Thirty

Thirty

A FEW MONTHS LATER

"Lily helped me pick out my dress today. I think you'll love it," Rosie said, her voice low and sultry as she lay on Tom's chest, watching him play with the hair around her face. The soft orange light from the candle on their bedside table was the only thing preventing them from lying there in the darkness.

Tom tucked her hair behind her ear; it was curlier than usual, and he was enjoying it. "That's all well and good, darling, but you haven't even helped me decide the location you want," he said, smiling joyfully at her as she grinned down at him, not one bit sorry.

 "Well..." She chuckled, dipping her head down onto Tom's bare chest. He ran his hand down her spine, enjoying the skin-to-skin contact, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her back.

 "Well, what?" he pressed her, bringing his hand to her face again and forcing her to look at him. His eyes searched hers, a playful yet determined glint in them.

 "I can't decide! You decide!" Her grin was contagious, and she began tracing lines with her fingers on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her touch.

"I'm just the groom. I'll get married wherever you want to get married, love," he replied, his voice tender and filled with affection.

"Would you hate me if we got married in a church?" she pressed, already knowing the answer but loving to tease him.

"Possibly," he said, narrowing his eyes playfully at her.

"Well, you choose then. Please."

"I would get married to you on the darkest streets of Diagon Alley, my love. I would marry you in the middle of nowhere. I would marry you in the kitchen, for Merlin's sake—it doesn't matter where it is, as long as you're there." His voice was filled with sincerity and passion.

She smiled at him, hugging back into his chest as he began to stroke her hair, his touch gentle and loving.

"How about in a field? I've always loved fields... but it has to be the greenest field in all of London. No small, stupid park. I want green as far as the eye can see," she said, her eyes dreamy as she imagined their wedding day.

"You're a difficult bride, you know that?" he teased her, and she slapped his arm playfully.

"Careful—I'll leave you at the altar."

"And I'd track you down to the ends of the earth and drag you back," he kissed the top of her head sweetly, meaning every word. There was no way Tom was ever letting her go again; they would always be together, in the end.

"Are you pregnant yet? You're glowing," he said, hoping for good luck.

Rosie looked at him. "No, I'm not," she reaffirmed, neither sad nor happy about that fact. Tom sighed, holding his hands on her arms, feeling a pang of disappointment mixed with relief.

"We'll have to try again then, won't we?" he asked into her ear lowly. Rosie smirked at him, feeling a sudden hardness against her leg.

"How do you just do that? We've done it at least four times today. Are you not tired?" she asked, chuckling. Tom seemed offended at the suggestion that he could ever wear out.

"You mustn't understand just exactly what you do to me," he said lowly, flipping her over on the bed so he was above her. His head moved to her neck, already bruised from the amount he had sucked at it.

A sudden noise in the living room took them both out of their concentration. The door slammed open, and heavy footsteps rushed in quickly. Tom got up immediately, pulling Rosie up behind him and grabbing his wand.

"Put something on, love," he ushered her. He used his wand to procure pants for himself. He reached the door, waiting to see that Rosie had something on before he opened it. She had thrown on his work button-up shirt. He turned back, opened the door, and moved to look around the corner with his wand raised.

He lowered it immediately when he realised it was just Ben.

"For Merlin's sake, Avery, why the fuck are you here?" Tom yelled at him. Rosie walked out quickly, still with no pants on, though Tom's shirt was long enough to cover her. Tom noticed her and pushed her back into the room.

"Love, put some pants on. I don't want Ben looking at you," he muttered. Rosie did as she was told, and Tom looked at Ben as if he was about to kill him.

"Sorry for interrupting your—well, yeah," Tom's gaze faltered. Ben never stuttered in his sentences.

"Spit it out, Avery," he said quickly.

"I thought you would be dead," Ben admitted.

"Dead?" Tom asked, still shirtless.

Suddenly, the door burst open again. Tom's eyes widened at the sudden sound of apparation in the small apartment. He closed the bedroom door on Rosie's face and threw a curse at a wizard in a grey suit, killing him instantly.

Ben ducked as another wizard threw a curse at his head. He jumped back and threw the killing curse in return. Tom killed the third attacker without hesitation before he could harm Ben.

All this happened before Rosie could open the door again. Her hands flew to her mouth at the sight of three dead bodies in her house.

"Tom?" she asked, shaken a little.

Tom grabbed her and pulled her to his chest, holding her head carefully as he turned to look at Ben.

