sanctuary from the relentless demands and harsh judgments of her waking life, a place where she could escape the constant scrutiny and the heavy burden of her family's expectations.

Her father's voice, however, would always shatter this fragile peace. "Amara!" he would call out, his voice echoing through the confines of her bedroom and pulling her from the depths of her dream. The abrupt awakening was often jarring, dragging her from the comforting weightlessness of her dreams back into the heavy gravity of reality. Groaning in frustration, she would bury her face deeper into her pillow, desperately trying to recapture the fleeting calm.

"Father needs to talk to us," her brother Roman's voice cut through the fog of her sleep, carrying an urgent tone. "Now."

The mention of their father's name made Amara's stomach churn. Her father's summons were rarely a source of good news, especially since their mother's death. Conversations with him had become a series of stern reprimands and unmet expectations, each one a reminder of the high bar she had to reach—a bar set even higher by the shadow of Roman's perceived failures.

Reluctantly, she dragged herself out of bed, her heart racing with a familiar anxiety. "Give me thirty seconds and I'll be out," she muttered, hoping the brief delay might somehow diffuse her father's impatience. With a deep breath, she steadied herself and hurried through her morning routine. She changed into a grey dress, slipped on her black boots, and added a cardigan for good measure. Running a comb through her hair, she tied it up with a green ribbon, a small act of defiance against the dreariness of her reality.

"Okay, I'm ready," she announced as she stood in her open doorway, trying to mask her trepidation with a forced smile. Whatever her father wanted, she knew it wouldn't be pleasant.

"Come on then, we mustn't be late. You know how he gets," Roman said curtly, his voice low as he led the way down the grand staircase and into the main hall where their father awaited them.

The grandeur of their home did little to alleviate the tension that Amara felt as she descended the stairs. The opulent decor and majestic architecture were merely a backdrop to the ever-present pressure that loomed over her. As they entered the main hall, her father's stern gaze met them with an intensity that made her insides clench.

"Amara," he began, his voice brooking no argument, "Roman here was just telling me how you'll be starting your fifth year at Hogwarts tomorrow."

"Yes, Father. That would be correct," Amara replied, her eyes lowered in deference. Her father had always been more interested in Roman's academic progress than her own. It was safer to keep her gaze averted, to smile and nod rather than risk drawing attention to her own achievements.

"Well, you really ought to begin doing something useful with yourself then," he said, his tone laced with disdain. "You are failing to carry on the Rosier legacy. Your mother would not be proud. Roman might have failed, but you cannot. I did not expect Roman to be a failure, but you must reverse the damage he has done. You must act quickly. I expect so little from this family, yet they still manage to disappoint."