𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐓𝐘𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓 , tom riddle

xiii. his little doe

˗ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ˗
❝ your presence is calming to me. ❞

OPHELIA WOKE UP SNUGGLED FLUSH AGAINST TOM'S BODY. He was warm, his protective arm wrapped around her as her back pressed against his chest, his hand holding her own. For a moment, she forgot all the awful things he had confessed to her - perhaps it was her mind trying to convince her it had all been a dream. But she had remembered crying herself to sleep, Tom holding her as if he was comforting her. But he was only trying to reassure her that she would not be damaged in this heinous plan of his. She would remain untouched.

Her eyes trailed around his bedroom, the plain walls and dark aura showing no personality or indicating anything about the boy who resided in it. He had never been shown love, so how could she expect him to express such a thing? He hadn't even been conceived with love, only a love potion. Could he even feel love? She pitied him, but couldn't excuse what he had done. The people he had killed - his own family. He was a product of his environment, and it had been inevitable that he would act out.

His body began to shift as he stirred, his arm tightening around her as he rose from his slumber. His breath tickled her neck, his nose brushing against the skin as he hummed with contentment. Ophelia remained still, her thumb subconsciously rubbing against the back of his hand that held hers. Then he gently pushed her shoulder back so that she was laying on her back, and he was laying on his side, facing her. A soft smile was on his face, and Ophelia wondered how someone so charming and handsome could do such a thing as he did. But the moment his thumb grazed her cheek, she forgot all about it. He had that skill.

   "Morning, Ophelia," Tom spoke, his hand trailing down until it rested under her chin, lifting her head up slightly. Nobody could deny that Ophelia was beautiful. Her dark brown hair reminded him of the richest dark chocolate, and her brown eyes provided warmth to even the coldest of souls. Except his. He only gazed into them with adoration, but nothing could warm him. "Did you sleep well?"

   "I... I did," Ophelia answered quietly in her softly-spoken voice, her body tingling as he moved his hand to her waist, keeping it there as his fingertips brushed against the skin that had become exposed when the shirt he had lent to her lifted ever so slightly.

   "It's nineteen-forty-four. A new year for the both of us," Tom said, sitting up from the bed and swinging his legs over the edge. Ophelia watched him as he stood up, stretching a little. Her hair fell over her shoulders as she sat up, and Tom turned back to her, taking a strand of her hair between his fingers. "The year of confidentiality. You know what that means?" He knelt down beside the bed, holding both of her hands. "We tell each other everything. Can you do that? Do you trust me?"

Ophelia looked away from his eyes to the black diary that sat on his desk - the one she had gotten him for his birthday with his name engraved into it in gold. She had her own diary, and her secrets remained in there, not to be seen by anyone. The only people who knew she was a seer was her family, Albus Dumbledore and the school nurse, and Doris Butler. But now Tom was aware, she knew it was only a matter of time before he knew her better than she knew herself.

   "I trust you," Ophelia quietly replied, welcoming the soft kiss that he placed against her lips, the boy tugging at her hands to help her stand up from the bed. After a few seconds, he pulled away, tucking her hair behind her ears before putting the clothes she had arrived in back on the bed.

   "I should return you home," Tom said, sitting at the desk and facing away from her. She took that as her signal to get changed, taking off his pyjamas and putting her own clothes back on.

   "Would you like to meet them? My family," Ophelia asked. She hoped he didn't. They would never approve, unless he had an elaborate lie up his sleeve about his heritage.