Thirteen

Dreams

  In an apartment along the Rue Montorgreuil in Paris, Grindelwald stood against a wall tainted by the bright sunlight of the morning. His few close followers littered the room in a way that made the apartment look a lot smaller than it was.

  It had been a few months since Grindelwald had sent his daughter Rosalie off to extract information about a student that, since then, he hadn't heard anything about. He wasn't sure if he should wonder if it was mere coincidence or something had happened.

  Between the lack of response from the letters that he sent and that fact, Gallert had every right to be suspicious of his only daughter being up to something. He thought they had always gotten along fine; albeit they sometimes had different views on politics, but that didn't stop him from noticing the similarities they had. He had been certain that one day she would've been ready to join him.

  She would've been the one standing in this room on the Rue Montorgreuil, ready to give a speech. 

  Instead; she was the topic of the speech.

  "My friends," Gallert started, causing the people in the room to turn their heads quickly to the recognisable voice.

  "Today, I am in need of discussing a very important topic. One quite close to my heart." He kept up his harmonious pace and pushed himself from the wall, placing himself between the people.

  "My daughter, Rosalie, I'm sure you remember that a few months ago we sent her Hogwarts to extract information on a boy that could've been crucial to our cause. Since then, however, she's gone silent."

  The room of Gallert's most trusted followers remained silent, taking in the information that they had heard a while ago. Some of them stared into space, others seemed more concentrated on the fact that this shouldn't be taken lightly.

  One man, rather tall and slender, stepped forward to Grindelwald.

  "I've known that girl since she was a child Gallert, She's more powerful than any of us here and she has you to thank for that. I'm sure she's fine." The man tried to comfort him from afar, but Grindelwald remained indifferent to the offer of console.

  His smile faltered slightly. "Yes, she is powerful, but she's gone an even more powerful mind. I'm not worried if she's hurt, but I fear she may have strayed farther from the tracks we set for her than we ever intended." Grindelwald looked around at the people he considered to be his friends, the people that would win him this war if he played his cards right.

  But he had allowed his most potent asset to slip through his fingers, a nagging presence that haunted his thoughts. Grindelwald didn't merely see Rosalie as his daughter; she represented something far more valuable. At only seventeen years old, she possessed a power that rivaled even her father's, a fact that gnawed at Grindelwald's conscience. 

  If she could nearly best her father himself in a duel at such a young age, it was only a matter of time before she could do the same to his greatest adversary, Dumbledore, a figure he needed to disappear in the war if he really wanted any chance to win.

  "I understand what you mean." A woman pushed her way to the front to speak with Grindelwald, he turned to face her and listened intently.

  "She's been there for too long, if anyone found out her identity they could try and use her to bargain something we can't afford to give." The woman looked around, expecting and receiving agreement on her thoughts. Her short brown hair flicked its way back to Gallert, who looked down to the floor.

  "I'm glad to hear you're all more or less on the same page as me." He said quietly. "We need her back for future projects I have in mind."

  The tall man from before opened his mouth to speak again, his smile lines hiding themselves back into his dry skin. "What would you like us to do?" He asked.

  Grindelwald sighed and looked out of the window at the opposing Parisian appartments.

  "I'm lucky to say that this particular problem is mine alone to deal with." He said with a gaze that was in a different location to the conversation. His followers looked at him carefully, used to his cryptic but inspiring messages.

  "I have a feeling I have to come back into contact with Dumbledore, send him a letter perhaps." He said to the few people in the room.

  The woman furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head. The man looked around.

  "I think most of us here would advice against that." The brown haired woman spoke first, her thoughts strong and firm. The man across from her nodded his head, and Grindelwald zoned back into the conversation, looking between them both quickly.

  "I must tell him to ensure she leaves the school, otherwise I'll have to find another way to get her." He spoke with his usual dose of confidence. His followers seemed weary of the idea.

  "You'd be breaking her cover." One of them said, not impolitely but with a certain quickness about him. Grindelwald only had to look at him to get him to back down.

  Gallert laughed at the assumption.

  "If Dumbledore hasn't figured out who she is by now, I will be thoroughly surprised and a little bit disappointed."

---

  It was only two days later that that letter arrived into Dumbledores possession. At first he had thought nothing of it, it was another letter to go on his pile that he would open sometime later when he had the time. So there it sat for days, its contents waiting to be a pain in the mans heart.

  On the day he opened it, he was in a class he had with his usual 7th years. He hadn't paid much notice to them as they entered the class, he spoke a few words describing the pages they should be revising for an upcoming assignment and left them alone with it. He returned to his desk happily and watched over the pile of letters that had slowly built up.

