Tom wanted to kill someone. Well someone else. He'd just murdered Hepzibah Smith. He was walking down the street in London when he spotted Primrose across the street, looking far more chipper than she had a few weeks ago.
She was actually smiling and then she saw who she was meeting, one Jason Finnigan. He furrowed his eyebrows and followed them discretely from the other side of the street. They were not romantic at all.
Had they found her? Sometimes he had to remind himself that just as same as him, their lives didn't revolve around Ophelia.
He sighed, and turned around walking back to his apartment. He was lonely.
If he had stayed with her and they had gotten married there might even be a meal waiting for him. She would share it with him and they'd tell each other about their days, and then well they'd fuck.
So when Tom heard a knock at his door that evening he could have sworn his wishful thinking would come true.
But no, Jason Finnigan was there holding an envelope. With loopy handwriting on it.
"Listen Riddle, she would've sent Primrose but Primrose hates you. She thinks you're a self entitled dick who never should have gotten involved with her in the first place." Said Jason,
"So this is from," he said taking the letter and then reading only the word love across the envelope.
"She said that you'd know. Cause why else would I be here? Unless it was to get hair tips. But mine is nicer than yours, let's face it, Riddle." Said Jason, running a hand through his hair
"I think this has been sufficiently awkward, Finnigan." Said Tom, wanting to get rid of him as soon as possible but he had a few questions, "How is she?"
"Says he's nothing compared to you." Said Jason nodding, getting back into the swing of who he was knowing his childhood best friend was alive and well, "I'm sure there are more details in there. All in all, she's lonely. But I'm Carl's groomsman because of family obligation, so she's doing better."
"Has Halpert seen her?" Asked Tom, knowing how much the pair could not stand to be apart.
"They picked out wedding dresses." Said Jason, "And she is wearing a tiara, so what's new with you? I just started this ne-"
"I don't care," Said Tom, and Jason nodded
"Honest, you hurt me Riddle." Said Jason, "She says hi, and to burn that letter after you read it, because she could get killed for it. Also if you meet anyone with a German accent don't trust them. See you hopefully never, still not sure why she loves you, and bye?"
"Leave." Said Tom and Jason nodded before turning around, and walking away he looked at the letter before closing the door and opening it slowly.
Love,
I hope you are doing well. Fuck I sound so American. Okay, I am a little drunk and that is probably what is making me write this letter. I am sorry. I am a terrible person. But I love you still. I see Carl and every annoying thing is just because I know you would never do that. You would never expect me to stay home. And then when I say I want to work try to fuck me into submission. Soft kissy missionary all the time.
I miss talking to you, I miss the smell of your cologne, and I miss the feel of your body against mine. I think about you in order to finish. I am really drunk now. Have you ever thought about how funny ducks are? And how a goose looks sorta like a duck and quacks like a duck but it's not a duck? I can practically see your suppressed smile right now.
So, here is the thing, I am getting married but it's not really me is it? And I will not even be on the marriage licence. Why am I writing to you? Oh right I love you and I feel dreadful for keeping you on my hook. You should move on, be happy, but damn it you've spoiled me. Honestly I'm so jealous of the woman you end up with because now I know what else is out there. Men who are so controlling and not subtle about it at all.
Move on, forget about me. I hate myself maybe you should too. Yeah, hate me. I think I can live with that because then I won't be hurting you anymore. Exciting prospect. And then we can have really hot anger sex. Ugh, I'm deprived, and honestly I'm considering hooking up with Lolita, oh also Lolita's here she will be my bridesmaid. Betrays my family then gets to be in my bridal party. Epic. Also I inspired a movie, or Poppy Amara did. DO NOT COME TO MY WEDDING YOU WILL GET KILLED AND THEN I WOULD CRY AND CARL WOULD BE ALL WHAT THE FUCK BUT HE DOESN'T CURSE AND FUCK I'M TIRED. But I am drunk.
