A part of her soul
The moment was shattered by the door swinging open with an abrupt force, and a man entered, his presence immediately drawing Tom's attention. He whispered something into Tom's ear, and the casual, intimate atmosphere that had just enveloped them evaporated. Tom's expression shifted, his previous warmth replaced with a steely, serious look.
"Doll," he said quietly, but with a firmness that made Violet's chest tighten, "I have to meet up with some people. We'll see each other again soon, alright?" His voice was a calm command, almost as if he were trying to protect her from something she didn't yet understand.
Violet nodded, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, sure," she responded, though her mind was already racing, wondering what was going on. Tom had always been one to conceal his true intentions, and she knew better than to trust the smooth, calm façade he wore in front of her. There was something he wasn't telling her, something more dangerous than he let on.
Tom turned and strode back into the crowd, vanishing among the sea of elegantly dressed figures. Violet stood there for a moment, watching him go. Her suspicions were on high alert now; something was off. She had come to this ball with one goal in mind—to find out what Tom and the others were truly up to, and she wasn't about to let him slip away from her sight so easily.
With quiet determination, she followed him inside, keeping a safe distance as she maneuvered through the grand hall. She knew exactly where he was going—upstairs, to Abraxas's office. Violet had seen the older Malfoy's name mentioned in hushed conversations before, and she had no doubt that the meetings happening behind those doors were far from innocent.
She took her time, careful to remain unseen, as she made her way toward the staircase. Tom had just entered the office and disappeared inside. She lingered at the top of the stairs, waiting for the perfect moment.
The door was slightly ajar, just enough for her to press her eye against the crack and glimpse what was happening inside. Her heart raced in her chest as she saw several familiar faces gathered around the room, their voices hushed but intense. Julius was there, as expected, standing with a few other notable figures—some old acquaintances from his days at Hogwarts, others high-ranking officials from the Ministry. But it was Tom who seemed to command the conversation, his voice smooth and persuasive.
"We are doing well," Tom said, his tone chilling in its calmness, "the best so far. People are afraid of us. Terrified. The cowards will succumb to fear and join us. The brave ones... we'll bribe them with our wealth, and for those we cannot convince, we'll kill them."
The words sent a cold shiver down Violet's spine. The room was filled with power, ambition, and a sinister promise of violence. This wasn't just a political game. This was something darker, something she wasn't sure she could stand idly by and let unfold.
She shifted slightly, trying to catch more of the conversation, but then she heard someone else speak.
"Where's Crouch?" the voice asked. "He was supposed to tell us the situation at Hogwarts."
A small knot of dread began to form in her stomach as Dolohov answered, his voice cool and measured, "He should be here any moment."
Violet's eyes widened. Crouch was part of this. That meant he, too, was involved in whatever twisted plans Tom and his associates had in mind. She took a slow, steady breath, realizing she needed to act quickly. Crouch was coming, and she couldn't risk being seen.
She turned to leave, but before she could make her escape, she found herself face-to-face with Barty himself. His tall figure loomed over her, and a knowing smirk crossed his lips as he observed her.
"You know, V," he said, his tone light but his eyes sharp with amusement, "it's not okay to snoop."
Violet's stomach dropped. She hadn't expected to be caught, but there was no escaping the situation now. "I— I wasn't snooping," she stammered, trying to play it off. "I was looking for Abraxas."
Barty's gaze narrowed, and she could see the amusement in his expression turn to something more calculating. "I know when you lie," he said, a small smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm your best friend, remember?"
Violet swallowed hard, her mind racing for a way out. She could feel the walls closing in, but there was no way around this now. Barty had seen her, and it was only a matter of time before someone else would, too.
"I admit it," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I was curious about what everyone was doing in there. I wanted to know what was going on." She met his gaze, her voice pleading. "Please don't tell anyone you saw me. I'll leave now."
Barty watched her for a moment, his eyes scanning her face as if weighing his options. The silence stretched on, and just as she began to wonder if he might betray her, he spoke.
"Fine," he said, his voice low, but there was a certain seriousness in it that she hadn't expected. "But on one condition."
Violet nodded quickly, desperate to escape this without causing a scene. "Fine, whatever you want."
Barty's gaze softened slightly, but his expression remained serious. "Promise me you'll never poke your nose into our business again."
Violet's heart thudded in her chest. Our business. It was a simple statement, but it made everything suddenly much clearer. Tom, Barty, Dolohov—they were all involved. She had suspected as much, but hearing it out loud made the reality all the more terrifying.
"I promise," she said, her voice almost a whisper.
