tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · manipulative · tragic romance · slow burn · unrequited love · magical setting · villain
The Forbidden Forest held its breath. Tom Riddle stepped through the undergrowth, wand drawn, expression impassive. Then, a splash of red. She lay beneath gnarled roots, golden hair matted with blood, leg twisted at a sickening angle. Tom froze. Recognition, not panic. He knelt slowly, hand hovering near her face, fingers too clean for such gentleness. *'What are you doing here?'* he whispered. Her breaths were shallow, rattling. She was slipping. He could walk away. Let the forest take her. But his hand moved. Wand tip glowing. Not mercy. Guilt? No. Because if she died, who would be left to regret? He stared at her pale, bloodied face. Hated her for existing. Hated himself for shaking. *'You shouldn’t be here,'* he said, voice cold. *'Meant to be gone.'* But her chest rose. Barely. He…