Wow this is a long letter, when I saw you I just wanted to hold you and when you asked me to leave I wanted to. But you see, my father is being held hostage but at least my brother is keeping him company. My mom is dead so I know that dickwad Grindelwald is serious. I haven't thought this in a long time but I'm tired I'm scared and I want my mom,
Why am I telling you this? Oh I'm drunk, I love you and I miss you.
IF YOU STEP FOOT IN THE EVENT HALL I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU.
Yours forever and always,
Ophelia Marigold aka Poppy Amara aka drunk off her ass aka "Riddles girl" Aka lowkey hates herself aka a bored trophy wife
Tom never cried. Ever. but that letter. He felt his eyes sting. She loved him. She missed him. Ophelia wasn't getting married that was Poppy Amara.
He also smiled at how she identified him as better than her fiancé. He sat on his couch his other research and correspondents piled neatly on the coffee table before him.
His cause was gaining momentum. The ministers other son was aligned with his views. And he assumed that the elder would be destroyed once Ophelia left him.
Oh Ophelia, she was still Tom's. He would not be burning that letter, he would frame it but instead he could but he put a glamour on it.
Her handwriting was so pretty and the paper smelt like her.
Tom smiled. Even as tears stung his eyes. Even as the woman he loved was marrying someone else, he smiled. Because she loved him too.
—
"Are you watching me sleep, English?" She whispered, as she felt his gaze on her, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled,
"I don't think I've ever been as happy as I am when I'm with you." He said, and she smiled sweetly,
"Good thing you're marrying me then." She whispered as he pulled her closer,
"Can't believe I did it." He muttered, "I fancied you the second I saw you,"
"I love the way English people say things." She muttered absently as he played with her hair, "So much nicer than us Americans,"
He chuckled, "I was going to leave Los Angeles you know?"
"I didn't." She said her fingers now interlaced with his,
"I thought you were this sign from the city of Angels. Like my own personal angel," he said,
"Save it for the wedding vows." She whispered, "I've written mine down, don't want to cry while I say them. I adore you, English." She breathes and it was honest,
She adored his ambition, his romantic side, but she didn't love him. Just parts of him.
Carl had never been so happy to be with her he pulled her close so her head rested on his chest and he stroked her back.
"Where are they?" He asked,
"The correct question is when are they, and the answer is two weeks from now." She murmured, and he chuckled and kissed the crown of her head,
"We've begun filming," he said,
"That's brilliant." She said,
"Brilliant?"
"I've been spending too much time with you, English." She said, her fingers drawing circles on his chest,
"Klara is a brilliant actress but, you would make an even better leading lady since you inspired the role." He said,
"I have terrible stage fright. I'm sorry." She said, feigning guilt,
"It's fine." He said, "You are still my muse."
"And I'm happy to be so." She said, "We are going dancing tonight."
"Anything for you." He said, and she smiled,
"Remember last time when there was that thousand year old lady with that twenty year old?" She asked and he smiled, "What are your theories?"
"Dancing too closely to be grandson grand mum, so I'm guessing lovers." He said,
"Good for her." Said Ophelia and Carl laughed wondering whether it was possible to love her more, "Either that or they were secret agents in disguise and she just had really convincing makeup."
And it was possible. He laughed,
"Two weeks isn't soon enough." He said, "Then after we'll be on the beach,"
"I love the beach." Said Ophelia, "What are you doing tomorrow, any work?"
"I believe I'm spending a day at the beach with my beautiful fiancé." He said, and she smiled,
"Perfect." She muttered, her eyes still shut, it truly was exhausting to lie in such close proximity to another person.
"Have you thought about after we're married?" He asked,
"Well there are those house listings," she said, "We have a tour Monday,"
"Yes and," he said,
"This isn't an improv exercise English, say what you want." She said,
"Kids." He said, and Ophelia used all her strength not to cringe,
"You know I'm only nineteen." She said, lying she was eighteen and a half. "I'm not ready to be a mom."
"I think you'd be a fantastic mother." He said,
"Really?"