  Dumbledore had never been an extremely productive man, he loved procrastination. The first few letters he read over were dull, junk mail from people selling discounted potions and herbs, a few from old students asking for letters of recommendation and other news from the ministry.

  It was when he flipped the letter that had arrived two days over when he got a sudden chill down his spine. The familiar G crescent twisted something in Dumbledore that hadn't been moved in a long time. He felt wrong for even touching it, but with a curious hesitance, he cut through the seal.

  He removed the letter from the envelope carefully, taking one last glance up at his class to see if they had taken any notice to his reaction, but they were all caught up in their own moment. His eyes scanned over Rosalie who sat next to Tom. She looked more like her father then she would care to admit, it was what initially had made Dumbledore resentful of her at first.

  But it wasn't the sins of a father that made a person, Dumbledore knew he had no right to judge, and he could just tell from the way that she held herself that she had no desire to stick herself into complete darkness.

  He held the letter in his hand, a slight shake in his breath as he slowly unfolded it, his eyes beginning to scan over the contents of the letter.

  "Dear Albus,"  He wrote.

  "I'm sure my letter comes with great surprise and possibly an incomparable amount of mixed feelings. I warn you though I am not writing to talk of our past or even the present circumstance we find ourselves in with this fight for peace."

  Dumbledore bit down on his thumb as he read, unsure on how he should feel. The man who he was once the closest with in the world had gone down a path that he couldn't follow.

  "I'm sure you've noticed over the course of the time that she has spent at Hogwarts, my daughter Rosalie. At this moment I'm unaware if you ever knew of her existence before I decided it was safe enough to reveal her to you. I've done this, Dumbledore, because I know you're a man with a safe enough judgement to not question how and why she is there."

  Dumbledore looked back up at Rosalie, who tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, blissfully unaware as to what Dumbledore was suffering.

  "She looks so much like me, doesn't she?"

  He closed his eyes, memories washed over the Professors mind. She really did.

  "I can also see her mother in her, not that it matters to her now. She's always just been my daughter, I've kept her from the world because that was what was safest. My goal in life has never been the most secure, and keeping her away was really the only way I would be able to utilise her in the end. I'm sure you've noticed just how much of a strong witch she is. In a few years I'm sure she'd even have you knocked back on your feet, Albus."

  "It's now that I write to you with a favour. A favour that yes, you do not owe me, but one that will keep a father's heart calm. I will not disclose the details on Rosalie's coming and going to Hogwarts, but know it was for a cause nothing to do with her or you. I ask you, Albus, to have her sent back. In any way you can, you must have her out of the school as soon as you can. I ask this because otherwise, alternative methods will have to be taken. This is something that I don't ask lightly of you."

  "Gallert."

  Dumbledore dropped the letter to the floor, fluttering in its last breath to the ground. Lost in his own thoughts, the Professor finally let his gaze drift across the classroom again. He drew his attention to Tom and Rosalie sat together, the boys chair having moved ever so closer to her.

  He had heard the rumours of their relationship from whispering students and had not an idea if he should believe it or not. On one hand, he had seen the cut on Rosalie's hand from what he had suspected to be a blood pact like he and her father had once done. On the other hand, he never believed that Rosalie could love someone with such a darkness like Tom, like her own father who she had obviously scrambled to get away from.

  Dumbledore observed Tom's gaze, intense and unwavering as he watched Rosalie in a way he thought was discreet, his head lowered. Dumbledore smiled at such a small and insignificant note. He knew the kind of man Tom was becoming, but there was a light coming from Rosalie that made him more different than he ever had been.

  On Rose's part, she feigned indifference to noticing Tom's stare. Though, he could see a flush of embarrassment on her cheeks as she kept her head down onto her parchment which told him that she was, in fact, aware of Tom's eyes on her.

  It was a sight that made Dumbledore pause. He had never seen Tom display such vulnerability, such genuine emotion; And he had done it all for a girl. A girl that he couldn't help but feel concern for.

  But as he watched the interplay between his two students, he couldn't shake the feeling that their connection ran deeper than a mere rumour. As Dumbledore acknowledged her, he knew rightfully that he could never relinquish Rose back to her father after finding the life she had at Hogwarts; the life that might've sat beside her, staring at her.

  Even if the new life she had chosen had the potential to be darker than the one she once knew, Dumbledore would be at peace if he knew it was a life of her own choosing; for he knew she would choose right.

