Burning Obsessions; Tom Riddle

55: The New Beginning

[victoria's pov]

The end of the war created more loss than relief for many.

Innocent children and students were murdered before the eyes of their own peers and those who lived would have to live with the ghost of the ones they loved.

Ted and Alex had disappeared from the outside world after Theo's funeral. His funeral was the only one I attended of all the ones I lost. It was because I was always afraid, but I was no longer afraid. To the rest of the world, he was just another death eater. Another percentage to the ministry's records.

Though to me, Theo would remain a part of my world.

Always.

I stood in the McCallian manor kitchen, preparing dinner for Hermione and I. She was my closest friend since the war had ended. I found myself starting fresh now that I am starting to age.

Now that I was beginning new at "twenty-years old," I had a large scale of opportunities, which is exactly why she was here.

"Victoria, where are his diapers?" Hermione asked as she waltzed in the room with my newborn son.

After the war, my past was beginning to catch up to me. Or rather, my foetus...

At first, Hermione and I were concerned it was my body slowly ageing to the state I was supposed to be in... nearly a hundred years old.

But with further expectation when she brought me to St. Mungo's hospital, I was only laughed at when they told me my tests were not a result of death but life. That I was with a child.

"You bore Voldemort an heir?" Harry exclaimed as he found out the news a few months ago, to which Hermione scolded him and Ron for having the same reaction, telling them that it was not their say as the child was Tom Riddle's and not Voldemort's.

The news was kept private, as I could only imagine the anarchy that could be sparked from this. And because it was private, I had stopped letting others into my life except for Hermione, which I didn't regret at all.

"His diapers are in the cabinet to your left, just below your waist," I tell her as she kneels to fetch some before running back upstairs with my son.

Once I'm finished with dinner, she hands him over to me to prepare the plates. As I hold him in my arms, I rock him slowly to sleep. Parenting was harder than anything else I had done in half my lifetime, but I had those who eased the stress. And my son was not hard on me as I nurtured him, learning from the ones who nurtured me before such as Gwen.

He had become my new light in the dark.

And I wasn't going to let him go.

Hermione set down the plates as I began to help myself. In all my life, food had become something I missed, despite how little I knew so. To know, to feel, to love was to be free.

It was to live.

As Hermione and I end the night, I send her off as she apparates, disappearing before my eyes. In mention of magic, my own had changed. I was able to control them better with no need for a wand. And it was no longer dark magic that I contained but good.

Good, such as the way I had been recovering from the ache that had been built up in me for years.

Afterall, I now had a reason.

I lay my son upstairs in his crib as I enter the kitchen once again to clean up the mess we had made. It was never a big deal, as the little things in life should be romanticised. That was the way to enjoy it.

I'm handwashing my dishes when my son begins to cry. I pause abruptly, washing the soap from my hands as I make my way towards the stairs. Suddenly, his cries stop.

My heart races and fear that I haven't felt in months seeps in as I run up the stairs and burst into his room. The room is dark and as I stand by the door, a figure is holding my child in his arms, cradling him with a soft and low tune.

He faces me and the moon reveals him.

"Tom?" I gasp, rushing toward him and our son.

He grins at the sight of me, eyeing me up and down as I take our son from him as gently as I can but with haste.

As his gaze falls upon our son, I can see a twinkle in his eyes for the first time. His cunning smile turns charismatic as I admire his features once again.

For more than a second, I see love in his eyes. The same loving eyes he gave me before it all came to an end. I find it hard to breathe as he asks me quietly, "Can I not hold my own son?"

I hesitate, meeting his honest stare. I didn't realise how much I missed Tom. How I'd missed him more than I missed the touch of the wind and smell of the air. None of it was living without him.

I place our baby back in his arms and Tom's smile only widens more as the weight falls into his arms. His other hand grabs mine and he kisses my knuckles, inches from the same gold ring that he no longer cared for.

"How do you know?" I asked. "How do you know he's yours?"

"Of course he's mine, you've never made love with anyone else," Tom says casually but quietly as he slowly rocks our child.

"But- it doesn't explain why you're here," I say. "You're supposed to be dead. Harry Potter killed you a year ago."

He only nods simply, knowing something I didn't. I can't help but fall in love with his gentleness. This side of him he had only ever shown to me and was now showing to our son.

"Harry Potter may have 'killed me,' though," Tom said, "Before that, when the curse lifted from you, I heard not one heartbeat from you. But two."

Tom sits himself down, stroking our son's face with his thumbs gently.

"You have always been my strength," Tom continued. "And through you, you bore me an heir. A piece of me still remains in this world, as he shall tether me to this earth. For as long as that stays true..."

"You'll be here," I finished with realisation.

"Yes," he said, lifting his head and standing. "Not Voldemort. Me."

"The last man I'll ever fall in love with," I said as his lips touched mine.

I feel both our lips curve as for the first time I finally understand that all along, he truly did love me. It was not just our burning obsessions that kept us going, but because of the closure we both had to chase.

All along, Tom had thought the piece to make us whole was power. What he thought he needed was the creation of vast power and greatness to make us feel whole. When really, it was the little life that he carried in his arms to create wholeness. The life we created.

"I love you," Tom says against my lips.

"I love you until death do us part."

"Even death can't stop me from doing so," he says as we pull away from our embrace.

His lips peck the cheek of our son ever so lightly before he asks, "What have you named him?"

"Mattheo," I say with a bitter-sweet, reminiscent thought.

"Mattheo Riddle."

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January 25th, 2024.