"Search them. Why did you think I was going to be dead? Did you know they were coming?" Tom asked harshly, still holding onto Rosalie like she was about to disappear.

Ben leaned down to one of the corpses, sticking his hand into the jacket pocket and pulling out a white piece of paper.

Ben looked hesitant to open his mouth. "Yeah... a few of our scouts received some intel."

"What intel?" Tom snapped.

"Intel that William has betrayed us." Ben opened the piece of paper from the man's pocket and handed it to Tom. Rosie's eyes widened, but she dug herself into Tom's chest so he wouldn't see.

"What?" he asked in disbelief.

He read the note, which included their address. Tom could recognise William's messy handwriting from anywhere.

"Are you sure?"

"Malaco spotted him with Dumbledore."

"Fuck," Tom cursed, throwing the note to the floor as he pulled Rosalie away from him, bending down to meet her eye level. He didn't want to have to do this- Tom knew what killing William would to to Lily, and in turn what it would do to Rosie. But he also knew there was no other choice.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. Rosalie looked at him, her persona fading, her features blank and emotionless.

Tom left her, motioning for Ben to follow him out of the apartment. It took a few minutes for Rosalie to snap back to herself, but when she did, she started to panic.

"Tom, no!" she suddenly screamed, running out of the apartment after him. She met him by the time they got down the stairs and onto the street. She tugged at the shirt he had put on while walking out the door.

"You can't kill him!" she yelled, tears in her eyes. All she could think about was Lily and the baby she had in her stomach.

"You can't do that to Lily—she'll die!"

"It's not her I'm hurting," he said bluntly, coldly. Ben looked between the two of them impatiently.

"What about their baby? Don't let their kid grow up without a father!" she begged him, staring straight through to his soul. Tom looked at her, feeling himself falter. But then he felt the need to act. He couldn't just swallow betrayal and forgive and forget. Voldemort wasn't someone who would do that.

"You may be mine, but know your place," he spat at her, tearing his eyes away as he apparated away. The sudden breeze of the street felt too cold for Rosalie's liking.

Her heart was thumping, and she immediately knew what she had to do. She ran back up the stairs, apparating in the process back to her and Tom's room, where they shared a telephone. She dialled William's estate number as quickly as possible, waiting for it to connect. When it did, a house elf answered.

"Good evening, Lestrange househo—"

"Give me Lily! Right now!"

"My mistress is currently asle—"

"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK, PUT HER ON THE PHONE!" Rosalie screamed, feeling herself on the verge of tears. It took a few moments before a tired voice spoke into the phone.

"Hello?" Lily spoke tiredly.

"Lily, listen to me—you and William need to get out of there right now," Rosie said quickly and urgently, making sure she understood every word.

"Rose? What, why?"

"Just get out of there. Tom is—"

There was a sudden burst of sound through the phone. Rosalie could hear Lily's fright through the cable.

"Lily, get the hell out of there!" she tried to yell, but it was too late. All she could do was listen on the phone.

"NO, DON'T!" she could hear her friend scream.

"PLEASE, WILLIA—"

The sound of a curse traveling through the air ripped through the phone. The sudden, uncontrollable sobs coming from her friend were all Rosalie needed to drop the phone and fall to the floor, grabbing onto her hair with such strength that she thought she might pull it all out.

Sudden hyperventilation hit her. That was William. William was dead. Lily didn't have William anymore. Their child didn't—

Tom had done that. He had done that. 

The sudden realisation that Rosalie had was enough to make her stone cold sober again. She looked around at her life, at their bed, at their ensuite, down at the ring on her finger that Tom had proposed to her with. It was all too good to be true.

How could she go on living this life knowing she was partly responsible for ruining her best friends? She used the wall to push herself up, her heart beating at a rate it shouldn't as she pushed herself to the bed, leaning under it to grab the small trunk they used when going away for the weekend.

Rosalie found herself set on an autonomous mode. Walking back and forth, putting clothes into the suitcase then walking to the bathroom to grab her things from there. Just the bare necessities, she thought. She held onto her heart, begging for it to stop. She knew this felt wrong, she hated it, she was betraying Tom by doing this but she had betrayed Lily first.

Why did she deserve love, if Lily didn't? 

Tom was a cruel man, Rosie knew that, but some sick and twisted thought in her mind actually made her believe that he would listen to her, that he would never do anything to hurt her.

"Know your place"

He had said that to her. And Rosalie right then and there knew in her heart that right then and now, her place was no longer here, no longer with him.

She closed the trunk, locking it at all corners as she walked out of the bedroom, around the dead bodies.