"Yes, you're very kind, and loving. And you believe in people. That and you make the best cookies I've ever tasted." He said, and she sighed,
She hated herself so fucking much right now but she felt numb to it all it truly felt like she was playing a part.
"I'm scared." She said,
"You took care of your brother when you were younger." He said, "You can do it."
"Does it have to be right away?" She asked, "Can I at least be in my twenties?"
"Your birthday is on Valentine's Day, right?"
"Right." She replied,
"Let's daydream," he said, and she shifted,
"Alright, now you are a successful writer," she began, "We have oscars on the mantle,"
"I like that." He said, "We are sitting by the fire, in our big house, in the valley of course."
"Obviously." She replied, as she looked up at him, "We go to the beach once a month and this is years down the line but we go as a family."
"A family?" He said, and she nodded, "we have a family portrait."
"Of course and then on the mantle there are pictures of us. At your first Oscar party, Christmas, birthdays the works." She said, and if it were possible for a human to melt, Carl would be a puddle on the floor, "Are you alright, English?"
"I just love you so damn much." He said,
"Swearing and everything. I love it." She said, and he held her tighter, "English, I need to breathe in order to marry you."
But she felt nothing. Numb. Or dead inside. Seeing Jason and Primrose has helped with the crushing feeling of loneliness. Of no one knowing who she truly was.
He loosened his grip and flipped her onto her back, hovering over her and kissing her neck. She let out fake sounds of enjoyment, but he didn't tell the difference.
She just wanted to feel something,
"Maybe let me do the driving tonight," she whispered pushing lightly on his shoulders,
"It's my job to make you feel good, my love," he said, kissing down her chest, "Let me take care of you."
Sex was just a physical act between two people. Sometimes things work for one and not the other.
—
He was out, said he'd be out all night after their day at the beach. Said he wouldn't be back until Tuesday. Ophelia picked up her wand. She just needed to feel something.
"Expecto Patronum." She said, and her white mare leapt from her wand, awaiting a command.
"Love, can I see you?" She asked, and the mare bounded away,
She waited for what felt like the longest time before a black stallion came through her window,
"Of course, I'm alone in my flat, number seven 137 Charles street." It said, and she stood quickly and wrote a note for Carl in case he came back early, that she was visiting her brother.
Carl didn't know where her brother lived. The lie would work.
She walked out of the door and locked it before apparating to the front of Tom's flat in London.
She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It opened almost immediately and Tom smiled when he saw her.
There she was knocking on his door unable to stay away. He ushered her inside and locked the door, putting up several wards, and closing all the blinds. She hugged him as he did, and he could feel her ragged breathing,
"Did you get some sun?" He asked, and she nodded, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his couch and sitting, pulling her legs across his lap and she placed her head in the crook of his neck.
"Beach day." She murmured, holding him tightly, "I am a terrible person."
"No, you aren't." He said, stroking her back breathing in the familiar scent of honey. "You love too much to be a terrible person."
"I miss you. So much." She whispered, "And I know we broke up and we probably weren't going to see each other much anyways after graduating but I as going to visit."
"You were?" He asked holding her tighter,
"Yes, I was going to go to the shop to see you. Talk to you. Because I need you." She said, and he smiled,
"I love you." He said, and he meant it. If this wasn't love what was?
"I want to feel something." She whispered, "I just want to feel like a person again."
"Ophelia," he said, and she held him tighter, oh how he'd missed her. He wanted to cheer her up, and he decided to reference her hilarious letter, "I hate you, so you want to have really hot hate sex?"
She laughed, and Tom felt like he was coming home. Like her laugh was calling to him. Beckoning him to love her.
"I was so drunk when I wrote that." She said, leaning away to get a better look at him, he was paler than she remembered but she'd been in LA so it wasn't a proper frame of reference. His hair was just as black but straighter than she remembered.
He pulled her back quickly, not able to get enough of her,
"If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck," he began,
"Careful it might be a goose," she finished and he chuckled,
"I missed you." He said,
"You know, in French, it's tu me manque. Which means you are missing from me," she whispered,
"I love it when you're randomly wise." He said, and she smiled,
"I prefer sporadically intelligent," she said, and he suppressed a smile before standing up she made a noise of complaint,
"We are going to eat dinner together." He said,
"Really?"
