Y/n is a woman, a witch in her own quiet way-sensitive to things others can't see, drawn to energies she doesn't fully understand. She's Annie's friend, not from here, not really belonging anywhere, and already tired of the kind of people this town attracts.
Then there's Remmick, a vampire who should've taken her the first chance he got-but didn't.
What starts as curiosity turns into something darker: tension, hunger, restraint. While chaos unfolds and blood is spilled, he doesn't choose her like prey... he waits.
And when everything burns down, when the night takes more than it gives..
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Ladies get ready for a loooong and final chapter...
Enjoy!
FINAL CAP. 9
The next 3 weeks passed strangely, not peacefully. Nothing about what happened could ever be called peaceful. But quieter.
The nightmares came first. Some nights she woke because of screams that weren't there anymore. Smoke. Annie. Faces she had only known for hours and somehow would remember for years.
But every time, Remmick was there, sometimes sitting in the chair near the window, sometimes standing outside beneath the trees, unwilling to disturb her sleep. Sometimes beside her, but always there
The strange part was that he never asked her to stop talking about it.
Never told her to move on, never tried to explain it away. When she woke up shaking, he stayed, when she cried, he stayed, when she sat awake for hours staring into nothing, he stayed.
At first she hated that, because every comfort came from the same hands that had led her into the nightmare, and eventually it became too much. It happened late one night. The nightmare had been worse than usual. She'd seen Annie again, seen her die again.
He found her sitting on the kitchen floor before sunrise, knees pulled against her chest. For a while neither spoke.Then he quietly set a mug of tea on the counter.
Something inside her snapped. "Stop."
Remmick looked at her. "Stop what?"
"Being kind." The words left sharper than she intended.
Silence followed, the kind that made the room feel smaller.
His expression didn't change, she hated that too.
"You sit there and act like none of this happened."
"I do not."
"You comfort me."
His eyes remained on hers.
"You hold me when I cry."
Still silence.
"You look at me like I'm something precious." Her voice broke.
"And Annie is dead." The words finally landed, heavy, ugly, real
“Everyone… They're all gone” The kitchen suddenly felt too quiet.
Her eyes filled with tears again. "And all of it happened because of you."
There it was, the thing neither of them had spoken aloud.
The truth sitting between them since the night she opened the door.
Remmick lowered his gaze, not ashamed, not defensive. Just tired.
Anciently tired. "I know." He said, but not as an excuse neither an argument.
Just those two words, and somehow that made her angrier.
"You don't get to just say that."
"I know."
"Stop saying that." She said angry and sad at the same time
"I know."
She stood so fast the chair nearly fell over. "Then say something else!" The shout echoed through the house.
For the first time since she'd known him, Remmick looked genuinely helpless, not frightened, just helpless. Because there was nothing else to say. No explanation that could bring Annie back.
No apology large enough.
When he finally spoke, his voice came quieter than before.
"If I could change that night, I would."
She froze.
His eyes lowered briefly. "If I could bring them back, I would."
The words weren't dramatic, they sounded honest. "I have seen kingdoms disappear. Entire bloodlines vanish." His jaw tightened slightly. "And for all the years I've walked this earth, I have never found a way to return a soul once it has left."
Silence settled between them. "You think I do not know what was lost that night?" His gaze lifted back to hers. "You think I have not replayed it?" Something old flickered behind his eyes. "And, honey..." His voice softened. "I know we do not carry this grief the same way." Slowly, he stepped closer. "But I have carried grief." His gaze never left hers. "For longer than you can imagine." He paused. "I wanted many things when I entered that place." His voice roughened slightly.
"You were not supposed to be one of them." The confession landed harder than he intended. " I did not walk into that room planning to care whether any of you lived or died." Another pause. " But things took a different turn." His eyes remained fixed on hers. "And I know what you lost." The words came quietly. "I know why you wake before dawn." A small breath. "I know why you stop talking when certain memories find you." Another. "And I know that none of this becomes easier simply because I wish it would." Silence settled between them. "I cannot undo what happened."
His voice lowered. "But I can stay." His eyes softened slightly. "Even if it never passes completely.”
The sincerity hurt more than any excuse could have, because she can feel all the anger, but she believes him, she understands his point but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. It would've been easier if he were a monster or if he behaves like one. But no, he is not. And now there she is, crying and shouting at him like if he weren't able to shut her up in a second. But then again he didn't we wouldn't, quite the opposite.
The anger and confusion were still there. She could feel it burning inside her chest, but it wasn't enough anymore, at least not enough to keep standing or shouting.
The exhaustion arrived first. Her body dropped toward the floor as another tear slipped free despite her efforts, she hated that, to cry in front of him, feeling weak. Hated that after everything, part of her still wanted comfort from the very person standing in front of her.
A shaky breath escaped her. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. He went over to her side.
The kitchen remained wrapped in darkness, the first pale hints of dawn hidden somewhere beyond the curtains, quiet.
The kind of silence that only existed after a storm.
When she finally spoke, her voice sounded smaller. "I don't know what to do with it."
Remmick didn't ask what she meant, he already knew.
"The Anger." Her throat tightened. "The guilt… I didn't fight back, I didn't do something, I wasn't really there… if I would…" Another breath.”Maybe Annie, or someone would still here" she was crying again
" Don't “ He said quietly shaking his head; his arm was already around her shoulders “ Don't put that on you"
The stayed in silence for a moment
" And crying for people I barely knew." She turned to him and laughed weakly through tears. "How does that even make sense?"
Remmick watched her carefully. "It makes perfect sense."
She shook her head. "It doesn't."
"It does."His answer came without hesitation.
"You mourn what could have been."
That made her look at him. "You mourn the conversations they'll never have." His voice remained quiet. "The years that will never happen." Another pause. "The possibility."
The word settled heavily between them, because that was exactly it.
Annie wasn't only Annie. She was every future memory that would never exist.
Every laugh, every argument, every ordinary day stolen before it could happen.
Y/n looked away quickly, the tears came harder after that. "Damn you..." The words broke apart halfway through, I wasn't a real insult. Remmick understood anyway.
A faint, sad smile touched his mouth. "I know."
That earned him a wet laugh despite everything, something softened in his expression at the sound.
She leaned sideways, her head was on his shoulder now, and for once neither of them said anything. The silence felt different now, not empty, just shared.
Time kept moving, slowly.. The house didn’t feel like a place of mourning anymore… but it also didn’t feel like home yet. Something in between.
A space that had learned to hold grief without breaking from it. The nightmares still came. But not every night and not intense anymore, when they appear, she no longer wakes up screaming. Sometimes just breathing too fast.
Sometimes just staring at the ceiling until reality settled back into place.
And every time— he was there. Sometimes just existing in the same silence, as if that alone was enough to keep her anchored.
There were mornings now that almost felt easy, normal, like everything had been just a bad dream.
She would make tea, he would already be awake reading something he didn’t really need to read. Watching her without making it obvious. She noticed anyway.
One morning, when she woke up she laughed softly. “I always forget you're always awake.”
He turned towards her. “I don’t sleep like you do.”
They look each other
“I know.”
And somehow that was enough, sometimes she danced while listening the radio. She loves dancing, that's something he clearly knows. Music lived inside her even when everything else had burned.
And he would stop moving, whenever he sees her dancing, he stops whatever he’s doing to admire her.
One night she caught him. “I’ll get nervous if you keep looking at me like that” she said while dancing
He smiled satisfied “no, you won't”
“I might, especially when you’re hiding there”
He remained quiet, just observing “I am learning you”
That made her stop for a second, and she didn’t know why it stayed with her after.
At night, sometimes, she sits outside with him. The river nearby.
Quiet water moving like time itself didn’t care what had happened there before. He never rushed those moments, never filled them with words. Just them, sitting together, watching nature.
The night felt warmer than usual. The river reflected the sky in broken pieces of light. She sat with her arms behind her back and her knees up, watching the water move. He was beside her as always.
Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t heavy anymore, just familiar.
Then
“I’ve been thinking...” she said looking at sky
He turned slightly toward her.
She exhaled slowly. “I think I should leave.”
Silence for a moment
“This place… it doesn’t feel like before” she continued, her gaze stayed on the water. “I don’t hate it.” a faint breath.
“But I don’t belong to it anymore, well I never did… I don't feel myself anymore, not here”
A little pause, “so that's why I wanna leave"
Remmick studied her for a long moment. “Are you certain?”
She smiled slightly. “No., a beat “But I think that’s the point.” That made him look away briefly, as if something inside him understood too well.
"But I know, I don't wanna do it alone” she looked at him, deeply.
They looked at each other deeply, the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, it felt like theirs.
“If you want to, of course" she ended.
"My love, you know exactly what I want” he said
She smiled at him he touched her face, she leaned at his tocuh
Remmick's hand remained against her cheek for a moment longer.
The river continued moving beside them, indifferent to every promise ever made beneath the stars. Neither of them spoke again.
There was nothing left to discuss. Only a road waiting somewhere beyond the trees. And for the first time in weeks, that thought didn't frighten her. It felt like breathing.
The move happened quietly, not a dramatic farewell nor with a final look over her shoulder. Just boxes, books, a few clothes, herbs hanging upside down from kitchen beams, and a life that no longer fits inside those walls.
When the door closed behind her for the last time, she expected something of relief, sadness, or grief. Instead she felt strangely empty.
Remmick stood beside her in the fading light, waiting.
She looked at the house once more, then turned away, and together they left.
One night Remmick returned shortly after midnight, the scent of rain clung to his coat. So did blood, not his, never his.
He stepped through the front door expecting silence, instead he found music.
The living room glowed red from dozens of candles, the curtains were open, moonlight poured through the windows, and in the center of the room— Y/n danced, bare feet. Loose white fabric swirling around her legs. Arms raised toward the crimson moon hanging outside, ancient symbols drawn in chalk surrounded her, like whatever she's doing was already in motion.
Maybe another spell, he thought, Remmick stopped immediately. Watching, admiring as always. The air shimmered. He smiled amazed at her.
For a second the room filled with figures, women, dozens of them.
Shadows made from memory and magic.
Ancestors. Witches, generations stretching backward through time.
They danced with her, around her, through her.
Like living echoes.
Y/n smiled without opening her eyes. Remmick knows, knows very well that she can feel them, their presence, that she's not alone.
Apparently she did know she wasn't alone and not only spiritually
"You've been standing there for three minutes." She said without looking and never stop dancing.
His mouth curved. "Four."
That made her laugh now looking at him, she extended her hand for him to come in and take her.
He did and entered the room smiling at her, Remmick looked around, he could see and feel all of this energy and souls dancing in the room, he was amazed, he couldn't believe what he was watching, and so close, he let out a big a heavy breath, then he looked at her that was already dancing but never leaving his hands, he stopped her, he saw the souls once more and then at her, he took her cheek and went close to her.
" You have no idea what have you done" he said more that surprised
She went closer, “oh no, I do know, I can feel it, I just need time to see it" she said
He smiled satisfied and kissed her, needed and passionate.
Rain battered the windows, Y/n rested on the floor with her head against his legs while Remmick sat in an armchair. Reading. Or pretending to.
Mostly because she kept interrupting.
"You had brothers?"
"Several."
"What happened to them?"
A long pause.
His fingers moved slowly through her hair. “Time."
The answer carried centuries inside it, for a moment she thought he would stop there. Then surprisingly he continued. He told her about green hills, about stone houses, about horses, about fires burning through long winters, about a mother whose face he could barely remember now, about a sister who used to sing while working, about the women called witches and how intelligent and powerful they were.
About Ireland before history became history, and for hours she listened, not to a vampire, not to a monster. Just a man who had lived long enough to become a story.
Sometimes he sang, usually when he thought she was asleep.
Old Irish songs, ancient melodies. The kind that sounded older than language itself.
One night she opened one eye and smiled.
"Oh." she reacted
The singing stopped. Immediately.
Remmick looked down. "What?"
"I know that one." She said
His eyebrow lifted. "You do?"
She sat up, then quietly began singing the next verse. His expression froze, an actual froze. For perhaps the first time since she'd met him. The look on his face made her laugh.
Another night found Remmick returning long after midnight. The house was quiet.
At least until he reached the second floor, a faint golden light slipped beneath one of the doors. His brow lifted slightly, slowly, he pushed it open.
The room smelled of herbs, candle wax and something older.
Magic.
A circle had been drawn across the wooden floor, the candles surrounded it in careful patterns and symbols covered pages scattered around the room.
And in the center, Y/n sat cross-legged inside a pentagram, completely focused on whatever spell she was working through. She didn't notice him at first, or maybe she did. It was often difficult to tell.
Remmick leaned against the doorway and simply watched.
The sight brought an unexpected smile to his face. Not surprise, not concern, just affection.
Eventually she looked up. "There you are."
His smile widened. “There I am."
Her eyes drifted toward the clock. "You're late."
"I know."
She returned her attention to the book in front of her.
"So are you summoning spirits?"
"No."
"A demon?"
".... Maybe." She smiled "No”
"A curse?"
That finally made her laugh. “No."
Remmick stepped closer, stopping carefully outside the circle while his gaze moved over the symbols surrounding her. The candles. The herbs. The concentration on her face. Everything.
"I love that you're a witch."
That made her look up again, a genuine smile appeared immediately. "That sounded very random."
"It wasn't." His eyes softened. "You're the one sitting on the floor at two in the morning drawing symbols and talking to dead women."
Y/n laughed. The sound filled the room.
Remmick leaned down and pressed a kiss against her forehead, careful not to disturb the circle. Then he straightened again.
"Carry on, my beautiful witch."
For some reason that made her smile for the rest of the night.
Another evening found Y/n curled up on the couch, a blanket draped across her legs and book resting in her hands. The rain tapped softly against the windows.
For once the house was completely peaceful, or at least it had been.
Until Remmick appeared, without warning, as usual.
One moment she was reading, the next she felt lips brush lightly against the side of her neck.
Y/n didn't even look up. "Hello to you too."
A low chuckle answered her. His hands settled at her waist while he leaned over the back of the couch.
"I've missed you."
"You saw me twenty minutes ago."
"An eternity."
She rolled her eyes not angry and turned a page. Remmick watched her for a moment. Then kissed her neck again.
Slower this time. Y/n continued reading, or at least pretended to. His smile deepened immediately.
"I am hungry."
She nodded thoughtfully. "Then you should probably go eat."
He sucked her neck this time, y/h exhale at the feeling, she tried hard to hide it
"I should, right?." He said rough
"Yes." She said almost in a breath
Then another sucking, and this time he placed his hand on her chest and started massaging..
"You are not leaving, are you?"
"No."
"I figured."
Then his other hand went to her neck, her chin "You know exactly what I mean."
"Oh, really??... I don't."
"Oh, you do." He said making her look at him while the other hand remained in her chest playing with it.
"I really don't."
That earned him a soft laugh, the kind she only heard when they were alone.
One of his hands found hers, closing the book without asking, slowly.
His eyes were darker and immediately she knew he had won.
Again.
"That 's cheating."
"It worked."
She narrowed her eyes. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. And then kissed her, rough and possessive, his hand kept playing with her while the other reminded in her neck.
Y/n reached toward the lamp beside the couch. The room darkened.
Remmick's smile grew. "Ah."
"Don't get used to it." She said between kisses
“Mmmh" he simply answered with that hum
In a movement, she could go away from him, and just by the look of his face, she knew she would have problems, delicious one.
She walked backwards to the room, without taking my eyes off him, he was following her.
She smiled “How do you want me tonight, Remmick?"
His eyes turned red, dark red
“Do you want me quiet? Do you want me loudly?"
He smiled, they were already in the room
“Do you want me to beg for my life… begging you to let me??
"Be careful of what you ask, my love” he was on her in one movement.
Remmick was on her in a single movement. Y/n laughed, though the sound didn't last long.
The years moved differently after all, not faster, not slower, just quietly.
One season becoming another until neither of them could remember exactly when the house had become home.
They traveled, more than she ever imagined she would. Small towns hidden between mountains. Forgotten forests. Ancient ruins swallowed by time. Places that existed only because no one remembered they were still there, and eventually— Ireland.
The moment she stepped onto the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic, the wind nearly stole her breath. Dark waves crashed violently against black stone far below.
The sea seemed endless. Wild and ancient.
Remmick stood beside her with his hands tucked into his coat pockets while her hair whipped around her face. For a long moment neither spoke, he was so thoughtful.
"You miss it." She told him.
His eyes remained on the horizon. "Sometimes."
That alone told her how much, because Remmick almost never admitted missing anything. They spent weeks there. Green hills stretching beneath endless clouds, old churches, stone circles older than memory, villages where stories still survived.
Places where people spoke of spirits and fair folk with enough certainty to make outsiders uncomfortable. She loved every second of it. Especially the places history had forgotten, the ruined forts, the burial mounds, the old coastal paths.
One afternoon he took her somewhere he had not seen in centuries. Nothing remained of it now. Only grass and wind, a few scattered stones. Yet when she looked at him, she understood immediately.
"This was yours."
A long silence followed. "My family lived here." The words barely rose above the wind.
She slipped her hand into his.
He held it tightly. Neither of them let go for a very long time.
The years continued, and slowly, almost imperceptibly—
Y/n changed. At first it was nothing. A silver strand she found while brushing her hair, then another, and other. She noticed it, she knew everything was becoming different, at least physically, time was starting to take its course. Slowly, but significant.
Sometimes she noticed Remick's eyes lingered longer than they should have. She didn't say anything, she didn't feel bad about it, she knew, because it was not fear nor disgust. It was something quieter and heavier, like he was trying to memorize her. Every version of her. Before time decided for him. And she was intelligent enough to know.
The years are still changing her, and somehow they have only made her more beautiful for him.
Seasons layered over each other until they blurred. Autumn became her favorite in the same way it always had been.
One of those autumns, Remmick went quiet. Not distant. Just… elsewhere. As if part of him was no longer entirely in the room with her.bY/n noticed immediately. She always did.
On the fourth evening she found him by the fireplace.
"Hey… are you okay?" she asked, sitting beside him.
His eyes lifted from the fire. "Yeah, my love."
It wasn’t convincing.
"What 's going on? Do you want to talk?" Silence stretched between them.
Then— "August fifteenth."
His gaze stayed on the flames, for a moment, nothing moved in the room, then he spoke again.
"I watched my country die." The air changed.
"I watched villages burn. I watched children starve. My people…" His jaw tightened. "I watched men I knew hung from trees." The fire cracked softly, the only sound left alive. "I watched everything disappear." His voice lowered. "The language. The songs. The stories." A pause. Something fragile in him surfaced. "I thought if I survived long enough… I could remember them for everyone."
Y/n’s chest tightened. She knew history. But this wasn’t history. This was a memory still bleeding.Remmick let out a quiet, humorless breath. "Turns out even memory fades."
That was the first time she saw it so clearly. Not just pain.
Ancient grief. The kind that never stops happening, it only learns how to stay quiet. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She moved closer and wrapped her arms around him. At first he didn’t respond. Just stayed still, as if unsure he was allowed to break. Then slowly, he leaned into her, and something inside him finally stopped holding.
Later that night they stayed awake long after the fire died. Talking in the dark the way people only do when they don’t need to be seen.
Ireland. Loss. Memory. Everything that had no place in daylight, and somewhere between words, the conversation shifted. Softer. More dangerous in its honesty.
Remmick looked at her for a long time. "You gave up a great deal."
She frowned slightly. "Did I?"
"A family." The word sounded unfamiliar in his mouth. "A normal life."
Understanding came slowly. "Oh."
His gaze lowered. "I think about it sometimes."
"Remm—"
"What if you wanted children?"
Y/n let out a small breath, then smiled faintly "wey, I don’t know either."
His eyes lifted.
"I’ve never looked at a baby and thought: yes. That’s exactly what I need right now." She said
A quiet laugh escaped him. Real. Small. "I imagine you’d terrify most parents."
"I would be an excellent mother tho." she said proudly.
"Without doubt." A pause. "But I also know you would try to summon ghosts to babysit them."
"They would be well educated."
That did it. He laughed again. She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. "Stop worrying that I’m missing my life." …. "I am living it…With you." She said.
And for the first time that night, something in him eased.
Years didn’t stop after that, they simply kept going. Slow and quick at the same time.
Silver became white in her hair. Her steps slowed without losing their certainty.
And Remmick—he never once looked at her like she was fading. He still looked at her like the first time.
Time has changed her but never the way they treat each other.
This afternoon was beautiful, they decided to go to a small village café, they were spending the time each other everything was wonderful until it happened without warning: the waitress smiled politely as she set down their drinks.
Ok“Your son is very handsome.” she told to Y/N
Silence… uncomfortable
Remmick was about to speak up. But she stopped him
The waitress walked away, unaware she had just cracked something open between them. Remmick stared at the table. Y/n reached for his hand. Didn’t speak. Just held it and smiled. His fingers tightened around hers like instinct. Like grounding.
Neither of them mentioned it. But something changed after that.
Then the signs began, clearly… for her. At first, she thought they were simple things she noticed. But then, the way animals paused when she passed, the way dreams filled with voices she had never learned to call, the way the wind sometimes felt like it was speaking her name.
She didn’t tell him immediately, she didn’t need to.
One night, long after everyone else had fallen asleep, she woke and found him already awake. As if he had been waiting.
“You’re awake.” she said
“Naturally” he responds
She smiled, then silence between them, then—softly “My time is getting close.”
That broke him in a way nothing else had. “No.” Not loud. Not dramatic, just immediate, like a reflex “I know what you—"
She turned toward him fully. “Remmick.”
“No.” again, sharper. “Don’t.” They stood in silence then he looked at her like he was seeing something he had been trying not to see for decades, the lines in her face, the silver in her hair, the inevitability of it all.
“You love sunrises,” he said suddenly, his voice was rough, controlled only barely, “You love spring.” another breath. “You like dancing at sunrise.” His hand tightened slightly. “You feel alive in the morning.” His gaze dropped " And you won’t have any of that forever…. I don't want to take this away from you” That landed differently…
Y/n reached for his face, holding him gently. “Remmick…”
His eyes were already breaking in a way he refused to show fully. “I am going to die anyway.” Silence between them “I am not afraid of it.”
a soft breath. “But I don’t want death to be where we end.” That was the truth, it wasn't panic nor pleading, just truth. “I know what this is,” she whispered. “I know what immortality costs.” Her thumb brushed his cheek. “You spent our time together trying to make sure I understood.” a faint, sad smile “ and I do understand.”
His voice barely held. “You won’t come back the same.”
“I won’t come back at all.” silence. “and I don’t want to leave you behind in a world where I exist and then… won't.” a breath. “I would rather stay with you.”
That did it, not because it was dramatic, because it was chosen, after everything, still chosen. And for the first time in centuries, Remmick had no argument left that wasn’t grief.
Silence settled between them, not an uncomfortable silence. It was like the kind that only existed between two people who had already said the most frightening thing aloud. Remmick never looked away from her. She could almost see the battle inside him. Duty, love, selfishness, mercy. All tearing at one another. Finally, she smiled. Not because she had won, It was because she knew him.
"You don't have to answer tonight."
He closed his eyes. "...No."
She brushed her fingers through his hair." Just think about it." Another long silence. Then, almost absentmindedly, she laughed. “You know..."
His eyes opened again.
"Before I met you..." She looked toward the ceiling. "I spent most of my life hiding."
He frowned.
"This magic believes…." She smiled softly. "My grandmother used to say that every woman in our family learned two things before learning to read… to survive....and to keep quiet." A quiet breath escaped her. "We didn't tell people what we were." She looked down at her own hands. "I even hid it from Annie for years."
Remmick listened without interrupting.
"I trusted her, yes," she smiled. "But even then...I measured every spell, every herb, every symbol… I never wanted someone I loved to fear me." She turned back toward him. "And then I met you." A small laugh. "You walked into my life already dead."
That earned the smallest smile from him. "And somehow...I never needed to hide again." She reached for his hand. "You watched me dance under the moon, watched me cover entire rooms in runes… You kissed my forehead while I was sitting inside pentagrams." Another smile. " And you never once asked me to be smaller." Her thumb brushed across his knuckles. "So whatever happens next...I won't be walking into it afraid." Remmick lifted her hand to his lips.
She leaned forward until their foreheads rested together. "Think about it…Not tonight…Just think."
He nodded, and eventually...for the first time in hours...they slept.
---
Several days passed. Neither of them mentioned the conversation again. Not because it had been forgotten. Because both of them were thinking about it.
She spent long afternoons in the room upstairs, surrounded by books older than either of them cared to admit, candles, ink, runes, sometimes he found her reading.
Sometimes grinding herbs. Sometimes speaking softly in languages no longer spoken. He never interrupted. Only watched.
One evening he returned carrying a weathered wooden box. He set it gently on the kitchen table, she looked up from the pages spread before her.
"So." He said and removed his coat, for a long moment neither spoke then he crossed the room and sat beside her. "I've thought about it."
She waited.
"If this is still what you want..." His voice nearly failed him. "...I'll do it."
She reached for his hand immediately. He tightened his grip before continuing. "It will hurt."
She nodded. "I know."
"The bite, the hunger, then the years, the things you'll lose." Another pause. “The sun."
She smiled sadly. "I know."
"You'll never truly be alive again." He continued
"I know."
"You'll carry death inside you forever." He lowered his head. "And I hate that."
Silence, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek." I know."
He looked at her. "So...When?"
Her smile widened.”Not yet."
He blinked. " What?"
She stood. "I've spent months preparing."
That caught him completely off guard. “You... what?"
She laughed. "You thought I asked you to think while I did nothing?"
She walked toward the shelves filled with jars and old manuscripts.
"I had to solve one thing first."
His brow furrowed. “the age."
She looked back. "If you turn me today..." She touched the silver in her hair. "...I’ll remain like this"
Understanding slowly crossed his face. "You don't want that."
"It isn't vanity." She shook her head. "I earned every year."
Every wrinkle, every scar, every gray hair. She thought
" and I don't want to erase them." She said and smiled gently. "I want to say goodbye to them."
Remmick watched her without speaking. She opened the wooden box she had hidden beneath the worktable. Inside rested carved stones, bundles of herbs, ancient pigments, small pieces of iron engraved with ogham, and beside them, symbols from her own bloodline.
"I've been building something new." She looked almost excited
His expression became serious. "But you've never done this."
"No." She grinned. “Which makes this either my greatest achievement...or my last mistake."
He did not smile "I know you're truly capable but…"
She reached for his face. "It'll work."
"How do you know?" He said
"I don't." Then she laughed. " But magic has always required a little faith." She became quiet again. " When my heart stops..."
his entire body tensed. "...don't hesitate." He stared at her. "I'll know."
"And when you see the final mark begin to glow..." She touched one of the runes she intended to paint over her skin. " ....that will be me. My body will have reached the age I chose. That's when you bite.”
He swallowed. "...if I get delayed? "
"The spell won't stop. It'll keep undoing me.” She smiled. “And eventually...I'll become younger, younger and younger…. Until there's nothing left."
Silence.
She rested both hands against his chest. " So don't miss." She smiled at him, for the first time in centuries… Remmick laughed through tears.
He looked at her deeply "I won't." Said while gently stroked her cheek
Neither of them said it aloud, but they both understood. This wasn't a rejection of the woman she had become. It was a way of honoring her.
She had lived every one of those years, Remmick took it upon himself to do it and she had loved it. Now… she was choosing where eternity would begin.
When darkness settled over the forest, Remmick disappeared for a little while. She knew where he had gone before he returned carrying the old violin she had heard so many times throughout the years. A smile spread across her face. He needed no further invitation.
The first note floated beneath the crimson moon, slow and haunting, older than the trees surrounding them. Y/n closed her eyes. Her body remembered before her mind did. Bare feet pressed against cool grass as she began to move, not performing for anyone, not following steps, simply dancing the way she always had, with the wind in her sleeves and the earth beneath her feet. Remmick watched between melodies. The white in her hair shimmered silver beneath the moonlight. The lines around her eyes deepened every time she smiled. She had changed, wonderfully, beautifully. He had loved every version. The music continued until the moon stood high above them. Eventually the final note faded into the quiet. She walked toward him without saying a word. He rested his forehead against hers.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He wasn't sure whether she meant the music…or the lifetime, perhaps both.
---
She slipped from bed before dawn. Quietly enough that any ordinary man would have slept through it. Remmick wasn't an ordinary man.
By the time she reached the river winding through the forest, she already knew he was there. Hidden somewhere among the pines. Watching, just as the first time they met.
The morning mist floated across the water as she stepped into the river, laughing softly at the cold. Autumn had stolen most of the summer warmth, but she welcomed it anyway. She swam farther from the shore. Then stopped. Without turning around, she smiled.
"You know..."
Silence answered.
"You've never been particularly good at hiding from me."
A quiet laugh drifted through the trees.
"I wasn't trying."
She finally looked toward the forest. He stood beneath the shelter of ancient oaks where the first sunlight could not yet reach him. Only his outline was visible, she lifted one hand. "Come in." She said.
He glanced toward the brightening horizon before looking back at her. "No." His expression softened. "I wanted you to have it to yourself."
For a long moment neither moved, then the first light climbed over the distant hills. Gold spilled across the river, across the mist, across her face.
Remmick remained in the shadows beneath the trees, watching the woman he loved welcome the morning one final time. She turned toward him. Their eyes met across the water.
---
She slept through most of the afternoon. When she woke, the house smelled faintly of herbs and beeswax. Remmick was nowhere to be seen. She wasn't surprised, he was giving her space. By the time the sun disappeared, the house had grown quiet. Outside, the moon rose once more, then red and patient. Y/n climbed the stairs carrying the weathered wooden box beneath one arm.
When she pushed open the attic door, Remmick was already there. He had cleared the entire room, the floor waited. Empty, and ready. The attic was silent.
Only the wind outside and the quiet crackle of dozens of candles accompanied them.
3the weathered wooden box on the floor before kneeling beside it. One by one she lifted its contents with practiced care. Bundles of dried herbs. Small carved stones. Iron pieces engraved with ogham. Tiny pouches filled with ash collected from sacred fires. Finally, a folded piece of cloth containing the pigments she had prepared over months. Without speaking, she began arranging everything, salt formed the outer circle, herbs followed, runes, some belonged to her ancestors. Others belonged to his.
Old symbols from two peoples who had both survived by refusing to disappear. Remmick watched from the edge of the room. He didn't dare interrupt, when the final candle was lit, she looked up at him. "I need you inside."
His brow lifted slightly. “My love, we're in the middle of something" he joked.
She smiled back "later”
He stepped forward without hesitation."So the spell recognizes us both" .
She smiled. ”Correct"
He got closer and kissed her.
The scent of rosemary, cedar and beeswax filled the room, then she picked up a small ceremonial blade. Remmick's entire body tensed.
She noticed immediately. "It's only enough to wake the spell."
"It's okay." He said
She drew the blade carefully across her palm, a single crimson line appeared. The first drop of blood struck one of the carved runes. Every candle flickered at once. Remmick inhaled sharply, the scent reached him instantly.His eyes darkened for only a heartbeat before he forced himself to look away. She caught the movement, a warm smile crossed her face.
"You've always had remarkable self-control."
"For you." He clarified
She reached over and kissed him before pressing her blood against several symbols painted across her arms and chest. The runes absorbed it. Slowly...they awakened, a faint golden glow spread beneath her skin. She stepped toward him one last time.
"So." She cupped his face between both hands. "I'll see you in a few minutes."
His composure finally cracked, he leaned forward and kissed her, not hurried nor desperate, it was a kiss that carried every season they had lived together. When they finally separated, their foreheads remained together..Then turned toward the center of the circle. She lowered herself carefully onto the symbols she had spent months creating. The room became impossibly still, her voice rose in a language Remmick had never heard, the words flowed like water through the room, weaving together her ancestors and his old magic binding itself to older grief. One candle extinguished itself, then another, the air grew heavy, her breathing slowed…slower… and slower still, until it stopped.
Remmick was already moving before he realized it, he fell to his knees beside her. "Y/n..." No answer, he reached for her hand, it was cold, her pulse was gone, his chest tightened. Then he remembered.
When you see it... you'll know. He forced himself to wait, seconds stretched into eternities, nothing happened. Then… one strand of white hair darkened, then another, the wrinkles across the back of her hands softened, age retreated like the tide, years folded into themselves, her face grew younger with quiet, impossible grace, not all at once. Little by little, as though time itself were remembering her.
Remmick watched every change without blinking.
Years by years, then her forties, her thirties, then… the runes painted across her skin burst into a warm golden light. His breath caught, there she was, the woman who had walked into that forest alone all those years ago. The woman he had met beneath blood and fire. Exactly as she had been, he smiled through tears.
"There you are..." He slipped one arm beneath her shoulders, lifting her gently against his chest. She was still cold. "I've got you." His fingers brushed a loose strand of dark hair away from her face.
Then, with heartbreaking tenderness...he kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry." His lips found her neck, he closed his eyes, and did what she had asked of him. He bit her, he sucked all of her, her taste was unique, it was just as he remembered it… those moments when she let him do it. He held her as though afraid she might break. Never letting her fall, time disappeared, only when he felt the change begin, he pulled away. He gathered her completely into his arms. Waiting, minutes passed and he simply held her, then… the fingers resting weakly against his shoulder twitched, a slow breath entered her lungs, then another, her hand slid uncertainly across his back.
"...Remmick..."
He laughed, actually laughed. Relief broke through centuries of restraint as he buried his face against her hair. "You came back."
She blinked several times before looking up at him, everything looked sharper, every flame, every sound.
He touched her face with trembling hands. "How do you feel?"
She considered the question, then smiled weakly. "...Dead." she laughed
He stared for half a second, then laughed harder than she had ever heard him laugh, she lifted one shoulder "hey, my back doesn't hurt anymore." she flexed her fingers. "my knees either." She looked down at her own hands in amazement. "They're... young." Then it happened, without warning, she gasped, her expression changed completely, involuntary tears filled her eyes, she looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. "...Remmick."
He understood instantly, it was the bond, it had begun. Fragments flooded between them, she saw green Irish hills through a child's eyes. Smoke rising from burning villages, the weight of centuries, loneliness so vast it had become familiar.
He, in turn, saw moonlit forests, a little girl learning runes from weathered hands, her family, her mothers… the way she ended up alone. Annie laughing in a greenhouse. Every sunrise Y/n had ever stopped to admire. Every reason she had continued choosing life.
The memories crashed together until neither could tell where one ended and the other began. Instinctively, she threw her arms around him, he held her just as tightly, neither spoke, they didn't need words.
After a long while, he gently reached toward the wooden box."I have something for you." He said
She looked up, puzzled.
He opened it, inside rested several carefully preserved bags of blood.
Her eyes widened. "You... prepared this?"
"I thought you might need it." He lifted one carefully and placed it in her hands.
"Take your time, my love."
She looked from the bag back to him, deeply moved by the quiet care behind the gesture, even now… he had been thinking steps ahead, still taking care of her.