Dead bodies. She realised.

Was this life ever really normal?

She was about to head through the front door when something felt heavy on her finger. She looked down at the ring and felt like breaking down. Every happy memory, every movement, every change, every action, every conversation. 

Was it worth it?

Rosalie took the ring off, placing it on the dining table before leaving the apartment without turning back. She ran down the stairs, knowing she had very limited time until he was back, and she knew he wasn't lying tonight when he said he would follow her anywhere to try and get her back. She knew that. But Rosalie didn't want to be found.

She was at the bottom of the building when she heard the unmistakable crack of someone apparating in the apartment above her. Rosie quickened her pace.

She looked both ways as she crossed the street, unsure where to go, where to apparate to. Walking in a straight line felt like some sort of start at a fresh life. What would she do? Live a Muggle life among normal people in the hopes of never seeing him again? Move to another country? Another continent?

Was this what freedom felt like?

The moment Tom returned to the apartment, everything seemed too dark for his liking. The life had been sucked out of the air, and he wasn't sure what to do. He moved past the bodies on the floor and into the room, now a mess of clothes and things strewn everywhere. His heart sank when he realised Rosie was nowhere in sight.

"Rosie?" he called, desperation creeping into his voice as he retraced his steps back to the kitchen. There, something glimmering caught his eye on the dining table. He rushed over, inspecting it in the light.

"Rosie, baby, where are you?" he called again, rushing out of the apartment, following the sound of footsteps on the pavement outside. By the time he got to the street, his heart dropped.

"Rosie!" he called after her. She stood in his shirt and a skirt she had never worn before, her hair in a mess. She slowly turned to face him, her face red and tear-streaked.

She wanted to say something to him, anything. She was glad there was a street between them because she wasn't sure what she would do if she could see his face clearly. Rosie gripped her wand, swallowing hard before she apparated away from the street.

Tom looked at the spot where she had been, a sudden hole in his chest at her absence. He walked across the street irrationally, coming to stand where she had stood, his heart racing like never before as he turned himself around, looking in every direction, waiting for her to come back and say she was joking, that she wasn't leaving him.

Tom dropped his wand, his hands flying to his head as he looked around, his chest heaving. He didn't notice the shallow blue light beginning to leak from his wand until it started forming in front of him. He looked down, seeing the blue light emanating from his wand. He watched it change and contort.

Tom felt his eyes glaze over when he saw what it was. He picked up his wand and looked up at the lonely black swan that he had accidentally emitted into the air, sitting alone as it looked around. He threw his wand across the street in frustration, flying through his patronus in the action and dissipating the lonely swan.

He didn't need any more confirmation that he was deeply in love with her, when he had just lost her.

---

1947

---

The years in which Rosalie was gone from Tom's life were dark and devoid of any emotion; grey and dull were the waters in which his mind travelled over every memory that they had ever had together. Happy memories turned sad because of the moribund truth that he had left him alone to become the thing about him that Rosalie had always hated most:

Voldemort.

Tom rolled over in their bed, he found himself waking up on Rosalie's side more often than not, his senses longing for the fading scent of her perfume on her pillow that Tom refused to wash. He grabbed the pillow pathetically and pushed his face into it, the muscles on his back tensing as the sheets pulled down off of him.

Despite Tom's quickly growing wealth, after all this time he had chosen to remain in his and hers tiny apartment to the west of London. It was barely ever large enough to accomodate them both but he liked it that way, the forced proximity of every morning before he left for work and every evening when he would spend hours just holding her, asking Merlin if she was even real.

Tom was aware he could afford a larger home, a castle even, with how well things were going with his movement in the shadows. But how could he ever live in a home that didn't leave her scent lingering. It was the thing she left that felt the most real.

Suddenly Tom felt cold, his sheets ripped off of him in an instant. He pulled his sorry head away from Rosie's pillow and looked down to the end of his bed at Ben who stared at him, disrespect lingering in his bold gaze. 

Ben hated seeing his lord like this; depressed and broken. He hated the fact that he could just simply walk into Tom's apartment and pull the sheets off of him without getting killed. Once upon a time; before his lord set his obsessing gaze on Rosalie Grindelwald, Tom Riddle was powerful.

Now all he could see was a hollow man of what he once was. He was serious when it came down to it, but as his closest follower; the closest thing Tom had to a friend; Ben knew that Tom wasn't as strong as he once was when every day he is in fear that Rosalie is somewhere out there alone and not at his side.