---

  "Fuck," Rose cussed as she stubbed her toe on her way into the common room. She looked down to the corner of the fireplace that she had walked into with a certain hatred.

  The sudden rustling of what sounded like newspaper caught Rosalie's attention back up. Her eyes searched around the common room until she saw a head of white blonde hair sitting on one of the sofa's, staring up at her with a great sadness.

  Rosalie felt her breath catch in her throat as Coriolanus stood up from his seat, noticing her entry. He bit down on his lips and blinked at her, his expression slowly changing to reluctance and resentment.

  Part of him had no desire to engage in conversation with her, but her presence itself demanded attention. Coriolanus almost couldn't blame Tom for taking her from him, because the way she looked now was nothing short of beautiful, messy haired and puffy eyed from a nap, skin with such a shine she really did look like the moon.

  Rosalie could sense his reticence from here, finally managing to catch her breath while he allowed her a second to breathe. The moment she had calmed herself down, she felt the need to explain herself.

  "Coriolanus," She started. "We need to talk." Her head tilted softly and as a sign of affection.

  He glanced at her with a guarded expression, his walls firmly in place. He found his seat back on the sofa again and looked at anywhere but her.

  "I have nothing to say to you." He replied curtly, his tone clipped.

  Rosalie, not threatened by his shortness, persisted. She walked forward, her voice dripping with sincerity.

  "I'm truly sorry." She said as she walked around the sofa, moving to stand in front of him. He slowly looked up at her.

  His gaze softened slightly at her words, the hole in his heart still and would forever have a place for her. His hurt lingered just beneath the surface of his skin.

  "You hurt me. I believed we had a future together Rose." He confessed, his voice tinged with pain. 

  The eyes he was trying to avoid were too desirable to him, and now, under her comfortable gaze, he couldn't get enough of it. Rosalie's heart ached with guilt at his words, her face cringed but she spoke on. 

  "What we had," she began hesitantly. "Wasn't love. It was a fleeting moment of confusion." Rosalie tried to speak her opinion.

  Coriolanus recoiled slightly at her admission, his pride wounded by the rejection. "I refuse to believe that." He declared defiantly.

  Rosalie looked at him strangely, feeling horrible that he could possibly think that she had ever really liked him. There was nothing about him that could draw Rosalie in. In a short moment, she found herself sat next to him, looking down at the floor.

  "I will win you back Rosalie." He said suddenly, and she turned to face him. He grabbed ahold of her hand, but Rosalie let him keep it. It was a selfish move; to let him believe he could change her mind when she knew he wouldn't.

  "You cannot possibly stay in love with Tom forever."

  His hand extended tentatively, finding its place on her shoulder in a gesture of solace amid their exchange. Rosalie's heart twinged with guilt, even as she confronted the reality of his betrayal. Despite the anguish, a lingering fondness for the old friendship they had persisted within her, weaving a complex web of loyalty and guilt.

  From the other side of the room, behind the light coming from the room, Tom stood in the darkness, watching the exchange with a heated hatred for the man Rosalie sat beside. Every word he spoke sent him into a deeper spiral.

  Did he really believe she would ever be in his grasp again?

  Tom never did like sharing his things.

  After a brief moment of Rosalie graciously allowing him to cling to her, she excused herself for the evening, seeking solace in a walk alone outside of the grounds. It was meant to be a reprieve, a chance to clear her mind, yet instead, it only served to plunge her further into the depths of chaos as she left the castle and found herself on the bridge over the valley.

  The nights were getting colder as winter came to Hogwarts, but even with the seasons changing, the nature surrounding the castle never seemed to lack a certain beauty that Rose knew she would miss when she had to eventually leave.

  Rosalie walked closer to the cobbled half wall that kept her from falling hundreds of feet, leaning over it and looking down with curiousity. She felt the wind on her face, and her thoughts were finally beginning to leave her.

  Just as the first moments of peace were finally entering her mind, a familiar and unwelcome voice sounded through her ears.

  "You're not planning to jump, are you?" Tom's voice cut through the silence, deep and mocking. Rosalie looked sharply back at him with disinterest in what he had to say.

  Rose shook off her annoyance, trying to find that peace that almost came to her. "I could never be weak enough to do such a thing." She finally retorted, her voice laced with defiance.

  Tom walked closer to her, also finding a place along the half wall she slanted herself against. He crossed his arms as he admired her.

  "I'm not so sure about that." He insulted, a barb at her vulnerability.