With trembling fingers, she brought the bag to her lips. The seal broke easily, and the scent hit her—rich, dark, alive. She hesitated for only a heartbeat before she drank.
The first taste was like lightning. Her entire body seized, her pupils blew wide, swallowing the warm brown of her eyes until only a thin ring of color remained. A broken sound escaped her throat, half gasp, half moan, as the blood flooded her senses. She drank with a desperate, primal hunger she had never known she possessed. Her hands gripped the bag, knuckles white, and she couldn't stop, didn't want to stop. It was ambrosia, it was fire, it was everything.
She pulled back, gasping, her lips slick and red. Blood dribbled down her chin, tracing a path along her throat, pooling in the hollow of her collarbone. More dripped from the corner of her mouth, staining her chest where it had spilled in her urgency. The sight was feral, beautiful, utterly undone.
"Oh my god," she breathed, voice wrecked. "This is what you feel? Every time?" She stared at him, eyes wide and gleaming. "This is what I taste like to you?"
Remmick's jaw tightened. His voice was low, rough as gravel. "You have always tasted better."
She lifted the bag again, not bothering to wipe her mouth, and drank more deeply this time. When she finally lowered it, her mouth was painted crimson, her chin wet, her neck streaked with red rivulets disappearing beneath the torn neckline of her shift. Blood smeared across her collarbone, her chest, a mess of hunger and abandon.
She licked her lips slowly, savoring, and then she looked at him—really looked at him. Her voice dropped to something raw, almost awed.
"How could you ever resist?" The words hung in the air, drenched in meaning.
Remmick's eyes darkened, pupils dilating until they swallowed the pale blue. A low growl rumbled in his chest. His gaze dropped to her mouth—that beautiful, bloody mouth—then flicked back to her eyes, then down again. He couldn't look away. His breath came faster, heavier.
Then, a thin line of drool slipped from the corner of his lips. He didn't wipe it away. He didn't seem to notice. His entire being was focused on her, on the blood, on the sight of her so utterly undone.
They moved at the same time, he crashed into her, and she into him. Their mouths met in a kiss that was nothing like the tender ones before. It was fierce, bruising, a collision of teeth and tongue and desperate need. He tasted the blood on her lips—his blood, hers—and groaned into her mouth, his hands fisting in her hair, pulling her impossibly closer. She clawed at his shoulders, at his back, nails raking down his spine as she kissed him back with equal ferocity.
His control was gone. She could feel it in the way his hands shook, in the guttural sounds he made against her mouth, in the way he devoured her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his chest heaving. His mouth was stained now too, smeared with the evidence of their shared hunger.
He kissed her again, harder, all restraint abandoned. His hands found her waist, gripping with enough force to leave bruises, and she welcomed it—the pressure, the possessiveness, the desperate way he pulled her against him like she might vanish if he let go.
She broke the kiss this time, gasping for air she didn't need, and looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, blood still glistened on her lips, her chin. Without a word, she took the bag of blood he had prepared and brought it to her lips again. But this time, she didn't drink. She tilted her head back and let it pour, the dark red liquid cascaded down her throat, over her chest, soaking through the thin fabric of her shift. It painted her skin in glistening rivers, pooling in the hollow between her breasts, dripping down her stomach, her white dress covering of blood, completely, she was a mess, she was magnificent. He gasped at the sight
She didn't wait for him to move, she reached out, grabbed the front of his shirt, and yanked him forward. That caught him off guard, she was stronger. She climbed into his lap, straddling him where he sat on the attic floor.
She smiled at him, slow and knowing. "Come here." she whispered in his ear.
He didn't think twice and started to kiss, suck every single drop of blood on her, her neck, her collarbone, her breast, she moaned at the sensation of his tongue and teeth, she rocked against him instinctively, his hands found her hips instantly, steadying her, gripping her harder, guiding her.
She brought the bag to her lips one final time, took a mouthful of blood, and then leaned down—slowly, deliberately, her eyes locked on his.
She kissed him, but this time she fed him. The blood passed from her mouth to his, warm and thick and intoxicating. He groaned against her lips, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through his entire body. His hands tightened on her hips, fingers digging into her flesh as he drank from her mouth like a starving man.
He was growling that seemed to come from somewhere ancient and feral. His tongue swept against hers, sharing the lingering taste of blood, he was kissing her harder and harder, this time there was nothing gentle in it, she moaned into him, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him groan. She kept rocking, rubbing herself against him, his hands slid from her hips to her thighs, then up, pushing the soaked fabric off.
His touch was burning, desperate, every barrier crumbling between them.
"If I cause you any pain, let know" he breathed against her mouth, the words torn from somewhere deep.
She pulled back just enough to look at him—really look at him. Her blood was on his face, his lips, his chin. His control was shattered. He was wrecked for her, and she had never seen anything more beautiful. She reached down and pressed her palm flat against his chest.
"I think I can handle it" she said, her voice command wrapped in a plea “Don’t hold back this time”.
His gaze snapped to hers, and something in him broke. His hands found the back of her neck, pulling her down harder into another bruising kiss, all teeth and hunger and the taste of copper.
She answered him in kind, rolling her hips against his, feeling him harden beneath her, and the low growl that rumbled from his chest sent a shiver down her spine. His hands left her neck, sliding down her back, feeling how soaked she was, he found the hem. He gripped it, pulled, and the ruined cloth tore easily, peeling away from her body like a second skin, she gasped against his mouth, the heat of his hands on her, his fingers splaying across her ribs, her stomach, tracing the curves of her like he was memorizing her all over again.
She broke the kiss, never stopping rubbing on him. She threw her head back as his mouth found her throat. He didn't hesitate. His lips latched onto the column of her neck, tasting the remnants of blood still drying there, and she moaned—loud, wanton, unashamed. His teeth grazed her and she felt the sharp edge of his restraint, the way he held himself back even now, it was unreal, hard to believe that now, she was like him.
"I said don't hold back" she breathed, her fingers twisting in his hair, pulling his face closer. "Bite me, Remmick. Hurt me or not, do whatever you please"
As an answer, he growled and vibrated against her skin, and then his mouth was everywhere—her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. He kissed, licked, sucked, leaving a trail of dark marks in his wake, claiming her in a way that went beyond possession. This was worship. This was hunger. This was centuries of want finally unleashed.
Her hips rolled against his again, kissing him, moaning, needy. He smiled at her rush, and stopped her by taking her from her neck and chin. She looked at him and tried again to kiss him but he was stronger, he didn't let her. She smiled at his control and dominance. With his hand still on her neck, applying gentle pressure, he guided her backwards until she was lying down, his finger went to her mouth, making her open it.
He leaned down to her and began to plant kisses all over her body, from her neck, shoulders and breasts, down to her stomach, until he reached her sex.
He started kissing it, savouring it, tasting it, devouring it. Her fingers went to his hair, taking him hard, stroking it, she covered her mouth with her other hand to stop herself from moaning too loudly, she failed because she was letting out cries of pleasure.
Remmick noticed it, he looked up at her from down there and pulled her hand away from her mouth. “No, no, I want to hear you"
She let her head fall back as he continued; he slid his hand down to her breasts, playing with them whilst kissing her urgently, his tongue picking up the rhythm. The hand caressing her leg went directly to her entrance and started touching her, focusing on her most sensitive area. Just when he saw she was ready, he slipped two fingers inside her, giving her non-stop pleasure. Right on the verge of making her come.
He let her go, sitting up slightly as he realised the mess he’d made her do. In desperation, she stood up to kiss him, she reached down to his trousers fumbling with the fastenings, her fingers clumsy with desperation. His hands covered hers, stilling them. She looked up, confused.
"Let me," he rasped, his voice shot through with need.
He took his clothes off and threw them away, his body covered hers, caging her in, and the weight of him was everything she had ever wanted.
He hovered above her, his chest heaving, his face a mask of barely controlled desire. His pupils were blown so wide they almost swallowed the iris. His lips were still stained with the shared blood. A thin line of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth, and he didn't even seem to notice, he didn't even care. She reached up, cupping his face in her hands. Her thumb traced the line of drool, smearing it across his lips. She brought her thumb to her own mouth, tasting herself on him, and smiled. Something in him snapped. His mouth crashed down on hers, devouring her again, his hand slid between them, finding her core. She gasped into his kiss as his fingers found her slick and ready, and he groaned at the feel of her.
He positioned himself between her thighs, and she felt the head of his cock press against her entrance. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and desperate, and he held her gaze as he pushed inside.
"You're so wet," he breathed against her lips, his voice reverent.
He started to move, she cried out at the stretch, the fullness, the burn of him filling her inch by agonizing inch. He paused, letting her adjust, his forehead dropping to hers. His breath was ragged, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding still. No matter how many years they've done this. This one feels different, big different.
He began with measured, controlled movements, but without asking, he started to intensify them, thrusting into her fiercely, he watched her fall apart, watched her face contort with pleasure, and the sight drove him mad. He added his thumb circling her clit with devastating precision. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and the sound that tore from his throat was almost animalistic.
“Ahh… mmm Remm—” her moans were louder, she couldn't control herself anymore.
His pace quickened, losing all rhythm, all control just by hearing her, he was a creature of pure instinct now, driving into her with a desperation that bordered on savage. She met him thrust for thrust, her nails raking down his back, her cries filling the attic, mingling with his growls and the wet sound of their bodies colliding.
"Remmick," she gasped, her voice breaking. "I'm—"
"I know," he growled, his hand finding her clit, circling it with practiced precision. "Let go. Let me feel it."
She shattered. Her body arched off the floor, a scream tearing from her throat as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Her inner walls clenched around him, and the sensation was too much. With a guttural roar, he followed her over, spilling inside her as he buried his face in her neck.
They stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together, their hearts pounding in unison. His breathing was ragged against her skin, and she could feel the tremors still wracking his body.
Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her. His eyes were softer now, the storm finally calmed. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her lips.
"I love you," he said, the words raw and honest. "More than anything. More than everything."
She smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face. Her fingers came away streaked with blood—his blood, from where she had clawed his back.
"I know," she whispered. "I love you too."
He kissed her again, soft and tender this time, a stark contrast to the ferocity of moments before. And when he pulled back, there was something like wonder in his eyes.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
She considered the question, then laughed—a bright, exhausted sound. "Alive," she said. "Really, truly alive."
He smiled "Good," he said, gathering her into his arms and pulling her against his chest. "I couldn't imagine my life without you."
She nestled into him, her head tucked beneath his chin, and listened to the steady rhythm of his heart. The attic was quiet now, the candles burned low, and the first hints of dawn were creeping through the small window.
The night air was cool and sweet, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth and distant wildflowers. They walked through the outskirts of a small village, hidden beneath the canopy of ancient oaks, their footsteps silent on the damp ground.
She moved differently now. Lighter. Freer. There was a grace in her step that hadn't been there before, a confidence that came from knowing exactly who she was and what she was capable of. Her dark hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, and her eyes—those warm brown eyes—held a glint of something ancient and powerful.
Remmick walked beside her, his hand resting on the small of her back, a quiet gesture of possession that had become second nature. He watched her as she moved, marveling at the way the moonlight seemed to cling to her skin, the way she seemed to glow from within.
She caught him staring and smiled. "What?"
He shook his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Nothing. Just... you."
She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her expression betrayed her. "You're incorrigible."
"Centuries of practice," he said, and she laughed.
They continued walking, the village lights flickering in the distance. It was peaceful—a quiet night in a quiet corner of the world. They had traveled to places together. Life feels different now
She loved it. The freedom of movement, the way her body responded to every impulse without the ache of age. She was young again and she embraced it with a joy that was almost childlike. When they found small gatherings, when the music started, she couldn't help herself. She would move, her hips swaying, her arms lifting, her feet finding rhythms that seemed to come from somewhere deep and ancient.
When she danced, she saw them, for the first time she saw her ancestors. The women who had come before her, the mothers, the grandmothers, the great-aunts who had whispered spells into the wind, their presence a warmth that wrapped around her like a familiar embrace. Before, she had only felt them—a tug at her heart, a whisper in her ear. Now she could see them. They danced with her, their movements echoing hers, their eyes gleaming with pride and love. She had never felt more connected. More whole.
Remmick watched her every time. He couldn't help it. She was mesmerizing, a force of nature that pulled him in and held him captive. But it was more than just her beauty, more than just the way her body moved. When she danced, the boundaries between worlds grew soft and permeable.
Simply because he was present in her performances, his ancestors returned just the same; they were there with everyone with him. His people, the ones he had lost. He had always seen them ever since she first danced for him. But they had never been as present as they are now that she is a vampire; what he had been striving for over the centuries, she made that happen, with her dancing, her connection to the old magic, her innocent invocation of the spirits. She opened the door for him, and they stepped through. Every time. She was his bridge, his anchor, his home.
After he saw her dance, he had spent so long searching for Samuel, convinced that the boy was the key to reaching his ancestors, to finding his people. But he had been wrong, she was his connection. She was his salvation. And he would spend eternity grateful for her.
---
That night, a lovely 70s atmosphere, lights, people – a night full of life, they followed the sound of music.
It drifted through the warm summer air, a guitar strumming a melancholy melody, a voice rough and raw and full of a pain that felt familiar. It came from a small bar at the edge of the village, its windows glowing with amber light, the sound spilling out into the night.
She stopped, tilting her head, listening. Her hand found his, squeezing gently.
"Do you hear that?" she asked, her voice soft.
He nodded. He heard it. And something in his chest tightened, a ghost of the old hunger, the old obsession. But it was different now. Quieter. More distant. They walked toward the sound, their steps unhurried, and pushed open the door.
The bar was small, crowded with people lost in the music. Cigarette smoke hung in the air, curling around the dim lights. A jukebox sat in the corner, silent and forgotten. All attention was on the small stage at the back, where a man sat on a worn wooden stool, his fingers dancing across the strings of a guitar.
Samuel.
He was old now, more worn. But his voice was the same, old too but still rich and raw and full of everything he had survived. He sang of loss and love and the weight of the past, and the room listened in reverent silence.
She felt Remmick tense beside her. She looked up at him, searching his face. But there was no hunger in his eyes. No desperation. Just... recognition, and something that might have been peace.
Samuel finished the song, his fingers lingering on the strings as the last note faded into the silence. The crowd erupted in applause, and he blinked, as if startled by the sound, as if he had forgotten where he was, and then he looked up.
His eyes found them immediately. He went still. Completely, utterly still. His face drained of color, and for a moment, she thought he might bolt. His hands gripped the guitar so hard his knuckles went white.
He stared at Remmick, and she could see the terror flash across his face—the memories of that night, the blood, the hunger, the endless chase, he had never stopped being afraid. Then his gaze shifted to her.
His eyes widened, he remembered her, his friend, the woman who had been kind to him, who had listened to his music and smiled at him like he was just a boy with a song. He had thought she was dead, he had mourned her.
And now she stood beside the monster who had haunted his nightmares, and she was... smiling.
She raised her hand and waved, a small and gentle wave, her fingers curling in the air. Her smile was warm, genuine, full of the same kindness he remembered. But she looked just the same as that night.
Samuel didn't move. He was frozen, caught between fear and confusion and something that might have been hope.
Remmick looked at him. Really looked at him. And then he did something that surprised even himself.
He smiled.
It was a small smile, a quiet acknowledgement, but it was real. There was no malice in it, no hunger, no obsession. Just the gentle acceptance of a man who had finally found what he had been looking for. And then Remmick nodded. Once. A slow, deliberate nod that said everything words couldn't.
I'm not here for you. I'm not hunting you. I'm not chasing you. I have everything I need.
He turned to her, his hand finding hers, and together they walked out of the bar. The night air hit them again, cool and sweet. The music followed them for a few steps, Samuel's voice starting up again, softer now, more hesitant. Then it faded into the distance.
She looked up at Remmick, her eyes shining.
"Didn't you want him?," she asked.
He shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I didn't. I never did."
She squeezed his hand, and they walked off into the night, the village lights fading behind them.
Samuel watched them go from the doorway of the bar, his guitar hanging loosely from his hand. He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. But somewhere deep in his chest, the weight that had been pressing on him for years—the weight of fear, of running, of never being safe—began to lift.
He didn't know why. He didn't know how. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe, just maybe, the nightmare was finally over.
He turned back to the bar, to the warmth and the light, and he played again. His voice was stronger this time. His fingers surer.
And somewhere in the distance, walking hand in hand through the moonlit forest, Remmick and Y/n smiled.
Tom Riddle (pre-Voldemort) x reader Female Character (Alhena)
Genre: Romance, Suspense, Time Travel, Dark Magic, Drama, Slow Burn, Smut
Timeline: Canon Divergence - Year 5 (Harry Potter) / Tom Riddle adult era (1950s)
Tags: time Travel, enemies to Lovers, Obsessive Tom Riddle, latin Witch OC, ancient Magic, mind Magic, Forbidden Love, Mental Bond, Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Angst, Dream Manipulation, Magical Rituals, Found Family, Voldemort Redemption Arc.
CAP. 13
For several seconds, nothing happened. Ollivander studied her in silence before turning away without explanation, disappearing somewhere between the towering shelves. Boxes shifted softly in the distance. Wood against wood. Glass clinking faintly. Althea glanced toward Tom.
He remained still beside her, one hand resting loosely behind his back, expression composed again, though she could feel it now — the sharpened attention beneath it. He looked almost pleased.
“Should I be worried?” she asked quietly.
Tom’s eyes flicked toward her. “Mmh Probably.” he said, just to make her feel anxious
Before she could answer, Ollivander returned carrying three wand boxes stacked carefully in his arms. “Let us begin.” he said
The first wand was pale ash wood, elegant and narrow.
Althea took it carefully. The moment her fingers wrapped around it, the tiny sparks dancing at the tip simply vanished. Not violently. Not extinguished. Like Absorbed. The room fell strangely quiet.
Ollivander’s brows lifted slightly. “Mmmh"
Althea looked down. “Did I break it?”
“No.” His voice remained calm, though slower now. “No… quite the opposite.” he said with a scrutinising look. Ollivander took the wand back carefully, almost thoughtfully this time, before offering another.
Tom stepped closer without realizing he had moved at all.
“Try this one, black walnut. Dragon heartstring" Ollivander handed her another one
The moment she flicked it, the wand bent unnaturally in her hand. Softened, like a snake. Its rigid structure loosened like warm wax, the wood curving fluidly between her fingers until it resembled polished dark rubber.
Althea stared in horror. “Oh my God—”
Tom actually laughed under his breath, a real one. Brief and low. Completely amused.
Ollivander, however, looked almost unsettled now, though not afraid. More like a man watching a law of nature politely rearrange itself in front of him.
“The wand is yielding,” he murmured softly. “Adapting pressure instead of directing it…”
Althea immediately handed it back. “Please tell me that’s normal.”
“It is not.” he simply said and went away again
Tom’s eyes never left her and that look had begun to settle into something far from curiosity… It was something like Pride.
Ollivander seemed to reach a decision then. Slowly and carefully, he turned toward one of the highest shelves in the shop. For the first time, he hesitated before retrieving a box.
Older than the others. Dark with age and dust clung to the edges. When he returned, even the air felt quieter somehow.
“This…” Ollivander said slowly, “has remained here for a very long time.”
Tom’s gaze lowered toward the box. “Why?"
Ollivander did not answer immediately "let's say… not anyone would be able to use it” he opened it.
Inside rested a wand of deep reddish wood, almost bronze beneath the dim light, its handle smooth and curved like winding roots.
“Rosewood,” Ollivander murmured. “And a thestral tail hair core.”
Even Tom’s expression shifted slightly at that.
Althea looked between them. “Is that bad or dangerous?”
“No,” Ollivander said softly, he handed it to her
“Okay…” Althea hesitated before taking it.. the instant her skin touched the wand, everything stopped, she didn't have to shake the wand, her simple touch was enough to transform the room because suddenly there was silence, everything stopped.
The floating dust in the air froze motionless. The fire beside the counter paused mid-flicker. Beyond the shop windows, Diagon Alley stood perfectly still — witches frozen mid-step, cloaks suspended in motion, an owl hanging soundlessly in the sky.
Even the tiny ticking clock behind Ollivander’s desk had stopped between seconds. Althea’s breath caught.
The world looked untouched and wrong all at once, like reality itself had inhaled and forgotten how to exhale.
Her grip on the wand tightened slightly.
“Sr. What doe-" she started
Ollivander was frozen too, completely still. Like part of the paused world around them.
A cold feeling crawled slowly up her spine. " No, no, no again…” she said nervously, her voice sounded strange inside the stillness, she looked around looking for answers and found Tom already looking at her, but not frozen nor trapped, very aware instead.
“Again?" He asked really calmly, like he just found out her very big secret. His dark eyes held hers from across the silent shop, sharp and intensely focused, and for the first time since she had met him, something in his expression looked almost shaken beneath the fascination, as if some part of him understood immediately that she can control time, well in his perspective… because this was not ordinary magic and wands always shows the Power that shares with you.
The air between them felt unnaturally heavy. Tom stepped toward her slowly, the only movement in a motionless world. Even his footsteps sounded muted against the frozen silence.
Althea stared at him. “Why are you not frozen too?
His gaze flicked briefly toward the frozen street outside before returning to her.
“Why don't you tell me? You seem to be quite good at this..” Another step closer.
The wand in her hand pulsed faintly, warm now, almost alive against her skin, and somehow, impossibly, the stillness around them seemed to deepen in response to both of them standing inside it together. Both of them looked at the wand, his eyes narrowed, frowned, concentrating on it.
The kind that settled somewhere deep beneath thought itself. His gaze remained fixed on the apparition forming above the wand as pale silver light began spilling from the rosewood tip, thin at first, almost delicate, before thickening into something far too detailed to be simple magic.
The frozen shop dimmed around it, Althea barely breathed.
The figure appeared slowly, like memory dragging itself through water. A tall silhouette cloaked in dark fabric stood with his back turned toward them both. Broad shoulders. Long black robes shifting faintly in unseen wind. The edges of the form flickered green-silver, unstable but unmistakably human… almost human.
Something about the silhouette felt wrong. Not monstrous, just wrong and… Familiar.
This figure, this person had his back facing towards Althea and Tom, they only could see his pale skin, his wand in his hand, long fingers, still.
They couldn't see who he was, well Tom couldn't know, but Althea’s breath caught in her throat when she saw that figure; she didn’t want to believe it, nor could she be sure, but when she's appeared in that kind of vision in front of him that figure she just paralysed, her stomach tightened violently. She saw herself kneeling on stone, not weak nor broken but exhausted. Her hair longer than it was now, darkened and wet, maybe with rain or sweat, strands stuck against her face as she looked upward at him from the ground.
Her breathing looked uneven even within the strange slowed flicker of the vision.
In that… she looked at him like she knew that person, without fear.
The silver projection crackled softly, the cloaked figure shifted slightly, enough for part of his profile to emerge from shadow, sharp jaw, hollowed cheek.
Tom went still beside her, he was calm, paying close attention to the moment, taking in what was happening. But his demeanor was very calm. Because although the face remained obscured, there was enough there now for instinct to do the rest.
Althea’s grip tightened around the wand.
The version of her inside the vision lifted her head slowly despite the evident pain in her body, the figure leaned in towards her slightly.
Her lips moved first without sound before the magic, apparently she was speaking, when her lips stopped moving, sharpened faintly and a voice finally emerged, distorted like an echo underwater.
“... you … taught… real ” it wasn't her voice, the vision flickered violently “...but…disappeared…” it was a low voice, a deep, hissing or sibilance sound.
Another distortion rippled through the projection. The silver figure standing over her tilted his head slightly downward, this time closer to her.
Then the voice returned one final time, quieter now. “…worst thing… ever gave me...”
The green light burst sharply across the frozen room, and then everything dissolved into smoke-like ribbons of silver that vanished instantly into the air. Silence crashed back over them.
The wand pulsed once in her hand again, warm but this time did nothing.
Tom’s eyes remained fixed on the empty space where the vision had been. His expression unreadable turned into a question one through her.
“What,” he asked quietly, “was that?”
She swallowed hard, with a blank stare. “...I don’t know.”
The answer was slow but genuine, like a well-considered response, his eyes sharpened.
“Who was he or… it?.” Tom continued
“I d—” The wand reacted suddenly before she could answer. The world snapped violently back into motion. The fire crackled, the clock ticked. A witch outside the window finished her step mid-stride. The owl flew forward as though nothing had happened at all.
Ollivander blinked once behind the counter, looking at her and the wand, waiting for something to happened
“so” he murmured absently, entirely unaware time itself had ceased around him “nothing with this one"
Althea stared at him, "Sr. Ollivander, how do I know when a wand is the correct one?” she asked placing the wand on the box
Ollivander carefully closed it, though even he seemed quieter now. More thoughtful. “Well,” he said slowly, “it has to choose you, there's always something mmm visible to notice it”
Althea stared at him a little bit confused for a moment, Ollivander glanced briefly between them both, and though his expression barely changed, she had the uncomfortable feeling he understood more than either of them wanted him to. “The wand responds to affinity,” he said carefully. “Not merely power.”
Tom’s gaze darkened slightly. “Affinity with what?”
Ollivander was silent for a moment too long, then: “Certain forms of magic leave impressions on the world. Rarely… the world answers back.”
Tom, unfortunately, looked more interested with every word
“Sr. Ollivander, don't you remember something… or feel… different?” Althea asked softly.
For the first time, Ollivander did not answer immediately.
His fingers remained resting on top of the closed wand box. Thinking. His pale eyes drifted toward the rosewood wand, then back to her.
“Different?” he repeated.
Althea nodded.
“What did the wand do?” Ollivander asked her
“I think everything stopped, or... maybe slowed, I'm not sure.” She answered
Then very slowly, his attention shifted toward Tom.
"And you witnessed this?"
Tom's answer came without hesitation. "Every second."
Silence, a long one, perhaps the first time since they had entered the shop, Ollivander looked genuinely unsettled, not frightened. He was fascinated but he hid it very well. His eyes moved from Tom to Althea and back again. Then he spoke quietly.
"Mmhh. Curious."
Tom's gaze narrowed slightly.
Ollivander folded his hands behind his back.
“Well.” He exhaled softly.
“I suppose that answers a question I've had for many years.”
Althea frowned.
Ollivander placed one hand gently atop the box. “I considered destroying this wand twice.”
That got both their attention.
“What?” Althea blinked.
“The wand remained unsold for decades.” His thumb brushed the worn edge of the box. “No witch. No wizard. Nothing happened.”
His eyes lifted toward her. “ Like if the wand was just… waiting.”
Althea looked down at the box.
“The wand chose you,” Ollivander said simply. “Quite decisively.”
“I don't think—”
“No.” For the first time he interrupted her. “The moment your hand touched it, the wand answered.”
His gaze softened slightly. “I should not sell this wand.”
Althea blinked, Tom's eyebrow lifted.
Ollivander looked almost pleased by the realization.
“Because it was never mine to sell.” His hand slid the box toward her.
“It is yours”
The shop fell quiet, even Althea didn't know what to say to that.
“Thank you so much, but I couldn't —"
"Please, I would feel uncomfortable selling it” Ollivander took the box and handed it to her
Althea looked unsure, but where she comes from, it’s rude to leave someone standing there with their hand waiting for you to accept the present.
“Thank you" She bowed her head and accepted the box
"Thank You, I've been waiting ages for this moment” he answered
Althea just nodded and smiled.
Then Ollivander's attention shifted, toward Tom.
“Mr. Riddle.”
Tom remained perfectly still.
“So, you said you were conscious during the event”
“But not all magic recognizes people in the same way.”
Tom's eyes narrowed slightly. “What does that mean?”
Ollivander was silent for a moment. Choosing his words.
“The wand chose Miss Althea.” His pale gaze settled on Tom. “But it allowed you to remain inside the moment it created.”
Another pause.
“Which suggests one of two possibilities.” Neither of them spoke. Ollivander continued."Either the magic permitted you to remain aware" His eyes returned to the wand box,
"Or perhaps it recognized a connection" His gaze lingered briefly between them. "Though I would not presume to guess its nature”. The silence that followed felt heavier than the frozen moment itself.
The silence that followed felt heavier. Ollivander seemed to realize the weight of his own words. His gaze moved between them once more, perhaps he understood that whatever connection existed between them was not something to be casually named.
“Well,” Ollivander said at last, breaking the silence with a quiet clap of his hands, almost as if returning the room to normal himself. “That is enough speculation for one afternoon.”
Althea Smile nodding. Tom’s eyes remained on him, clearly unsatisfied.
Ollivander simply turned toward the counter. He placed a bag gently in front of her. “A proper wand deserves proper care.”
Althea opened it carefully. Inside was a dark leather wand holster, lined with soft material, simple but beautifully made. “wow…”
“It is not enchanted beyond necessity,” Ollivander explained. “A wand is not meant to be imprisoned.”His pale eyes softened slightly. “It should be carried. Known. Trusted.”
Althea ran her fingers over the material. “It’s beautiful.”
Ollivander gave the smallest nod. “Consider it part of the welcome.”
She looked at him, surprised. “what?... No, no”
“My dear, after what just happened in my shop, I believe I received far more than I gave.”
Althea Smile and accepted it again
Tom watched, quiet. But she noticed his expression, something closer to amusement, like he was memorizing another small detail about her.
Ollivander looked at them once more. “If the wand behaves strangely…”
Althea and Tom exchanged a brief glance.
“…or if something unexpected occurs.” His eyes lingered on her. “Come back and bring the wand.”
Althea nodded, “I will, thank you.”
Ollivander smiled faintly. “Good.”
He moved toward the door, opening it for them.
The moment they stepped outside, the sounds of Diagon Alley surrounded them again, voices, footsteps, the distant call of shopkeepers, everything ordinary, alive.
Althea walked beside Tom for several seconds without speaking. The wand case rested safely, the weight of it felt strangely comforting.
Finally, she looked toward him. “What do you think about what we just experienced?”
Tom glanced at her. “why you ask?."
She rolled her eyes slightly, his mouth curved faintly at her reaction
"I would like to know your opinion” she said
“Mmhh it wasn't that shocking" he answered
“No, I mean it, didn't this make you think deeply or make you curious?... I mean, don't you want answers, don't you have questions?, why were you conscious too?” she asked in one breath
He stopped her and looked down at her deeply, their high difference was clear but cute in a way. Althea is really good at reading people even without magic, but that look. That way Tom was looking at her – she couldn’t tell if he agreed, if he wanted her to keep quiet; she didn’t know if he was comfortable or fed up. "Which is exactly why there is no point obsessing over it now, don't think about it" he said so easily with a beautiful smile "You’ll find the answers eventually “ and took her shoulder as a consolation hold.
She looked at his hand and then at him, she didn't expect him to act like that: so easy, so fresh. Not when she knows who will he be
“Okay.." she simply said
He smiled at her and something in it felt unsettled. He looks handsome, yes, but kinda creepy at the same time, because there was something hidden in it…
"Perfect, let's go”
Althea looked confused “Go where?"
"Wherever you want, you're a foreign here, let's get you somewhere you’d like to see“ he was being so charming, so nice, so uncommon from him
Althea nodded unsure, was he happy, was he hiding something?, well, she decided not to question it.
For now she simply followed him through the crowded streets of Diagon Alley, trying to understand this new version of Tom Riddle walking beside her.
It was subtle, but noticeable for her, she wanted to know why he changed, but she is not dumb, she will let herself be and observe him.
Tom still walked with that same effortless confidence. People still moved aside without realizing they were doing it. His posture remained impeccable, his voice measured.
But the sharp edges had softened, slightly. He stopped beside a shop, a florist first, not because he cared about flowers. She knew that immediately.
Tom looked through the display for barely three seconds before turning toward her.
"Such an observant…."
"Let's say, I notice most things." That answer sounded much more like him, the familiar unease returned.
She crouched slightly to look at a collection of magical lilies that opened and closed their petals whenever someone walked past, one brushed against her hand.
Tom watched her smile, a genuine one, small, unconscious, why is she smiling like that? Is she remembering something or just for joy? He thought, for some reason he remained silent, and observing …
Her attention was focused first on some purification plants, then on some power plants and others used for concentration. She was reading the details and the specifications, then talked with the person about what she saw. And then approached Tom.
“Really nice here, hmm. The plants here, and those back home, are worlds apart – it’s beautiful”
"Good, something in specific you liked?" He asked normally
They kept walking, she told him the plants she liked and the differences between the ones in home.
Few shops later they passed a magical menagerie, Althea stopped instantly.
Tom almost walked into her.
Inside, creatures of every shape moved through enchanted habitats. Tiny winged mice slept hanging from crystal branches. Kneazles stretched lazily across cushions. A puffskein bounced against the glass repeatedly for no apparent reason. She was already moving toward the entrance.
Tom sighed. "You are not even going to pretend to ask."
"I won't be long “ she said
"I'm going with you." He answered
"So nice of you” she said with a little bit of sarcasm
They walked together inside the place, there were a lot of wonderful creatures, they started watching at the Puffskein, five minutes later she was looking at the kneazles, she was asking its permission to hold it, he went to her side, she was already holding it. The Kneazle appeared like her, she turned to Tom.
“Don’t you wanna pet it?" She asked
Tom looked at her like trying to understand if this was a sort of test, then his eyes went to the Kneazle, measuring how it reacts to him.
When it took more than a minute, Althea carefully took his hand. He glanced at her surprised. She guided his hand to the Kneazle, of course without taking my eyes off him, to see if he let her. When his hand touched the Kneazle, it started to growl, slow and quiet, Tom looked nervous, not for being bitten, nervous for her reaction. Althea noticed his behaviour, but she didn't stop. She shushed the Kneazle instead, trying to calm it.
"Shh, shh, he's nice" she said, the creature didn't stop. “ Sh, she he's my friend"
The Kneazle turned to her and stopped growling, Althea smiled at the animal, and let Tom’s hand go for her to stroke the cat "Ey! Very good” she indulge it
She noticed that Tom was caressing the creature with his finger, with hurry or pressure, she almost believed that he was enjoying this. Althea didn't say anything, she didn't want to ruin the moment.
Tom stopped abruptly, quickly but not aggressively, he looked at her
“Okay, see you outside"
There was a silence just for a moment, he gave her a small smile and went to the front door.
Her attention went back to the Kneazle "He has some strange mood swings, doesn’t he?... Okay let's get you where you were" she put the creature back to its place.
"Lovely creature, isn't it?” A voice said
She turned and answer “It is, it is, and really friendly"
“Well, the Kneazle is friendly with you, because you’re not a threat" the guy answered, apparently the owner of the place
“Isn't it like that with all the animals, don't they feel when someone is a threat?"
"Most animals do, yeah, but no-one like this one”
"Why?” Althea asked
"They feel the real intentions of the one who is close, and if they feel something is wrong, they don't hesitate to attack," the guy said.
"Ooh, I see” she said looking at, now outside, Tom.
That explains a lot of things, she thought
She turned to the owner again, “ I have to go, but thank you for the information" she said going back to Tom.