"Are you going to get up?" Ben asked, his tone snarky. Tom was too tired to bother a response, Ben coming in like this was a usual occurrence, so he dove his head back into her pillow.

Ben looked to the ceiling pitifully, turning himself around slowly to go into Tom's wardrobe, he opened the door and all his eyes could see were dresses; most of them white like the ones Rosalie would always wear, still placed neatly where they were meant to be like she was going to use them. He searched for any of Tom's clothes but none could be found.

"Where are all your clothes?" Ben asked, Tom didn't respond again. Ben looked at him for a minute and gave up before walking back into the living room, looking at the decor that hadn't changed since Rosalie had left, the pictures she had put up of her and Tom among other things scattered across the walls of the apartment. 

He noticed the pile of clothes in the washing basket that looked like they hadn't been touched in weeks. Rosalie was the one who did their washing for them, she liked looking after Tom. Ben tutted and walked back into his room.

After two full years he was still codependent of her.

"You really should get rid of some of her stuff," Ben suggested gently, his eyes sweeping over the remnants of Rosalie's presence in his room. Tom sat up on the side of the bed in his boxers and began putting a pair of un-ironed pants on, brushing a hand through his hair.

"It's like she still lives here." Ben said with a slight chill. Tom looked at him harshly, his eyes darkening. When he spoke his voice was cold and menacing.

"She will always have a place here, Ben. Don't ever suggest otherwise." He said, looking back down as he picked a shirt up. 

Ben shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the conversation always heavy when it came to talking about her. He knew better than to bring it up every day. 

"Any new developments I should know about? Have you been doing your job or have you decided to become my personal pain in my ass?" Tom asked him, tying his shoes then getting up and leaving the room, expecting Ben to follow closely behind.

Maybe Ben was his friend, even if Tom hated to admit it, but he was still superior.

"Yes well, I'm sorry for checking up on you my lord." Ben said slowly, his tone still scared to use sarcasm on Tom.

"I don't need checking up on." He snapped.

That was her job.

Tom quickly pulled out of his sorry thoughts and started back at Ben as they made their way down the stairs of the building. Tom pulled out a cigarette packet from his jacket pocket.

"Most of the men are working in the Department of Mysteries, Capella managed to get herself a promotion... Merlin knows how." Ben began the conversation again, eager to get away from Tom's anger. He passed Tom a lighter as he lit the cigarette and took a breath. 

Tom looked back at him momentarily and gave him the lighter, holding the cigarette low as they got onto the street. "When will full control be possible? We need something from the Unspeakables."

"It won't be more than a few weeks," Ben said, his voice cutting through the hum of cars leaving their parking spots and heading into the city.

Tom took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. "Make it one week and we won't have a problem."

Ben nodded. "I also hid the Gaunt Ring like you asked—"

"And you and I are the only ones who know?" Tom interrupted, the secrecy of the matter his top priority.

"Yes, that's right," Ben confirmed.

"Remind me to remove it from your memory later," Tom ordered sharply.

"Yes, my lord," Ben agreed, feeling Tom's usual authoritative demeanour slide back into place the further they moved from the apartment.

"We just had a new batch of followers join us, which increases our numbers by 150%. But—"

"It's not enough," Tom interrupted, his frustration clear. "I want more people. I need them out looking for her. She has to be out there somewhere."

Ben sighed, understanding the futility but also the necessity of continuing the search if there was any hope of his lord returning to some semblance of normalcy. "We've searched everywhere, Tom. There's no one by that name anywhere in Europe. Anywhere in the world."

Tom paused, deep in thought, his mind racing with possibilities. "Keep looking," he commanded.

---

The grand drawing room of Malfoy Manor was dimly lit, shadows flickering against the ornate walls as the only light came from a few enchanted candles. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that came from a shared purpose and unwavering loyalty. Tom sat at the head of a long table, his eyes cold and calculating as he surveyed the gathering. His closest followers hung on his every word, their expressions a mix of reverence and fear.

"Progress," Tom commanded, his voice slicing through the silence. "Report."

One by one, his followers gave updates on their various missions. When it was Ben's turn, he stood and spoke with the efficiency and respect Tom had come to expect from him. "My Lord, we've successfully taken control of the Department of Mysteries. The operations there are secure, and all sensitive information is now under our control."

Tom nodded, a hint of satisfaction flickering in his eyes. "Good. Ensure that nothing leaks. The Ministry must remain in the dark about our activities there."

Ben continued, "Additionally, we've gained access to several key Ministry officials. Their influence will be instrumental in the upcoming campaign."