  Rose's patience began to wear thin, and she removed the hair that had blown in front of her face and she tried to decide between looking at Tom, hair wet from a shower, or the valley below them. 

  Eventually she found that she couldn't break herself away from Tom even if she tried.

  "What do you want?" She demanded, but in a soft and fed up voice. It was a scary ability to Tom, being able to mix emotions so intensely.

  He threw her a sarcastic look, rather enjoying having someone to fool around with. 

  Rosalie huffed at him, finally managing to pull herself away from his charm. She was getting sick of him being around her all the time like a lost puppy; or worse, like they were an actual couple. Whenever she least expected it, he managed to pop up right in front of her.

  "Look, if you're here to tease me, or tell me you don't trust me, I already know. So, please, just leave me alone Tom." She said, finally breaking. She leant against the half wall further, resting her head on her palms.

  Their trust was fractured, she knew that. Whenever she was around Tom she was reminded that she would ultimately have to either give him a horcrux or kill him. Both weren't very forgiving ideas. She cursed herself for getting into such a mess.

  To her surprise, Tom only slid closer to her, the sudden scent of smoke clinging to him as he lit the cigarette in his mouth. He took a long breath of it, then offered it to her without saying another word.

  Tentatively, she accepted it, the bitter taste mingling with the bitter aftertaste of their exchange. Rose also took a breath of it, then handed it back in silence, their shoulders brushing against each other as the smell of cigarettes lingered in the air. It was a fleeting connection amidst the darkness.

  In a rare moment of vulnerability, Tom began to speak to her.

  "I've lived in an orphanage my entire life." He let out, looking over the deep valley that surrounded Hogwarts. Rosalie watched over his face, reading it to see any sign of a lie.

  She could tell he was telling the truth.

  "I was always the weird child who could make bad things happen, the one who spoke to snakes, the one who hurt people if they got too close." He spoke and Rosalie watched his jaw as he did.

  Under the light of the moon he looked more likeable than ever. Rosalie almost couldn't understand the words that she was hearing, she had assumed that even though he was a half blood, he had inherited some kind of money when he had killed his family.

  Even if he was an orphan, was that a good enough reason to do it?

  "You can speak to snakes?" Rosalie asked after a pause of silence, focusing on the happier things rather than reliving the harsh facts.

  Tom glanced at her for a second with a huffed smile.

  "Yes, I can." He looked away from her again, memories racing through his mind.

  "My mother forced my muggle father into marriage, and left me to rot alone in a place that hated me just as I hated it when he realised none of it was real." Tom's voice turned cruel again, he couldn't go a few minutes without spouting something venomous.

  Rosalie's heart pounded slightly, and it was then she realised that she felt bad for him. He was tormented by his past, clinging on to an idea that he thought would make him never feel weakness again. Tom was misunderstood.

  "I don't think it was right, how they treated me for being different there." He said hypocritically. Rose looked at him and felt some of that pain she bore him fade away. 

  She yearned to extend sympathy, to offer solace and reassurance to him in his moment of vulnerability. Yet, a feeling of disgust still gnawed at her gut, a bitter reminder of the ideas he had and the things he had done. Her gaze lingered on his lips, a wellspring of deceit and manipulation, each falsehood a poison. And yet, despite her inner hatred, she couldn't deny the memory of their kiss, the electric pulse that had surged through her veins, igniting a conflicting array of emotions within her.

  "And now you're doing the same thing." She sighed, looking away from him finally.

  "The cycle repeats itself."

  "The snake it's its own tail."

  Tom smirked at her analogy. 

  "You're not wrong." He said, admitting it fully, to Rosalie's dismay.

  She shook her head, "I'm not sure if its better or worse that you're aware the extent of your actions." 

  "I can be self aware." He stated simply with a nod of his head. 

  Rose found herself thinking back to all the times she had seen Tom Riddle have signs of a soul. There were moments that proved it all around him, and yet she stood there wondering why he had to act with so much hatred when he had the ability to be loved.

  "Have you ever thought about loving anything, instead of hating everything?" She asked, they both looked at each other in the moment, trying to pick at the other's thoughts.

  "Love is weakness." He swallowed, hating the way he felt trapped in her eyes.

  "I disagree." Rose spoke quickly, feeling like at any moment she would lose this direct line of connection with him. The glow of the night shone on their faces, their hands lay on the half wall, only centimetres away from touching.

  "Love is the one thing that gives you strength." She blinked.

  Tom looked at her, and really saw her.