"It's always a pleasure," the owner said.
When she got back to him, there was silence, tension, they started walking together. Althea let everything be, she didn't rush a conversation, he didn't know she just discovered about the Kneazle, so she acted normally, enjoying the silence.
"I thought you were going to adopt that cat” he finally said, breaking the silence
“Really, why?” Althea asked
Tom glanced at her. "You spent ten minutes talking to it."
"I was not talking to it."
"You absolutely were."
"Well, I was introducing myself."
"To a cat." He said with a sceptical tone
"And It understood me." She said with an obvious tone
Tom looked unconvinced, almost with a mock in his face
Althea folded her arms. " It doesn't surprise me" she look to another way "They're misunderstood creatures”
“Misunderstood creatures" he repeated
"Yes, both Muggles and Wizards believe they have the right to treat them however they please. Just because they are not like us" she said sadly and firmly
“There are clearly differences” he said
"Always, there will be… but that doesn't give us the right” she said
He looked at her, and slowly, a subtle smile spread across his face "You can be right, yeah”
For a moment the tension from earlier loosened, only a little.
"And what about you?" she asked. "You seemed nervous around that cat."
Tom's expression remained perfectly calm. "I wasn't”
Althea looked at him “you don't like animals?"
Tom looked back, neither moved, he opened the door they had Infront, guiding her to come in. She didn't realise he was walking her to this place in the first place.
"I simply wasn't interested in being judged by a creature with whiskers." He said crossing the door after her
The windows were overflowing with sweets. Chocolate figures climbed over displays. Sugar feathers floated lazily through the air. Entire shelves seemed dedicated to products that looked dangerous.
Althea stared the place “A Candy Shop?" She looked at him.
"You have the attention of a particularly curious crow."
She let out a little surprise laugh "What doe's that mean?"
"Never mind,” he said "After you." He said, making a gentlemanly gesture with his hand
Althea narrowed her eyes "Who are you and what have you done with Tom Riddle?, You are being unusually pleasant."
Tom looked genuinely confused. "Am I?"
"Yes."
"I wasn't aware kindness was so alarming."His smile was immediate
"You've been kind in your way… this feels different" she said.
That actually earned a quiet laugh from him, brief but real
“I’m still the one you met."
"Yes, you're but a little more attractive with this behaviour haha”
Tom's eyebrow lifted. "A little more attractive?"
Althea immediately pointed toward a shelf. "Oh hey! Chocolate frogs."
"Is that your way to change the subject?" He asked
She didn't answer, just smiled at him and walked away before he could continue.
Tom followed her
Althea stopped in front of a display. "What are these?
A large brass fountain sat in the center of it, releasing glittering powder into the air. Several children stood around it laughing as colorful clouds exploded above their heads.
Beside the fountain rested rows of tiny chocolate dragons.
"Those look adorable." She said "Pepper Imps.”
Tom followed her gaze.
Althea immediately picked one up. "They're dragons."
Tom watched her inspect the tiny sweet creature shape
"I love dragons." She said
That made him glance at her. "Do you?"
"Of course." She turned the sweet between her fingers.
"They always look terrifying and majestic and then someone draws one sleeping and suddenly they're the cutest thing you've ever seen."
Tom stared at her for a moment. "I have never heard anyone describe dragons that way."
"That's because people have no imagination."
His mouth twitched slightly.
Althea looked at the sweet. "Do they taste good?"
Tom considered answering, instead he simply took one from the display and handed it to her.
"Try it."
Suspiciously, she took a bite. For several seconds she chewed thoughtfully.
"Hmm."
Tom waited.
"It's actually good." Another chew. "Spicy, but goo—" A tiny burst of orange sparks shot from her mouth.
Both froze. Althea blinked.
Tom stood still, a look of emotion in his eyes.
Silence...
"...Did that come out of me?"
Tom looked dangerously close to smiling. Before he could answer, one of the children beside the powder fountain blew a massive cloud of glittering dust directly into the air. The cloud drifted. Straight toward Althea, that caused her which gave her a mild sensitivity.
Tom already knew what was coming.
Althea sneezed. A small jet of fire shot from her mouth.
Several children screamed happily.
One pointed. "Look! She did it again!"
Althea stared in embarrassment.
Tom laughed, this time not a polite chuckle, neither an amused exhale, it was an actual laugh.. Entirely genuine.
Althea looked at him. "Did you know that would happen?"
"Yeah." He said smiling
"So you set me up." She said leaving small sparkles in it
“Would I do that?
“Mmmhh" she simply answered and walk away from the kids
“The reaction will be over in 5 minutes " he said following her.
—--
A few shelves later Tom stopped again. "Try these."
Althea immediately crossed her arms. "No."
Tom just looked at her giving her the little try box
"Acid Pops…. That name alone sounds criminal." She took the package from his hand and read the description. Her eyebrows climbed higher with every line. "'May cause temporary numbness.'" Another line. "'Consume responsibly?.” Another. "'Excessive consumption may result in minor tongue perforation.” She lowered the box slowly.
Althea placed the box back exactly where she had found it. "No."
"You haven't tried it." He said
"Have you?” She asked
"Why would I?” he answered
She looked at him with an expression that screamed ‘Really
"I am beginning to understand why magical healers are employed." She finally said
A little farther down the aisle she spotted another display.
This one looked harmless. Mostly chocolate. Which immediately lowered her defenses.
Tom noticed that too, a mistake.
Althea picked up one of the boxes. "Now these look normal."
Tom smiled
They're not
She inspected the label. "Fizzing Whizzbees."
Her eyes moved lower. "What is a Whizzbee?"
Tom glanced casually at the package. "A small magical flying creature." He answered and handed to her “Try it"
Althea nodded. "That's cute." Without another thought she popped one into her mouth.
Tom watched… amusement in his eyes again… seconds passed and nothing.
Althea looked smug. "Nicee his one is fi—"
A smile appeared immediately in Tom's face…Slowly and inevitable.
Her feet left the floor, thinking she was slipping, she instinctively grabbed Tom’s arm. He took her hand, letting her hold him.
Althea looked down. Then at him, then down again.
"...Tom."
"Yes?"
"I'm floating." She said
"Clearly" he said
"You knew??”
"Probably" Tom looked far too entertained.
"Why??” She asked
"Well I was born here, it is common Sw—" he started
"Why am I floating??" She interrupt him
"Oohh it's the Whizzbees." He said
"The what?" She asked kind of surprised
"The creature." Her expression changed immediately.
"What creature?" Tom pointed toward the ingredients.
"Ground Whizzbee sting."
Silence. The floating stopped almost instantly.
Althea lowered slowly back to the floor. "...It's made from an animal?"
"A magical one, yes"
Althea looked genuinely saddened. "But why?”
"They take the sting from the Whizzbee that's why the floating reaction, so that you can take off” he said
"Oh… okay”
The reaction surprised him, there was no anger. No disgust. Just disappointment. Carefully she let go of Tom’s arm. Then walked away toward another section of the shop.
Tom remained where he was. Watching her go. Confused.
The sweet hadn't harmed her. She had laughed at the fire.
Laughed at the floating. So why that reaction?
Tom remained standing for a few seconds after she walked away. The box still rested in his hand. A ridiculous thing to be bothered by. Nothing had happened. She didn't look upset.. She had not raised her voice…
His eyes followed her through the shop. Althea had stopped near another display. She was looking at something, not really seeing it. Just standing there.
Then, slowly, he remembered. The plants. The animals.
The way she spoke about creatures most people ignored.
The way she had calmed the Kneazle. And suddenly the answer became obvious. Tom stared at the box in his hand.
For perhaps the first time, he realized he had accidentally hurt her feelings. The discovery was unfamiliar.
More unfamiliar still was the fact that he disliked it.
Tom looked down at the box again. Then quietly placed it back on the shelf. A moment later he followed her.
He stopped beside her. "You are angry."
Althea glanced toward him. "It's okay, Tom, I'm okay."
"You don't look okay" Tom studied her face.
"You were enjoying yourself five minutes ago."
“It really isn't your fault."
That answer made him even less satisfied.
"What happened then?"
Althea looked genuinely surprised, she exhaled softly.
"I just don't understand it."
"Understand what?"
"The Whizzbee."
Tom remained silent.
She continued. "Why do people do that? Take a part of a creature?, kill the creature and for what?" She gestured vaguely behind them."So people can float for ten seconds."
Tom watched her.
"But it was already dead” he said
“That's not the point, what gives us the right to take their lives? " She looked toward the shelves. "We can already fly."
"We can." Tom said
"We can levitate things, we can make ourselves levitate, So why take it away from them?"
Tom didn't answer immediately. Because for the first time he realized he didn't actually have one.
"Perhaps people enjoy novelty."
"At the expense of something else."
"Everything costs something."
She looked at him "Does it have to?"
The question lingered.
Tom found himself without an immediate answer.
Althea shook her head "Sorry."
"For what?"
"I think I ruined the mood."
Tom looked at her for a moment, then surprisingly said:
"You sneezed fire."
She blinked. "What?"
"That was objectively entertaining."
Althea stared.Then laughed.
The laugh eased something he hadn't realized was bothering him. Good. The strange tension from moments ago finally receded.
For a while neither spoke.
They drifted through the shop without much purpose, moving between shelves overflowing with enchanted sweets and brightly colored displays.
A group of children ran past them carrying boxes of exploding bonbons.
Somewhere deeper in the shop something let out a small shriek. Althea glanced toward the source.
"What was that?"
"Hopefully a sweet."
"That is not reassuring."
"It wasn't meant to be."
She shook her head. Tom almost smiled, the silence that followed felt easier now. Not awkward, simply quiet.
Eventually their paths separated naturally.
Tom paused near a display of enchanted chocolate while Althea continued farther down the shop. Neither noticed the distance growing between them.
At the far end of the shop, away from the louder displays, stood a smaller glass cabinet, unlike everything else around it, it wasn't colorful. It wasn't playful.
It wasn't trying to attract attention.
Which was exactly why it caught hers. Inside rested a single pink crystal vial. Pearlescent liquid swirled slowly beneath enchanted light. Silver, Gold and Rose. Colors folding into one another endlessly.
Althea frowned. "...What are you doing in a candy shop?" She said to herself and stepped closer.
A small plaque rested beneath the display:
AMORTENTIA The strongest love potion in existence.
Her expression changed immediately.
“How?... Why?” She looked around as if expecting someone to explain
Her eyes returned to the vial, the potion continued swirling peacefully. "This is actually insane.” She leaned closer to the glass. "And they're selling it next to chocolate frogs."
The potion swirled lazily inside the crystal vial.
Despite herself, curiosity won. "what does it even smell like?”
The potion shimmered softly beneath the enchanted light.
Althea leaned a little closer. The scent came in layers, crisp and enveloping. First, fresh ink and ancient parchment, like a silent library where every word carries more weight than its meaning suggests. Then, a trace of cold smoke, the trail left behind when something is consumed without burning, an elegant, contained danger. Beneath that, damp earth after the rain, alive and deep, as if something within it — something almost no one sees — were still breathing.
And finally, a sharp, clean, metallic note, like the edge of a freshly polished blade.
Althea blinked. The smell was strangely familiar. Not familiar enough to name. Just enough to leave an uncomfortable sensation in the back of her mind. She leaned closer again, frowning. "What kind of smell is that?"
The potion continued swirling peacefully, offering no explanation. She straightened.
Her eyes narrowed at the vial "why would anyone buy this?"
The question escaped before she realized she had spoken aloud.
"More people than you'd think."
Althea jumped slightly. Tom stood a few feet away, one hand resting casually in his coat pocket.
She hadn't heard him approach. The corner of his mouth lifted faintly.
“Oh hey"
His attention shifted toward the display. Recognition came immediately.
Althea gestured toward the vial. "Why is this in a candy shop?"
Tom looked genuinely unsurprised. "Because people buy it."
"So funny, but I mean it” she said
“Are you trying to persuade someone to like you?" He asked
“what?, No. This potion is dangerous, why sell it with candies?" She asked
"It is from a business perspective perhaps." He said
She stared at him.
"Why do you think it is dangerous?”
Althea looked at him as if the answer were obvious. "Because it manipulates people."
Tom remained silent.
She continued. "It doesn't matter how pretty the bottle is. It doesn't matter if someone sells it with ribbons and chocolates." Her eyes returned to the potion.
"It removes choice."
"Temporarily."
Althea immediately looked back at him, "That doesn't make it better." She smiled at him, just a little.
Tom tilted his head slightly. "Yeah, you're right…"
She turned to look at him, surprised, really surprised.
“Do you?”
“Yeah, There are better ways to get someone do what you want” he said, smiling at her, provoking her.
“I d—" she started
"This one is just the cutest “ For a brief moment Tom simply watched her.
"We do agree that whatever happens after that potion… isn't real.” Althea frowned.
“Mmm yeah that's obvious" he said
"Why this has to be an option?, don't people know about accepting others opinion?"
There were silence for a moment
"It’s incredible what someone is capable of doing out of desperation, isn't it?
"As long as it works…"
She turned to look at him, looking a little taken aback, the accepted "Well, I suppose so; it’s not good to judge without knowing the facts; I suppose it depends on the perspective…" The answer came without hesitation.
Something about that seemed to satisfy him.
Not because he agreed, because she had answered honestly.
His gaze remained on the potion.
"What does it smell like?" He changed the topic
Althea turned to him, confused “ why do ask me?, smell it"
Tom looked at her
" Oh well, Okay…I don't know like fresh paper, Old books… Ink. rain against stone…Clean fabric… mmm but it felt cold als
"Books?"
"Among those other things."
"Interesting."
"Why?....
Tom's eyes remained on the swirling potion.
For a moment he seemed to be considering something.
"Because it's always different."
Althea frowned. "Oh really, What do you smell then?"
The corner of his mouth lifted faintly. "Why would I tell you?"
She rolled her eyes immediately. "Oh, right. Of course."
Tom looked amused by her reaction.
Althea glanced back toward the potion. "So it really changes for everyone?"
"Yes."
"And people willingly drink this?"
"Oh no, never, there is always a way to make the other person take it”
“Yeah, pretty obvious, dumb question from me”
Tom's gaze shifted toward her. "You seem very offended by the existence of this potion."
"Because I am." She pointed at the vial. "Imagine casting a spell on or drugging the person you like just so they’ll like your back”
"Some would call it romance." He said
"Some people are idiots." She responded
Tom laughed quietly, a genuine one.
Althea shook her head. "I can't believe this place."
"Why?" He asked
"Half the products here feel like assassination attempts."
"That is part of the charm."
"It absolutely is not."
His smile returned. For a moment they simply stood there.
The potion continued swirling behind the glass.
Neither of them looked at it anymore. The conversation had drifted somewhere else entirely.
Althea crossed her arms lightly. "You know..."
Tom looked at her.
"This afternoon wasn't what I expected." She said
His eyebrow lifted. "What were you expecting?"
She thought about that, easy answer not for saying at loud.
Because the truth was she had expected another version of him, cold and meaner, instead she had spent the afternoon looking at flowers, petting magical cats and accidentally breathing fire. Which somehow felt more dangerous, maybe this change it is just another movement of whatever he's planning.
"I don't know," she admitted.
Tom studied her for a second. "Well, but did it measure up to your expectations?
She looked at him " it did, yeah" said quietly
A comfortable silence settled between them.
One she found surprisingly easy to remain inside.
Around them, customers continued moving through the shop. Children laughed somewhere near the entrance.
A shelf exploded softly in the distance.
No one seemed concerned. Althea looked toward the front windows.
The light outside had turned in a dark,
"Oh."
Tom followed her gaze.
"We have been here longer than I thought." She said
"We have." He agreed
For a moment neither moved. Then Tom glanced toward the street.
"We should probably head back."
"Yes I think we should”
Neither started walking immediately. Which was strange. Because neither of them usually hesitated. Then finally Tom stepped away from the display.
"Come on."
Althea followed him. As they walked toward the exit, she glanced back once. The Amortentia remained exactly where it had been. Silent, beautiful and a little disturbing.
For some reason, the scent still lingered faintly in her memory...
Y/n is a woman, a witch in her own quiet way-sensitive to things others can't see, drawn to energies she doesn't fully understand. She's Annie's friend, not from here, not really belonging anywhere, and already tired of the kind of people this town attracts.
Then there's Remmick.
A vampire who should've taken her the first chance he got-but didn't.
What starts as curiosity turns into something darker: tension, hunger, restraint. While chaos unfolds and blood is spilled, he doesn't choose her like prey... he waits.
And when everything burns down, when the night takes more than it gives..
CAP. 8
Her hand stayed on the door for a second after it shut, her breath uneven, her mind still caught somewhere between his words and everything happening inside.
Ask yourself why.
It echoed louder now, sharper, because she didn’t have an answer.
The room had shifted again.
Voices overlapped, sharper this time, no confusion left—only fear trying to organize itself into something useful.
“We’re just going to let them talk to us like that?” Li snapped, her voice trembling with something far too close to panic. “Like that’s nothing?”
“They’re provoking us,” the singer shot back quickly, defensive, trying to hold onto something rational “we have to wait till morning”
Li turned on her immediately. “They didn’t threaten your daughter, did they? Stupid—”
“Enough.” Annie cut through it, firm, grounded even now. “Panicking is exactly what they want. We don’t let them in.”
Li’s attention snapped to Smoke. “You’re a soldier, aren’t you? Then do something.”
Smoke didn’t look at her. His gaze was distant, working, calculating. “Let me think” he said
But that wasn’t enough for Li.
Frustration broke through her completely. She grabbed one of the weapons nearby, hands shaking. “No. I’m not waiting.”
She moved for the door.
Annie and Smoke were faster, catching her, holding her back as she struggled.
“Let me go—!”
“Li, stop—!”
She twisted violently, teeth sinking into Annie’s hand. Annie cursed, instinctively letting go, and in that split second Li lunged forward, ripping free.
“Come in, motherfuckers!!”
The words tore out of her.
Everything froze, for just a second, because they all knew.
Annie and Smoke exchanged a look—sharp, immediate, no denial left now.
“Get ready,” Annie said, already moving.
And the room snapped into motion.
Wood. Metal. Anything that could be used. Garlic crushed into water, makeshift weapons, hands shaking but moving anyway. The energy shifted from reaction to survival in seconds.
The door creaked, no one touched it.
It opened slowly on its own, the night spilling back in, darker now, heavier, and beyond it—
They stood there.
Still.
Waiting.
Remmick was the only one who moved.
One step. Then another. Calm. Unhurried. Like none of this was chaos, like he was simply arriving somewhere he belonged.
He crossed the threshold, his gaze moved across the room, taking everything in—the fear, the preparation, the resistance—and something almost like approval touched his expression.
“Right on…” he murmured.
The Molotov came flying before he could take another step.
Glass shattered against the doorframe, flames bursting up instantly, heat licking into the room—but Remmick had already shifted, smooth, effortless, the fire missing him by inches.
And that was enough.
They rushed in, fast, violent, no hesitation now.
The room exploded into movement—bodies colliding, wood cracking, shouts cutting through the air. Smoke met the first one head-on, Annie right beside him, controlled even in chaos.
The musician swung hard with a metal pipe, the singer pulled Sammy back, trying to keep him behind her as everything fell apart.
Y/n moved too—but not like them.
She didn’t strike to kill.
She deflected, shoved, redirected. A hand grabbed her—she twisted out of it, using their momentum against them, pushing one back into another.
Someone lunged—she ducked, breath sharp, heart racing, grabbing a piece of wood just to keep distance, not to drive it in.
She caught Annie’s arm at one point, yanking her back just in time to avoid a strike that would’ve landed clean.
“Behind you—!”
Annie didn’t even question it.
The fight pressed in, tighter, louder, too much at once—and then she was pushed, forced sideways by the impact of two bodies crashing near her. The space shifted, opening just enough—
A hallway.
She stumbled into it, catching herself against the wall, breath uneven, the sounds of the fight still loud behind her but… distant now. Muffled.
For a second, she thought she was alone, she wasn’t tho.
“You always move toward it,” his voice came from the dark.
She turned sharply and there he was, closer than before.
No rush. No attack. Just his presence, he started walking slowly through her.
Her breath hitched, adrenaline still high, every nerve awake. “Why him?” she demanded, the question breaking out before anything else could. “Why Sammie? Why the music?”
He tilted his head slightly, watching her, almost curious.
“You already know, my love,” he said.
She shook her head, stepping back—once, twice—until her shoulders hit something solid. A door.
“Maybe I do, but I want you to explain to me”
That got something from him.
A faint shift. Interest.
“You feel it,” he said, moving closer, slow but inevitable. “You felt it before I ever said a word.”
Her hand found the handle behind her without looking. She pushed it open, stepping inside quickly, trying to protect herself somehow.
He followed just as fast.
The door shut behind them with a sharp click.
The space was smaller. Closer. The air heavier.
He caught her then, not violently, but firm, controlling. Pulling her into him in one clean movement, her back meeting the wall again, his hand at her waist, the other finding her jaw, steadying her, holding her there.
Her breath was uneven, matching his now, too close, too real.
“Why answer you when I can show you,” he murmured.
Her hands came up instinctively—against his chest, not pushing, not fully resisting either.
She saw him, how handsome he looked, she looked at his mouth “Tell me,” she shot back, breathless, but holding his gaze. “Please.”
His eyes searched hers, something darker flickering there now.
“He opens doors,” he said simply, holding her harder.. “And you, beautiful…” his thumb brushed lightly along her jaw, slower now, more deliberate, “…you walk through them.”
That hit deeper than she expected. Her breath faltered—and that was all it took.
He looked at her so hungry.
“Are you drooling?” she asked.
The space between them disappeared again.
His mouth found hers impatient, desperate—it was sharp, immediate, like something held back too long finally slipping through.
Her body reacted before her mind could catch up, tension snapping, her grip tightening slightly against him instead of pushing him away,
She unconsciously raised her leg to his hip, he took the opportunity and grabbed her leg, caressing her, making his way to her butt.
It was charged with adrenaline, confusion, everything colliding at once.
His hand moved—waist to back, pulling her closer, grounding her there, while the other was in her neck, not tight, but enough to feel her pulse racing under his fingers.
She should’ve stopped it, this wasn't right. Her breath broke against his, her head turning just slightly as his mouth shifted, not staying still, not letting the moment settle into anything predictable. It dragged lower, just barely, brushing the line of her jaw, and then her neck, the same place as before.
Her fingers tightened in his shirt, a small moan escaping her before she could stop it, her head lean just enough to give him space.
“ I bet your taste is delicious” he said through her neck, kissing it and sucking it, but not biting it. He pressed himself on her, so she could feel him in her entrance.
Her hand found his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his back, she didn't know where to touch.
His grip shifted, tightening just slightly to ground himself, to hold the moment in place without crossing it, not yet.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, close, too close.
A faint, knowing curve touched his mouth. “But you don’t.”
Outside, the fight still crashing loud, violent, reality breaking back in.
Neither of them moved immediately.
She didn't resist this time and kissed him passionately, he growled at the action and lifted her to have more access.
“I really want to make you mine,” he said between kisses, his hands found her chest and started massaging her “ I want the taste of you”.
She was moaning, biting her lip.
“but It's not time,” he said kissing her, his voice rough, almost breaking under the weight of it.
Her breath hitched, her body still reacting, still caught between instinct and something far more dangerous.
His hands moved, not rushing, but not hesitant either—learning, mapping, holding her in place like he had already decided she belonged there. Not soft. Not gentle. Certain.
“I want to bite all of you” he murmured, his mouth brushing her skin again, slower this time, more deliberate, like he was testing himself.
Her fingers tightened against him, her head falling back just enough, her control slipping in fragments she couldn’t gather fast enough, and he felt it. Of course he did.
That shift, the moment where resistance stopped being resistance… and became something else.
His grip tightened slightly, grounding both of them, his breath heavier against her neck, closer again. Right there.
Everything in him leaned toward it, every Instinct, but he stopped. Not abruptly.
He chose to. His forehead rested briefly against her skin, his breath uneven for the first time, like holding back cost him something real.
“Ooh my love, you don’t have idea” he murmured, quieter now, almost to himself, “what you're doing to me”
Her chest rose sharply, her mind struggling to catch up with her body.
“why haven't you bitten me?”, she managed, breathless, confused, but really curious. “You keep saying you could—so why haven’t you?”
That made him pause. Really pause.
His hand lifted slightly, fingers brushing her jaw again, slower now, more thoughtful than before.
“Because,” he said softly, his gaze locking onto hers again, something darker behind it now, something deeper than hunger, “once I do… there’s no going back for you.”
A beat.
“And I don’t think I want to take that away from you.”
That landed harder than anything physical. Her breath faltered. Because part of her—Didn’t know if that was true.
His thumb traced lightly along her lower lip again, familiar, almost sweet.
“But you’re getting closer,” he added, almost amused, almost impressed. “Like if you were asking for it.”
Outside, something crashed violently, voices shouting again, the fight pulling reality back in whether they wanted it or not.
His gaze flicked toward the door, calculating, sharp again.
Time.
He looked back at her, and something shifted, not softer.
More… decided.
“If I stay,” he said quietly, “I will take more than I should.”
His hand slipped from her slowly—not losing contact all at once, just enough to make her feel it leaving.
“And if I leave…” a faint tilt of his head, almost a question, almost a promise, “…you’ll come looking.”... her heart jumped, he stepped back, just enough to break the hold.
“You don’t belong in there,” he added, nodding faintly toward the chaos outside. “Not the way they think.”
Another crash. Closer.
This was the moment of choice.
He held her gaze one last second.
“Decide who you are before they decide it for you.”
He was gone.
The door opening just enough, just fast enough for him to slip back into the chaos like he had never left it.
Leaving her there.
Breathless.
Shaken.
And now with something worse than fear sitting in her chest— A choice she couldn’t ignore anymore.
She didn’t remember making the choice to run. Somewhere between the fire, the screaming and the collapsing rhythm of the juke joint, her body had simply decided for her.
Upstairs.
That was where Smoke had taken Sammie.
She pushed through the chaos, breath burning in her lungs as smoke and heat clung to her skin. Shadows moved everywhere—human and not human anymore—and yet none of them reached for her. More than once she caught movement from the corner of her eye: pale faces, hungry eyes, figures rushing past in the frenzy. But every time, they shifted away, around her, past her but never toward her.
The realization crawled under her skin. No one was touching her. No one was hunting her, like somewhere, through all of them, there was an order still being obeyed. Her stomach twisted.
By the time she reached the upper level, the scene had narrowed into something desperate. Smoke stood near the back with Sammie and the singer close behind him, while the older musician looked half-dead on his feet, blood darkening his shirt.
“No, no—go!” he snapped suddenly, shoving a heavy shelf toward the entrance. He cut himself violently across the floor as he forced it into place. “I’ll hold them.”
Smoke stared at him. “Man—”
“I said go!” A crash sounded from below, they took him, his life.
Smoke grabbed Sammie and moved. The singer followed immediately and Y/n was right behind them as they pushed toward the back exit upstairs, feet stumbling over debris, breath uneven.
Freedom sat only a few feet away, Sammie reached for the handle.
“Sammie…” Everything stopped.The voice wasn’t loud.It didn’t need to be. Y/n felt cold before she even looked. Remmick stood just outside the doorway. Not breathing hard. Not rushed. Like the chaos below had never touched him at all. His hand lifted and settled against Sammie’s face almost gently, fingertips pressing against his cheek with something disturbingly calm.
Sammie froze. Smoke didn’t. He slammed into Remmick without hesitation, driving him backward. The impact broke Sammie free, but not for long. Remmick barely staggered.
His head turned slowly. Then his expression changed, really fast.
The singer barely had time to react before he caught her instead. One movement. One blur. A scream ripped through the hallway.
Then silence. He dropped her body carelessly and Smoke was already on him again. This time the fight exploded. No hesitation. No distance. Just fists, wood breaking beneath them and bodies slamming into walls.
“GO!” Smoke shouted. “RUN!”
Sammie looked back. Only for a second, then he ran. Y/n followed immediately. Behind them she heard another crash, louder than the others. She glanced back just once and saw Smoke hit the floor—
And Stack, Stack standing over him.Or what used to be Stack.
The brothers collided violently and disappeared from sight, she kept running though. Outside the air hit differently. Cold. Wet and real.
Sammie headed straight toward the riverbank, moving blindly through panic while Y/n followed close behind, trying to catch her breath. “Sammie—wait!” Too late...
Sammie runs like a storm wind. Hurdling through the blackness, his steps chewing up dirt, then mud, then water. His stake in one hand and his guitar in his other. Behind him in silhouette against the sky, we see Remmick float into the air in pursuit.
CRASH! Remmick lands in front of Sammie.
“This has taken long” Remmick said
Sammie jabs his stake at Remmick, who rips it out of his hands and strikes him across his face with his claws.
Sammie falls into the water. His blood blooms into the river waters. He stays under, mouthing words. Remmick licks the blood from his nails- sweet nectar then grabs Sammie by his throat, pulling him out of the water with inhuman strength.
“Oh… you little vessel…” Remmick said
Sammie spits up water.
“I want your stories. I want your songs. And you will have mine.” Remmick continued
“Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day…115” Samuel started to pray
Y/n stared.
Remmick stared too., and listened to this, as if remembering something and decides to join in.
“Our daily bread. And forgive us out trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.” Sammie still praying
“Our daily bread. And forgive us out trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.” Remmick started praying with him
“Long ago, the men who stole my fathers' land forced these words upon us. I hated those men. But the words still brought me comfort” Remmick explained.
The other vampires, former patrons from the mill start to creep down the riverbank. They watch as a parish might observe a riverside baptism, Remmick strokes Sammie's face and suddenly slams Sammie into the water, baptizing him.
“Lies can be warm. Lies can be comforting” Remmick said “the truth can be like cold water to the face. Those men lied to themselves. Then lied to us. Told stories of a God above and a devil below”
He dunks Sammie again. The Patrons surround the two, watching closely, rapt by Remmick's words.
"And lies of a dominion of man over beast and earth. Hierarchy of man, woman, and groups of kin."
Slams him again into the water. Sammie gasps for air. Remmick pulls him close.
“You will taste the sweet pain of death. And you will awaken to the truth. We are earth, and beast, and God. We are woman and man. We are connected, you and I, to everything. Not me above and you below but one. And we will make beautiful music together”
Remmick bares his teeth to bite Sammie when BLAM, Sammie swings his guitar into Remmick's face, the wood shattering around him, but the metal face cutting into Remmick's face.
It's silver, not white gold. And it surprises Remmick with the damage it causes him. He pulls the resonator out, and smoke and blood od flows from the gash.
The other vampires on the riverbank grab their heads and moan in agony. Remmick tosses the resonator into the river, and moves towards Sammie.
“Sammie…” He grabs him by his face and prepares to bite him when...a shot… bursts through Remmick's chest. He gasps... then falls to his knees revealing a battle ravaged Smoke behind him.The other Vampires react and wail in pain, as if they have been stabbed. Clutching their chests and writhing in pain. Smoke sloshes over and checks Sammie's neck frantically.
“Did they get you? You okay? I'm gon get you home”
The sun breaks, Remmick's body begins to sizzle and smoke
Y/n looked at him in disbelief.
Behind Smoke, dawn had begun bleeding faintly into the horizon.
Remmick saw it too. But before looking toward the sky— He looked at her. Straight at her. Across all the chaos, across the distance. Only her. For a second everything else disappeared.
Smoke raised the gun again but Remmick moved first, even injured. He crossed the distance in a blur, caught his arm and threw him aside hard enough to send him crashing into the ground.
Not killing him. Not finishing it. Just stopping him.
Smoke groaned and reached for a wooden stake near the riverbank, dragging himself between Sammie and Remmick. Ready.
The sky brightened. Remmick looked toward it. Then back at them.
Then finally—At her, again
Y/n hadn’t even realized she'd stepped backward until she felt metal press against her hand. A car.
She stood beside it now. Half in, half out. His eyes found hers and held them. Not soft nor warm, Something heavier, something deeper between them.
“I’ll be looking for you,” he said quietly, a beat passed.“And I will find you.” he said to Sammie, then he stepped back. And vanished into the fading dark moments before the first light touched the river, leaving only blood. Further and crests the horizon and the other vampires begin to howl in agony and crawl their way towards the juke
Later, if someone had asked which roads she took, which turns she made, how long it had been between the river and her front door... she wouldn’t have known.
The car had moved and that was all.
Somewhere between the muddy riverbank and the first empty streets touched by dawn, her body had taken over. Hands on the wheel. Foot pressing pedals. Eyes forward. Just... moving. By the time she reached home, the sky had already begun paling at the edges. Not morning yet. Not really. Just that strange hour where everything looked abandoned.
The house felt wrong the second she stepped inside.
Too still and too clean, so normal. She closed the door behind her and just stood there, thé keys still in her hand but not moving. Because hours ago there was music. People were laughing, dancing, enjoying Mary laughing. Stack joking, Smoke, Annie. Her chest tightened….Annie. The thought came suddenly and sat heavy. She'd known her for what—hours? Barely anything. And still...
Still she could hear her voice. See her face. She let out a heavy breath and opened the door slowly, Y/n walked further inside. Her shoes felt heavy. Everything felt heavy. All of it looked exactly the same and somehow that felt wrong too.
Because how could everything still be here? How could the world still be standing?
How could tonight have happened and this place still smell faintly like tea leaves?
Her body finally gave out near the couch. Not dramatically. No crying. No collapsing, she just sat and stared at nothing. She started to remember everything
Her eyes closed briefly, Samuel came to her mind, is he okay? Sammie got away.
He had to. Smoke had reached him, yeah he is— Her thoughts stopped.
Because Remmick’s face appeared in her mind suddenly, Immediately her eyes opened again. Annoyance came first.Fast and sharp. Because of all the things to think about—of all the people tonight— Why now? People had died. People had been turned because of him. Whatever pain he'd suffered, whatever had happened to him centuries ago, none of it changed that. Nothing justified this. Nothing., but she couldn't help to think how his hand around her felt. The way he'd looked at her.
The things he'd said.
You don't belong in there.
Her jaw tightened. Then another memory: His mouth at her neck. That almost unbearable restraint. The way he'd looked at her like holding back actually hurt.
She groaned softly and dragged both hands down her face.
"Seriously?"....
Minutes in silence passed when she heard a hard noise, her head lifted…
THUD, another one
She stared toward the window.bMaybe a branch. THUD. This time louder.
From outside of course Y/n stood immediately. Her heart started climbing before her mind caught up. Slowly she moved toward the window and looked out.
Nothing, just darkness becoming lighter and the trees moving by the air. For a second she almost laughed at herself, must be the trauma… Then—A scrape Closer to the porch. Her stomach dropped. She moved toward the front door carefully and slowly. Her hand found the handle, she opened it and froze at the sight, because there he was.