Barty nodded, his eyes studying her one last time. He gestured toward the door, his face softening for a brief moment. "Good. Now, move," he said, his voice soft yet firm. "I'll cover for you."
Violet breathed a quiet sigh of relief as she stepped back into the shadows, her heart still racing. As she watched Barty open the door and slip inside, she realized just how deep she was in, and how dangerous this web of secrets truly was. But there was no turning back now. She had to learn more—had to find a way to stop whatever it was that was unfolding in that room.
Violet sat by the window, her fingers pressing against the cold glass as she stared out at the snow falling gently over the garden. She had never felt so... stupid. The night had been full of promises—of secrets to uncover, of mysteries to solve—but now she found herself alone, frustrated, trapped in the stillness of her own thoughts. How had she been so careless? How had she let herself get caught eavesdropping on that meeting? She'd thought she could stay hidden in the shadows, remain unseen, but that had clearly failed. What would Barty do now? she wondered. He had warned her, after all.
She could feel the weight of her mistake settling in her chest. All her life, she'd been protected, kept in the dark, sheltered from the dangers lurking in the world of dark wizards and those who followed the Dark Lord. But not anymore. That illusion of safety had shattered the moment she met Tom Riddle, and now she was deep in the heart of a web of deceit and danger. There was no turning back. If she wanted to uncover the truth, she would have to take risks. No more hiding.
She looked down at her hands, her nails digging into her palms. She wasn't sure what she was even hoping to achieve tonight. She had no one to talk to, no one to confide in. All she wanted was to be close to Tom, to feel like she was part of something real—something she could understand. But every time she thought she had a grasp on it, everything slipped through her fingers like sand.
The music from downstairs floated up to her room, but she couldn't bring herself to join the others. The laughter and conversation felt like a mockery. She wished she could dance, but she had no one to dance with.
Suddenly, the door to her room creaked open, and she looked up, startled. Tom stood there, tall and confident as always, his presence commanding the space. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, though it wasn't quite playful—it was knowing, almost mischievous.
"Need a partner in crime?" he asked, his voice low and inviting, holding out a hand to her. His eyes locked onto hers with a warmth that seemed to pull her in, irresistible as ever.
Violet felt a spark of something—maybe hope, maybe longing. She smiled, her frustration melting away for a moment as she rose to her feet. "Yeah," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Without another word, Tom pulled her towards the staircase. The music grew louder as they descended into the grand ballroom. The chandeliers above them glimmered like stars, and the polished floors gleamed underfoot. The guests seemed to part for them as they made their way to the center of the dance floor, leaving them standing in the middle, as if everything else had faded into the background. Violet's heart raced, and she couldn't decide if it was from the excitement of the moment or the intensity of being so close to him.
As the soft melody of the orchestra began, Tom took her hand in his, guiding her with ease. The room seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of them, swaying together under the watchful eyes of hundreds. Violet could feel the warmth of his hand against her back, pulling her just a little closer. The tension between them was palpable, and she found it difficult to breathe, not because she was suffocating, but because the closeness was almost too much to bear. She felt exposed, vulnerable—but at the same time, she felt alive in a way she never had before.
"Tom, what if someone sees us?" Violet whispered, her voice laced with both excitement and anxiety. She wasn't sure whether she was more afraid of being caught or being too consumed by the moment.
He smiled, the slightest curve of his lips, and his grip tightened just a little. "No one would dare utter a word, my doll." His voice was like silk, soothing, but carrying an unspoken promise of power. With those words, she felt a sense of security wrap around her. She was safe with him, at least for now.
As they continued to dance, the world outside their bubble seemed to disappear, the music, the voices, the eyes—everything but Tom and herself. Violet lost herself in the rhythm, letting the music take her, letting him guide her as if they were the only two people who mattered. Her heart beat in time with the music, and for once, she felt as if she belonged—like she was part of something bigger than herself.
Breaking the silence between them, Tom leaned in slightly, his voice soft but earnest. "I got you something for Christmas," he said, pulling a small box from his pocket. She looked up at him, curiosity flickering in her chest.
He opened the box slowly, revealing a delicate necklace inside. The crystals on the chain shimmered in the soft light, and Violet gasped in awe. It was breathtaking, the way it caught the light and sparkled as if it held some kind of magic within it.
Tom looked down at her, his gaze deep and intense. "If you ever miss me," he continued, his voice barely a whisper, "just hold onto it, and it will be like I'm with you."
Violet felt a rush of warmth fill her chest. The gesture was so intimate, so personal, and it made her heart swell with emotions she couldn't quite name. She reached out to touch it, fingers brushing against the cool metal, then turned her gaze back to him.
