the great conjunction || chapter two
Tom Riddle & Reader
Two wizards stand before you, the stouter one of them with his back turned, showing you his hands wringing nervously together. He’s sporting a dated green cloak fringed with a deeper shade of emerald at the cuffs of his sleeves and a droopy, pointed cap, the kind of attire you’d seen in old Prophet clippings in the modern archives of the library. He must have been the one to find you, you assume, given his shaken demeanor.
“I do not doubt you, Horace, not in the slightest.”
The taller man speaks and you suck in a sharp breath. You hardly absorb his attire, a deep shade of fuchsia lined in subtle, geometric gold, tilting your chin up to catch the lines aging his too-young face. You recognize the other man, not just his voice but him , his beard not yet aged silver or grown long enough to tuck into the belt at his waist, the gentle, wizened manner in which he’s holding himself, those half-moon spectacles unmistakable from where they’re perched low on the bridge of his nose –
“Then what do we do, Albus? The girl’s not one of our own, that much I can tell you!” The other man’s indignant tone falls to the wayside with your realization, the spoken name confirming what you already pieced together.
Standing a foot away from your bedside was Albus Dumbledore looking fifty years too young for your time.
AO3
