A dark plan..
Violet awoke to the unrelenting cold that had seeped through the cracks of her modest room. The thin linen sheets tangled around her legs, their coolness biting into her skin. The air was thick, suffocating, as if the world outside had closed in around her, smothering her with its weight. She blinked, eyes still heavy from an agonizingly fitful sleep, trying to push away the images from the night before.
But they clung to her like ghosts, refusing to fade. Every detail of Tom's touch, his kiss, the cruel force he had used to take something from her that she couldn't give willingly—it was all there, replaying in her mind, refusing to let her escape.
She pushed herself up from the bed, a shiver running down her spine as her feet touched the cold floor. The room was silent, too quiet, a constant reminder of the emptiness she now felt. Her body ached from the tension, the stress of the past few months, but it was her heart that was the heaviest. How long could she keep running from the truth? The weight of it crushed her every time she thought about the path she had chosen. She couldn't deny it any longer. No matter how much she loved him, Tom Riddle had become someone else—something else. And that kiss, that forced kiss, had shattered whatever fragile illusion she had left.
With a deep, trembling breath, Violet forced herself to move. She dressed quickly, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the buttons of her blouse. Her reflection in the mirror showed a girl she didn't recognize—a girl who had wandered too far into a dark world, a world where light barely pierced through the thick walls of her own regret. Her skin was pale, a ghostly hue under the dim light. She looked tired, drained of life, as if every decision had taken another piece of her soul.
The door creaked open with a soft groan, and Violet's heart skipped when she heard the gentle knock that followed. Her stomach twisted into knots. She knew who it was without even needing to see. Molly
Violet opened the door with a slow, hesitant motion. Her friend stood there, her face pale but composed, though the worry in her eyes was unmistakable. Molly's gaze flicked over Violet's disheveled appearance before her lips parted, but no words came at first. She stepped inside, her presence a silent reminder of the world Violet was trying so desperately to avoid.
"We need to talk," Molly said softly, her voice carrying an undertone of fear that Violet couldn't ignore.
"I know," Violet murmured, her voice thick with guilt. "I... I know you're all disappointed in me. You don't need to say it."
Molly's eyes softened, though a trace of anger still lingered. "It's not about being disappointed, Violet. We're worried about you. We know what you did last night. We saw you leave. The Order... they know too."
Violet flinched. She could feel the weight of their judgment pressing down on her, suffocating her from every side. But the worst part wasn't the disapproval—it was the part of her that already knew they were right. She shouldn't have gone. But there had been that voice inside her, that relentless need to see him, to feel something, anything, that made her take that step toward him again. That voice was still there now, even after everything. Even after seeing him—Voldemort—for what he truly was.
"I had to see him," Violet said, her voice breaking slightly, a soft sob threatening to escape. "I needed to understand... I thought maybe he'd change back. I thought..." Her words faltered, her hands trembling as she wrung them together in a futile attempt to calm herself.
Molly shook her head, stepping closer, her hand resting gently on Violet's shoulder. "Violet, you have to stop this. He's not who you think he is anymore. He's not the person you loved. He's become something darker. A monster."
Violet closed her eyes, tears welling up but refusing to fall. Tom... my Tom... But the more she thought about it, the more the cold truth settled in. The person she had kissed last night had not been Tom. He had been someone—something—else. Her heart ached for the person who had once held her, whispered sweet promises, and made her feel like she belonged. But he had been replaced by something far more dangerous. Voldemort.
"I know," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I know."
But it was too late. She had already felt the power of his words—his promises, his obsessions. His grip on her had only tightened, and she had allowed it, despite the dread that crept into her heart every time she thought about the future. There was no easy way out. He had marked her as his. And she was trapped.
The sound of a soft knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Molly's expression grew grim. "The Order," she muttered under her breath, and Violet knew this was it. There would be no more pretending, no more running away from what she had done. The truth had come to find her.
***
Meanwhile, in the shadowed corners of his lair, Tom Riddle sat alone. The flickering fire cast long shadows across his face, contorting his features into something dark and twisted. His thoughts swirled like a storm, as he replayed the events of the night before. The memory of her—the way she had stood there in the rain, so fragile, so willing to come to him despite everything. Her kiss, though cold and filled with resistance, still clung to him like a drug. She will be mine again. I will make her see the truth.