Tom's expression remained impassive, though his mind was already considering the next steps. "What of the artifact?" he asked, his voice low and intense.

"It hasn't been found as of yet, but we are searching, my lord."

Tom nodded again, a faint frown playing at the corners of his mouth. "I see. And the search for her?" His tone sharpened, the underlying threat clear.

Ben looked troubled but obediently replied, "Still nothing."

Tom's expression darkened. "You're obviously not looking well enough." he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "She's somewhere."

The meeting continued, strategies discussed and orders given. Finally, Tom dismissed them, and one by one, his followers left the room. A figure, a few seats down the table lingered long after everyone had left the room and left Tom alone in his thoughts. 

He lifted his head and saw Capella lingering. He felt his frown grow at her interruption to his silence. The woman looked unwell, her hair crazed, her skin pale, her lips curled into a deadly smile. Her eyes never left Tom. For years, she had pined for him, her desire for the Dark Lord almost as consuming as her loyalty.

As the room emptied, Capella approached Tom, her movements graceful and deliberate. She stopped beside him, sitting against the table as she leant closer to him. Tom watched her carefully, his heart racing as her long slender fingers reached out for him.

Something about her was mesmerising, the dark clothes she wore or the dark aura that perturbed her; she was everything a dark lord should want from a woman. Capella was submissive; she was loyal; she wouldn't leave him

Tom stiffened as she slipped her hand over his on the table, his mind immediately drifting to Rosalie. He wanted to think about Capella's beauty, her sense of crazy that would die for him, but Tom could only think about how it should be Rosalie's hand in his, how much he missed her touch, her warmth.

"Tom," Capella whispered, her voice soft and seductive. "I'll do anything for you."

Tom's gaze flicked to her, his eyes cold. "Capella, this is neither the time nor the place."

Capella ignored his words, her advances becoming more aggressive. She got off of the table and slid herself down by his seat, climbing onto his lap with little respect for herself, her breath hot against his skin as she leant into him passionately. "Don't you want an heir?" she murmured, her lips brushing against his ear.

Tom's hands hovered over her waist, slowly placing them down as he closed his eyes and imagined it was Rosalie he was holding, that it was Rosalie's hair falling onto his face. He felt as she reached down and palmed him, kissing against his neck weakly as she begged for him to have a reaction.

"My lord... let me give you an heir, let me make you feel good... Tom." She whispered, and Tom opened his eyes at hearing his name, suddenly seeing the mess of black hair in front of him instead of the gold he had become so accustomed to.

Tom felt bile rise in his throat. The thought of anyone other than Rosalie touching him made him sick. He shoved Capella off with such force that she nearly fell to the floor. "Get out," he snarled, his voice filled with disgust and anger.

Capella stumbled back, shock and hurt evident on her face. She quickly got up, gathering herself as she stood up and stared at him, wondering if he had really meant it. The look of disgust on his face as she stared at him told her enough, and she made her way to the door quickly, suddenly afraid of her safety. 

And Tom was suddenly alone in his thoughts. He gripped onto the table and felt his hands against the wood, trying to remember what Rosie's skin felt like. The pit of disgust rising in his stomach when he realised he couldn't remember. He knew she was soft, but he couldn't recall the feeling of her on his lips, of her skin touching his.

Later that night, Tom found himself on the balcony of the apartment he had once shared with Rosalie. The cool night air did little to calm his racing mind. He lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag as he stared out into the darkness. Memories of Rosalie flooded back, unbidden and relentless. He remembered the last time he held her, the way she had looked on top of him, her small, soft hands in his, her laughter like a balm to his weary soul. He hadn't smiled in years, not since she left.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes distant and haunted. Was everything he did worth it? The power, the glory, the wealth—it all felt hollow without her. He wondered if he had lost the only thing that ever truly mattered to him.

He finished his cigarette and flicked the butt over the balcony, watching as the ember died out before it hit the ground. He remained there, lost in his thoughts, until the chill of the night forced him back inside. The apartment was a mausoleum of memories, each object a reminder of the life they once shared. The bed still smelled like her, her clothes remained in their places, and the pictures and decorations she had put up to make it seem more homely were untouched.

Tom made his way to the bathroom, his mind replaying the scene with Capella over and over. He turned on the tap, letting the water run as he splashed his face, trying to rid himself of the feeling of Capella's touch. He washed his mouth out three times until his gums started bleeding. Frustrated and overwhelmed, he punched the mirror, the glass shattering and cutting his knuckles, the mess of blood on the sink mocking him.