Remmick, not standing. He wasn't smiling nor watching her from some doorway with that impossible calm. He was on one knee near the steps, one hand braced against the ground. Blood covered his shirt, his mouth was more stained, he had some burn marks climbing part of his neck and jaw where dawn had touched him.
He looked... smaller somehow, not weak. Just…hurt. For a second neither of them spoke. Then slowly he lifted his head, found her and despite everything… He smiled, a small smile, barely there.
"My beautiful witch..." His voice was rough. Lower than usual.
Like speaking itself cost him something.
Then quieter—
"...I was hoping you would open the door."
For a second she didn’t move, she couldn't even believe it, her mind screamed that this was insane, that this thing—this man—had walked out of a nightmare drenched in blood and death and somehow ended up here, at her door. But then he shifted slightly and the movement looked wrong, unsteady, almost human, he looked so bad. That did it, the way he looked made her react,
“Don’t talk,” she said quickly, already moving toward him before the thought fully formed.
His brows lifted faintly, almost amused despite the pain, but when she crouched in front of him and grabbed his arm, she felt it immediately— He was burning, not metaphorically. His skin was hot beneath the blood and torn fabric, his body tense like it was forcing itself to stay upright through sheer will alone.
“Oh my…” she muttered under her breath.
“My love,” he said softly looking at her, It was as if, just by looking at her, he had forgotten his pain for a moment
“I said don’t talk.” something smiled in his eyes at that.
He tried to stand on his own, pride still alive somewhere under all that damage, but the second he put weight on one leg his body gave slightly and her grip tightened instinctively around him.
“No, no, come on, I got you, okay?.”
The walk inside was clumsy and heavy. One of his hands stayed braced against the wall for balance while the other rested against her shoulder, firm enough that she could feel the strength still there underneath the exhaustion. The second the door shut behind them, the house changed. The ambience changed, the scent of river water, smoke, blood and burned skin followed him in immediately, swallowing the soft smell of tea and wood that had filled the place before. He looked around once, slow, quiet. Like he was memorizing it already, then his gaze found her again, the way she was helping him, her, that slight look of concern in her eyes, serious and focused, perhaps as she pondered what she would do now.
She left him on her sofa “Ok, Sit. Don't move and…” she kept talking but her voice faded in and out, just like her. She hurried back and forth across the house, carrying things, setting them down, then hurrying off again. Rammick just watched her, enjoying the moment.
She finally came back with a glass of water in hand, for moment… she looked at the glass, then at him… silence… “Gosh… you're dead, you don't need water…” she said frustated, she was about to leave again but he took her hand before she could go. She just turned her face to look at him.
“I want it" he said
She looked at him confused and slowly turned completely at him giving him the water, he just took it and started to drink. She looked closely at his wounds; just seeing them hurt her, and she winced at the mere thought of the pain… She let the silence fill the room; it wasn’t uncomfortable, it wasn’t strange, it simply placed between them.
"How can I help you?” she simply asked, but worried.
He stop drinking the water and looked at her “I’ll be okay, I feel better now that I'm with yo—”
She stopped him “No… Remmick… aaahh” she let a slight breath "you're clearly hurt, I know that rubbing it with alcohol and sticking a plaster on it won't help you”
She was now crouching down, looking up at him. He was fascinated by that view; well the mere fact that it was her delighted him. He put down the glass of water, slowly leaned towards her, touched her cheek and stroked it with his thumb; just as he was about to speak, she interrupted him.
"Let's get you clean first” and she stood up…
-----
The bathroom filled slowly with steam.
Not enough to hide anything, just enough to soften the edges of the night still clinging to both of them.
Y/n stood near the sink with her back turned while water poured into the porcelain tub behind her. Her hands moved automatically, grabbing towels, cloths, anything clean she could find, trying to focus on the practical things instead of the fact that he was a few feet away taking off blood-soaked clothes in complete silence.
A wet sound of fabric hitting the floor made her glance briefly toward the mirror before immediately looking away again.
Then his voice came, lower now, roughened by exhaustion and something amused underneath it.
“If you wanted to see me naked, my love… you only had to ask.”
She closed her eyes for half a second.
“Just get in the tub.”
A soft chuckle answered her, followed by a restrained sound of pain. That made her turn immediately. The sight caught her harder than she expected. He was beautiful. But he looked so bad… His body was marked everywhere now—burns climbing across his shoulder and neck where dawn had kissed him, deep bruising already dark beneath pale skin, blood still trailing slowly down his ribs. One side of him looked almost viciously damaged and somehow he was still standing.
Still looking at her like she was the only thing grounding him there.
“Remmick…” her voice softened.
Slowly he lowered himself into the tub, tension pulling visibly through his body the second the hot water touched him. A quiet sound escaped him, more instinct than intention, and Y/n immediately moved closer.
“Ooouh, Sorry, sorry is it too ho—”
“You’re not hurting me.”
“Your moan didn't sound very convincing.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “So you want me to moan more convincing…?” he said softly.
That earned him a look. “ How can you joke like this?"... She sat carefully beside the tub, one knee tucked beneath her as she soaked the cloth in warm water. For a while neither of them spoke. She cleaned the blood away slowly, carefully, her movements growing gentler each time his breathing shifted.
He never stopped watching her. Not once. Eventually she felt it too much to ignore.
“Remmick…” she murmured without looking up. “Stop staring at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” she exhaled softly, trying to focus on the wound near his shoulder instead of his eyes. “just stop.” she was serious, she was worried.
His hand lifted from the water and caught her wrist gently before she could pull away for another towel.
“My love,” he said quietly. “I’ll heal.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“I mean it.” His thumb brushed slowly against her skin. “I’m a vampire. Time does most of the work for me.”
Her eyes lifted to his finally. Still worried. Still thinking too much.
That seemed to please him more than it should have.
“Besides…” his gaze lowered briefly toward the room around them before returning to hers. “You already let me in.”
That hit. She froze slightly. He saw the exact second the realization settled deeper this time. Her lips parted ready to answer but he leaned closer first, stopping her gently.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want.”
The words had barely left him when pain suddenly crossed his face hard enough to break through his composure. His body tensed sharply and a rough sound escaped his throat as he turned slightly away.
“Remmick—” She started to stand immediately but his grip tightened around her wrist.
“Don’t go.”
“You’re hurt.”
“I’ll survive.”
“No, there has to be something—”
“There isn’t.”
Another breath. Uneven this time. Her eyes moved across him desperately, trying to find an answer, trying to fix something.
Then suddenly—
“If you need blood…”
He looked at her immediately. The room changed.
“If that’s what heals you,” she continued more quietly now, “then take it.”
His pupils widened slightly.
“No.”
“Remmick—"
“No.”
But she was already moving, hands trembling slightly as she peeled the ruined fabric from her shoulders, the dress still stained with smoke, mud and dried blood from the night. Underneath, soft skin slowly revealed itself to him in pieces and the look on his face changed instantly. Not in hunger. Something worse like restraint.
“Don’t,” he said hoarsely.
“You need it.”
“And if I can’t stop?”
That finally slowed her. The air between them thickened. His gaze dragged slowly over her face now, completely serious for the first time since arriving.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Her chest tightened at that. Because she believed him.
“I don’t want you to die” she whispered.
Silence, heavy and dangerous. Then slowly his hand slipped from her wrist to her waist.
“Come here.” No force. Just invitation.
The water shifted softly as he guided her into the tub with him, her body settling carefully against his beneath the heat and steam, his hands immediately steadying her like he was afraid she might disappear if he held too tightly.
And somehow...That restraint felt more intimate than hunger ever had.
The heat wrapped around them immediately.
Water shifted softly against porcelain as she settled carefully against him, one of his hands instinctively spreading across her waist to steady her while the other remained curled against the edge of the tub like he still needed something to hold onto.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
The closeness changed everything.
Outside the bathroom the world still existed somewhere—death, smoke, dawn, the remains of the night—but in here it felt suspended, reduced to steam, breathing and skin.
Y/n could feel the heat radiating from him even through the water. Too warm, but not even close to a human.
There were silence “you can drink my blood, I mean it" ….. "I lost a people today, I don't wanna loose you…”
He decide not to answer, she didn't take it personally, just started to clean more of him, her fingers moved carefully over one of the burns near his shoulder and his jaw tightened slightly beneath the reaction.
“That bad?” she whispered.
“I’ve had worse.”
“have you?”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “Yes.”
She dipped the cloth into the water again and slowly cleaned the dried blood from his neck. Her movements stayed careful, focused, but being this close to him made concentration difficult. His chest rose slowly beneath her hand. His breathing changed every time her fingers brushed somewhere more sensitive. And he was still watching her. Always watching her.
“You’re thinking too loud again,” he murmured.
Her eyes lifted briefly. “Can vampires read minds too?”
“No.” His thumb slid lazily against her hip beneath the water. “But I can feel you trying very hard not to think about me touching you.”
Heat climbed immediately up her neck.
“Remmick…”
“What?” His voice softened with amusement. “You offered yourself to me, my love. That tends to affect a man.”
“That’s not funny.”
“No,” he agreed quietly.
This time his gaze dropped to her mouth.
“It isn’t.”
The air thickened again, dangerously.
“Bite me Remmick, just drick what you need, I know you'll stop"
His hand shifted slightly against her waist, fingers pressing more firmly now, not forcing—just feeling her there, warm and alive against him. Y/n became painfully aware of everything at once: him just under her, his hands pressing her, the steam clinging to his skin, the water moving around his body, the closeness of his mouth, the exhaustion in his eyes mixed with something darker every time he looked at her throat.
“But if you don't want to, I'll understand” she murmured softly her hands still in his now clean neck.
“I’ve been trying.” That honesty hit harder than flirting ever could.
Slowly his head lowered, not to bite, not yet. His mouth brushed the side of her neck first, lingering there with a restraint that felt almost painful. She felt his breath before anything else, warm against damp skin, and her body reacted immediately, shoulders tightening slightly as a quiet breath escaped her, the sound changed him.nShe felt it.
His grip tightened at her waist, his control slipping just enough to become noticeable.
“Careful…” he murmured against her skin, though whether he meant her or himself wasn’t clear anymore.
Her fingers found his jaw instinctively. And instead of pushing him away… She held him there and he stayed there for a second too long.
Not feeding. Not moving. Just breathing against her throat like he was trying to survive the scent of her without giving in to it. The water shifted softly as his head tilted slightly, his nose brushing along the curve of her neck, slower now, almost reverent despite the tension tightening visibly through his body. Y/n felt every small change in him—the way his breathing deepened, the way his fingers flexed instinctively against her waist, the way restraint seemed to cost him more with every passing second.
“Remmick…” she whispered again, softer this time.
His eyes closed briefly.“You keep saying my name like that,” he murmured against her skin, voice roughened into something deeper, “and you expect me to behave.”
A weak smile almost pulled at her mouth despite herself, but it vanished the moment she felt his teeth graze her skin, not biting, just there, like a warning. She just closed her eyes waiting and her breath caught immediately and he reacted to it like hunger itself had hands.
The grip at her waist tightened harder this time, pulling her fully against him beneath the water, his forehead lowering briefly against her shoulder as though grounding himself. She could feel how tense he was now, in every part of him, every muscle held tight beneath exhaustion and need. He was shaking and she felt it…
“It's okay, you can bite me"
That made him laugh softly under his breath, though there was no humor in it. “My beautiful witch…” he murmured, lifting his head just enough to look at her again. “You have no idea how dangerous it is that you still sound worried about me.”
The look in his eyes made her chest tighten painfully. Not because he looked monstrous. Because he looked hungry and guilty for it.
Her hand rose slowly to his face, fingers brushing carefully along the burned skin near his jaw. He leaned into the touch immediately before seeming to catch himself. Something shifted in his expression then. Something quieter. More vulnerable than before. It almost disappeared the second it appeared. His gaze dropped once more to her throat. “You should tell me no,” he said quietly.
She swallowed, but she didn’t. The silence between them thickened until it felt alive. Then slowly—so slowly she could’ve stopped him if she wanted—his mouth pressed against her neck again and this time his teeth sank just enough to break skin.
The pain was sharp, brief, her breath caught hard against him, fingers tightening instinctively at his shoulders, her body pressed to him hard and impossibly close but before fear could fully form, warmth followed. Strange warmth. The pull itself wasn’t violent like she imagined, he was taking her hard and possessive, yes but It was intimate. Deep. Like something drawing directly from beneath her skin instead of simply taking blood.
Remmick let out a low sound against her throat the second he tasted her. It was pleasure and relief. His eyes shut immediately, one hand gripping the edge of the tub while the other held her carefully against him as though reminding himself not to lose control. The restraint remained there even now, woven through every movement. He drank slowly at first, deliberately, but she still felt the way it affected him almost instantly. His breathing steadied. The tension in his body shifted. Some of the trembling eased beneath her hands. She didn't know where to hold, everything felt confused, she was feeling pain, pleasure, and relief, and somehow that made her stay still more than anything else.
Steam curled around them quietly while dawn continued brightening somewhere far beyond the bathroom walls.
After a moment his hand moved upward, fingers sliding carefully into her hair, the other let the tub out and took her back, moving his hand towards her bottom and grabbing it hard. His wounds were beginning to heal one by one, rather quickly. She tilted her head just slightly as another pull left him, a soft sound escaped her before she could stop it and his entire body reacted instantly. He pulled away, too fast this time, immediately, the restraint snapped back into place violently.
His breathing had changed again, heavier now, his mouth still close enough for her to feel it against her skin while a thin line of crimson disappeared slowly beneath his tongue.
“God.” his voice was rough and raspy
Y/n’s pulse was still racing wildly beneath her skin, she felt tired and a little bit dizzy. She smiled weakly. "How you feel?"
His eyes opened again and fixed on her immediately. His thumb brushed shakily beneath the small mark he’d left on her neck, gaze darkening at the sight of it before lifting back to her face.
And somehow, despite everything that had happened that night, despite the danger still sitting right there between them— He looked at her like he was terrified of wanting more. He looked so needy…
“How do you feel?” she asked again, softer this time.
For a moment he only looked at her, still breathing unevenly, his thumb brushing once more beneath the mark on her throat as though he couldn’t stop touching the place where he had tasted her.
“Alive.” The word settled heavily between them. Not playful. Not flirted, he was being completely honest.
Something in her expression shifted at that, small but noticeable, and Remmick saw it immediately. Of course he did. He saw everything when it came to her. The way her breathing had slowed slightly. The lingering dizziness still softening her gaze. The way she stayed close instead of moving away now that the fear should have arrived.
The steam thickened around them quietly while dawn continued bleeding pale gold against the bathroom window. Neither of them moved at first. Then he adjusted slightly beneath her, and the friction it caused made both of them freeze.
Her breath caught, his eyes darkened instantly.
The movement had been small—barely anything beneath the water—but after everything building between them all night, it felt devastating. Her body reacted before her thoughts could catch up, instinctively pressing closer for half a second before stopping herself. One of his hands slid slowly along her thigh beneath the water, not rushing, just feeling the shape of her there, fingertips tracing upward and then back down again in an almost absent rhythm that didn’t feel absent at all.
Slow, deliberate, and dangerous.
Y/n’s eyes dropped briefly to his mouth before lifting back to his gaze. That was all it took. They kissed at the same time, harder than before. Like the restraint had finally snapped somewhere between blood, exhaustion and the impossible intimacy of surviving the night together. His hand moved immediately against her waist, pulling her firmly into him while her fingers tangled into his damp hair, the kiss turning deeper, hungrier, mouths parting against each other with all the tension they’d both been swallowing for hours.
The water shifted sharply around them as she moved against him without thinking, instinct chasing heat, closeness, relief—something. A quiet sound escaped him at the feeling, rougher this time, and it only made her press closer again.
“My love…” he breathed against her mouth, almost warning, almost surrendering.
Butt she kissed him again before he could finish.
The porcelain creaked softly beneath the movement as his hands traveled over her body with growing certainty now, no longer hesitant, learning her through touch alone. Her skin was still marked faintly by dirt, dried blood, smoke from the night outside, and somehow that made everything feel more intimate instead of less. Real. Raw. Like neither of them had fully escaped what happened and maybe didn’t want to. His mouth dragged along her jaw, down her throat again, kissing the place he had bitten with startling softness compared to the possessive grip tightening at her hips beneath the water. The contrast made her shiver, he noticed it. Suddenly his hands tightened and in one smooth movement he shifted their positions, turning her carefully until her back rested against his chest instead, her body half draped over him beneath the steaming water.
A small breath left her suddenly. This position felt worse somehow, deliciously worse, more vulnerable. His arm slid around her waist automatically, holding her there against him while his mouth found the curve of her shoulder, slower now, lingering kisses replacing the urgency from before. One of his hands wandered lower beneath the water, fingertips tracing teasing patterns against her skin that made her breathing lose rhythm almost immediately, her body reacted, shaking, and she moaned in silence, choosing not to be noisy.
“There…” he murmured softly against her neck after feeling her tense. “That’s the sound I wanted earlier.”
She let out a breathless laugh that dissolved into something shakier when his touch deepened, patient now, attentive in a way that felt almost unfair after everything he was.
Her head tilted back instinctively against his shoulder, letting the moan be heard.
The movement gave him more access and he took it immediately, kissing slowly along the side of her throat while his hand explored her carefully beneath the water, learning exactly what reactions pulled from her which breaths, which small involuntary movements. And every time she reacted—he watched, he was memorizing her.
His eyes stayed on her face even while she unraveled beneath his hands.
That was the part that affected her the most.
Not just the touch. Not the heat. Not even the dangerous thrill of being held like this by something that could ruin her if it wanted to.
It was the attention, the way he watched every reaction like it mattered.
The water moved softly around them as his hand continued its slow exploration beneath the surface, unhurried now, almost fascinated by the way her body answered him more honestly each minute. Every trembling breath, every subtle shift against him, every failed attempt to stay quiet only seemed to deepen that dark focus in his gaze.
“My beautiful witch…” he murmured against the curve of her throat, lips brushing damp skin between words. “You feel everything.”
She tried to answer, but the moment his fingers pressed more deliberately against her, the thought dissolved into a broken breath instead. A low sound left him immediately at her reaction.
His forehead rested briefly against her shoulder, eyes shutting for a second while his grip around her waist tightened almost instinctively. She could feel the effort it took for him to stay measured, to keep this slow when every part of him seemed built for hunger.
And somehow that restraint only made the tension worse, every subtle movement beneath the water dragging another reaction from both of them. Her body felt overly sensitive already, caught somewhere between exhaustion and adrenaline and the lingering haze left by his bite. She turned her face slightly toward him, enough that their mouths nearly brushed again.
Then slowly, one of his hands slid higher along her body, fingertips trailing over damp skin until they reached her jaw, guiding her mouth fully toward his.
“You have no idea how long I've waited for you”
The kiss this time was slower. Still hungry, still deep, but heavier now, almost intoxicated by the quiet intimacy wrapping around them. She felt him breathe against her mouth as though he was losing pieces of his control one careful touch at a time, and when her hand reached back instinctively into his hair again, a rough sound vibrated low in his chest. The hand beneath the water tightened at her thigh.
Her body arched subtly against him in response and Remmick broke the kiss immediately, his head dropping back against the edge of the tub for one dangerous second like he was trying to recover from her.
The sight alone nearly undid her. Wet hair pushed back, throat exposed, chest rising slower now but heavier, eyes darkened almost completely when they found her again.
“Don’t hold back because of me” she whispered before thinking, a faint smile touched his mouth. Then his hand moved again, this time fast and harder. The reaction tore from her immediately, no longer quiet enough to hide, and his expression changed the second he heard it. Hunger flashed there again, but tangled now with something warmer, something almost disbelieving.
Like he couldn’t quite believe she was here with him willingly.
He murmured softly, mouth finding the mark on her neck again, kissing around it instead of biting. “Don’t hide from me now.”
The pressure finally became too much. It built slowly beneath her skin until every touch felt unbearable in the best possible way, until her body stopped knowing whether it wanted to pull away or move closer.
And Remmick felt every second of it. The moment her breathing lost rhythm completely, his arm tightened around her instinctively, holding her steady while the water shifted violently around them.
“There you are…” he murmured against her throat, almost dazed by the sound she made.
Her fingers clutched at him hard enough to ache, her head falling back against his shoulder as the tension finally broke through her all at once. Heat rushed through her body so intensely it left her trembling afterward, breathless and disoriented beneath his hands.
For a second she could only breathe. Remmick just stared at her.
Completely still. Like seeing her like this had done something catastrophic to him.
The look in his eyes made her chest tighten all over again, not hunger anymore. Possession.
His hand moved slowly up her spine, almost grounding her while steam curled thick around both of them.
“M'anam ar dhraoi” he whispered softly, more to himself than to her.
She looked at him, still breathless, warmth lingering through every part of her body.
“Is that Irish?”
For a moment he only smiled.
Not amused.
Something softer. Older.
His thumb brushed slowly along her spine beneath the water as if the question itself had pleased him more than it should have.
“It is.”
The way he said it carried memory with it. Not just language. Something deeper. Something worn down by centuries but not gone.
Her eyes stayed on him for a second too long and Remmick felt it immediately.
A faint shake of his head followed, almost disbelieving, before one of his hands slid beneath her thigh.
Then suddenly he stood.
Water spilled over the edge of the tub as she let out a startled breath, instinctively grabbing onto him while he lifted her effortlessly against his chest. The movement should’ve felt abrupt after how weak he looked at her door earlier, but now the strength in him had returned almost completely.
Or maybe it had never truly left.
Steam rolled around both of them as he stepped out of the tub with her in his arms, water trailing slowly down pale skin, across old scars and fading wounds already knitting themselves closed before her eyes.
Y/n looked at him in disbelief for half a second.
“You’re definitely feeling better.”
That earned her a low laugh against her shoulder.
“Much.”
He carried her toward the sink first, not putting her down immediately, like he simply enjoyed the feeling of her wrapped around him too much to let go yet. Their bodies were warm now instead of dirty, damp skin replacing smoke and blood, the remnants of the night slowly disappearing beneath water and touch.
But the tension hadn’t disappeared with it. Everything felt... More intimate.
He finally set her down carefully against the counter, his hands lingering at her waist longer than necessary while he looked at her like he was still deciding how much restraint he had left, and judging by the way his jaw tightened slightly—
The silence between them turned thick again, heavy with steam and breath and the quiet sound of water still dripping from their bodies onto the floor. For a moment he simply looked at her there against the counter, damp hair clinging to her skin, lips swollen from his mouth, the faint mark at her throat darkening slowly beneath the low light. Like he still couldn’t believe she was real. His hand rose first, slower this time, not rushed hunger anymore, something deeper. His fingers brushed damp strands of hair away from her face before trailing lower, along the curve of her neck, her shoulder, then lower still until his palm settled against her waist again. The touch lingered there, warm and possessive without force, his thumb moving slowly against her skin as his gaze followed every tiny reaction she failed to hide from him.
Before she could say something, he kissed her, slow this time, not desperate like before in the tub. Not starving. Just patient, taking his time. His mouth moved against hers like he finally had time to savor it, one hand sliding along her back while the other explored her body carefully, reverently almost, like he was learning something sacred through touch alone. She melted into it before meaning to, fingers curling instinctively against his shoulders as his mouth deepened the kiss little by little until breathing became difficult again. The sound she made against his lips nearly undid him. His hands tightened immediately. One slipped higher along her side, thumb brushing beneath the thin strap still clinging damply to her skin. He paused there for half a second, eyes lifting to hers, giving her every chance to stop him. She didn’t. The strap slid slowly down her shoulder. Then the other.
His gaze darkened visibly as the fabric loosened between them, water still glimmering faintly across her skin beneath the dim bathroom light. For a second he simply looked. Completely ruined by the sight of her.
“My beautiful witch…” he murmured again, softer now, almost like prayer.
The warmth in her stomach tightened painfully at the sound. His mouth found her throat again while his hands wandered lower, tracing slowly along her waist and thighs before returning upward with maddening patience, touching her everywhere except where she wanted him most. Every movement felt deliberate. Measured. Like he enjoyed watching her lose composure piece by piece beneath him.
“Remmick…” his name left her quieter this time, more fragile than before.
That finally snapped something in him.
His mouth crashed into hers again harder, one arm wrapping around her waist while the other pulled the remaining fabric from her body completely. The cool air lasted only a second before his hands replaced it everywhere, warm palms sliding over damp skin, over her waist, her thighs, higher— The breath she lost against his mouth made him groan softly. Then suddenly she was lifted again.
A startled sound escaped her as he carried her effortlessly out of the bathroom, her legs instinctively wrapping around him while his mouth kept finding hers between quiet breaths and lingering kisses. The house remained dark around them despite the sunrise outside, heavy curtains trapping the night indoors so only faint strips of pale gold slipped through here and there across the floorboards. Everything else stayed shadowed. Intimate.
The bedroom appeared through darkness in pieces—the edge of the bed, tangled sheets, soft light catching briefly against damp skin before disappearing again. He lowered her onto the mattress carefully but didn’t let go once. His body followed hers immediately, weight settling between her thighs while his hands slid slowly along her legs, pushing them apart just enough for him to fit there naturally like he already belonged.
His mouth never really left hers after that. Even when he pulled back just enough to breathe, he stayed close enough that she could still feel the warmth of it against her lips, the rough rhythm of his breathing mixing with hers in the darkness. One of his hands slid slowly along her thigh again, higher this time, deliberate enough to make her shiver beneath him while the other braced beside her head like he was holding himself back from completely losing control. Not that he was doing a very good job anymore.
The tension that had been there for nights, glances, near touches, interrupted moments and dangerous restraint—finally had somewhere to go now, and both of them felt it. Everywhere.
His mouth dragged down her throat again, slower now, lingering kisses replacing words while his hands explored her body with growing confidence. Not rushed. Never careless. Like he genuinely enjoyed learning every reaction from her one by one. The soft arch of her back when he kissed lower. The shaky breath when his hand tightened possessively at her thigh. The way her fingers kept gripping his shoulders harder every time he touched her somewhere sensitive.
And when her teeth sank lightly into his shoulder after one particularly devastating kiss against her neck—A low sound escaped him immediately.Deep. Rough.The reaction thrilled her more than it should have. His head lifted at once, dark eyes fixing on her while one hand slid up to her jaw, thumb pressing softly against her lower lip as though he couldn’t decide whether to kiss her again or completely ruin her.
“That,” he murmured, voice roughened badly now, “you do that again and I might forget every good intention I have left.”
The faint laugh she tried to hide dissolved into a breathless sound instead when he kissed her again, harder this time, his body settling fully between her thighs. Heat rushed through her instantly at the feeling of him there, solid and overwhelming in the best possible way, his restraint hanging by threads now every time she moved against him instinctively. He noticed every single time. How couldn't he?
“My love…” the words left him almost warningly against her mouth as one of his hands slid along her waist, then lower, guiding her closer beneath him.
The first slow movement pulled a broken breath from both of them.
Y/n’s fingers tightened hard against his back, her body reacting instantly to the overwhelming closeness of it, to the heat, the pressure, the way he seemed to know exactly how to move before she even understood what she needed from him. Remmick shut his eyes briefly at the feeling, forehead dropping against hers as though even he needed a second to recover from it.
Then he moved agai, deeper. The room filled with uneven breathing and quiet sounds neither of them were really trying to hide anymore. Outside, morning continued brightening somewhere beyond the curtains, but inside the bedroom everything still belonged to the night. Shadows clung to damp skin, tangled sheets, the sharp outline of his body moving over hers with impossible patience at first.
But patience only lasted so long. The rhythm gradually changed beneath her hands, growing rougher, faster, driven now by something darker than restraint. His grip tightened at her waist as though he needed to feel her closer every second, one hand eventually sliding upward to cradle her jaw before his fingers curled lightly around her throat—not enough to hurt, never enough for fear, just enough to hold her still while he kissed her deeply again. The sound she made into his mouth nearly destroyed him.
A strained groan left his throat immediately after, the kind of sound that vibrated straight through her body and made her lose what little composure she had left. Her attempts to stay quiet shattered piece by piece after that, breaths turning into soft moans she couldn’t swallow fast enough every time his pace deepened or his mouth found her neck again.
And God, her neck. He kept returning there like instinct demanded it.
His lips brushing the mark he’d left earlier. His teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her shiver violently beneath him. More than once she felt the sharp edge of his fangs against her pulse and every single time his body reacted to it too, movements turning rougher for a second before he forced himself to pull back from the temptation.
The restraint itself became intoxicating. Because she could feel how badly he wanted to lose it. And still—he didn’t. Not with her.
“Look at me,” he murmured once, voice strained as he lifted her chin gently between his fingers.
She did. And the expression on his face almost undid her completely.
Centuries of hunger. Control. Loneliness. Want. All of it looking back at her at once. The realization hit her hard enough that she pulled him down into another kiss herself this time, desperate and breathless, her legs tightening around him as though trying to keep him impossibly closer.
That finally broke the last of his control. The pace turned harder after that, sharper thrusts pulling helpless sounds from her mouth while his own breathing grew heavier against her skin, rough sounds slipping from him more openly now every time she reacted to him. The bed shifted softly beneath them, sheets tangled around damp limbs while one of his hands slid possessively along her thigh, then higher, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
And somehow, despite how overwhelming he felt above her—
Every touch still carried restraint. Like even now, with her trembling beneath him and his own control hanging by threads, some part of him remained terrified of taking too much.
The room had dissolved into heat, tangled sheets and breath long before either of them realized it. Nothing outside existed anymore.
Only this.
His body over hers, moving with growing desperation now, all the restraint that had defined him around her finally unraveling piece by piece beneath her hands. Every sound she made dragged another reaction from him immediately, rough breaths turning into low groans against her skin while his grip tightened instinctively at her waist and thigh like he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance anymore.
And she was just as gone. Every slow, careful attempt to stay quiet had disappeared somewhere between his mouth on her throat and the way he kept looking at her like she was undoing centuries of control with every touch. Now her breaths came openly, uneven and trembling, fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks while the pressure building inside her became almost unbearable again.
“Remmick…” his name broke from her helplessly.
A strained groan left him immediately as he buried his face against her neck, his movements turning deeper, rougher, no longer measured by patience but by need. She felt his teeth against her pulse again, sharper this time, his control visibly hanging by threads while one hand slid beneath her thigh to pull her impossibly closer.
The mattress shifted beneath them in uneven rhythm while his breathing grew heavier against her throat, every movement dragging both of them closer to the edge they’d been circling for hours now. Her nails scraped lightly down his back, the reaction pulled from him immediately and wrecked.
“You’re killing me,” he muttered roughly against her skin.
The irony almost made her laugh if she’d been capable of forming thoughts anymore.
Instead she kissed him again desperately, fingers sliding into his damp hair while her body arched against him instinctively, chasing more, needing more. That finally shattered whatever composure he had left. His pace lost its last restraint.
The sound she made at the sudden intensity tore something low and ruined from his chest while his hand tightened possessively at her waist, holding her firmly against him as though he planned to keep her there forever. His mouth stayed at her throat now, breaths hot against damp skin, occasional grazes of his fangs making her shiver violently beneath him every single time.
And when she finally broke— He felt it instantly.
Her entire body tightened around him with a breathless sound that nearly turned into his name again, pleasure crashing through her hard enough to leave her trembling beneath him while his grip around her almost became desperate trying to hold her through it.
The feeling of her falling apart beneath him finally dragged him over the edge with her.
A rough sound escaped him against her neck as his movements faltered hard, control snapping completely while he buried his face against her throat and let himself go for the first time all night. She felt the tension leave him all at once beneath her hands, his body shaking once from the force of it before he finally went still above her, breathing hard against her skin. For a long moment neither of them moved.
The room stayed dark and warm around them, sheets tangled around damp limbs while their breathing slowly tried to find rhythm again.
Remmick remained where he was for several seconds longer, forehead resting against her shoulder, one arm still wrapped tightly around her waist like instinct refused to let her go yet.
Then slowly—very slowly—he lifted his head.
His eyes found hers immediately. Still dark. Still hungry. But softer now in a way she hadn’t seen before. Her fingers brushed lightly through his damp hair.
Her fingers caressed him, tracing a path across his face, looking at him “Is this a dream?" she said more to herself than to him
Remmick looked at her with such eyes, he took her waist and pulled her closer to him, he took her by the chin; his hand covered most of her face. He stroked her cheek with his thumb and smiled, then leaned in and kissed her lips gently and slowly, almost tenderly.
"I should be asking myself the same” he said
She smiled, but suddenly, memories came rushing back to her, and the feeling returned, he noticed her mood changed.
“Shh, shh it's okay, it's okay" he hugged her
“Was everything real, Remmick?" She asked, hoping he would say no.
He didn't answer, not that fast, he just kept her with him, "I understand your pain “ he simply said and hugged harder. That made her start crying, that was all she needed, she started crying for the very first time for everything that had happened.
He doesn't have a heart, he could not feel, but he does understand the pain, the loss. When she felt the support in that hug, her tears turned in a river and she hugged him back, because she couldn't hold that feeling any more…
Minutes turned to hours, maybe just 1 hour with a couple minutes. He stayed there with her, holding her. She was better now, still hurt of course, but this was the first step to go through it.
She lifted her face to look at him, "you'll have to explain to me everything…” she said
"Anything, my love. You'll have your answers “ he said
“When I’m feeling better, I’ll ask you straight out. But for now… why haven't you turned me?” The words settled differently after everything that had just happened.
Remmick’s expression changed almost immediately, something older crossed his face then. Something tired. His thumb moved slowly along her waist beneath the sheets before he answered.
“Because dying like this…” his voice came quieter now, roughened by honesty instead of desire, “isn’t a gift, my love”
She stayed silent, watching him. He looked away briefly toward the dark room around them before continuing.
“People imagine eternity as something beautiful or powerful.” A faint humorless smile touched his mouth. “It isn’t.” His gaze returned to hers slowly. “Not when you watch everyone you love disappear while you remain exactly the same.”
Something in his eyes shifted there. Ancient. Lonely.
“I would drink from you forever if you asked me to,” he admitted softly. “But condemning you to this…” His hand slid up slowly until it rested against her throat again, thumb brushing carefully beneath the mark he left earlier. “That choice should never belong to hunger.”
The room fell quiet again after that. Only breathing. Only darkness. Only the weight of him beside her and the strange tenderness hidden beneath everything dangerous about him.
She stayed quiet after that, not because she had no questions left. But because suddenly, for the first time since the night began, exhaustion finally reached her. Outside, morning had fully arrived somewhere beyond the curtains, though the bedroom remained wrapped in shadows and fading warmth.
Remmick’s arm stayed around her waist when she settled closer again almost unconsciously, her head resting against his chest while silence filled the room softly this time instead of painfully.
He looked down at her for a long moment.
At the bruised mouth he had kissed raw. At the mark blooming slowly against her throat. At the woman who had opened the door anyway.
Something unreadable crossed his face then. Then slowly, almost instinctively, his hand moved into her hair and stayed there while she drifted toward sleep. And for the first time in a very long time— Remmick didn’t feel alone.