  "My father is like you. He wants more power than he needs." Despite her wish against it, she finally ripped herself away from him again, readjusting herself more comfortably.

  The mention of her father had Tom's ears perking up. Any detail of personal information was valuable to him.

  "I don't like my father, but sometimes the line between loving and hating is blurred." She said with a sort of wisdom that Tom could only expect from her. He tilted his head to the side, watching the moon rise slowly into the sky.

  "I thought you said he was an auror, that you were proud of him." He asked slowly, his eyes drifting back to her to see if he could unmask any emotions she felt.

  Rosalie malfunctioned for a moment, her mouth raising into a smile, feeling horrible as the words left her mouth.

  "You know I'm good at lying Tommy."

  Tom's lips formed a tight line, the tension between them pulling taut like a stretched cord. In the heavy silence that enveloped them, words seemed unnecessary, the unspoken communication more potent than any uttered thought.

  After a short moment of Tom making a quiet decision, he turned his body to face Rosalie head on, a more serious look on his face than before.

  "Who is your father?" He asked, not playing a game.

  Rosalie's gaze flickered back to him, a knot of apprehension tightening in her chest as she entertained the unsettling possibility that any further misstep on her part might trigger an explosive reaction from him.

  She breathed and Tom moved closer to her, grabbing her hand and tracing down her veins with his thumb. He stood above her and enjoyed being only inches away from kissing her. Rosalie never knew what to do when he acted like this, she knew and hated that he was trying to charm her into something, but she hated even more that it worked.  

  "A bad man." She muttered.

  Tom's gaze drifted down to Rosalie's lips, drawn irresistibly to their soft allure. As she reached up, a tentative gesture, their lips met in a gentle caress. In that fleeting moment, both held themselves back, their actions a hesitant acknowledgment of the unfamiliar territory they found themselves navigating.

  They had barely touched when Rose pulled back with a new fire of confusion and annoyance behind her eyes. She looked at Tom and breathed again.

  "You were really trying to get information out of me by kissing me? You should know I won't fall for that Riddle." Tom read her face and realised he had misstepped, because suddenly it felt like she hated him even more than ever.

  She shook her head in exasperation, closing her eyes briefly as a frustrated sigh escaped her lips. Without another glance in Tom's direction, she strode past him with purpose. He couldn't bring himself to turn and watch her depart; instead, he stood rooted in place, the sound of her retreating footsteps echoing in the silence, a stark reminder of her departure.

  Tom imagined Rosalie was standing in front of him again, giving her one of those beautiful smiles she gave out so easily. Part of him wondered what a normal life with her would be like- and that part of him liked it and indulged in it.

  Tom walked through the light mahogany door on the small suburban house that he now called home. He shut the door quietly behind him, hanging his coat up on the rack and setting his briefcase down on the side table. 

  He walked through his home with both hands in his pockets, he looked up to the ceiling, imagining the second floor.

  "Love?" He yelled finally, eager to see his wife after a long day of work.

  He heard a sudden rustling from the backyard of the house.

  "Out here Tommy!" Rosie yelled from the yard, the sliding door was opened just enough to let her sound through to the entryway where Tom stood.

  He smiled slightly and made his way through the house and out of the back door. He walked through the small garden on the stone path that he and Rosie had gotten done a month ago so it was easier when she wanted to put the washing out to dry.

  He walked through the rows of sheets hung up on the washing lines, hearing pegs dropping into a basket as he walked closer to her. Tom pushed the last sheet out of the way and admired his wife as she faced away from him, wearing a pretty green dress that hugged her figure nicely.

  Tom walked up to her and snaked his hands around her waist, dipping his head into her neck as he greeted her affectionately. 

  "Tommy!" She squealed, trying and failing to break out of his grasp.

   After he had given her enough kisses along her neck, he turned her around to face him, his arms still wrapped around her, admiring her pretty features. 

  "I missed you today." She said sweetly, reaching up to fix her husbands hair, with a smile brighter then the sun that was setting behind the house.

  Tom beamed at her.

  "I put little Thomas to sleep about half an hour ago. He's growing up so fast now, I can hardly believe it." Rosie's hands glided themselves down Tom's shoulders as he froze up.

  "Thomas?" He asked.

  Rosie shook her head and gave him a silly look at what she thought was his attempt at a sarcastic joke.

  "Yes, my love, Thomas, our son."

  Tom shook himself out of the dream. As he recoiled from the imagined scene, a sense of unease settled in his stomach. Why had he even entertained such thoughts? And why did they feel like the sweetest dreams he had ever known?