"Of course why else would I say it?" He asked,
"For shits and giggles?" She queries and he chuckled before opening his fridge, "Can you cook?"
"Not very well." He said, looking at the bleak amount of food in his fridge, he rarely cooked truthfully, she walked over,
"You don't say. You have enough for pancakes." She said,
"For dinner?" He said smiling,
"Yeah, I can also make a mean Shepard's pie but you don't have the ingredients for that do you?" She asked and he scowled playfully at her,
"You can make the pancakes with magic?" He asked,
"Of course, regrettably one of the only ways I use magic now is occlumency, cleaning," she huffed, "and cooking."
"The next Mrs Spencer-Moon ladies and gentlemen." He said, sitting down as she began to wave her wand so the food would prepare itself.
"You spoke with Jason?" She asked as the pancake mix mixed on its own and just a dash of cinnamon was added,
"Yeah so...he's nothing compared to me?" Asked Tom, grinning cockily as she rolled her eyes,
"So you yelled at Dumbledore on my behalf?" She queries and his cheeks gained some colour,
"He just let him take you." Said Tom. "I was meant to have three more months with you."
"We broke up."
"Just seeing you." He said, and the pancakes flipped on the pan, and then were placed on two plates which were levitated for the table.
"I wanted to be at graduation." She said, "I worked at a diner,"
"A diner?" He asked as she pushed pancakes toward him and sat across from him, "You must have made a killing in tips."
"I did. Kept all that money too. Just in case." She said, as she summoned to glasses of water, not wanting to get drunk,
"To just in case," he said, raising a glass,
"To just in case," she said, and they cheersed before each taking a sip, "You know cheers started as a way to make sure that if one person was to be poisoned everyone would be. So that if one persons drink was poisoned than it would spill over into the others."
"Trying to poison me, Marigold?" He asked,
"Of course not, Riddle. You're immortal. It wouldn't stick." She said and he laughed,
They were both fucked up. But they were happy together.
"Why are you here?" He asked,
"To see you." She answered.
"Ophelia, these are really good pancakes,"
"It's the cinnamon."
"What kind of cake is it going to be?" He asked,
"Vanilla, and-" She answered,
"Just like the sex you mean?" He asked, and she scowled half heartedly, "I hate vanilla."
"I know." She said, "Another reason for you to stay away on my wedding day."
"What happens after?" He asked,
"Well I go on my honeymoon." She answered,
"When you leave him." He said, "You are leaving him aren't you?"
"Yes." She said, "I haven't been told when to do it yet. I feel guilty."
"Do you want to stay?" He asked his heart hammering in his chest,
"No." She said quickly, "Just leading him on."
"You lead on McKenna." Said Tom, "He was so confused when you left."
"Abducted, and I did not lead McKenna on." She said, "I thought he wanted to be my friend."
"He was so obvious," said Tom, "But I guess you were more focused on me," he grinned at her,
She blushed. A real honest to god blush. She hadn't felt in so long she didn't want it to stop.
"Shut up," she grumbled, "I think I want to flirt with you now."
"Don't let me stop you." He said, a smile not leaving his face,
She laughed, the pancakes long forgotten,
"I don't think I've ever felt about anyone the way I feel about you." She said,
"That's a fantastic pick up line." He said and she laughed again,
"I love you." She breathed, the words she couldn't even say to her own fiancé came out so easily to Tom.
"Aren't you going to eat?"
"I'm not hungry," she said, "Dance with me, I'll let you lead."
"What do you mean let me lead?" He said already standing up and offering her his hand. She took it and he pulled her to the small space in the living room. She put her head on his chest and her arms around his neck.
He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her impossibly close.
Ophelia Marigold's heart belonged to Tom Riddle.
It didn't matter who she was marrying, it didn't matter at all.
She was his.