Tom Riddle (pre-Voldemort) x Original Female Character (Alhena)
Genre: Romance, Suspense, Time Travel, Dark Magic, Drama, Slow Burn, Smut
Timeline: Canon Divergence - Year 5 (Harry Potter) / Tom Riddle adult era (1950s)
Tags: time Travel, enemies to Lovers, Obsessive Tom Riddle, latin Witch OC, ancient Magic, mind Magic, Forbidden Love, Mental Bond, Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Angst, Dream Manipulation, Magical Rituals, Found Family, Voldemort Redemption Arc.
CAP. 12
Darkness still covered the room when Tom opened his eyes. For a long moment, he did not move. The curtains remained drawn, thick enough to block the morning entirely, yet he already knew several hours had passed. The silence of the manor had changed. The distant pipes behind the walls had warmed. Somewhere below, the house-elves had already begun moving through the kitchens. It was already morning and still, the remnants of the dream clung to him with unusual clarity.
Was that really a dream? - He thought, whatever it was, it was a problem, Tom remained lying against the dark sheets, gaze fixed on nothing as fragments continued surfacing uninvited behind his eyes.
He concentrated on himself, there was rain, but it didn't feel like English rain. He remembered it felt warmer… somehow, even heavy against green leaves instead of stone streets. He also remembered the scent of wet earth so vividly it almost felt real even now.
Then that laughter, the boy’s voice. Messy dark hair. Sharp eyes. Reckless energy. Must be that Sirius friend that she talks a lot.
The memory — if that was what it had been — had carried no fear. No caution. Only familiarity so natural it almost felt careless. And that feeling, that unknown feeling. Tom’s brow faintly tightened.
Like something in his chest, it wasn't desire nor obsession, something quieter, safe and new. The sensation disturbed him more than the nightmares he used to have as a kid.
Because he understood fear, he understood the sharp pulse of humiliation, the cold instinct of survival, the anger buried beneath tears. Those emotions had appeared in the dream too — vivid and familiar enough that he recognized them immediately.
When he saw the child version of Althea alone in the woods. The fear when voices shouted at her. The humiliation, the fury. Those emotions fit neatly into things he already understood. But the others… The softness around that boy’s presence. The strange ache of belonging. The simple comfort of being wanted without condition. Tom stared upward into the darkness. Foreign. Entirely foreign.
And yet when he recalled those moments now, he could still feel traces of them lingering faintly beneath his ribs like residual magic. His jaw tightened. He had entered minds before. Bent them. Broken them. He had done it just like opening locked doors. But this had not felt like Legilimency. There had been no force, there was no force, no resistance. The dream had reacted to both of them at once, it was mutual.
That alone unsettled him. Slowly, Tom sat up against the headboard, one hand resting against his mouth as his thoughts sharpened.
It had been her mind. He was almost certain of it now. Not only because of the emotions, but because of the details. The world inside the dream had been wrong. Subtly at first. Then impossibly so, the clothing, the architecture. The faint glow of unfamiliar lights beyond windows. Objects he could not identify. He remembered catching glimpses of towering structures unlike anything in London. Strange metallic shapes moving through crowded streets without magic. Glass brighter and smoother than anything common in Britain now.
At first he had assumed cultural differences. But culture alone did not explain it. Nor did it explain the feeling that everything he had seen belonged to another time entirely. His expression darkened slightly. Interesting. He felt excited, he smiled for himself. Because Althea herself never spoke like someone from his world either. Even when she tried. There were moments her phrasing shifted oddly. References she stopped midway through. Behaviors that did not entirely fit this decade no matter how carefully she adjusted herself.
And now this.
Tom leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against his knees. Time. The possibility settled into place slowly, dangerously.
Absurd, but not impossible. Magic had bent far stranger laws before, but it is a powerful kind of magic, hard to do by yourself alone, he knows there are some instruments that can help you travelling, but he hadn't seen one in her, nothing suspicions on her possessions
A faint sound pulled him from his thoughts — movement somewhere deeper in the manor. He ignored it. Instead his mind drifted unwillingly back toward the final moment of the dream.
The clearing.
How she turned toward him.
That look on her face when she saw him there.
Not fear, just surprised.
“…Tom?” The memory replayed with unsettling precision.
She had been conscious. He was certain of it. Which meant she remembered too. A slow exhale left him.
For the first time in years, Tom found himself facing something he could neither fully predict nor entirely control, maybe he could, but it would take time to really know her
And instead of disliking it—
His mouth curved faintly.
He found himself wanting to see how far it went.
Tom stood at last.
The room had grown quieter somehow. Or perhaps his thoughts had simply become louder.
With a lazy movement, he pushed the covers aside and crossed toward the window. Heavy curtains shifted open at the flick of his fingers, allowing pale morning light to spill into the room. Cold, grey, predictable London. For a moment he simply stared outside, one hand slipping into his pocket while his gaze wandered across the grounds below.
Everything remained where it should be, orderly and understandable. His eyes drifted toward the gardens, and there, moving along one of the stone paths, he spotted Althea. She was alone, just there with a book tucked beneath one arm and looked entirely unaware she was being watched. There was nothing unusual at first. She walked slowly through the gardens, occasionally glancing around as if simply passing time. Then her pace slowed near one of the flowerbeds. She stopped. Bent slightly. Tom narrowed his eyes. She looked at the flowers but went directly through the weeds.
Tiny wild plants growing between the stones and around the edges of the garden beds, things most people would ignore entirely. For a moment she simply crouched there, brushing loose strands of hair away from her face as she examined them. Then she reached forward. With her hand, she merely touched one of the leaves.
Tom felt it immediately. She was doing magic. He is sensitive to magic, yes. But why does this feel so easy?
It wasn't a spell, nor magic being cast, it was as simply as magic reacting, like if by touching it the weeds would know what they need to do.
The sensation that Tom was feeling was subtle but unmistakable, brushing through the air so naturally that for a second he almost doubted himself. The plants beneath her fingertips shifted ever so slightly, not unnaturally, not violently. Slowly. Softly. As though they had leaned toward her. A dead stem curled upward again. Leaves that had yellowed around the edges regained traces of green. Tiny roots beneath the soil seemed to stir.
Tom's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened, interesting, very.
There had been no command in it. No force or domination, not even taking. Nothing had been bent to her will.
His fingers stilled slightly against the windowsill. Because for one impossible moment, that strange sensation from the dream returned. That warmth feeling, nothing like desire or obsession, he does know both, but he couldn't name what he was feeling, it was softer, quiet. Immediately he realised that that feeling was not his, it was hers. His jaw shifted faintly, naturally. He remembered fragments again without wanting to, the rain its smell, the laughter, that reckless dark-haired boy. That family time… is that a feeling of belonging?, that warmth sensation… he thought.
He was genuinely curious or interested in finding out—something he’d never admit out loud. But
Is that really how he feels? Why does he feel it through her memories or her mind? What is connecting them?
There are a lot of questions coming, a lot of possibilities to feel the unknown…
This was apparently a dream. But if he enters her mind, will he be able to feel those emotions more vividly, he thought
Tom stared at her a while longer. Slowly... very slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted. "...What exactly are you and why are you here?" he murmured to himself.
Almost as if she had heard him, Althea suddenly stilled below. Tom's expression remained unchanged, but he noticed that, of course.
She looked down first, toward her hand still resting among the leaves. Then slowly her head turned up directly toward his window.
She looked at him, like when someone calls you and you wait for them to tell you why they’re calling or what they need. For a brief second neither moved, even from this distance he could see it — that tiny narrowing of her eyes.
Had she felt me, did she hear me? - he thought, Tom did not step away.
Did not pretend otherwise. Instead he simply held her gaze, deliberately, he tilted his head once.
Down below, he watched confusion briefly cross her face before she straightened, brushing dirt from her hands. She stared another second longer before crossing her arms suspiciously. Tom made a wry smile.
By afternoon, they would be leaving for Ollivanders. And for the first time in years, he found himself genuinely but strangely interested in the afternoon ahead.
Tom held her gaze for another moment through the glass before finally stepping away from the window. He had no intention of standing there like some schoolboy caught staring. Still, the corner of his mouth remained faintly curved as he crossed back toward the room. Curious. That alone should have irritated him. Instead, his thoughts followed her downstairs while he dressed. Dark robes today. Not formal enough for ceremony, not casual enough for comfort. He adjusted the cuffs slowly, gaze drifting briefly toward his reflection.
Tom had always understood appearances. Power announced itself before words ever could. People trusted elegance. Respected confidence. Fearing certainty. And fear, he had learned young, arrived far easier when wrapped in something beautiful.
By the time he descended the staircase, the manor had fully awakened. He found her near the kitchen entrance.
Althea stood near one of the windows, sleeves rolled slightly past her elbows, trying to make portals with her hands – small, circular ones, in blue and pink.
She managed to make a circle, reached her hand through It and grab a biscuit from the other end of the kitchen. When she hears him come in, she startles and everything fades away.
“Oh Hey” she looked the way he was dressed “ are you going Somewhere?”
He stared at her for a moment, she look so relaxed in his space… she hides things, it's obvious, but she doesn't pretend to like him. His gaze lingered a second too long. She looked up.
"Ok, you're staring a lot, is everything ok?
Tom blinked once. Then continued walking as though he had not been caught.
"I'll be returning later."
She watched him suspiciously.
"...Okay?"
"Evening." He adjusted one sleeve. "We'll go to Ollivanders."
Her brows lifted.
"You need a wand."
"Oh yeah sure, as you wish, I still think people here are strangely dependent on pieces of wood."
Tom looked at her. "...And I still think walking around Britain performing wandless magic is a quick way to create problems."
“Well I haven't perfom—” she defended herself when he interrupted her.
"I'll return before sunset.".
“Okays, I'll wait”
Something strange settled briefly in the silence, and it felt domestic. Only thinking in that word irritated him, so naturally he left.
Outside, the streets from London were louder than usual. Tom barely paid attention. People greeted him occasionally. Some recognized him. Others simply moved aside. Not because of fear, not yet. By this moment Tom Riddle possessed that particular sort of presence that made people unconsciously make room.
He arrived near a quieter district of magical London. Abraxas Malfoy was already waiting. Perfect posture. Perfect clothes and Perfect bloodline.
Tom liked him, just to a degree. Abraxas was useful. Which was often more valuable than likable.
"Riddle."
"Abraxas."
They walked side by side.
"I heard Leach's support continues weakening."
A faint smile touched Abraxas' face.
"People become... concerned when proper influence disappears."
Tom almost smiled. Concerned. Such a civilized word..
The Ministry always dressed uglier things in cleaner language: Fear, suspicion, pressure, manipulation.
Very convenient for people like Abraxas, because crowds rarely followed the truth. They followed narratives. And pure-blood families—
Tom's gaze shifted briefly toward the passing streets. Idiots. Most of them inherited names and mistook inheritance for greatness.
The Gaunts had done exactly that, obsessed with blood, obsessed with ancestry but weak, and pathetic. A decayed family worshipping old names while rotting from within.
But No—power mattered, talent mattered. Power justified itself. Blood merely attracted followers. And followers… followers were useful.
Suddenly the rain came. He started remember the warm rain, laughter. The family… Tom's steps slowed almost imperceptibly.
Abraxas glanced sideways. "...Something wrong?"
Tom blink once.Nothing showed on his face. "No." his expression sharpened slightly. Because for the second time today—he had been thinking about Althea, again.
The thought irritated him enough that he said nothing for several streets.
Rain tapped softly against the stone as they continued toward the Ministry district. Around them, witches and wizards crossed the streets beneath enchanted umbrellas and shifting charms overhead, conversations dissolving into the city noise.
Abraxas eventually broke the silence. “You've been difficult to find recently.”
Tom glanced at him briefly. “have I?...I've been occupied.”, he said with a fake smile.
Abraxas had learned long ago that Tom rarely offered direct answers. Not because he distrusted people entirely — though he did — but because he seemed to instinctively understand the value of withholding pieces of himself. Information was currency, and Tom disliked spending unnecessarily.
“You'll be leaving soon then?” Abraxas asked.
Tom's eyes shifted toward him “Word travels quickly.”
“It does around you.” Though Abraxas still carried that same subtle admiration many eventually developed around Tom, Respect, the dangerous kind. Tom noticed it, he always noticed.
They passed through the Ministry entrance together. Polished floors. Golden statues. Endless movement. Clerks moving with papers pressed against their chests. Officials pretending urgency.
Tom disliked the Ministry. Too many mediocre men convincing themselves they mattered. Still… power gathered in places like this. And power deserved observation.
Abraxas led him toward a quieter corridor. “My father wanted me to ask something.”
Tom remained expressionless.
“There's concern regarding certain acquisitions.” Abraxas said.
That interested him slightly. “Oh?”
Abraxas lowered his voice. “A collector from the continent recently acquired several artifacts connected to old Balkan magic.”
Because despite appearances, Abraxas knew very well what interested him.
Power, forgotten magic, things buried, things people feared.
He knew because Tom had allowed him to know, carefully and measured. Never entirely.
“I've arranged names,” Abraxas continued. “Contacts. Routes.” He reached into his coat and handed Tom a folded parchment.
Tom opened it, there were names and two locations. He read silently. He needs to travel, he is leaving Britain soon anyway, not permanent, Just to keep studying, learning, and becoming more.
The world still held too many things hidden from him. Too much magic left untouched. Too much power left in older places.
And perhaps—his fingers paused almost imperceptibly— perhaps Althea knew things he hadn't even begun understanding yet. Wandless magic. Ritual work. Portals. That strange relationship with magic itself, her perspective, borrow not take, Work with it.
Tom folded the parchment once. Then twice.
"I appreciate, Abraxas," he said simply.
Abraxas smiled faintly. Coming from Tom, that was practically praise.
Then Tom reached inside his own coat and handed him a small black box.
Abraxas looked genuinely surprised. Slowly he opened it. Inside rested a silver serpent ring with dark emerald eyes. Old and expensive. Rare. Acquired months ago through Borgin & Burkes.
Abraxas looked up. "...Riddle."
Tom adjusted one sleeve. “A gift.”
Not really. Because Tom Riddle never gives anything without purpose, and both of them knew it.
Abraxas took it happily, and asked “When is your next gathering?”
Tom looked toward the Ministry windows, the same memory of Althea came to his mind "...Soon."
And for reasons he wasn't entirely willing to examine— another thought surfaced immediately afterward. He wondered what expression Althea would make when Ollivander handed her a wand.
—-------
By the time Tom returned, evening had already settled over the city. The manor stood quiet as always, controlled and predictable but the moment he stepped inside, he saw Althea, just there. Her presence gives the mansion a completely different atmosphere; it makes it feel... warm.
Tom removed his gloves slowly as he crossed the entrance hall, gaze drifting toward the sitting room, Althea was standing near one of the mirrors. Ready or at least attempting to be. Tom stopped.
She looked up almost immediately. “Oh.” Her face brightened slightly. “You’re back.”
His eyes moved over her once. Then twice, not staring… assessing… absolutely not. He thought
Althea noticed the look instantly. "...What."
Tom removed his coat with complete calm. “How are you planning on going dressed like that?”
Silence, She blinked. "...Like what?”
His expression remained perfectly neutral. “That.”
She looked down at herself. Then back at him. Then down again. “What’s wrong with it?”
Nothing was wrong.Technically. But that was not the point.
Tom crossed the room slowly. “It tells people nothing.”
Althea frowned. "...Excuse me?”
He looked at her as though the answer should be obvious. “Appearance matters.”
“People decide things before you speak.”
He adjusted one cuff.
“But I don't look bad or ugl—’
“No, you don't, but with me, people look… they focus on status, presence, influence.”
Then his eyes lifted toward her again… Ah. There it was. Not embarrassment. Not vanity… Althea stared at him for a few seconds.
Then crossed her arms. "...You know, there are less terrifying ways to give fashion advice.”
Tom ignored that entirely. “How many outfits did you bring?”
A pause. "... I bought this one here.”
Long silence. Tom looked at her, Althea looked at Tom.
"...What.”
"...This is all you have?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I didn't exactly plan this…travel.”
Fair, technically. Tom said nothing. Simply reached into his coat. Pulled out his wand.
Althea narrowed her eyes immediately. "...Tom”
A flick of his wrist, magic moved. Dark fabric unfolded around her like smoke, not violent nor flashy. The magic felt soft, elegant and measured, just as the clothes.
The sensation lasted only seconds. When it settled—
Althea stared downward. Dark fitted trousers. Tailored.
A charcoal shirt beneath a long coat that carried deep green and black through the stitching, silver details catching faint light. It looked structured, sharp, powerful and very expensive. She looked stunning, and the most important thing was that she fits him, so intentional.
She slowly looked up and down to herself. Then back at him.
"...Oh."
Tom observed quietly. Satisfied. “Much better,” he said.
“Well—” she was about to say
“With me,” he said calmly, “you won't dress like a lost traveler.”
Althea looked at him, then looked at herself again.
"... that's”
Tom waited
"...That’s slightly rude.”
“Accurate.”
“Tom…”
“Althea.” he interrupted her
She stared, He stared back.
And then—unexpectedly—
she sighed dramatically, not offended, just like accepting it.
"...Okay, well, I gracefully accept your criticism.” She lifted both hands slightly.
“I won't argue with you; I’ll let you teach me….”
Because something in Tom's expression shifted almost imperceptibly, His eyes darkened; he stared and lingered, just a second too long. Submission bored him, blind agreement irritated him. But that, that openness, her honestly. That quiet willingness to let him guide something— he felt something that he couldn't name, but it did like it.
Althea tilted her head. "...Why are you looking at me like that?”
Tom blinked once, then turned away. “Come.” he said in a cold tone, perfectly controlled, as if absolutely nothing had happened.
He started to take his things “We're leaving.”
"... You have good taste, I look good”
"...Mhm." Tom reached for the door without another word.
The moment it opened, cold air spilled violently into the entrance hall, sharp and grey and entirely London. The wind moved through the manor like it had been waiting outside all day, slipping beneath sleeves and across skin.
Althea immediately recoiled. “Oh my God—” she pulled the coat tighter around herself. “How do you people live like this?”
Tom barely glanced at her while fastening one glove. “Your country apparently stole all the sun.”
Silence. Althea blinked slowly, her head turned. “…Was that a joke?”
For the smallest fraction of a second, the corner of Tom’s mouth shifted not fully but enough for her to notice it.
Her eyes widened. “That was a joke. I did like it, you're right, we stole it, just look at my skin and look yours”
Tom looked forward, expression perfectly composed. He said nothing. Which meant yes.
Althea opened her mouth again, ready to continue but stopped as soon as she felt his hand had settled around her waist, firm and sure, like it belonged there, without hesitation. Her entire body stiffened.
He looked down at her once. “Stay still.”
And then the world folded. Darkness twisted around them. The familiar violent pressure of apparition pulled reality sideways, cold wind becoming something heavier, stranger. For one brief second the sensation felt like falling and being dragged upward simultaneously.
Then stone beneath their feet, the noise and voices came along. The warm light spilled from shop windows into crowded streets. It was Diagon Alley. Althea blinked immediately. People moved around them beneath floating lanterns and enchanted signs, cloaks brushing past in every direction. Laughter somewhere farther down the street. Owls overhead. Everything looks actually nice and pretty for her.
Tom started walking, and of course she did too, not because she was following impatiently or something, Tom’s hand remained at her waist. Not because he had forgotten, simply had not moved it. Althea tried not to pay attention to that and looked around slowly.
“That was amazing, I’d never teleported like that before”
Tom finally released her. Her attention moved immediately from one shop to another, eyes following enchanted displays and floating objects through windows. Tom watched quietly.
“Riddle.” A passing wizard nodded respectfully.
Tom gave a slight inclination of his head.
Two old witches farther ahead slowed.
One glanced toward Althea, then toward Tom, then toward Althea again, expressions shifted instantly. Recognition and interest, maybe assumptions… one of them smiled.
“What a lovely couple.”
Althea nearly tripped, Tom continued walking. Completely unaffected, as though nothing had happened as though correcting them had never even crossed his mind. Althea looked at him trying to see how he would react. But nothing,
They kept walking and crossed paths with a man dressed in rich plum-colored robes, carrying several paper bags floating lazily beside him.
“Well, Merlin preserve me…”
Tom slowed.
Horace Slughorn looked between them and immediately smiled.
“Tom Riddle.” His face lit with unmistakable pleasure. “My dear boy, look at you.”
Tom inclined his head politely.
“Professor Slughorn.”
Althea looked between them quietly, Slughorn?, the same Slughorn Dumbledore talked about once?
Because Tom’s entire posture had changed almost imperceptibly. Not softer exactly, but smoother. More polished. Like watching someone place a mask over something sharper underneath. Slughorn beamed.
“I haven't seen you in ages. Borgin keeping you imprisoned, is he?”
“Not successfully.”
“Excellent, excellent.” Slughorn waved one hand dismissively before his attention drifted toward Althea, then back toward Tom, then toward their matching dark coats. Then back toward Althea. A pause, a very suspicious pause.
“Well now...” his smile widened. “And who is this?”
Tom's gaze shifted toward her. “This is Althea.”
“Althea"
They speak at the same time, they looked at each other for both interruption
Slughorn's eyes sparkled immediately. “Ohh, I see.”... "Charming,” Slughorn said warmly. “Very charming. I must say, Tom always had exceptional taste.”
Althea frowned slightly, absolute silence, Althea blinked, once, twice trying to believe what she just heard…
Tom remained perfectly composed. Perfectly “I do my best.”
Althea turned so fast she nearly stared holes through the side of his face. Tom did not look at her, not even slightly.
Slughorn chuckled.
“Well, well, I won't keep young couples from their evening.”
Tom simply inclined his head. “Professor.”
And then they continued walking in silence, until Althea broke it, turning slowly toward him.
“…You do realize you could have corrected him.”
Tom looked ahead “about?”
She stared. Then narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Tom looked ahead again. A very small smile threatening briefly at the corner of his mouth.bHe said absolutely nothing.
Several streets later they stopped before a narrow old storefront. Dusty windows. Faded gold letters.
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.bTom looked toward the shop.
Then toward her. “Try not to break anything.”
Althea looked offended … okay, someone is happy apparently, she thought
Tom opened the door. “Please” Inviting her in first
The shop looked exactly as it always had: impossibly narrow, endless shelves climbing toward darkness, thousands of wand boxes stacked from floor to ceiling. Dust floated through thin golden light and somewhere deeper inside, something wooden shifted softly.
Inside, a familiar voice rose from somewhere among endless shelves
“Tom Riddle…and company.”
Tom's eyes shifted.
Then came the sound of careful footsteps. Mr. Ollivander emerged from between the shelves, pale eyes immediately finding Tom.
“Mr. Riddle.” His expression remained unreadable, though his gaze lingered briefly. “It has been some time.”
Tom inclined his head politely. “Mr. Ollivander.”
The old wandmaker stopped before them. Slowly, very slowly, his eyes narrowed.
Althea looked around the shop once before glancing back.
Tom remained perfectly still. Ollivander tilted his head.
“You feel... different. Mr. Riddle”
Tom's eyes shifted slightly. For a moment Ollivander studied him with unsettling focus.
“More powerful.” His gaze sharpened. “Stronger than the last time.”
“But you did not come Here for yourself.”
His eyes moved. Toward Althea. And stayed there, Tom smiled politely.
“This is Althea.” Then with perfect ease, “Tell me what you can find for her.”
Althea smiled faintly somewhere between polite and uncertain. Ollivander did not answer immediately. His head turned toward Tom slowly, as if preparing to respond— yet his eyes never left Althea, not once, not even briefly. Silence stretched. Althea shifted slightly.
"...Hi.. I.. I need a wand" Nothing.
“Curious.” said Ollivander
Tom's expression did not change. But internally he was so interested in the situation, because Ollivander rarely looked surprised.
The wandmaker stepped closer. Not invading, just bserving. There was something strange in the air now, just subtle but impossible to notice.
Except Tom did, of course he did The air around Althea felt... different, like standing near quiet water and realizing only afterward there had been movement beneath it.
Ollivander's eyes lowered briefly toward her hands, then lifted again. Long enough that even Althea smiled awkwardly.
"...Is this normal?" She asked
"Hm." He circled her once, very slowly. “Fascinating.”
Tom's eyes followed him. Ollivander stopped. His pale gaze sharpened slightly.
“This will be difficult.” Ollivander finally said
Althea blinked. “...pardon?”
Ollivander tilted his head “Most witches and wizards arrive here with magic seeking direction.” His eyes moved toward her hands. “Structure. Containment.”
“But yours does not.”
Tom looked at him, very carefully now.
Ollivander continued quietly:n“Your magic isn't reaching outward.”, another pause “It already knows where it belongs.”
Althea frowned faintly trying to follow. Tom said nothing. Not because he wasn't interested, but he was paying attention to every word. Ollivander stepped closer. Not to her. To the space around her, like listening.
“The first wandmakers wrote of magic like this.” he murmured. “Before wands became... necessary.” His pale eyes moved slowly toward Tom, then back to Althea. “There is no instability, no struggle.”
His brow faintly furrowed. “Curious...”
Tom's attention sharpened, because curiosity from Ollivander meant rarity. The old wandmaker looked directly at Althea now. And for the first time there was the smallest trace of wonder beneath his restraint.
“Your magic responds to your body as if it were already home.”
“Mr. Riddle...” his eyes shifted toward him briefly. “I don't believe she needs a wand.”
Althea blinked. Tom stared.
Ollivander tilted his head. “I believe,” he corrected calmly, “the wand will need to adapt to her.”
And for the first time since entering, Tom smiled, it wasn't politely, socially smile, it was a Genuinely one, because he was intrigued now.
Y/n is a woman, a witch in her own quiet way-sensitive to things others can't see, drawn to energies she doesn't fully understand. She's Annie's friend, not from here, not really belonging anywhere, and already tired of the kind of people this town attracts.
Then there's Remmick.
A vampire who should've taken her the first chance he got-but didn't.
What starts as curiosity turns into something darker: tension, hunger, restraint. While chaos unfolds and blood is spilled, he doesn't choose her like prey... he waits.
And when everything burns down, when the night takes more than it gives..
CAP. 7
The shift was immediate, brutal.
One second the room was noise and confusion, voices stacking over each other, movement without direction… and the next, it started narrowing, pulling inward, like instinct was finally catching up to what none of them wanted to name yet.
“Everybody out—now!” the musician snapped, his voice cutting through everything with a sharpness that didn’t invite argument. It wasn’t panic—it was control, the kind that comes from knowing something is very, very wrong.
People hesitated at first, but not for long. The energy had changed too much. Whatever had just happened wasn’t something you stayed around to question.
They began to move and come out.
Chairs scraped, bodies rushed, voices lowered into uneasy murmurs as the crowd started spilling out of the place in uneven waves. Near the back, the door to the room stayed shut—Smoke still inside, still with Stack.
He hadn’t come out.
Y/n didn’t move with the others. Not fully. Her body shifted toward the entrance again, pulled by something she couldn’t ignore, her steps slower now, more deliberate as the crowd thinned around her.
From where she stood, she could see just enough when the door to the room opened, just enough.
Stack’s body. Still. Wrong. Too still.
Her breath caught, sharp and quiet, her chest tightening as her eyes flicked immediately to Annie, who was already looking at her.
And in that look, there it was… understanding.
Not spoken. Not confirmed. But there. They both knew.
“That’s not safe,” Annie said quickly, already moving toward the room, her voice lower now but urgent. “Smoke, we have too take him outside”
“I’m not leaving him,” Smoke’s voice came from inside, rough, strained, something breaking under it. “He’s my brother.”
“You saw Mary. She got shot and stood up like nothing, we're not safe and you know it.” Annie shot back, not harsh—firm. Grounded
Silence stretched for half a second too long.
They came out together, Smoke slower, reluctant, but he stepped out. The door shut behind them, locked. Stack inside.
The room felt smaller after that.
Near the entrance, as the last of the crowd filtered out, the Asian woman grabbed her husband’s arm, her voice low but rushed. “Go get the car. Now.”
He didn’t argue. He just nodded and moved, slipping out into the night without another word.
Y/n stayed where she was—near the door, near the threshold again, like something had rooted her there. Her mind wasn’t catching up in straight lines anymore, it was fragments. The scream. Mary. The blood. Him.
Him.
“Hey—what the hell happened?”
Cornbread’s voice cut through, casual at first, confused as he stepped back in like nothing had shifted at all. His eyes moved from face to face, landing on the blood, the tension, the silence that answered him before anyone spoke.
“Smoke…? Why there’s so much blood?”
Smoke didn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at him—really looked this time.
“Where the fuck were you?” he asked instead.
Cornbread frowned, thrown off just enough. “Man, I told you, I had to take a piss. I left her—” he gestured vaguely, nodding toward Y/n “—watching the door for a second."
That pulled attention to her, just briefly.
But it wasn’t her that held it.
“Stack’s dead,” someone said.
Cornbread’s expression dropped instantly, like a switch. “What?” A step forward, concern now, heavy, believable. “Damn… alright, let me in, I’ll help with whatever you need—”
He moved to step past them, but she stopped him first, her hand came up without thinking, pressing lightly—but firmly—against his chest before he could cross.
“Wait,” she said.
It wasn’t loud, but it cut clean.
He blinked, confused. “What?”
Her gaze sharpened, something clicking into place that hadn’t been fully formed until now. “A minute ago you didn’t need permission to come in,” she said slowly, watching him, every reaction, every flicker. “Why do you now?”
The air shifted again.
Annie caught it instantly.
“You’re a grown man,” Annie added, stepping slightly closer, her tone deceptively calm. “Strong too. You could push past us if you really wanted to.”
Cornbread looked between them, a tight smile pulling at his mouth, something uneasy under it now. “What’s going on with you?” he said, almost laughing it off. “That’s rude as hell.”
No one moved, no one laughed, the silence answered him.
Something in his expression changed—just for a second, then he stepped back.
“Aight,” he muttered, lifting his hands slightly. “If that’s how it is… I’ll go.”
“But at least give me my pay,” he added, tone shifting again, lighter, almost annoyed. “I worked tonight.”
Smoke hesitated.
Then his hand moved, reaching into his pocket, pulling out the money slowly. Annie’s body tensed beside him, her voice low, warning.
“Be careful.”
But Smoke stepped forward anyway, extending the cash just enough—
Cornbread’s hand shot out, grabbing Smoke by the arm, yanking him forward with a force that didn’t match anything human. The movement was violent, sudden—pulling him halfway out the door—
But Smoke was faster, he shoot him, straight into his face.
Cornbread’s body dropped back—but not like it should have. Not limp. Not dead.
Wrong.
Annie moved instantly, grabbing Smoke and pulling him back inside, slamming the door shut hard behind them.
For a second, no one spoke, no one breathed.
Through the small space, through the crack, through the impossible, they watched him move.
Slow, unnatural, reforming and recovering.
Like death had missed him entirely, and inside, something settled over all of them at once.
There was no more guessing anymore.
—
The door slammed shut and for a moment, everything held.
Not silence—never silence—but something tighter, something compressed, like the room itself had drawn a breath and refused to let it go. Smoke’s chest was still rising fast, Annie’s grip firm on his arm, and just outside, through wood and space, they all knew what was still moving out there.
Then asound from the room came out.
Soft at first, then clearer. Movement where there shouldn’t be any.
Everyone froze. Another hit—closer to the door this time.
“Hey—” Stack’s voice came through, muffled but unmistakable. “Hey… open up, man.”
Relief tried to surface, fast and desperate.
Smoke stepped forward immediately. “Stack?” his voice cracked just slightly. “You were hurt bad, man… you lost a lot of blood.”
“Yeah… yeah, I know,” Stack answered, almost casual. “But I’m good now. C’mon, open the door.”
The singer let out a shaky breath, something like hope slipping through. “That’s… that’s good, right? That means he’s not—”
No one answered her, no one moved.
“Stack,” Smoke tried again, slower now. “ What just happened?”
Silence.. and fhen BANG.
The door shook under a sudden impact, and again.
Harder.
“Man, open the damn door!” Stack’s voice snapped, sharper now, something underneath it twisting wrong.
Another hit—wood cracking.
Y/n’s body tensed, her mind catching up too fast now, pieces locking into place whether she wanted them to or not.
The door gave.
It burst open with a splintering crack and Stack came through it fast—too fast—his body moving with something feral, something not human anymore. He went straight for Smoke, he barely had time to react before Annie moved, stepping in and throwing the liquid straight at him— A sharp sizzle cut through the air. Stack recoiled instantly, a sound tearing out of him—pain, real pain—as his skin reacted, burning where it touched him.
“What the hell—?!” he staggered back, clutching at himself, his expression twisted, confused, furious, running away from the place.
The room went still again, but not the same kind of still., this one had clarity.
“What… is that?” the singer asked, voice smaller now, uncertain.
Annie didn’t hesitate. “Garlic.”
“Holy shit…” the older musician muttered under his breath.
“Everyone grab something get ready,” Annie said immediately, already moving, already thinking ahead. “Pairs. Stay close.” she started to explain what we need and what we're going to face.
The room shifted into motion again, but this time it had direction. Smoke stayed near Annie, still watching Stack like he didn’t fully believe what he was seeing. Sammy hovered near the singer, protective without thinking about it, while the others moved instinctively into proximity, into safety.
And Y/n— Stayed slightly apart, her mind wasn’t fully in the room anymore.
It was outside, the moments in the dark, with him.
Her fingers curled faintly at her sides as the memory hit again—his mouth at her neck, the way he had lingered there, the way he had breathed her in like something he wanted to consume.
He had wanted to.
She knew that now, he had every chance, more than one,and he didn’t take it.
Why? The question didn’t sit right.
It stayed. A scream. Sharp. Close, coming from the kitchen, everyone turned at once. They moved together this time, fast but careful, tension riding every step until they reached it—
A body, on the floor, still. A heavy silence followed, broken only by breathing.
“We need to get him out,” Annie said, steady despite everything.
No one argued. They dragged it out quickly, not wanting to linger, not wanting to look too closely, and once it was done, once they were back in the main space, Annie turned to them again, something resolved in her expression now.
“We don’t guess anymore,” she said. “We make sure.”
Her hand reached for the garlic.
“One by one.”
No one moved at first.
Then Annie did it herself, taking a piece and biting into it without hesitation. Smoke followed, then Sammy. Then the others.
One by one, until that little singer hesitated.
Her face twisted slightly in disgust. “I’ve never really liked the taste—”
“I’m not asking,” Annie cut in, sharper now.
The tension spiked again. The singer crossed her arms slightly, defensive. “This is unnecessary, I mean, it’s obvious—”
Smoke moved before she finished and he took his gun pointed at her.
“Eat it.”
Sammy stepped forward immediately. “Hey—hey, what are you doing? Put that down—”
Smoke didn’t even look at him, he just hit him, snapping Sammy’s head back just enough to shut him up, and the gun came back up without hesitation.