Tom's fingers tightened around the armrest of his chair as he stared into the flames. His mind raced, calculating, plotting. The war was closer to his victory with each passing day. The Ministry was crumbling, the Muggle-borns were falling, and his followers—his loyal followers—were ready to carry out his every command. The world would soon bow to him, and Violet would be by his side. He would make her see that she had no choice. She would join him. He was certain of it.
"She's still mine," he whispered to the shadows, his voice soft, almost affectionate. "No one can take her from me. Not even her own conscience."
He smiled to himself, the coldness in his eyes growing. He knew where she hid now. He knew where to find her, and it would be only a matter of time before she would be forced to come back to him. The Order couldn't protect her from him. They were nothing compared to his power.
Violet sat in the dim room, the oppressive weight of the Order's presence pressing down on her like a stone. They were watching her, waiting for her to explain herself, to offer some answer that would make sense of the madness she had walked into. But she had no answers. Only questions. Only pain.
"What happened?" came a voice, sharp and accusing, pulling her out of her thoughts. It was one of the Order members, a man she didn't know well. "Why did you go to him? What did he say to you?"
Violet swallowed, her throat dry as she tried to find the words, but everything felt hollow. She couldn't bring herself to tell them the truth. That part of her still longed for him. That part of her still loved him, despite everything. I can't tell them that.
"They're going to kill you," Molly said softly, her words filled with sorrow and fear. "And worse, they're going to kill everyone you care about. You have to stop this, Violet. You have to stop him."
But Violet couldn't stop the war that had already begun, couldn't stop the darkness from swallowing everything she held dear. Not anymore.
Tom's voice echoed in her mind, We will win. You will be by my side, whether you like it or not.
As the Order was discussing their next move so was He.
***
Voldemort stood at the center of the dark, cold room, his pale face lit only by the flickering torchlight. His crimson eyes burned with malice and focus as he stared into the shadows, his thoughts swirling with cold precision. The room was silent, save for the occasional creaking of the old stone walls that held his most trusted followers—the ones who remained loyal to him, bound by fear or ambition.
His plan had been coming together flawlessly. His power grew with each passing day, and the wizarding world trembled beneath his control. Yet, he could feel the stirring of resistance, the whispers of rebellion beginning to rise. The Order of the Phoenix. A pathetic group of fools, led by a man who had outlived his usefulness—Albus Dumbledore.
The thought of Dumbledore made Voldemort's lip curl into a sneer. The old fool had always been a thorn in his side. But even now, with his forces spread thin and his victory nearly complete, Voldemort knew better than to underestimate the Order. They were weaker, yes, scattered, and lost without any true leadership to challenge him. Yet, there was something about them that stirred a sense of annoyance in him.
They would not stop him.
Voldemort's mind was sharp, calculating. He knew that he had to act before their feeble attempts at resistance grew stronger. Dumbledore's Order, though scattered and disorganized, had been a thorn in his side for years. They lacked the unity, the ruthlessness, to truly challenge him. But they had one thing he could not overlook: hope.
Hope was a weapon, and Voldemort had spent his life eradicating it from the world. But the Order had a fire within them—a fire that could never be fully extinguished, no matter how many times he struck. The belief that good could triumph over evil, that light could prevail over darkness. It was laughable, yet dangerous.
He turned sharply to face his closest confidant, Bellatrix Lestrange, standing in the corner of the room, her face twisted with fanatic devotion.
"Bellatrix," Voldemort's voice was low, but it carried a terrible weight. "The Order of the Phoenix thinks they can stand against me. They think they can hide in the shadows, waiting for the right moment. They will soon learn that I am the end of all things. There is no future for them, no hope to cling to."
Bellatrix's eyes gleamed with fervor. "What do you wish of me, my Lord?" she asked, her voice dripping with reverence.
Voldemort's thoughts turned cold and strategic. "I want them broken. I want them to feel that there is no escape, no salvation. They must see what happens when they challenge me, when they dare to hope. But we must be subtle. It is not enough to crush them all at once. No, I want them to see their own destruction, piece by piece."
Bellatrix nodded eagerly, understanding the dark and cruel game her master played. Voldemort continued, his mind already racing ahead. He knew the strength of the Order lay in its unity. That was their weakness, too. If he could sow distrust, if he could isolate them, he would destroy their spirit before they even realized it." They have to doubt each other, be insecure and scared, suspicious of one another"