Violet hesitated for a moment before holding out the small package, her hands trembling slightly. "I... I got you something too," she said softly, her voice laced with both excitement and nervousness. She could feel her cheeks warming despite the cool air around them. "I thought you might like this."
Tom's dark eyes flicked down to the package, curiosity sparking in their depths. He reached out, his fingers brushing hers as he took it from her. The touch was fleeting but electric, sending a shiver through her. Slowly, deliberately, he began to unwrap the gift. The crisp sound of paper tearing seemed amplified in the stillness between them.
Inside was a sleek, leather-bound journal. The material was smooth and rich, exuding quiet elegance, and embossed in silver on the cover were his initials: T.M.R.. The corners of Tom's lips curled upward in a small, genuine smile, a rare sight that softened the sharp angles of his face.
"Happy birthday, Tom," Violet said, her voice barely above a whisper, but it carried a tenderness that made the moment feel even more intimate.
Tom stared at the gift for a moment, running his fingers over the embossed letters. His expression was unreadable at first, but then his gaze lifted to meet hers. There was something in his eyes—something raw, vulnerable even—that she hadn't seen before. "Thank you," he said, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it, almost reverent.
He stepped closer, his presence enveloping her like a shadow. One hand reached up, his fingers brushing her cheek. His touch was gentle, yet it sent a surge of warmth through her that made her heart race. "You're full of surprises, aren't you, doll?" he murmured, his voice carrying a note of quiet wonder.
Violet smiled, her lips curving upward shyly. She couldn't find the words to respond, so she simply stood there, letting the moment stretch between them. Tom's hand lingered on her cheek, his thumb tracing small, absentminded circles against her skin. The journal still rested in his other hand, but his attention was fully on her now, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch.
"You didn't have to," he said finally, his tone low and intimate, "but you did. You always find a way to surprise me, Violet."
"I wanted to," she replied, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. "I thought... maybe it could be something for you to write in. Your thoughts... or even just something to remind you that someone cares."
Tom's gaze softened, the corners of his lips lifting slightly in a way that was neither his usual smirk nor the calculated expression he wore around others. It was something else—something real. "You have no idea how much this means to me," he said, his words carrying a weight that Violet didn't fully understand, but she knew they were genuine.
The music from the ballroom drifted faintly into the room, and for a moment, Violet felt like they were the only two people in the world. Tom's hand fell from her cheek, but not before he let his fingers trail down to her chin, lifting it slightly so their eyes met again. "I don't say this often," he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, "but... thank you. Truly."
And then, without another word, he slipped the journal into the pocket of his coat, his expression shifting back to the composed, enigmatic look she had come to know so well. But Violet could still see the glimmer of something softer beneath the surface—a glimpse of the man behind the mask.
As they stood there, the snow continuing to fall softly outside the window, Violet felt a strange mix of emotions—pride, happiness, and a growing sense of connection to the man before her. It wasn't just the gift; it was the moment, the understanding that had passed between them, unspoken but deeply felt.
And in that moment, she realized she had given him more than a journal—she had given him a piece of herself.
Later that evening....
Tom stared at the gift, his mind momentarily blank. A notebook. So simple, yet there was an odd weight to it. Not in its physical presence, but in the fact that someone had thought of him enough to choose something so... personal. He ran his fingers over the leather, feeling the texture beneath his fingertips. It was practical, yes, but also strangely thoughtful. She had gone through the trouble of finding out his birthday—an act he found both perplexing and... touching.
Tom frowned. Touching. That wasn't a word he welcomed in his vocabulary. He closed his hand over the notebook, holding it tightly as though doing so could suppress the unbidden warmth spreading in his chest.
He stood, pacing the room, the notebook still in his grasp. The gesture reminded him of the vulnerability he had seen in her—the softness she extended to him so freely. It was the kind of thing he should have dismissed as weakness. And yet, with her, it wasn't weakness; it was... disarming.
Sitting back down, he opened the notebook to its first page. The blankness stared back at him, inviting him to fill it with whatever he chose. For a moment, he let himself imagine what Violet had hoped for when she selected it. Did she think he'd write poetry? Reflections? Or perhaps it was her way of asking for a piece of him, something he could put into words and share.
His lips quirked into the faintest shadow of a smile—not the cruel, calculated smirk he often wore, but something softer, something unguarded. He closed the notebook and set it aside, placing it carefully on his desk as though it were something precious.
She's a fool, he thought, but there was no malice in the words. No hatred, no disdain. Only a quiet acknowledgment of her audacity to care for him, and an even quieter admission that he might not hate it as much as he should.
The candle flickered, and the snow continued to fall outside. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Tom didn't feel entirely alone.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Tom didn't feel entirely alone