“Eat it.”
The room held its breath.
The singer’s eyes flicked between them— And then she pointed at Y/n.
“Isnt It obvious?, It's her.”
Everything shifted.
“She’s the one,” she continued quickly, urgency replacing attitude. “He said it himself—called her his friend. She went outside more than once. I saw them talking at the door.”
All eyes turned to her, suspicions, heavier.
Annie’s gaze found hers, searching. “Is that true?”
Smoke didn’t lower the gun, it covered both of them instead.
For a second, Y/n didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Then she exhaled—slow, controlled, grounding herself in something deeper than fear.
“Yes,” she said simply.
Honest.
“It’s true.” The tension snapped tighter. “But I’m not one of them.”
Before anyone could react, she stepped forward, reaching straight for the jar in the singer’s hand, pulling it from her grip without asking.
She took a piece. Without hesitation and eat it
The taste hit sharp and immediate, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t break eye contact as she chewed, swallowed, letting it settle, letting it prove exactly what she needed it to.
Silence. She handed it back. “You should mind your business,” she said, calm but firm, her gaze steady on the singer. “Especially when you’re the one refusing to do it.”
That was enough.
For now.
The attention shifted back, the pressure easing just slightly as the singer, now cornered, rolled her eyes and grabbed a piece herself, chewing with visible disgust before forcing it down.
Smoke lowered the gun.
His gaze moved back to Y/n. “What were you doing out there?” he asked. “Why were you talking to him?”
She hesitated—not because she didn’t have an answer, but because the truth didn’t sound simple.
“They were coincidences,” she said finally. “At first."
Then her gaze shifted to Sammy.
“But he’s not here for nothing.”
That changed the room again.
“What?” Sammy frowned.
She stepped slightly forward, something in her settling, something older, more certain taking over the hesitation.
“I don’t know how to explain it in a way that makes sense,” she said, her voice quieter now, but grounded. “But I felt it… when you were singing."
“That wasn’t just music,” she continued. “It was energy. It was… like a call.”
Her eyes stayed on him.
“I know you all felt it too, in different ways maybe… you pulled something through,” she said. “Not physically… but something answered. Ancestors. Something beyond this place.”
“...and he felt it.”
Now her voice dropped slightly.
“He’s not like us. He’s dead… but walking here. And you—” she pointed lightly toward Sammy “—you’re a bridge.”
The weight of that settled slowly"
“He sees you as a way to reach what he lost, to be able to see it again,” she added. “I don’t know his past, but I know that’s why he’s here.”
That leave everyone thinking, but a Knock interrupted everyone's mind.
“Smoke!!! Friend!! Let me in, I swear I won't drink again” the man that they took out said.
“Did you make sure he was dead” said Annie
Then everyone went to the same place where they found him, smoke kneel to check, it was just beer, not blood, what was down there…
“Please, brother, they're acting weird!!!”
They went to open the door, and as soon it opened, Cornbread attacked him, bitting him on the floor.
Then Bo, Li’s husband came back, like nothing, he looked at her and told her to go back. Li saw Cornbread, then Bo again scared. “ He's killing him” she said at Bo, in a tone that is screaming -why are you acting normal?-.
Bo turned to see it “he?, he's going to be all right, let's go” he said.
She didn't answer.
“Or you can let me in and help you to get our things done” he said again.
Bo followed her gaze, almost lazily, like he was humoring her.
No one moved. The air outside felt thicker now, heavier… like it wasn’t just night anymore.
Another figure stepped forward from the dark.
Remmick.
He didn’t rush. Didn’t force anything. He just arrived, like he had always been there, like the moment had been waiting for him.
His gaze moved across them briefly—measuring, reading—and then it found her. It stayed there.
“Now…” he began, voice calm, almost gentle despite everything unraveling around them. “We don’t have to keep doing this.”
His eyes shifted to Smoke, but only for a second.
“You’re tired, confused. And you’re trying to make sense of something that doesn’t play by your rules.” A faint tilt of his head. “I understand that.”
Annie didn’t relax. If anything, she stepped slightly forward.
Remmick’s mouth curved faintly—not quite a smile.
“You want the truth, I'll give it to you” he said softly
He gestured lightly toward Bo, toward the others behind him.
“The people you should be afraid of aren’t us.” A pause. “They’re coming. You know that.”
Smoke’s jaw tightened, focus and confused.
Remmick continued, tone steady, almost conversational. “The Klan’s already on its way. Guns. Fire. Numbers.” He said seriously “see him? He’s the motherfucker nephew, and while you think this is all yours, he, the leader is just waiting to kill you all”
That pulled attention.
“How do you know that?” Annie asked, sharp.
Remmick’s gaze shifted back to her, but only briefly—because then it returned to Y/n.
And there was something different in it now.
“When we take someone in,” he said, quieter now, “we don’t just take their blood.” A small pause. “We take everything, memories, fears, desires, truth “
His eyes didn’t leave hers.
“I’ve seen what they plan to do with all of you.” His voice lowered just slightly.
Silence pressed in. “ And somehow,” he added, almost thoughtfully, “I ended up here… at the exact right moment to stop it.”
The girl beside him laughed softly under her breath, lifting her hands slightly like she was presenting something beautiful.
“We could build something better,” she said. “a Klan based on love” kinda creepy of her.
Remmick didn’t look at her.
He was still looking at Y/n. “You know I’m not lying,” he said quietly. He was not talking to the group anymore. Just her.
A small step closer—not crossing, never crossing.
“I came here for him,” he added, finally glancing toward Sammie. “For the music. For what he can do.”
Then back to her.
“But then…” a softer breath left him, something almost amused, almost reverent. “I felt you.”
That landed.
“I saw you move. The way you answered it.” His voice dropped. “That wasn’t nothing, I know you know something, you're sensitive to all of this.”
The space between them tightened again, even with the door still between.
“but you…” his gaze softened, but not in a safe way. “I want You. But not like this, not like you all think,” he added, quieter now. “Not taken. Not forced.” His head tilted just slightly. “Come to me.” The words didn’t break the line. “Don’t invite me in,” he murmured. “You don’t have to.” he paused. “Just… come.” The tension snapped tighter across the room.
Then, like it hadn’t just turned intimate, he shifted back toward Smoke again, tone steadying.
“Let us in,” he said. “And tomorrow… we deal with the real enemy together.”
The girl beside him smiled wider. “We make something new,” she added lightly. “our new Klan' built on love.” That word didn’t sit right.
Remmick’s gaze flicked back toward Li. Just for a second and his expression changed, sharp.
His voice dropped, lower now, quieter… and he spoke again—this time not in English. He was speaking in Chinese. The words were smooth, almost gentle in sound. But the reaction was immediate.
Li stiffened, her face drained, she understood. Whatever he said—
It wasn’t kind.It wasn’t safe and Remmick watched it land. Watched the fear settle. Only then did he look back at the door, at all of them.
Softly, almost as an afterthought:
“It’d be a shame if something happened to your daughter… while you’re all stuck in here deciding.”
Li screamed at him, she was about to go outside in anger through him, everything was chaos smoke and the musician took her inside, the singer and Sammy watched everything from a corner. Annie went with Smoke trying to calm her.
Y/n went to the door to close it, but before she could, Remmick took her hand kindly.
Her breath caught.
“Don’t let them turn you against what you felt,” he murmured, voice low enough that it didn’t belong to anyone else in the room. “That wasn’t fear… and you know it.”
Her pulse jumped under his fingers.
For a second, everything else blurred—the shouting behind her, Li struggling, Annie’s voice trying to ground her—none of it reached the same way he did.
“You’re trying to make sense of this like they do,” he continued softly, his thumb brushing just slightly against her skin, familiar now, deliberate. “But you don’t experience things like they do.”
Her lips parted, but no words came.
His gaze held hers, steady, searching—not forcing.
“I could’ve taken you,” he added, quieter now. “More than once, but I didn’t.”
A small pause. “Ask yourself why.” her chest rose unevenly.
His hand loosened just slightly, not pulling her closer, not crossing the line—just enough to remind her that he wasn’t holding her there.
“I’m not asking for trust,” he said, almost gently. “Just honesty.”
“... with yourself.”
The noise behind her came back all at once—Li shouting, something crashing, someone calling her name—but it felt distant compared to the way his gaze stayed locked on hers.
“For what it’s worth…” he added, softer now, something almost real slipping through, “you looked so beautiful out there.” he said it looking at her from head to toe
His fingers slipped from hers slowly, like he was choosing to let her go.
“I’ll be right here,” he murmured.
And then he walk away with the others
Leaving her there.
Half in, hallf out.
With her heart still racing… and no clear answer for why. She just processed to close the door
Hey! Just wanted to say I’ve been reading your Tom Riddle and Remmick fics and they’re so good 🤩 Keep it up! I really love the unique storylines and how smooth and immersive your writing is 🥰
Thank you so much!!! I really really appreciate it 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫂
Tom Riddle (pre-Voldemort) x Original Female Character (Alhena
Genre: Romance, Suspense, Time Travel, Dark Magic, Drama, Slow Burn, Smut
Timeline: Canon Divergence - Year 5 (Harry Potter) / Tom Riddle adult era (1950s)
Tags: time Travel, enemies to Lovers, Obsessive Tom Riddle, latin Witch OC, ancient Magic, mind Magic, Forbidden Love, Mental Bond, Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Angst, Dream Manipulation, Magical Rituals, Found Family, Voldemort Redemption Arc.
Cap.11
Pale light filtered through the curtains, settling quietly into the house. Althea hadn’t slept much. Not after what had happened. Not after the way he looked at her the night before. The memory lingered, sharp and unsettling, she’s trying to understand his intentions, his plans.
She knows this man, this Tom will be Lord Voldemort one day and what she knows thanks to Sirius, his wickedness is beyond words. But in the end, she doesn't know enough.
She sat at the edge of the bed, fingers loosely intertwined, staring at nothing in particular. The house felt different in the morning—too still, too composed. As if nothing dark had ever touched it. As if he weren’t in it. A soft shift of movement in the corridor drew her attention. She stood, opening the door just enough to see him. Tom was already dressed, posture immaculate, movements precise as ever. There was no trace of the night before in him. No tension. No hesitation, only control.
“You’re awake,” he said without turning.
“I didn’t sleep much,” she admitted.
That made him glance at her. “Thinking?” he asked.
About what you showed me.” A pause.
He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, unbothered. “And?” he prompted.
Althea leaned slightly against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely.
“I think you believe being capable of something gives you the right to do it.”That got his attention.
He turned fully now.
“Do I?”
“Yes,” she said calmly. “Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you’re meant to.”
A flicker of something crossed his expression—interest, maybe.
“Meant by whom?” he asked.
“By the thing that gives you magic in the first place.”
His lips curved faintly.
“You still believe magic is something that gives,” he said. “Not something that’s taken.”
“I do, it's the way I learnt it, we were taught different types of magic, different culture and mine doesn't need to feel like it owns everything” she replied.
Silence stretched between them—not empty, but charged. Then he stepped closer. Not threatening. Not gentle.
Just enough to remind her he could. He murmured, “However, you used it last night ”
Her jaw tightened slightly. “So childish of me, yeah but I wanted to prove my point.”
“So did I.” Their gazes locked. Two different philosophies standing inches apart.
For a moment, neither moved.
“I have things to attend to,” he said, stepping back as if the moment had never happened. “You’re free to do as you like.”
Of course… He moved past her, pausing only briefly. “Try not to get lost in places you don’t understand,” he added. And then he was gone.
---
The moment the front door closed, the silence shifted.
Althea exhaled slowly. “…Right.” She didn’t waste time.
His room was exactly as she remembered—ordered, precise, almost sterile. But now that she knew what to look for… it felt different. Colder. She moved carefully, eyes scanning every surface. Books. Papers. Objects intentionally placed.
She opened a drawer. Then another.but found nothing, too clean, too deliberate. Her gaze drifted toward the wall. Something about the space felt… wrong. Not visually. She only followed her instincts and stepped closer, raising her hand slightly in front of it.
“Revelio.”
For a second, nothing happened, but then, a faint shimmer with a kind of distortion in the air. Her breath caught.
“Well… that’s not suspicious at all.” She pressed her palm forward. The wall gave way.
---
The hidden chamber was small. Dusty. Quiet in a way that felt older than the house itself, and full of him. Not the polished version, the real one, papers scattered across a narrow table. Notes, diagrams—meticulous, obsessive.
She stepped closer.
Names, bloodlines, the Gaunt family, her fingers hovered over the ink, she didn't know much, again just what Sirius have told her, or Albus in those meetings
“Of course,” she whispered.
A glass dome caught her attention. Inside it—a ring, old and cracked but heavy with something she could feel.
Magic, wrong magic, dark magic. She couldn't know exactly but her senses reacted just like a cat in danger, her stomach tightened.
“That’s not just an heirloom…” Her gaze shifted again.
Another set of papers, a lot of dates, but one with a certain patron 1943. She felt how her breath slowed, then she saw a note, beautiful handwriting and not enough information.
Found and dealt with, a cold spread through her chest. She knew that year. She knew what it meant.
“…You were sixteen,” she murmured. Silence answered, her eyes moved faster now, connecting pieces. Understanding too much. Too quickly. A photograph slipped slightly from a pile, she picked it up, a girl Myrtle Warren it said on the picture, and on the back, June 13, 1943.
Her grip tightened. Not curiosity, not theory, this was it, when everything began… What stage of his life am I at now? How many Horcruxes does he have by now? She let out a heavy sigh… “I am the last person who should be transported back to his past” she thought
She crouched slightly, scanning lower, and there, beneath a loose board.
“…No way.” She pulled it free. The diary. Worn and ordinary and not at the same time. She held it carefully, as if it might react to her. “Okay, okay this is it…”
Relief came first, quickly, this was a way home. Finally,
“This is so thoughtless of me…” she said heavily…
She stepped out of the chamber, the wall sealing behind her like it had never existed. Back in her room, she paused.
Looking around, thinking…
She prepared everything to make the ritual.
She started, she got everything in order, focused, said what needed to be said, and began to see the lights. Purple flashes—out of nowhere, those that she already knows, a vast gap split the reality she now found herself in.
Excited, she took a step forward, ready to turn back. Just as she was about to cross, with just a few steps left to complete her return, she stopped, looked around and hesitated; that split-second of hesitation turned into five minutes of inner turmoil. If she returned... Will everything be as it was before, or will it be worse? – just how much will her time here have changed things... If she returns to find out… May she be able to return to set things right?.
All these questions in her mind, she finally got what she'd been working on, and now she's thinking on staying instead.
She knows one thing: Dumbledore set her this task for a reason – the most powerful wizard in this country’s magical world, for goodness’ sake; he must know something that doesn't say to anyone… he must have had a reason…
She looked back to the gap, she could see her room, her things , her ritual items as if not even five minutes had passed since she’d left…
She took a deep breath “Ok,ok, I’ve got the diary now, so I do know how to get back, and I know It is possible…”
She moved away from the portal “What if I stay and do a bit of investigating?...” She looked just one more time at her time… exhaled heavily and closed the book, but the thought lingered. Just like everything since she got here.
She moved to the small trunk at the foot of the bed and opened it, it was empty, good enough. She placed the diary inside and closed it carefully. For a moment, her hand rested over the lid. As if that could contain everything…
Then, something a faint movement of air shifted behind her, she turned and saw the book he had given her, lay open on the floor, she frowned. “I didn’t leave it like that…” she stepped closer, and she bent down to take a closer look; she was puzzled when she read: Amortentia.
Her eyes scanned the page, ingredients, steps, precision, not dark magic, well ... in her country it is dark magic but the steps to make this one is… nicer … just another mask.
Her fingers hovered above the paper.
Her eyes moved more slowly across the page this time, Blood. Hair. Intent. Connection. Her expression shifted. "...This isn't just a potion." The realization settled cold in her stomach, it was structured like binding magic, Why do they make it seem so normal here?, all of this feels way too dangerous, and.. sad
Of course this has something to do with Tom, the book on the floor, this page at sight… but, what? And why?
Her hand lowered slowly, okay, whatever this means, not his, not now. She closed the book taking a deep breath and thinking of what's next. “Okay, let's not do anything; I need to eat,” she said to herself.
Hours have passed, she spent them just existing, she cooked something again, for both of them, cleaned a little, well she dusted everything off and tidied up a bit; she wouldn’t actually move anything that was clearly there for a reason.
She's now in his library. If I choose to stay, I have to learn, she thought. She knew magic, yes, but wand magic was different. Structured. Sharper. Almost invasive.
Most of the books around her treated spells like weapons or tools to dominate something, control fire, control minds, control movement. Back home, magic was rarely described that way.
Hours passed without her noticing. At some point she found herself sitting cross-legged on the carpet beside a stack of books, parchment spread around her. Disillusionment charms, memory alteration, protective wards.
A tracking spell that required a strand of hair, another capable of detecting emotional residue left behind inside objects.
Some fascinated her, some unsettled her.
One section on Legilimency made her stop entirely. "Extraction of thought through direct magical intrusion..."
Her face twisted slightly. “That’s horrifying.” And yet she kept reading, because understanding this world meant understanding him.
Another passage caught her attention later that evening, wandless magic, written in elegant silver lettering across the top of the page.
Her eyes narrowed with interest as she read.
According to the author, wandless spellcasting was considered highly unstable and exceptionally difficult — something only achieved by unusually gifted witches and wizards after years of disciplined study. Most could barely manage accidental bursts of magic without a wand, let alone controlled spellwork.
Advanced wandless casting, the book claimed, bordered on legendary.
Althea blinked.
“...Okay”, she reread the paragraph, then another and the more she read, the stranger her expression became.
"Only the most magically powerful individuals are capable of maintaining sustained wandless control..." A quiet laugh escaped her. Back home, children learned to guide magic through their hands before they ever touched ritual tools. Wands weren’t forbidden exactly, just… unnecessary. Useful for focus, perhaps, but never essential.
Here, they wrote about it like it was something mythical, kinda dangerous, nearly impossible.
She leaned back slightly, staring at the page with growing disbelief. “So all of you are carrying sticks because you genuinely need them,” she murmured under her breath, and suddenly several things about British wizarding culture made much more sense.
Still… part of her understood it now. Wand magic was efficient, precise and easier to weaponize. It demanded less listening and more control.
That thought lingered with her as she continued reading late into the evening, moving from spell theory into potion-making, comparing ingredients with the alchemical practices she already knew. British potion-making felt colder somehow — less intuitive, more transactional.
Measured blood.
Timed reactions.
Forced precision.
Still… she had to admit the results were impressive. By the time she noticed the ache in her eyes, the room had darkened around her. A book rested open in her lap, fingers still curled loosely against the page. And little by little, exhaustion finally pulled her under.
The sound of the front door echoed faintly somewhere in the distance, she didn’t hear a thing, the fire had burned low by then, shadows stretching long across the library walls. Books and loose parchment surrounded her on the carpet, evidence of hours spent reading things she probably should not have touched.
Tom stepped inside the library in complete silence.
His coat was still dark from the cold outside, gloves in one hand, expression unreadable — until his eyes landed on her already asleep. For a brief second, he simply stood there. It was… Strange. Was she waiting for him?
No one had ever fallen asleep waiting for him before.
His gaze drifted slowly across the scene: the open books, her notebook with notes written in her language, others in English and some unfamiliar symbols beside annotations, the scattered texts on wand theory, protective enchantments, soul magic.
Then his attention settled on the page open in her lap….Wandless magic?, one of his brows lifted faintly, so she does want to learn, mmmhh i didn't expect less, he thought
Tom crouched beside her, lifting the edge of the book slightly to read the underlined sections.
"Magic should obey intent before instrument."
Another line written in her handwriting beneath the paragraph: "Depending entirely on an external focus weakens instinct." … Interesting.
His eyes moved to her hand resting loosely against the page. Ink stained the side of her finger. There was something almost absurd about it — this girl from another time sitting in his library criticizing an entire magical system like a scholar invited to judge it. And somehow… he liked it. More than he should and more than he's gonna admit.
Carefully, he picked up another parchment nearby.
A comparison chart. British wand movements on one side.
Symbolic alchemical patterns on the other. At the bottom she had written:
"Their magic bends reality by force. Ours negotiates with it."
Tom stared at the sentence longer than necessary. Most people spoke about magic with reverence or fear. She spoke about it like it was alive. His gaze shifted back to her sleeping form, like if he would like to know more about her by just watching her.
Even now she looked peaceful in a way that did not belong in his world. Hair slightly messy, cheek pressed against the armchair beside her, breathing slow and deep.
Too comfortable here already, dangerously comfortable.
Without fully thinking about it, he reached down and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face.
The moment his fingers touched her skin, her brows twitched faintly. Not awake, just reacting to him.
His eyes darkened slightly at that. Then he noticed another book partially hidden beneath the others.
Amortentia…Tom picked it up slowly and looked at her somewhere between surprised and bewildered
The page had clearly been read multiple times. His expression became impossible to read, not suspicion exactly. Curiosity, Careful curiosity.
All this question came to his mind, Did she understand what that potion truly represented? Did she know where he came from?
His thumb brushed absentmindedly against the page before he closed the book. A part of him considered waking her, asking questions, testing her again.
Instead, he looked around the dim library once more before quietly conjuring the fire back to life with a lazy movement of his hand.
Warm light flickered across her sleeping face.
And against his better judgment, he stayed, not sitting beside her nor touching her again.
Just remaining there in the quiet, watching the flames dance while his mind circled around the same dangerous realization it had been returning to more and more lately.
She was becoming interesting in ways he had not planned for.
The fire crackled softly between them, filling the library with a low, steady warmth.
Tom should have left, there were still things waiting for him upstairs — letters unanswered, meetings to arrange, names to remember. And yet none of that pulled at his attention as much as the girl asleep a few feet away in his chair.
His eyes drifted once more toward the notes scattered around her, analysing everything, that was what unsettled him most.
Althea did not look at dark magic the way everyone else did. She neither worshipped it nor recoiled from it completely. She dissected it and questioned it. Tried to understand why it is call dark magic, it is just magic… we decide which path to take.
His gaze lowered slightly, a soft sound broke the silence.
She shifted faintly in her sleep, brow tightening as though caught in an unpleasant dream. One of the parchments slipped from her lap onto the floor, Tom reached for it before thinking.
His eyes scanned the writing, at first, his expression remained neutral. Then he read further.
Horcrux theory appears less focused on immortality and more on fear.
That took his attention.
A person truly unafraid of death would never seek this.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, another line beneath it:
Splitting the soul repeatedly does not feel like conquering death. It feels like becoming incapable of living.
The library suddenly felt smaller. His fingers curled slightly against the parchment, most people feared him, some admired him. But none had ever looked at him with this strange mixture of curiosity and pity.
Pity.
The thought irritated him immediately, and yet… she did not fully understand what she was talking about.
Could not, her theories were naïve in places. Idealistic. Built on philosophies untouched by reality.
But some part of her had still reached frighteningly close to the truth.
His eyes lifted toward her again, still asleep.
Completely unaware she had just placed herself dangerously close to a line few people ever survived crossing with him.
Tom stood slowly. For a moment it seemed like he might leave after all. Instead, he walked toward one of the shelves, selected a book, and returned.
Quietly, almost deliberately, he placed it near her side.
Advanced Defensive Enchantments and Soul Protections.
An answer, or perhaps an invitation.
Then his attention shifted toward the trunk near her bed visible through the partially open library door, a subtle crease formed between his brows.
Earlier, the magical atmosphere inside the house had shifted for a brief moment. He had felt it immediately a disturbance, like ancient magic, different magic. His gaze lingered there thoughtfully. She was hiding something, no surprise. The question was what, and more importantly— whether he wanted to uncover it yet.
A quiet breath finally escaped him, almost amused.
“eventually you'll tell me, I won't even have to ask,” he murmured softly, more to himself than to her.
At that exact moment, Althea stirred again. Her eyelashes fluttered faintly before slowly opening. For a second she looked disoriented, caught between sleep and awareness.
Then her gaze landed on him. He was watching her.
The realization hit almost instantly, and she straightened slightly too fast, parchments sliding from her lap.
“…How long have you been standing there?” she asked, voice rough with sleep.
Tom leaned back slightly in the armchair across from her, composed as ever.
“Long enough.”
Althea exhaled softly through her nose, somewhere between embarrassed and amused. Slowly, she pushed herself upright, fixing the sleeve that had slipped from her shoulder, brushing hair away from her face and trying to regain some dignity after clearly passing out surrounded by books.
“Right,” she muttered quietly.
Tom watched every small movement with unreadable calm.
“You’ve been studying.”
“Just reading,” she corrected lightly, stretching one arm before sitting properly again.
His gaze drifted over the scattered books “ what did you want to know”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I wanted to understand more about British magic.” She glanced toward one of the open texts. “The friend I mentioned before… we barely saw each other growing up. He taught me some things, but not much.”
“Tha Sirius man taught you wand magic?” Tom asked, the name sounding oddly deliberate coming from him.
“The bare minimum.” She shrugged slightly. “Enough not to accidentally explode something.”
That earned the faintest trace of amusement in his expression. “How reassuring.”
Her eyes narrowed playfully for a second before drifting back toward the books. “Honestly, some of these spells are useful. A little aggressive for my taste, but useful.”
Tom leaned back in the chair opposite her. “Aggressive.”
“Mhm.” She picked up one of the books from beside her. “Even the theory behind wand movements.” She tapped lightly against a diagram on the page. “Force. Direction. Domination, but just my perspective”
“And yours doesn't have force, direction or domination?”
She hesitated briefly, searching for the words.
“Of course we need that but only as a form of discipline, not to be applied to another person. Magic there feels more… cooperative, I guess.” Her fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the page. “You listen to it first. You work with it. Here it feels like people are constantly trying to bend it into obedience.”
Tom studied her for a quiet moment. “But your kind still uses ritual tools.”
My kind… she thought with a slight, incredulous chuckle “Sometimes.” She tilted her head slightly. “But not because we need them.” His eyes sharpened faintly at that.
“You truly learned without a wand.” he said
“Since childhood, yeah.”
Silence settled briefly between them again, a measured silence for him Tom’s gaze moved toward the open wandless magic text beside her. “Most witches and wizards here would struggle to light a candle without one.”
“That’s honestly terrifying,” she admitted with complete sincerity.
A quiet breath escaped him — not quite a laugh, but close.
Althea blinked at him, mildly surprised she had managed to pull even that reaction from him.
Then she suddenly remembered something. “Oh— wait.” She leaned down beside the armchair, reaching for a small plate partially hidden beneath a stack of parchment. “I made these earlier.”
Tom’s eyes flicked toward it cautiously. “They’re just sweet rolls,” she said. “Relax.”
“I am”
“are you?” She picked one up herself first, tearing off a piece and eating it dramatically slowly. “See? Not poisoned.”
Another almost-smile threatened briefly at the corner of his mouth.
“I wasn’t concerned about poison.”
“No?” She lifted one brow. “That feels unlike you.”
Tom said nothing to that, after a second, she picked up another piece and held it toward him casually. “Try it.”
For a moment he simply stared at her hand, not exactly offended, just… unfamiliar with the gesture.
Then, slowly, he leaned forward, his gaze never left hers as he took the piece from her fingers — lips brushing very lightly against the tip of her thumb.
Accidental enough to deny, but intentional enough to feel.
Althea’s breath caught almost imperceptibly. Tom straightened again like nothing had happened, chewing calmly.
Silence.
Then finally, a small nod. “…It’s good.”
She tried very hard not to look affected by that stupidly simple approval. “Well, thank you.”
Another quiet settled between them, warmer now, softer around the edges.
Tom broke it first. “Tomorrow we’ll get you a wand.”
Her brows lifted immediately. “mmm Ok, sure… Why?”
“Because you cannot walk through Britain casting wandless magic in public.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “People notice.”
She frowned slightly. “mmhh”
“It is just not normal here.” he said
She crossed her arms loosely. “You do it.”
Tom’s expression remained perfectly calm. “People… don't dare to question me”
“Why?” She asked
His eyes lingered on her for a second longer than necessary before he continued. “If you're good, I’ll show you one day”
She leaned back into the chair. “Okay… and if I don’t want a wand?.
“You’ll need one eventually.” His gaze drifted toward the books around her. “British magic was built around them. If you plan on staying here for any meaningful amount of time, you’ll need to understand how this world functions.”
That word lingered slightly, Staying.
She noticed it, so did he. They both looked at each other suspiciously
Tom stood smoothly from his chair, adjusting the sleeve of his coat again. “Tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “There are a few places I want you to see before Ollivanders.”
Her curiosity flickered instantly. “What kind of places?” His eyes met hers again — dark, unreadable, almost thoughtful.
“You’ll see, just let's sleep” he said.
“Will I be able to sleep tonight?” she asked lightly, though there was something careful beneath it.
Tom paused near the doorway. His eyes drifted back toward her, dark and unreadable
“You make it sound as though I haunt you.”
“Do you?.” The answer came too naturally.
For the faintest second, something almost amused crossed his face.
Althea noticed it, watching him carefully. “If I stop for a moment to think about all this, It’s a little concerning”
“Is it?” he asked softly.
“Yeah, you appear in people’s dreams, manipulate minds, bring strangers into abandoned places in the middle of the night…” She tilted her head. “You’re not exactly helping your case, I appreciate it tho.”
A quiet breath left him — closer to a laugh this time.
“Sleep, Althea.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“No,” he agreed calmly. “It wasn’t.”
Their eyes held for a moment longer, then he finally turned away and disappeared into the corridor, the library fell silent again.
She let out a sharp breath, “Okay…”
------
Later that night, exhaustion eventually won.
The house was dark by the time she made it back to her room. She barely remembered changing clothes before collapsing onto the bed, mind still crowded with thoughts of hidden chambers, soul magic, and dark-eyed men who smiled like secrets.
Sleep came slowly and strangely, at first, there was only warmth. Beautiful sunlight, and the sound of wind moving through trees.
Tom became aware of the dream gradually, like surfacing underwater. That alone irritated him immediately.
He did not dream often. This was not his mind, he knew it instantly.
The air smelled different here. Rain, earth, smoke from herbs burning somewhere nearby.
A forest stretched endlessly around him, alive in a way that felt almost intrusive. Golden light filtered through enormous trees, illuminating symbols carved into stone and hanging charms made of bone, flowers and silver thread.
Magic pulsed everywhere, like a living being.
Tom stood still, eyes narrowing slightly as he observed his surroundings. Then he heard laughter, so warm, soft and familiar. His gaze shifted immediately.
Althea.
She stood several feet away near a riverbank, younger somehow — not physically, but softer around the edges. Sunlight touched her skin as she crouched beside the water, sleeves rolled up while several small glowing figures danced above her open palms.
The magic moved naturally around them, responding to touch, emotion, movement.
One little girl accidentally sent sparks bursting into the air and immediately panicked.
Althea laughed softly and took her hands gently. “Hey, hey, it's okay, Don’t force it,” she told her. “It listens better when you're calm” Tom watched silently from the trees. No one noticed him.
The scene shifted suddenly, it was now dark.
Candles floating in glass bowls across dark water. Voices chanting softly somewhere beyond the trees.
Althea again — older this time, standing inside a circle painted in gold and ash. Magic moved beneath her feet like flowing roots, responding to every movement of her hands
Tom’s attention sharpened. The power here felt ancient. Different from anything taught at Hogwarts. Just foreign.
Everything changed again, this time fast and violent.
The warmth vanished. A flash of memory not meant for him.
Althea younger, angry, crying, a man screaming as uncontrolled magic shattered every window around him.
There was fear and pain in the ambience.
Another image came, someone older taking her hands firmly. Teaching her to control, to restraint.
"Magic answers emotion first. That is why discipline matters."
Tom felt the echo of that sentence like something brushing against his own thoughts.
Is this really a dream or memories?”
Suddenly, just as if the moment has reacted to him. The lights flickered violently, the forest darkened and Althea turned.
It didn't seem like a character of a dream, it looked just like her, aware of her surroundings.
Her eyes locked onto his, instantly from across the clearing.
For the first time since entering the dream, surprise crossed her face.
“…Tom?” Silence stretched between them.
The entire dream seemed to hold its breath, then the magic around them shifted uneasily.
Because dreams were not supposed to hold two conscious minds at once.
Y/n is a woman, a witch in her own quiet way-sensitive to things others can't see, drawn to energies she doesn't fully understand. She's Annie's friend, not from here, not really belonging anywhere, and already tired of the kind of people this town attracts.
Then there's Remmick.
A vampire who should've taken her the first chance he got-but didn't.
What starts as curiosity turns into something darker: tension, hunger, restraint. While chaos unfolds and blood is spilled, he doesn't choose her like prey... he waits.
And when everything burns down, when the night takes more than it gives..
Cap. 6
The door closed, and this time it should have meant something. It should have drawn a line, created distance, ended whatever strange pull had settled between inside and out. But it didn’t. Not really. Because even with the wood between them, even with the noise of the bar rising again like nothing had happened, she could still feel him—like something unfinished lingering just beneath her skin.
Annie didn’t move right away. She stayed close, watching her in that quiet, perceptive way that always made it hard to lie, even when the lie was small.
“You’re okay?” she asked, softer now, but more direct.
She exhaled lightly, forcing her shoulders to relax. “Yeah… I’m okay.” The answer came quickly, too quickly, and they both knew it.
Annie tilted her head just slightly. “You know him.”
Not a question.
She hesitated, not because she wanted to hide it, but because putting it into words made it feel more real than she was ready for. “I’ve seen him,” she said finally. “A couple times.”
Annie didn’t look convinced, but she let her continue.
“The first time was near the woods,” she went on, her gaze drifting for a second like she was replaying it. “I was heading back home. He just… showed up. Asked for a direction, nothing weird. We walked for a bit.” A small pause. “It wasn’t anything.”
Annie’s expression didn’t change, but her attention sharpened.
“And then?”
She let out a quiet breath. “The market. We ran into each other again. Some men started bothering me—” she cut herself off with a slight shake of her head, dismissing the memory more than the moment deserved. “He stepped in. Didn’t make a scene, just… handled it. Walked me home after.”
“And that’s it?”
“…That’s it.”
Annie studied her face, searching for something she wasn’t saying.
“And you trust him?”
She almost answered no right away, the word didn’t come out so easily.
“I don’t know,” she admitted instead, quieter now. “That’s just… what happened… He said he hated them,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “The Klan. The way people think like that. He didn’t sound like he was lying.”
Annie’s lips pressed together slightly.
“Maybe,” she said, unconvinced. “But that man…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “He gives me strange vibes.”
That, that something she couldn’t argue.
Before she could respond, Smoke’s voice cut in from across the room, low and serious, pulling Annie’s attention away. Annie glanced back at her once more, like she wanted to say something else, then gave a small nod and stepped away toward him.
Just like that, she was alone again.
Or at least—it felt like it.