He sank to the floor, tears streaming down his face as he clutched the engagement ring he kept in his coat pocket. The pain of losing her was unbearable, and the realisation that he might never see her again tore at his very soul.

Tom remained there for what felt like hours, consumed by a grief that refused to fade. The memory of Rosalie was a ghost that haunted him, a reminder of what he had lost and the emptiness that now filled his life. He was the Dark Lord, feared and respected by many, but without her, he was nothing.

---

The air was thick with the scent of fear and desperation. The room, dimly lit by a single, swinging bulb, was filled with the muffled sounds of agony. Tom stood over a bound and bloodied man, the sweat wet on his forehead. The unfortunate soul was a high-ranking muggle government official, now reduced to a trembling figure under the relentless torment inflicted upon him.

"Tell me what I want to know," Tom hissed, his voice cold and menacing. The man's resolve had been impressive, but Tom's patience was wearing thin. "Where is the information you're given by the minister?"

The man shook his head, his defiance flickering despite the pain. "I... I can't..."

Tom's wand moved with a flick, and the man screamed as another wave of excruciating pain coursed through his body. "You will tell me," Tom said, his tone chillingly calm.

As the man's resistance faltered, he turned to his side, squirming under the curse, something gold slipped from his pocket and clattered to the floor. Tom's keen eyes caught the glint, and he bent down to pick it up. It was a locket, old and worn, but unmistakably familiar. He paused the curse on the man and bent down to touch it. 

"It can't be." Tom said quietly to himself, holding the gold in his hand, the gold he had gotten for Rosalie to wear on her neck. His heart skipped a beat as he opened it, revealing a small photo of himself from his days as Head Boy at Hogwarts. Tom's mouth opened, he hadn't seen such a picture in a long time. 

His fingers reached inside for the photo and pulled it out, turning the small piece of paper to read the inscription.

Tommy, 1943 

It said, a small heart unmistakably drawn by Rosalie sitting next to the words. For the first time in a few years, he might've actually smiled. Tom's breath caught in his throat. He looked at the man with renewed intensity. "Where did you get this?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

The man, sensing a shift, stammered, "I... I found it on the street. A girl dropped it when she was rushing out the door. I was going to return it to her this afternoon. Before you..."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Describe her."

"She was... young, wearing one of those summery yellow dresses, beautiful, blue eyes, with golden hair. She didn't even notice she dropped it, she was in such a hurry." The man spoke like it was about to save him; and it just might.

Tom's mind raced, the realisation hitting him like a physical blow. Rosalie had been wearing his necklace. The symbol of a time that now felt like another life. His heart felt as though it had been torn to pieces all over again. For a moment, he understood why they said love was a weakness.

He stepped back, leaving the man panting and trembling. "Leave him," he ordered coldly to his worker. "Torture him for the information about where he found this." The man on the floors face dropped again, his yells immediately entering the air.

As Tom turned to leave the room, Ben burst through the door, his face flushed with urgency. Tom's temper flared. "This had better be important, Ben, or I'll kill you for this interruption."Ben, unfazed by the threat, spoke quickly. "We found her, my Lord."

Tom's heart seemed to stop. "Where?" he demanded, his voice barely more than a whisper. "The man..." He looked down to the muggle on the floor behind him. "I was looking at his location and only a couple blocks down there was a house." 

Tom looked at him expectantly.

"A house registered under the name Rosalie Grindelwald and..."

Ben hesitated, but the look in Tom's eyes forced him to continue. "And Daniel Allen."

Tom thought he was joking at first, but the look of complete sincerity on Ben's face had immediate jealousy surge through Tom's veins. It couldn't be true. Tom refused to accept the consuming thought of Rosalie with another man. 

"Daniel Allen?" he repeated, his voice dripping with venom.

Ben nodded, taking a cautious step back. "Yes, my Lord. From what I can gather, They've been living together for the past two years.

Tom's mind was a storm of emotions. Love, anger, betrayal. He could feel his resolve  hardening. "Do you want to prepare a team?" Ben asked. Tom looked at him, his voice cold and lethal. "I think I'll pay her a visit by myself."

Tom took a deep breath, the locket still clutched in his hand. The image of Rosalie, wearing his necklace, refusing to fade from his mind. The pain of losing her once again fuelled his determination. He would find her, and this time, he wouldn't let her slip away.

A/N

sorry for uploading late. Annoying to write when you're sober. love u guys.