Across the room, she caught pieces of movement: Smoke and Annie speaking close, voices low; Stack leaning toward Mary, something passing between them she couldn’t quite read. Whatever had just happened at the door hadn’t been brushed off—it had only been… contained.
The music picked back up, slower at first, like it was testing the room before fully committing again. She exhaled, long and steady, then let herself move back into it. Back into something that made sense.
She didn’t overthink it this time, she just let the rhythm take her.
At first, it was simple—small movements, controlled, a way to ground herself, to reconnect with her body after everything that had just shifted. But it didn’t stay that way. Not with the music building again, not with the energy in the room starting to rise, layer by layer, breath by breath.
And not with her, because she didn’t just hear music, she felt it.
The way Sammy had sung earlier still lingered in the space, woven into everything like a thread that hadn’t fully loosened. It wasn’t just sound—it was intention, emotion, something pulled from deep and left there, alive.
And when she moved— she answered it.
Her body followed something deeper than the beat, something instinctive, something rooted in the same place her rituals came from. Her hips swayed, her shoulders loosened, her breath syncing with something that wasn’t entirely hers anymore. It built slowly, then all at once, her awareness stretching outward, brushing against the presence of others without needing to see them.
Energy in everywhere, and hers— It wasn’t quiet at all, It reached. It called.
Outside, something shifted. Someone, felt it. Of course Remmick.
Inside, her movements deepened without her realizing, her head tipping back slightly as the sensation climbed, not overwhelming, but consuming in a different way—like stepping into a current and letting it carry you just enough to forget where you were standing.
It felt good.
Too good.
And then— That pull again. Sharper this time.
Direct.
Her eyes opened, breath catching slightly as something in her chest tightened.
The door.
She saw Mary moving toward it, slipping out with purpose, something in her reacted instantly. “Wait—” she murmured, barely audible, already moving before she finished the thought.
She followed, weaving through the crowd, not wanting to make it obvious, not even sure why she was going—just knowing she should.
Mary stepped outside, Y/n was only a few steps behind—When a hand caught her.
Firm and strong, pulling her sideways to a private place before she could even react.
Her breath hitched as her back met something solid—him. Of course.
“Careful…” his voice murmured near her ear, low, almost amused. “You move like you’re being called.”
Her heart was already racing, but not from fear.
“…Maybe I am,” she replied, breathing unevenly, not pulling away. " Couldn't you just call me? You scared me”
A quiet hum left him, something like approval.
His hand remained at her waist, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. Close. Aligned with him in a way that made it hard to tell where her movement ended and his began.
“I felt you,” he said deliciously close.
She swallowed softly. “I know…” she had to inhale “I felt it too.”
That got him. His grip shifted—not tighter, just closer, drawing her back into him just enough that she could feel the heat of his body, the steadiness of him compared to the way her own still hummed from inside.
“I know you did,” he murmured, his voice dropping slightly, closer now, brushing just at the edge of her senses.
His head dipped, not touching her yet, but near enough that her breath caught again when she felt it—his presence, his attention, focused entirely on her.
“You don’t move like that without knowing,” he added softly.
Her fingers curled faintly at her sides.
“What is it?” she asked, barely above a whisper, not pulling away, not turning—just existing in that space between question and surrender, closing her eyes, remembering “I mean… I know what I feel, but—what is it?”
“Something older than this place,” he said finally, voice quieter now, but heavier. “Older than them.” A faint shift, almost dismissive, toward the bar behind them. “Something they hear… but don’t understand.”
His hand moved slightly at her waist—not wandering, not claiming—just… present, like he was reminding her he was still there, he was hers.
He was taking her deeper to the forest, to the darkness.
“You don’t just hear it,” he continued. “You answer it.”
Her breath trembled just slightly.
“And you?” she asked softly, feeling the need to turn and see him, but th sensation of him behind, his body pressed like that, his hands exploring her wait. It was difficult to stop.
A faint smile touched his voice again. “I listen,” he said. He breathed her skin “And sometimes… I take.”
The words didn’t just settle—they lingered, threading through her thoughts, through her breath, through the strange stillness in her body that refused to pull away.. Slowly, almost cautiously, she turned in his hold, he didn’t let her go.
His grip adjusted instead, one hand firm at her waist guiding the movement, the other sliding just enough to let her face him without truly giving her space. Not distance. Not freedom. Just enough to look at him properly now—closer than before, close enough to notice the details she hadn’t allowed herself to before. The way his gaze held, steady and intent, the way his presence seemed to fill more than just the space between them.
And somewhere in that shift, without her fully noticing when it happened, he had moved her—just slightly, just enough. A step, maybe two. Away from the direct spill of light from the bar, into something dimmer, quieter, where the sounds of laughter and music dulled into a distant hum and the night pressed in softer, thicker around them. Not that far, just…enough.
“You keep saying things like that…” she murmured, her voice lower now, steadier than the way her pulse felt under her skin. “Like I’m supposed to understand.”
A faint curve touched his mouth. “You do.” that shouldn’t have sounded convincing, but it did, for her.
Her brows pulled together slightly, searching his face, trying to place him somewhere familiar, somewhere explainable—and failing every time. “Who are you?” she asked then, more direct now, her voice carrying something real beneath it. “And don’t just give me your name.”
For a moment—just a flicker—something shifted in his expression. Not surprise. Not hesitation. Something older. Something that didn’t belong to the present moment.
Then it smoothed out again.
“Would you believe me,” he murmured, leaning just slightly closer, “if I gave you an answer?”
Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Because she didn’t know if she would, and that unsettled her more than anything else.
Her gaze dropped for a second, just enough to catch the line of his mouth before she forced it back up. “I need you to be honest with me,” she said quietly, grounding herself in the words, in the intention behind them. “About what happened earlier…”
His eyes didn’t leave hers, but his hand did move—slowly now, deliberately—sliding from her waist along the curve of her side, across her lower back, settling again at her stomach like he was mapping the space, like he was learning it. Not rushed. Not careless. Intentional in a way that made it impossible to ignore.
Her breath shifted.
“What happened out here…” she continued, softer now, her voice dipping as her fingers lifted instinctively to her neck, brushing over the spot she hadn’t stopped being aware of since. “That wasn’t just in my head, was it?”
His gaze followed the movement, and this time, he didn’t stop himself.
He stepped closer, closing what little distance remained, his head dipping toward her neck as his breath ghosted over her skin before his lips followed, barely there at first. Not a kiss—not yet. Just contact. Just enough to make her inhale sharply.
“No,” he said against her skin.
The word settled deeper because of how close it was. Because of how good It felt.
Her eyes fluttered closed without meaning to, her hand still resting at her neck as if trying to confirm what she was feeling and failing completely to separate thought from sensation.
“So you were there, for real…” she murmured, quieter now, her voice almost slipping into the space between them. “how we moved, how you touched me.”
His lips brushed her skin again, this time more deliberate, slower, lingering just enough to make her feel the shape of it before pulling back a fraction.
“You let me,” he replied softly, so simple.
Her breath caught, uneven now, her thoughts trying—failing—to line up properly. “I didn’t…” she started, but the words lost strength before they could form into anything solid.
Because she hadn’t stopped him, because she hadn’t wanted to.
His hand moved again, sliding upward now, from her stomach to her ribs, then higher, tracing the line of her side until it reached her shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly along the base of her neck before settling there.
“You didn’t stop me,” he corrected, not harsh, not forceful. Just certain.
Another kiss—this time lower, closer to where her shoulder met her neck, slower, more intentional.
Her fingers tightened slightly against her own skin, her body reacting before her thoughts could catch up, before she could decide what she should be doing instead.
“I should have…” she whispered, but even she could hear it—the lack of conviction, the way the words didn’t match the way she leaned, just slightly, into him.
His breath ghosted over her skin again, warmer now.
“Then why didn’t you?” he asked.
She swallowed, her mind grasping for something solid, something that made sense. “I don’t know…” she admitted, and that honesty felt heavier than anything else she’d said.
A pause settled between them—not empty, but charged.
His hand remained at her shoulder, his thumb tracing absent, slow movements that did nothing to help her focus. If anything, it made it worse.
“You felt it,” he said quietly.
Her breath trembled faintly, her thoughts slipping again, not because she didn’t understand—but because she did.
“I do, but i dont know what it is,” she said, forcing her eyes open, turning her head just enough to try and look at him properly, even if that only brought him closer. “What are you doing here, for real?”
A faint smile touched his mouth, kinda teasing, his gaze dropping briefly all over her body—taking her in in a way that felt deliberate, appreciative. His eyes lifted again, meeting hers fully now. “You look beautiful like this.” The words landed differently, not like a compliment thrown lightly, like an observation.
Her breath caught again, and for a moment—just a moment—she forgot what she was questioning, forgot what she was supposed to be resisting.
And that… that was the problem.
A faint frown touched her expression, more to herself than to him. “I don’t… do this,” she said quietly, almost thinking out loud now, her gaze drifting slightly as she tried to make sense of it. “I don’t let people this close. Not like this. Not this fast.” her eyes flicked back to his.
His smile deepened just slightly—not wider, just more certain.
“I’m not like everyone” he said softly, and somehow that didn’t sound reassuring, not at all.
The space between them had already thinned to something fragile, something that didn’t quite belong to distance anymore. Her words still lingered in the air, but neither of them moved to fill them, not immediately. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t empty, just… waiting. His gaze dropped again, slowly, he’s been enjoying watching her, deliberately. But this time his eyes found her lips and stayed there just long enough for her to notice.
For her breath to shift, for that same question—the one she hadn’t said out loud—to settle between them.
When his eyes lifted again, they didn’t rush. They searched her face instead, quieter now, more focused, like he was reading something she hadn’t realized she was showing.
“May I?” he asked, soft but desperate.
She felt all the blood coming on her face
She didn’t answer, not with words, her body didn’t pull away. Her gaze didn’t break. If anything, she stilled completely, like moving might disrupt something she didn’t fully understand yet, but that was enough for him toi know.
He took her closer, pressing her firmly, enough for her to feel the warmth of him fully now, to notice how steady he was compared to the way her own breath had begun to betray her.
For a second, it seemed like he would kiss her. It was all there—the angle, the distance, the way his hand shifted slightly at her waist, drawing her just a fraction closer, how his hand went from her waist to the back of her neck, keeping her there.
But he didn’t, yes his mouth brushed hers. Close enough to feel, not enough to take.
Her breath caught sharply as he shifted instead. His hand, the one that was in her neck, grabbed her a little tighter.
He started lowering, his lips finding the line of her jaw first, slow, deliberate, like he was learning it. Like he had all the time in the world to do it, kissing It. She felt his little bites, they didn't hurt tho.
A soft exhale left her before she could stop it.
His other hand moved, sliding from her waist, to her shoulder, to her back and then back to her waist, like a hug, grounding her there as his mouth traced lower closer to her neck, and he didn’t hesitate, he couldn't resist it. So his kiss landed just below her ear, exactly where her pulse sat, it was warm and wet, he was sucking her, he was hungry.
Her eyes closed without permission, she moaned a little, a muffled sound, her body reacting before her mind could reorganize itself into something logical. She gave him more space and threw her head to the other side.
The sensation was overwhelmingly, slow and deep, like something waking up under her skin.
He paused there, not pulling away, not moving forward, just… there. And for the first time something in him stilled, not visibly, but internally. Like he had reached a line.
His breath ghosted over her neck, slower now, more controlled, as if something instinctive had surfaced—and he was choosing not to follow it, not yet.
“You feel it calling,” he murmured against her skin, quieter now, but heavier. “Even now.”
Her fingers tightened slightly at his shirt without her realizing when they had moved there.
“I do…” she admitted, breath unsteady, honest in a way she hadn’t planned to be.
That made him smile, not wide, not obvious, just real.
For a moment, everything stilled again. Not a single world.
Just them.
Her breath hadn’t settled, her fingers still curled lightly against his shirt, her body still leaning into him in a way she hadn’t fully decided on—and yet hadn’t stopped either. Sowly, her eyes opened.
She turned her head just enough to look at him.
And he was already looking at her, not her neck this time, at her.
Something shifted, deeper, his gaze dropped again to her lips.
And this time he didn’t ask.
He moved, closing the space in a way that felt inevitable, like it had already happened somewhere before this moment even existed.
His hand at the back of her neck tightened slightly, guiding her just enough and his mouth found hers.
What a kiss. It wasn't soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was full of desire like something held back for too long finally slipping through, He was hungry.
And then it broke, out if nothing
A scream, terrifying one, diistant—but not far enough.
Her body tensed instantly, pulling back just slightly, breath catching again, but this time for a different reason.
“Mary—” she breathed, already turning, already trying to move. But his hand didn’t let her go.
“Don’t.” His voice was lower now, different.
She looked back at him, confused, adrenaline already rising. “What?? No, She just… she went out, she might need—”
“I’ll handle it.” the words came quick, too quick.
Something in his expression had changed again—not gone, not cold, but focused in a way that didn’t match the situation the way it should have.
“You should go inside,” he added, softer now, but firm. Not a suggestion. Not quite an order, something in between.
Her brows pulled together. “I can not just leave her, Remmick”
“You can.” His hand finally loosened at her waist, but not completely—lingering just enough to ground her attention back on him.
“I’ll take care, I’ll find her, but don't risk yourself,” he said, quieter now, his gaze locking with hers again. “Go inside.”
There was something in the way he said it. Not dismissive, ethier careless.
And that made her hesitate a little
“But..-” she started
Remmick just stoped her taking her check and jaw with his palm, “Sshh, go”
Her chest rose unevenly, her instincts pulling in two directions at once. Toward the sound. Toward him.
“…Okay, but if I dont see her, I'll go out for her,” she said finally, though it didn’t feel fully right.
He nodded, pulled her towards him and kissed her on the cheek
For a second longer, neither moved, He stepped back
“You should go,” he repeated, softer this time.
And she did. But not without looking back once. He was already gone.
—-----
The music swallowed her again the moment she stepped inside, but it didn’t settle right. It pressed instead—too loud, too present, like something forcing itself to stay normal.
Mary wasn’t there.
That didn’t sit.
Minutes stretched—too slow, too heavy—and with each second, the feeling only worsened, settling deeper under her ribs, pulling at her instincts in a way she couldn’t ignore anymore.
She exhaled sharply through her nose, ok enough.
Her body moved before she could overthink it, steps firm now, cutting through the crowd with more purpose than before, eyes set on the door.
If something had happened—
She’d see it herself, she was only a few steps away when the Mary stepped in.
It hit her like a wall.
She stopped immediately, her body going still before her mind caught up.
Mary looked… fine, more than fine, actually
There was no rush in her movements, no trace of panic, no sign of anything that matched the sound that had torn through the night moments ago. She walked in like she had simply stepped out for air. Like nothing had happened.
She looked at her, smiled at her quick, almost casual. And then she kept walking.
Past her..
Her brows pulled together, something tightening in her chest as she turned slightly, watching her go, watching the way she slipped right back into the rhythm of the place, into Stack’s space, into the music like she had never left.
It didn’t match…anything. None of it matched.
Her thoughts started stacking too fast.
There had been a scream.
There had been no one else outside
Her jaw tightened.
No, she gotta find out what's happening….
She turned back to the door, more decided now, her steps picking up again.
She needed to know, and she was gonna ask him
“Hey—where are you going?” annie’s voice caught her just before she reached it.
She didn’t stop.“Outside,” she answered simply, not even turning fully, her tone leaving no space for discussion.
Annie stepped after her, quick, something sharper in her posture now. “Wait—”
But something else called her—someone pulling her attention just enough, just for a second.
And that second was all it took, she reached the door.
“Hey—hey, hold up—” Cornbread.
He stepped in front of her just enough to slow her down, already halfway distracted, already looking past her.
“Can you cover me real quick?” he asked, urgency casual but real. “I gotta take a piss.”
For a split second, she just stared at him.
Of all moments, now?
Her eyes flicked past him, toward the dark outside, then back.
“…Yeah,” she said, a little more breath leaving her than she intended. “Yeah, I got it.”
“Appreciate it,” he shot back quickly, already moving past her before she could say anything else.
And she was there, standing at the threshold, half inside, half out.
The music continued behind her, laughter spilling over itself, but it felt distant now, like it belonged to somewhere else entirely. Her attention stayed forward, fixed on the dark stretch beyond the door, on the quiet that didn’t feel empty.
Her fingers came to rest lightly against the frame, her thoughts didn’t slow.
They sharpened. Mary was fine, too fine.
There had been a scream, she hadn’t imagined it, there had been no one else. But she was nothing, how can she know…
“Hello there” the voice settled into the space before she could finish the thought.
Low.
She didn’t startle, not this time… her gaze lifted slowly, and there he was, just beyond the threshold.
Her expression tightened, not in fear—something else. Focus, scanning him
“What happened out there?” she asked, direct this time, no softness around it, but no anger either. Just… real doubt. “She screamed, I heard it.”
Remmick watched her for a moment before answering, his head tilting slightly, studying her like the question mattered less than the way she was asking it.
“Why is that important, she’s inside and fine” he said.
Her brows pulled together “Wha– no, that's not an answer.”
“it is not the one you want” he agreed quietly.
The air between them shifted again, closer.
Her eyes flicked past him briefly, searching the dark like it might still hold something she had missed. “There was no one else,” she murmured, more to herself now. “I would’ve seen…”
But even as she said it—
It didn’t feel certain anymore.
Behind her, she could still feel it—the room, the looks, the hesitation, she felt seen.
“And also, why are you still outside?, you're here now and nobody is looking, why are you still outside” she added, quieter now, something thoughtful slipping into her tone, something unsettled.
Remmick’s gaze sharpened just slightly.
“are you inviting me in?” he asked.
She hesitated.
“I, I don't quite understand why you keep asking, who actually needs permission, why don’t you just com-?” She said finally
“That bothers you?” he said before she could finish.
She looked at him to his eyes and mouth, “I just don’t like things that don’t make sense,” she said finally.
That almost made him smile.
His hand lifted slowly, deliberate, giving her time—real time—to move, to step back, to stop him. She didn’t.
His fingers brushed her cheek again, softer this time, almost curious, like he was confirming something he already suspected. Her breath shifted… again.
“there are things that don’t need a reason” he said, pretty close to taking advantage of the high difference, but still outside.
Her lips parted slightly, “well I do”.
His thumb traced just slightly along her jaw.
“and for some reason you are still coming back to me” he said, voice lowering.
Her fingers tightened faintly against the frame. “And you’re still out there.”
A pause.
“Only because you haven’t asked me in.”
Her gaze held his, searching again, but there was something else there now too—something quieter, something uncertain, something that didn’t fully resist him.
“so, all of this, and this about courtesy?... And should I let you” She asked, not rude, just teasing.
Something in his expression shifted, deeper.
“I do want to, but I don’t expect you to,” he said, tracing his thumbs on her lower lips, slowly and hungry.
His hand slid from her cheek, but didn’t leave entirely—lingering just enough as it traced lightly down the side of her neck, finding her pulse without needing to search for it.
“And you don’t move like someone who’s afraid of me.”
Her breath caught softly, “I mean, why should I? There's no reason to be afraid “
He leaned in slightly—not crossing, not breaking the line—but close enough that his voice dropped into something meant only for her.
“Let me in and you won't be disappointed” he said low, raspy and close
For a second, she didn’t answer, didn’t move either. Her fingers were still resting against the frame, but her attention—her full attention—was on him now. On the way he stood just outside, like the line between them meant something real to him, like it wasn’t just wood and space.
Her gaze dropped briefly to his mouth again, then back to his eyes.
“You’re very sure of that?” she murmured, not quite challenging, not quite agreeing either.
A faint curve touched his lips, subtle, controlled. “Oh honey, I am.”
She didn’t move.
“You keep asking like it matters,” she said after a moment, softer now, more thoughtful than defensive. “Like it’s not something you can just… take.”
His gaze held hers, steady, unblinking. “I could,” he said.
“But that wouldn’t be the same.” Something in that answer lingered longer than it should have.
Her breath shifted, just slightly.
Behind her, the music swelled again, laughter rising with it, someone calling out, glasses clinking—life continuing as if nothing outside that door had changed. But here, in the narrow space between inside and out, everything felt… suspended.
Her thumb brushed faintly against the wood of the frame, grounding herself in something real.
“And what exactly would be different?” she asked, quieter now, curiosity slipping through despite herself. He stepped closer, not crossing, never crossing.
But close enough that the distance thinned again, close enough that his voice didn’t need to travel.
“You".
That was all he said, and somehow, it was enough to tighten something in her chest.
His hand lifted again, giving her enough time to stop him. She didn’t. His fingers found her jaw once more, warm, his thumb resting just under her lip like he had been there before, like he remembered the shape of it.
Her breath hitched—soft, involuntary.
“You think too much,” he murmured, not mocking, almost… indulgent.
“you don’t question enough,” she replied, but there was no bite to it.
“Not when I already know what I want.”
Her body didn’t pull away, she felt everything moving inside of her, he's good at answering.
If anything, it leaned—just slightly, just enough that it wasn’t an accident anymore. His thumb pressed a fraction more against her lower lip then went down caressing her neck..
—
“Say it,” he added, voice lower now, rougher at the edges. “And I’ll come in.”
Her pulse jumped under his other hand, where it still lingered at her neck, where he could feel everything she wasn’t saying out loud, her lips parted, and for a second, it really looked like she might.
But then a sound, sharp and loud came, a gunshot. She jumped in surprise.
Her head snapped back toward the inside, her body reacting instantly now, no hesitation left, no space for doubt, just movement.
“What the—?”
When she looked back, he was already gone
She pushed off the frame and stepped in fast, the air hitting different the second she crossed fully inside, like something had shifted while she had been standing there. The music had stopped. Not faded—stopped. Voices had changed too, no rhythm anymore, just noise, confusion, something rising too fast.
People were turning, someone shouted, who?
And then she saw Mary coming out from a room running away from it. She was covered in blood, in her mouth, in her back and chest, actually like gunshots…but she didn't look hurt, what the fuck?
It didn’t make sense, what had just happened?
Mary’s eyes swept across the room, wild but focused at the same time, landing on faces without really seeing them—until she spoke.
“We’re gonna kill y’all.”
For a second, no one moved.
Like the room itself didn’t understand what it was looking at.
Because it went cold, her voice wasn’t panicked, that was the worst part, she was actually… laughing?
“We’e gonna kill all of y’all—!” she said again running away
Straight through, past them, past her.
Everything hit at once after that—movement, shouting, chairs scraping, someone grabbing someone else, questions overlapping too fast to make sense.
“What happened—?”“Who shot—?” “Where the hell—?”
Her gaze snapped toward the door again.
Her chest tightened, something pulling there, sharp and immediate, not fear—not exactly, but something close enough to it to make her move again.
Because now, nothing makes sense anymore, but she, she knows deep down what's going on
Tom Riddle (pre-Voldemort) x Original Female Character (Alhena
Genre: Romance, Suspense, Time Travel, Dark Magic, Drama, Slow Burn, Smut
Timeline: Canon Divergence - Year 5 (Harry Potter) / Tom Riddle adult era (1950s)
Tags: time Travel, enemies to Lovers, Obsessive Tom Riddle, latin Witch OC, ancient Magic, mind Magic, Forbidden Love, Mental Bond, Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Angst, Dream Manipulation, Magical Rituals, Found Family, Voldemort Redemption Arc.
----------
The day went by; Tom was out all day and Althea spent it weighing up her options, reading and even considering looking for a job and starting today settle into life here, whilst she looked for a way to return.
She doesn’t think she’ll be going home any time soon.
Now, It was night again, almost midnight, she couldn't sleep, and she couldn't help but think, she didn't realise the fire had gone out hours ago. She was near the window, one leg tucked under her, the other lazily tapping against the floor. A thick silence hung in the air - not heavy, but still. Like something waiting to shift.
Her eyes didn't lift when he entered. But she felt him. That quiet presence. That particular gravity. She took a quick look. Tom stepped into view with effortless calm, his sleeves rolled up, shirt dark against the pale cast of moonlight. His collarbone caught the silver glow just enough to make her pulse tick faster. He always looked like that - composed, deliberate, too beautiful in a way that was almost cruel.
"... It's been weeks, I'm starting to feel like a guest who overstayed her welcome," she said softly, looking at the window. "Why haven't you sent me away?"
He stopped a few paces from her. "Should I?"
She looked up slowly. Her gaze caught on the sharp line of his jaw before meeting his eyes. “You’re not exactly known for letting people linger.”
His lips curved slightly, smiling a little. “So you’ve been doing your research.”
She smiled, barely “It's just that you don't strike me as the kind of person who'd go out of their way to help others”
Tom didn’t move at first. His gaze rested on her like weightless pressure. “mmmh”
“I cleaned a little, I didn't want to touch anything that you don't want to, but-”
“I appreciate it” he cut her, looking at other place
Her breath caught, that was new…
“Have you eaten today?” She asked without thinking, caring and friendly.
That threw him off a bit.
She didn't let him answer “I cooked something, I don't really know what kind of diet you're on, But I realised you don’t eat before you go to work, so—” She carried on speaking without holding back, Putting aside the aloofness she has shown towards him.
“Are you doing all this for what?” He interrupted her.
She looked at him confused “I’m not…”
“What are you trying to get with this false amity?” He asked, not aggressively but sounding a bit downcast.
She was ready to respond, to fight back, she just calmed herself “ It’s just my way of thanking you for your generosity, that’s all Tom”
He looked at her doubtfully; no one had ever thanked him for anything — that's what he thinks — nor had anyone ever shown him any kindness. He didn't say something, he just stood there with his arms crossed, watching her look out the window.
There was silence for a moment…
“Tom, can ask you something?” she asked calmly
“Ask away” he said, walking towards the fireplace, With a graceful wave of his hand, he created fire.
She let her eyes drop to the fire, then back up to him. “I'm just curious, I read in the book you gave me… is it possible to split a soul?”
He stepped closer and stopped in front of her “Why are you asking?” he question her.
She shifted slightly, tilting her head. Her tone softened — something between interest and innocence, a false ignorance of course “I just wondered... is it real? That kind of magic?”
His eyes narrowed slightly — not hostile, but focused. “Of course it is real, but it's not for anyone.”
She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Wow, so how is it possible?”
Tom looked at her with a certain fascination of her curiosity, but doubting at the same time. “It depends on how deep you're willing to go.”.
“How dangerous can it be?” she asked
He stepped closer and sat next to her, not answering.
“Is it so dangerous? You don't answer because of that?” she asked, silence …
“Are you trying to split your soul now?” He said in a mocking tone
She met his gaze. This time without flinching. “Why would I?”
He studied her. Her expression. The flicker of nerves behind her boldness. That was face to face, talking, like if they were friends.
“Where I was born, things like that aren’t taken lightly. Messing with your soul or someone’s… it does come with a big price, takes a heavy toll. And I’m curious as to why the book talks about it so casually, without mentioning the consequences”
His attention was all on her, on her question, her ideas, her conclusion. “what kind of magic are you used to?” he asked simply
She hesitated, then answered carefully. “Magic that connects. Heals. Protects. Reads.”
“Not destroys?” he said
“Well, I do know how to destroy things, feelings, people, I haven't done it” as she explained, Tom looked at her with so much interest.
“And yet,” he said slowly, “you’re asking me about the kind that does.”
She didn’t look away. “Sometimes you have to understand the dark to protect from it.”
“But… are you willing to learn from it?” he asked, analysing her reaction.
Her breath caught, she knew that her answer would define their relation. “Maybe, it's not something I'm afraid of”
Tom’s gaze dropped to her lips the to her eyes"
“You’re not just curious,” he said. “You know things”
“Why do you think that?”
That made him pause "Don’t pretend ignorance. It doesn’t suit you."
She smiled faintly, letting the tension stretch between them like a pulled thread “ so you have you done it” she asked. “Split your soul?”
His eyes didn’t move, but something in his expression sharpened — subtly, quietly. Dangerously, and then came his answer.
“I have.” no hesitation, no shame.
She exhaled, slow and quiet, pulse ticking faster. “May I see it?”
He stared at her kinda amused, something she said he did like it.
“You have to earn it” he said.
“Earn it how?” genuine question, Tom was becoming the subject of an investigation; naturally, when you meet the man who would one day become the Dark Lord, it makes a lot of sense to be curious about his descent into evil.
"Show me how far your curiosity can go” he said, completely serious.
His eyes were becoming dark, he extended his hand making her understand that she should take it. She looked at him then at his hand and thought for a moment, she knows there will be consequences, there won't be a way back if she accepts his hand.
She took it anyway
It took less than a second for them to appear in a place new, dark, close, damp. She couldn't see anything, she started to feel nervous when she felt a hand in her waist and another in her shoulder…
“"Breathe," he murmured near her ear. "Learn to look inside the dark before you fear it.” His hand traced a path from her waist to her hand, so gentle, yet so provocative, that she felt him place a wand in her hand, taking her hand and the wand together.
She forced herself to look in this lightless
“You were not raised with wands, I'll guide you” he said, she turned where she heard him, but she only could feel his breath. “Lumos” he spelled
The light came and she could see how close he was, he smiled at her and then, not leaving her hand, he pointed in front of them, there was someone sleeping.
The sleeping figure stirred. Althea frowned. “Who is he?”
Tom’s mouth brushed near her ear. “Look carefully”
Cold ran through her. She turned. “You brought me here for revenge?” He was one of the boys who bothered her, who tried something to her.
“For justice,” Tom corrected. “For choice, make him feel pain, make him learn,” He closed her fingers around the wand.
“Say it.”
She turned to look at him abruptly. She knows the spell to cause pain; she heard Sirius mention it once, and she knows it’s one that shouldn’t be cast.
Her throat tightened and doubt a little. “no…, it's not correct”
“Was he?” he said seriously, “Think, what would have happened if he had succeeded?, If I hadn't come just in time to stop them, would you keep thinking about what is correct and what is not?” he made her think
“I know it is not Mercy what you feel right now, you think he’ll get what he deserves sooner or later… but why waiting for it, waiting for something worse to happen – you have the power now; the decision to do something” he continued
She just stood still, thinking, she knows this is incorrect, but he got a point and she is not an angel either.
“You’re not wrong” she said, looking up
Tom didn't expect that answer
“and I feel nothing but disgust for people like him. And making him suffer is a strong temptation, but I don’t go after people who hurt me to make them suffer” she said
“Weak” he said without emotion.
“Why not just turn it into something positive, change his mindset, and rid his thoughts of malice? “ she asked
“Now playing God? It’s not that far off from what I’m suggesting you, only with a veneer of being a good person” he said logically
“It's not the sam—” she tried to say
“do it” he interrupted her
“You sho—”
“You’re scared” he insisted
“I’m no—”
“You’re unable then” he said
She grew irritated, broke free from Tom’s grip, pointed the wand at the sleeping man, kept her eyes fixed on Tom and, without saying a word aloud, an invisible force twisted through him—his body convulsed, a scream tearing from his throat. It took 10 seconds for her to stop.
“I’m perfectly capable. I don’t feel sorry for him, nor do I feel guilty about doing it, It’s not about power. It’s about choice. He isn’t worth mine.”She gave the wand back to Tom. She disappeared, only to reappear at the mansion.
Tom stayed there thinking of what she just said, he thought that in all this time she just wanted to do good and avoid evil. But she’s simply... selective. That made him want to know more, her thoughts, her feelings, her perspective. Grows of pain took him out his mind, he looked at him with so much disgust, and pointed his wand at him.
—--
He went back to the mansion and saw her walking toward her room.
“Althea,” he called.
She stopped, turning just enough to face him as he closed the distance between them.
“Why did you stop?” he asked, genuinely.
“I think I explained myself clearly,” she replied, already half-turning away.
“Then explain it better,” he insisted, stopping her again.
She exhaled softly, then faced him fully.
“You were right about something,” she said. “Choosing what to do with someone—whether it’s cruel or kind—it’s not so different. It’s still control. Just dressed differently.”
“And now you regret choosing?” he asked, watching her closely.
“I don’t regret it.”
“Then why stop?”
She held his gaze for a moment before answering.
“You remind me of who I used to be,” she said, a faint, almost amused breath escaping her. “I used to think the same way. That people who did terrible things deserved to suffer for it.”
“And why did that change?” he asked.
She tilted her head slightly, searching for the right words.
“Where I come from… magic isn’t something you take.” A pause. “It’s something you’re allowed to borrow.”
His expression didn’t change—but his attention sharpened.
“And if you take more than you’re given…” she continued, quieter now, “it takes something back.”
A flicker of something unreadable crossed his eyes.
“I’ve seen what happens when people stop respecting it,” she added. “When they force it. Twist it. Use it against itself.”
Her gaze met his, steady.
“It never ends well.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then—
“What did it take from you?” he asked.
She hesitated, just for a second.
“I’ve never paid that price myself,” she admitted. “Not really. I was taught better before it could cost me anything I couldn’t return.”
A beat.
“And you?” she asked, more carefully now. “Have you ever stopped to consider what it’s taken from you?”
That landed.
He stepped closer—slowly—until there was barely space between them.
His fingers lifted, brushing lightly against her cheek. Not gentle. Not cruel. Just… deliberate.
“You have no idea,” he said quietly.
His eyes were darker now.
“But I learned,” he continued. “And I made it worth the cost.”
She searched his face—trying to understand what that meant, and how much of him was still there to understand.
Then he stepped back.
“I like you,” he said simply. “I like your potential.”
A pause.
“Stay as long as you like. You won’t need to pay for anything.”
Y/n is a woman, a witch in her own quiet way-sensitive to things others can't see, drawn to energies she doesn't fully understand. She's Annie's friend, not from here, not really belonging anywhere, and already tired of the kind of people this town attracts.
Then there's Remmick.
A vampire who should've taken her the first chance he got-but didn't.
What starts as curiosity turns into something darker: tension, hunger, restraint. While chaos unfolds and blood is spilled, he doesn't choose her like prey... he waits.
And when everything burns down, when the night takes more than it gives..
Cap. 5
Nothing.
Her breath hitched as awareness snapped back into place too fast, too sharp, like waking from a dream you couldn’t fully remember but felt in your body.
Her eyes opened wider, unfocused at first, the world around her taking a second too long to settle into something real.
The walls, the night, the air, kinda cold, empty.
She pulled in a breath, deeper this time, like she needed to anchor herself to something solid.
“What…?” the word barely left her lips, her body felt off, not weak, just displaced.
Like she had been somewhere else a second ago.
Her gaze dropped briefly to her own hands, then lifted again, sharper now, scanning her surroundings. The street stretched quiet in both directions, the distant sound of music still spilling faintly from the bar behind her, too far now to feel the same.
Just no one, nothing.
She turned slightly, then more, looking over her shoulder, searching instinctively for a shape, a shadow, anything that might explain, but nothing was there, her chest tightened. That feeling hadn’t left, the same one from before.
Being watched.
Her eyes narrowed just slightly, scanning the dark edges where the light didn’t quite reach, where the trees leaned in just enough to blur into shadow, it was empty of course, but it didn't feel like that.
Her breath slowed, uneven at first, then steadier as her mind tried to catch up, to make sense of something that refused to settle into logic.
“Okay…” she murmured under her breath, more to herself than anything else.
Thinking.. I had been inside, dancing at the bar and then… outside.. But how?
Her brows pulled together faintly.
“I walked out…” she whispered, unsure, like she was testing the memory instead of trusting
Her jaw tightened slightly, frustration flickering under the confusion.
“Maybe…” she exhaled, running a hand through her hair, grounding herself in the motion. “Maybe it’s just the alcohol, yeah, of course, I'm not use to”
It would make sense, too much noise. Too much energy. Too much everything.
Her body still hadn’t fully settled, that had to be it. It had to.
Her shoulders relaxed just a fraction as she clung to that explanation—easier, simpler, safer. But then her hand brushed her neck.
She froze.
Slowly, her fingers pressed more deliberately against her skin, cold, damp."Is it drool” she thought, her breath caught.
She pulled her hand away just enough to look at it, but in the low light, there wasn’t much to see but it was wet.
Her pulse picked up again, sharper this time, not from confusion, was everything real?
Her hand returned to her neck, more carefully now, tracing the same spot, slower, more aware.
And that feeling again of being watched came back stronger and closer.
Her head lifted, gaze snapping up, scanning the darkness again, more alert now, more grounded, more certain, someone or something had been there.
The noise hit her again the moment she stepped back inside, louder than before.or maybe she just felt it differently now.
Everything seemed sharper—voices, laughter, the music still weaving through the space, though not as overwhelming as before. Her senses hadn’t fully settled, and for a moment, she just stood there, letting the familiarity of it try to ground her, and it worked, a little or just enough to move.
She didn’t go back to Annie right away, instead, she let herself drift, weaving through the crowd until someone stopped her—a man she vaguely recognized, smiling easily, drink already in hand.
“Well, I haven’t seen you around before,” he said, leaning just enough to be heard over the music.
She gave him a polite smile. “I’ve been around.”
“Not enough, apparently.”
That earned a soft huff from her, something almost like a laugh. He wasn’t important, nice enough. Harmless.
The kind of interaction that filled space without asking for anything real, she let it happen, answered when needed. Nodded when expected, but her mind was somewhere else.
Her fingers brushed unconsciously against her neck, still cold, real enough
Her thoughts slipped back to it before she could stop them.
The moment, the air, the feeling, him, at least the memorie
The way his voice had dropped, the way his hands had held her. The way her body had responded before she could think, before she could question.
Her breath shifted slightly.
God.
She pressed her lips together, forcing the thought down, but it didn’t go far.
Because it wasn’t just confusion, It wasn’t fear, it was heat, low and lingering.
Uncomfortable in how much she didn’t entirely want it gone.
“ Are you listening?”
She blinked, pulled back abruptly.
“Yeah—sorry,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “Just… long day.”
He chuckled, not pressing. “Yeah, I get that.”
She nodded, but her attention had already begun to drift again, not to him. To the room.
It started as a shift, easy to miss actually, if you weren’t paying attention.
A ripple near the entrance, something was happening, wasn't loud neither obvious, but she did notice
Her body reacted before her mind did, her gaze lifting instinctively toward the door.
She saw Annie and Smoke in that circle, so she reached it.
Slowly, almost without realizing it, she moved—stepping away from the conversation without excusing herself
She slipped behind Annie, close enough to see past her shoulder.
“What’s—”
The question died in her throat.
There he was… standing just outside. Her body went completely still, she didn't feel fear. She felt something else, something deeper, sharper and she doesn't know.
It had been real.
All of it.
She froze
As if sensing it, his gaze lifted, found her immediately, of course it did, he smiled, it wasn't friendly, it was like a knowing smile…
“Ah,” he said, voice carrying just enough to reach them. “There you are.”
Every head near her turned toward her. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, how could she.
“My beautiful friend,” he continued, almost amused, the beautiful sounded … personal, eyes never leaving hers. “You disappeared on me.”
A murmur passed through the small group, Annie turned slightly, looking at her now, something sharper behind her expression. “You know him?”
The question landed heavy, too heavy, because she didn’t have a simple answer.
Outside, he took a small step closer—not crossing the threshold, but testing it.
“Go on,” he said softly, still looking at her. “Tell them that I’m not a threat, that I did protect you once” but there was something under it now. Something darker. Something that knew exactly what it was doing.
“Is it true?” Annie asked.
“Well…. he's not lying” y/n said
Silence stretched.
His gaze held hers “Let me in.” It sounded like a plea, and kinda personal and of course She wanted to let him in. But the fact that everyone was blocking that door wasn’t exactly a welcome sign, to say the least.
Everything felt… tight.. Everyone was watching her, waiting her
Her lips parted “I…”
“Don’t, nobody comes in unless I say so” Smoke said steady straight at them, before she could finish.
A beat.
“Name’s Remmick, this here’s Joan and Bert” he said
So Remmick… she realized that this is the first time she knows his name…
“Where y’all from?” Smoke asked.
The woman from his left answered first, her voice careful, but friendly, “just down the road,”
Smoke didn’t look convinced.
“and how far is that?” Stack asked, testing them
Remmick spoke. “North Caroline.”
The air shifted immediately.
“Y’all Klan?” Smoke said, voice and eyes sharpening
Silence dropped hard around them.
Remmick looked at him pretty offended, like the question itself was beneath him.
“Sir…” he began, tone polite—but tight, too tight. “No, w we—” a slight pause, “we believe in equality, and music.”
No one relaxed.
“What you want, then?” Smoke pressed.
Remmick’s gaze drifted past him, toward the inside, toward the sound still lingering in the air.
“ Just as I said before, we just came here to play, spend some money, have a good time” he said, in that final part his gaze straight to her, only her…
“I’ll show you” he said taking his instrument, well, the three of them
They started to sing a country song, Pick poor Robin Clean apparently, y/n didn't recognize it. She just listened.
Stack, he's was enjoying it
They were playing as if they were one
“All right, all right, hold on, hold on. Just a minute” Smoke interrupted
♪ When I picked poor Ro… ♪
Remmick look at smoke “It’s just about to get good” he said friendly
“Nah, I believe ya, but this here a juke joint.” Smoke said
“But we got money, and we ready to spend it with y’all, sounding damn near perfect and you’re saying we ain’t welcome?” Remmick insisted
“No, I’m saying you get down that road and get back into town, plenty of white barrelhouses down there” Smoke said sharpening
Remmick scoffs, kinda impressed “This ’cause we’re…” he said touching his skin,”All right. How’d she get in?” Pointed to Mary
“Now, that is none of…” Smoke started
“She here ’cause she family.” Annie said
“Family” Remmick said looking at one and each of them “Can’t we just, for one night… just all be family?”.... Silence, then he looked at y/n “Babe, can you tell the–..”
Smoke took his gun, not completely but letting them know that he has one, and he can use it.
“Yo-” Remmick took a step back “You don’t need to do that, sir, We’ll be on our way” the three of them started to walk back “But we’re gonna walk real slow…” he turned to look at them, specifically smoke “Just in case y’all change your mind” he said looking at her.
“Y’all have a nice night.” He finally said and went away..
Her breath caught, just slightly, but she felt… weird, everyone in the room didn’t fully understand what had just happened.
Y/n is a woman, a witch in her own quiet way-sensitive to things others can't see, drawn to energies she doesn't fully understand. She's Annie's friend, not from here, not really belonging anywhere, and already tired of the kind of people this town attracts.
Then there's Remmick.
A vampire who should've taken her the first chance he got-but didn't.
What starts as curiosity turns into something darker: tension, hunger, restraint. While chaos unfolds and blood is spilled, he doesn't choose her like prey... he waits.
And when everything burns down, when the night takes more than it gives..
CAP. 4
By the time she reached the bar, the night had fully settled into itself.
Not quiet, Not at all, it was alive.
The place wasn’t hard to find—not with the way sound carried through the streets, spilling out into the open like something that refused to stay contained. Music first. Then laughter. Then the low, constant hum of voices layered over each other, rising and falling like waves.
It drew people in, it drew her in. She slowed just slightly before stepping inside, not out of hesitation—but awareness. The shift from outside to in was immediate. Warmth, thicker air, the scent of alcohol and wood and something electric she couldn’t quite name.
And then, the music. It wrapped around the room, not overwhelming, but present in everything. Strings, rhythm, something raw underneath it that made it feel less like performance and more like release. People moved to it without thinking, bodies swaying, feet tapping, laughter slipping easier between strangers who, for a few hours, didn’t need to be anything more than part of the same moment.
It was loud, It was chaotic, in all thé good says, alive in a way the town rarely allowed itself to be. Her gaze moved slowly across the room, taking it in piece by piece—the dancers, the drinks passing from hand to hand, the way the light caught on movement, on skin, on fabric.
And for a moment, It felt good, easy, almost like something she had been missing without realizing it.
—---------
“Hey—”
She turned, already expecting it this time, it was Annie.
Relief flickered through her expression, subtle but real, “You made it,” Annie said, smiling as she stepped closer.
“Yeah, haha, kinda difficult to get in here, but all good” she smiles awkwardly
“I’m glad you're here” Annie smiled
That earned the faintest curve of her lips.
“woow you look good,” Annie added, eyes briefly scanning her
“So do you."
They stood there a moment, the noise of the room folding around them instead of interrupting.
“How is it, how is going?” she asked, glancing around.
Annie followed her gaze, something proud settling into her expression.
“It’s good,” she said. “Better than I thought it would be.”
“Good, good” y/n smiled
“Glad you came.” the voice came from behind Annie this time, of course it was Smoke.
“Congratulations,” y/n said, simple, but meant.
He nodded once, accepting it just as easily. “Drink?” he offered.
She hesitated, as a joke, she then nodded “of course i want to.”
He gestured toward the bar, already moving, and she followed with Annie beside her, the three of them slipping into the rhythm of the place like they belonged there.
--
The music was just perfect, she had the urge to go there and dance, but she was like controlling herself, of course she's gonna dance, she just wanted to wait a little bit longer.
The music changed, it was Sammy he started to sing, to play his guitar, oh jeez, he's really good, the way he plays, the he sings, it just, you can feel everything, you don't have to wait till the middle of the song, you can feel it just right he starts.
She, as a spiritual being, knows there is a lot of energy coming out from him, and even more coming out from the people here, just too much sense.
It feels like a ritual.
“Oh…” she breathed under her breath. He was good. More than good.
The way he played, the way he sang—it wasn’t something that built slowly. It was there from the start. Immediate. Honest. You didn’t have to wait for it to reach you. It already had. And she felt it differently than most.
As a spiritual person, she recognized it for what it was—not just sound, but energy. Something deeper, something pulling from him and pouring into the room, feeding everything and everyone around it.
And the room responded. God—it responded.
The energy shifted, subtle at first, then gathering. Conversations lowered, attention turning, people drawn in without realizing why.
It felt like a ritual, not even intentional, but real, powerful, alive.
Her gaze stayed on him, on everyone. Something else moved at the edge of her awareness.
Something that made her feel like she should focus, she tried.
But maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the energy, maybe the way everything in the room seemed to pulse at once—she didn’t know, she just knew she felt dizzy, overwhelmed, full.
“I need to—” She didn’t finish the thought. She just moved, she started dancing, at first, it was small. Controlled. Just enough to release some of what had built inside her—but it didn’t stay that way not for long.
Her body followed something deeper than the rhythm, something instinctive, something that didn’t belong to the room but moved perfectly within it. People danced around her, each in their own world—but she stood out, naturally, she wasn’t just moving, she was feeling everything, every presence, every soul, every flicker of energy in the room brushing against her senses at once.
It was too much, but felt good, too good, of course all of this was a ritual without intention, she knew that.
Something close to ecstasy curled through her chest, through her limbs, through the way she moved, like she could stay there forever if she let herself, but she couldn’t. So she just stepped away.
She went outside, she was feeling drunk, just dizzy with foolish steps, like… if she had been high.
Outside, the air hit differently, cooler, sharper, but it didn’t fully ground her.
She walked, not far, just enough to find space—somewhere quieter, somewhere the noise couldn’t reach her the same way. Her steps were uneven, slightly unsteady, like she had had too much to drink—or something stronger.
The wall came into view, and she leaned against it lightly, trying to steady her breathing, but she was still moving. Still swaying, her body hadn’t caught up with her decision to stop, her hips shifted gently, side to side, slow, absent, like the rhythm hadn’t fully released her yet.
Then, a touch reached her, soft, careful, her breath caught.
A hand at her face, guiding—not forcing—just enough to tilt her into it. Her cheek brushed against a palm that felt real and unreal at the same time, grounding and dreamlike all at once.
She didn’t pull away, didn’t even question it, another hand settled at her waist. No one had touched her like that, but it felt familiar, too familiar.
It moved with her, guiding her gently, pulling her into a rhythm that wasn’t entirely her own anymore.
It felt good.
Her mind flickered, briefly, distantly, what are you doing?, but it didn’t stick, she let herself feel it instead, let herself sink into it.
She turned her head slightly, looking for the owner of these hands
Him, again. The man from the forest. From the market.
A slow, hazy smile curved her lips, of course, of course it was him.
A slow, hazy smile curved her lips.
“Hi…” she murmured, soft, almost breathless. Then, a little clearer, teasing without quite meaning to— “Hello there…”
Something in his expression shifted, amusement, maybe, just a delicious reaction from her.
One brow lifted just slightly, the corner of his mouth following.
She let out a quiet breath, her head tipping just a little more against him, surrendering to the moment, to the feeling.
Just the mere thought that it was him—that awkward moment in the woods, at the market, his arms—made her realise just how much she was drawn to him
“Lucky me…” she whispered almost a thought.
That got a reaction from him, a smile, small, but unmistakable. His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before lifting again, his hand tightening just slightly at her waist.
He leaned in slowly and deliberate, close enough that she could feel the shift in the air between them, the warmth of his breath just brushing her skin.
“Are you?” he murmured, low, almost curious.
Her breath caught—just slightly—but she didn’t pull away, didn’t move at all.
For a moment, it felt like he might close the distance completely, but he didn’t.
Instead, his lips hovered just there, close enough to blur the line between intention and restraint, but his lips didn’t meet hers.
They moved, slowly, down.
His hand at her waist adjusted, harder, but not hurting, just guiding her back into him as her body swayed almost unconsciously. The rhythm returned—not the one from inside, not entirely—but something slower, heavier, like it belonged to the space between them.
She followed it without thinking.
Her breath uneven now, softer, slipping out in quiet exhales she didn’t quite control.
“You feel it too…” he murmured, voice lower this time, closer—his lips near her ear, near enough to send a slow shiver down her spine.
His other hand moved, sliding slightly along her side as if mapping the way she moved, the way she responded.
“I know you do.” His voice was sweet and raspy
They settled into her like something already known.
Her fingers twitched faintly at her side, her head tilting just enough to give him space again without realizing she was doing it.
Even now—somewhere, distant—her mind tried to catch up, tried to question, tried to name what this was. But it kept slipping, like trying to hold onto smoke.
“Even if you don’t understand it yet…” he continued, softer now, almost thoughtful.
His nose brushed lightly along the line of her neck his breath warm against her skin, he wasn't kissing, wasn't biting but she could feel the drool falling in her neck.
“…you feel it.”
Her chest rose slowly, breath catching somewhere between tension and something dangerously close to surrender.
Her body leaned into him just slightly, the movement subtle but real, her balance no longer entirely her own as he guided the sway of her hips with quiet precision, matching her, controlling the rhythm without ever forcing it.
Her lips parted, a soft sound slipping out again—unintended, unguarded. And then just for a second, something changed.
Not in her, in him, his grip loosened. The connection broke.
Abrupt in a way that didn’t match the moment.
The warmth vanished first, then the presence, then him.
Y/n is a woman, a witch in her own quiet way-sensitive to things others can't see, drawn to energies she doesn't fully understand. She's Annie's friend, not from here, not really belonging anywhere, and already tired of the kind of people this town attracts.
Then there's Remmick.
A vampire who should've taken her the first chance he got-but didn't.
What starts as curiosity turns into something darker: tension, hunger, restraint. While chaos unfolds and blood is spilled, he doesn't choose her like prey... he waits.
And when everything burns down, when the night takes more than it gives..
Cap. 3
Morning came softer this time, though not necessarily lighter. There was something in the air that hadn’t quite settled since the night before, something that lingered just beneath the surface of things, quiet but present, like a thought she hadn’t finished having.
She woke before the light fully reached the room, eyes open a moment longer than usual as she stared at the ceiling, not thinking of anything in particular—and yet, not entirely at ease either. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t even discomfort. Just awareness. Too much of it.
She turned her head slightly, gaze drifting toward the door without really meaning to, then away again as if catching herself doing it.
It passed.
Or at least, she let it.
She moved through her morning slowly, deliberately, letting routine take over where thought might wander too far. Water first, then the quiet stretch of nothing she usually allowed herself before the day began. But today, she didn’t leave that silence untouched.
The match struck with a sharper sound than expected, the flame catching quickly as she brought it to the incense. Smoke curled upward almost immediately, thin at first, then steady, filling the space in soft, layered waves. The scent grounded the room, settled something unseen into place.
Her fingers brushed lightly over the surface of the table until they found the small charm Annie had given her. She paused, just for a second, turning it between her fingers, feeling its weight—not physical, but intentional. Then she set it beside the burning incense, not as a shield, not quite as protection, but as something acknowledged.
Something recognized.
The rest of the morning unfolded as it always did, simple, unremarkable. Work gave her something to hold onto, something tangible. Fabric didn’t lie. Thread didn’t shift when you weren’t looking. There was comfort in that.
Still, her mind wandered, it came back to him before she realized it, the man from the night before, from the market, from the path, three encounters, and not once, not once had he given his name, that, more than anything, lingered.
Her hands slowed slightly over the fabric she was working on, her focus slipping just enough for the thought to take shape.
Strange.
Her gaze dropped, but she wasn’t really seeing the work anymore, she saw him instead, in her mind for sure.
The way he had stood too close without ever seeming invasive. The way he had spoken—not louder than necessary, never more than needed. The way people… reacted to him, even when they didn’t understand why.
And then, that moment, when he...his hand on her waist.
Her fingers stilled completely now.
It hadn’t been improper. Not really. Not the way it could have been. It had been… controlled. Measured. Firm enough to be real, but not lingering, not claiming.
She remembered it, too clearly.
The pressure of it. The warmth. The way it had pulled her just slightly off balance—not physically, but somewhere deeper, somewhere harder to name.
Her breath shifted, almost imperceptibly, and then her thoughts moved further, uninvited, but very welcome.
The line of his shoulders. The way his arms had held tension without effort. The quiet strength in the way he carried himself, like he was always aware of exactly how much space he occupied—and chose not to take more.
She exhaled softly, cutting the thought before it finished.
He was... attractive.
There was no point pretending otherwise, more than that, even, but something didn’t sit right.
It wasn’t something she could point to. Not a gesture. Not a word.
Just... something, something that didn’t match the rest.
Something that didn’t belong in the same way everything else about him seemed to.
A faint frown touched her expression, her focus slipping entirely now—
A sudden burst of sound cut through it, birds.
She blinked, attention snapping back to the present as the noise scattered into the air, wings shifting somewhere just outside. Her hands moved again almost immediately, as if nothing had happened.
But the thought didn’t return the same way.
It lingered, quieter now.
---
The rest of the day passed without anything worth holding onto. Small conversations, familiar faces, work that filled the hours without demanding more than she was willing to give. It should have been enough to settle her.
It wasn’t.
By the time evening began to settle in, the sky stretching into soft pinks and deepening blues, she found herself stepping outside with that same awareness trailing just behind her, quieter now—but still there.
She locked the door, adjusting her bag as she turned—
“Hey.”
She didn’t need to look to know who it was, she already did, Samuel, Always thé same energy, same ease, like nothing in the world had shifted at all.
“You disappeared yesterday,” he said, half-teasing, half-accusing.
“I had things to do.”
“That’s always your excuse.”
“It's always true, tho.” she said smiling
He grinned at that, like he’d expected nothing else.
“Yeah, well—” he cut himself off, something clicking into place. “Tonight.”
She stilled, just slightly.
“The bar,” he added. “You said you might come."
Her gaze lingered on him for a second longer than necessary, grounding herself in something normal. Something simple.
“yeah, I remember, it's not my thing, you know”
“So you’re coming?”
“…Yeah,” she said, “I’ll come by.”
His expression lit up immediately. “It’s gonna be good. Real good.” he said
Tom Riddle (pre-Voldemort) x Original Female Character (Alhena
Genre: Romance, Suspense, Time Travel, Dark Magic, Drama, Slow Burn, Smut
Timeline: Canon Divergence - Year 5 (Harry Potter) / Tom Riddle adult era (1950s)
Tags: time Travel, enemies to Lovers, Obsessive Tom Riddle, latin Witch OC, ancient Magic, mind Magic, Forbidden Love, Mental Bond, Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Angst, Dream Manipulation, Magical Rituals, Found Family, Voldemort Redemption Arc.
The room was dark, lit only by the shimmer of flickering candles and a faint pulse of energy building in her chest. Her fingers trembled as she completed the last symbol in chalk. Blood dried on her palm.
She whispered the incantation once.
Nothing.
Then twice.
A spark — violet, bright — erupted from the circle. Magic surged up her spine, and the air turned electric.
She felt it, a pull, a tear. She was gone.
Her eyes snapped open to a different place.
Her room.
Or... a version of it.
Modern. Real.
She gasped. Her heart leapt in her chest. “I’m back—”
But before she could take a full breath, the world shivered.
Reality cracked like glass. And spat her out.
She hit the floor of the ritual chamber with a violent thud, coughing as if her lungs had been crushed.
But she wasn’t done.
“No,” she growled, dragging herself back to the circle. “Again.”
Annoyed, she tried again, again and again and again... in all of these she simply managed to appear in the forest, in Tom's room, and almost in front of him in front of the shop... She gasped and went back to the ritual.
This time, she reached deeper. Her blood boiled. She took more from it, and the Magic screamed through her veins. The spark exploded, and she fell again.
But not to her room.
To a dim space full of warm yellow lights, incense, and the scent of leather-bound books.
She froze, oh no, she thought, the shop again, not like before, now she was inside.
She stood behind a shelf, disoriented, dizzy For all the attempts, but she was still conscious.
Tom was there, reading, leaning over the counter. Calm. Still, then his gaze lifted, and he saw her.
His eyes met hers. Direct. Unblinking, she didn’t move, neither did he.
And then — just as the magic began to unravel again — she was yanked backwards, into the circle, collapsing to the floor of the ritual chamber once more.
This time, she didn’t rise.
She just lay there, panting.
So that was it.
The ritual wasn’t pulling her back to her time.
It was pulling her where his essence lived, a tether, a magical bond, and if she couldn’t break it… Then maybe she could trace it. She just sat there on the floor, and it didn't take long. But there she sat, in the night, a little cold and not knowing what to feel, she does know what to do, but right now, she was tired. She didn't feel like sleeping, she needed air, she needed nature to think.
The garden was quiet, the moonlight silvering her skin, breath still uneven from the failed ritual. Her hands still tingled, her heart still raced — not from magic, but from what she’d seen. Tom’s shop, his space not hers.
The ritual had dragged her there. Twice. She didn’t notice him approach until he was nearly within the circle of moonlight.
“Twice in one night,” he said smoothly. “I’m flattered.”
She looked up sharply.
Tom stood relaxed, hands in his pockets, sleeves rolled, tie loosened like he’d been out walking — or waiting. He wore that smile again — the one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I thought you’d be sleeping,” she said, tone guarded.
“I could say the same.”
She turned her face away, but not before he saw the frustration in it.
“You’ve been trying to leave,” he said, stepping closer. “And failing.”
Her jaw clenched. “So you spy me know?.”
“I prefer observing,” he replied lightly. “Sounds less intrusive.” he said like a mock
With the same mocking way he said “Apologies, by the way. If any... dreams got a bit intense.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Your concern is overwhelming,” she said sarcastically. “ You don’t sound very sorry, tho.”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m excellent at sounding like many things”
She huffed, looking away, heat rising on her cheeks.
“You know,” he added, tone dropping a note deeper, “You reacted strongest to the one in the shop.”
She turned sharply. “excuse me?”
“Your dreams,” he said, watching her.
She didn’t answer, her blood chilled “oh, wow, hey, they were never mine. It was Your creation, Your imagination planted in my mind ”
He just smiled proudly. She felt a hand slide down her spine, she looked at her back, of course no one's hand was there.
“And the one where you were in my lap,” he murmured. “I think you did like it”
“Well, what you think and reality are two very different things” she said
But he was grinning now — pleased. Amused.
“Your cheeks just flushed,” he murmured. “Interesting.”
“It 's cold.”
“It’s not.” His voice was low, coaxing.
“You remember them too well,” he said. “You felt everything, didn’t you?”
Her pulse pounded, “Of course I remember them – you made sure of that”
Tom leaned just a bit closer, not touching. Letting the tension hum between them.
“So... which one was it?”
She swallowed because of the proximity, She was still looking at him with a frown “which one was wha—."
"Your favourite" he interrupted her.
“I’m not going to answer that”
“So you do have one” He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just watched her — like something unspoken had passed between them.
“Do you know, those weren't actually a dream?.... Most of them”
She blinked. “What?”
“They were memories.” he said, pretty calm with deeply eyes
Her heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”
Tom just tilted his head. Smiling, unreadable.
“Time doesn’t move the same for people like us.” he said and something in her felt like it was warming, and that… terrified her a little.
She just looked at him “...” She wait for him to continue, nothing came “ are you going to explain or what” she ask irritated
He tilted his head.
“or can you even explain why?... The dreams. The thoughts. You’re planting them, why?”
He didn’t answer but didn't deny anything. He smiled — slow and unapologetic. “I wanted to see what you’d do with them.”
She looked unsure “Do you?”
“You intrigue me.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Her jaw tightened. “Well, then you're playing with something you don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand?” he said, not exalted but pretty offended , he took a step closer “You’re the one who showed up in a world which doesn't understand.”
Something in her chest burned, she was quiet for a long moment.
Then, without warning — voice lower, steadier, almost gentle:
“Do you ever feel… something?”
Tom's eyes narrowed slightly. “Feel what?”
She met his gaze. "Love. Empathy, kindness??”
He didn’t answer at first, then, finally — simple, clear “No.”
“Not once?”
“No.” flat without shame.
She watched him, still, she didn’t know everything about Lord Voldemort, just the basics and what Sirius had told her. She knows that he is or will be pure evil, but now, under the moonlight, the last candlelight played on his face, he looked sincere…
“People call many things love.” He crouched before her level “Most of what they mean is hunger with better manners.” A chill moved through her.
“Well, you're not completely wrong, but what about devotion?” she asked getting calm
“Possession.” he answered
“Mercy?” she raised an eyebrow
A near-smile in his face “Weakness, usually.”
Part of her recoiled, part leaned closer, dangerous. He watched her notice.
“When I was younger I thought perhaps something was missing in me.” he opened a little “I later concluded it was missing in others.” There, the abyss, not wounded, not misunderstood. He was sure of this.
“Have you loved?” he asked, too precise as testing where to cut.
She looked down. “I’ve loved people, family, friends. animals… But never…”
“In love?” he ended
She nodded “I mean, I imagine it exists. Whether it ever finds me is another matter but I know it is something hard to have or find, when it is a true feeling… it's not something I've been looking for tho”
His gaze didn’t soften, it focused, filed the fact away. “For someone curious about love, you speak of it like mythology.” he said
“Maybe it is, I think it must be beautiful when it's real.”
He studied her, too long. Then said quietly—“Beautiful things are often easiest to destroy."
Her stomach tightened, there he was, a glimpse of something cold enough to survive centuries.
she did not move away, that frightened her more than she would like to.
He glanced at the blood on her hand “You took too much power tonight.”
She blinked. “How do you know?”
“I could feel it.” No explanation. Only that. Then he turned to leave—
paused— and said without looking back “Don’t try your ritual again tomorrow.”
“Why?” His profile half-shadowed.
“Because something answered you tonight.” He glanced back. Eyes dark as old magic. “And it wasn’t only me.” Then he was gone.
Leaving the garden colder than before. She sat frozen.
Getting close to Tom Riddle would not be dangerous because he might become a monster, It was dangerous because some part of the monster was already looking back. And worse—some part of her had looked too long.
Y/n is a woman, a witch in her own quiet way-sensitive to things others can't see, drawn to energies she doesn't fully understand. She's Annie's friend, not from here, not really belonging anywhere, and already tired of the kind of people this town attracts.
Then there's Remmick.
A vampire who should've taken her the first chance he got-but didn't.
What starts as curiosity turns into something darker: tension, hunger, restraint. While chaos unfolds and blood is spilled, he doesn't choose her like prey... he waits.
And when everything burns down, when the night takes more than it gives.
CAP. 2
Morning came the same way it always did, kinda quiet.
No bells reaching this far. No footsteps outside her window. Just light—slow, patient—finding its way through the gaps, settling over familiar shapes without asking permission.
She woke before the town did.
There was something about those early hours that still belonged to her. Before voices filled the space. Before expectations settled in. Before everything arranged itself into something predictable.
She moved through them slowly, a small meal she barely tasted. The door left open just enough to let the air shift through the room.
For a while, she did nothing but her hobbies, and that, more than anything, felt like hers.
---
Work came later.
The day passed in pieces—thread pulled, fabric turned, quiet exchanges that didn’t linger longer than needed. Familiar faces. Repeated requests. The rhythm of something steady, if not entirely fulfilling.
It kept her hands busy, her mind, less so.
By the time she closed up, the sky had already begun to change.
Pink, stretched thin across the horizon. Blue deepening behind it, darker by the minute. That in-between moment where nothing quite belonged to day or night anymore.
She stepped back into the street, adjusting her bag, not home, not yet, she went to the market instead, it held onto the last of the day, and it was at evening when she likes to get there.
Vendors calling softer now, less insistence in their voices. Lanterns beginning to flicker to life one by one, replacing what the sun had left behind. The air carried sweetness—fruit cut fresh, something fried, something warm.
She moved through it easily, unhurried.
Her fingers brushed over produce as she passed, selecting without overthinking. Habit. Instinct. The kind of knowing that didn’t require attention, until that feeling, the shift, it came the same way it had before, subtle, but wrong or uncomfortable, kind of.
Voices lowered, it is that feeling, she swears. She felt space forming where there hadn’t been one a second ago.
She looked up.
A small group moved through the market, not loud but deliberate in the way people stepped aside without being asked, dangerous.
White, clean, man, maybe they're part of the Klan.
Her gaze lingered, just briefly, catching the way one of them glanced toward a man at a nearby stall. Not long enough to confront. Just long enough to mark.
Her jaw tightened, she wasn't scared but she was worried, are they going to do something?, Does she have to move from there? Will they notice her?
She was into her thoughts, in her mind.
“People like them need are disgusting” the voice came from beside her.
Just… placed there, like it had always been part of the moment.
She stilled slightly and turned to find who was that voice from,
it was the same man that walked with her before, he stood close enough to be noticed, not to bother.
Her gaze settled on him slowly, measuring.
“Yeah, I think the same... do yoou always listen to other people’s thoughts?" she said, calm, but edged.
A flicker of something passed through his expression, Interest, more than he already was.
“Only when they’re loud enough,” he replied.
That almost pulled a reaction out of her, almost, she just smile, a small one. "And what makes you think that was mine?”
He tilted his head, studying her in a way that didn’t feel casual.
“Because you didn’t look surprised.” he said
mmm that was accurate, she thought, well she didn’t deny it.
Instead, her gaze flicked briefly toward the group again—already moving on, already dissolving back into the crowd.
“Difference isn’t the problem,” she said after a moment. “What people decide it means is, and they take what they think they own"
Something in him stilled—not physically, internally, like a thought had caught.
“Most people don’t question it,” he said.
“Hard to see when you never had to live it"
Their eyes met and the time stopped, it held, not too long, but longer than before.
The noise of the market filled back in around them, but it didn’t quite reach where they stood.
“You’re not from here,” she said, again, not a question, of course.
“No.” that was all he gave.
She exhaled softly through her nose, shifting her weight. "You should be careful,” she said. “People notice things that don’t fit.”
A faint curve touched his mouth, “Do they" it wasn’t doubt, it was something else, something that didn’t quite sit right. She noticed.
Of course she did...
--
The moment thinned, stretched just enough that it might have broken on its own—if the noise hadn’t cut through it first. Laughter, louder than the rest. Too close, too deliberate. It didn’t belong to the market’s rhythm; it pushed against it.
She didn’t turn immediately. She didn’t need to.
“Hey—”
There it was, she exhaled softly through her nose, already shifting her weight, already deciding not to engage. This was kind of regular to happen.
“Where you from?” another voice added, closer now. “Don’t look like you’re from around here.”
She looked at them disgusted, and just ignored them. They were completely ignoring the man who hadn't told her his name.
“C’mon,” one of them said, circling just enough to be in her path without fully blocking it. “Don’t be like that. You got that—” a pause, a glance that lingered too long where it shouldn’t— “that look. Exotic.”
The word sat wrong, it always had.
She was furious, but she knew for her own will, that she better be relaxed "I'm not interested,” she said, voice even, controlled. That should have been the end of it, but no, it wasn’t.
“Didn’t say you had to be,” another one added, smirking. “wouldn’t hurt to b-" he couldn't end his words, he got interrupted
“She’s not, leave her alone" said the man who was with her, his voice was quiet, It didn’t need to be louder, the power he carried was enough.
And it was enough, she couldn't explain what he did or how did he say that, but, they turned to look at him and kinda scared, she could say.
He stood closer than before. Close enough that she hadn’t heard him approach—again.
His gaze didn’t move to them immediately. It lingered on her first, brief, assessing—like he was confirming something only he could see, then it shifted, and it hardened.
“Didn’t realize,” one of the men muttered, tone shifting just enough to reveal the crack in it. “She yours?”
“does that matters?" he said, he question irritating "are you gonna do something if I say No?"
The words settled easily, like they belonged.
Before she could react—before she could decide whether to pull away—his hand found her waist, firm enough to be real and close enough to make the point.
Her body reacted before her mind caught up—heartbeat picking up, breath tightening just slightly at the sudden proximity. Not fear, just awareness.
He didn’t look at her again, didn’t need to, his attention stayed on them.
“You’re done here,” he added, just as calmly.
It wasn’t a suggestion.
Something in his tone—something under it—landed where words didn’t.
The smirk faltered. Shoulders shifted. The energy that had felt intrusive a moment ago collapsed in on itself, turning awkward, dismissive.
“Yeah, alright,” one of them muttered, stepping back. “Didn’t know.”
They moved off with the same false ease they’d arrived with, laughter thinner now, less certain.
Gone.
-----
Silence didn’t return right away, it took a second or two. Then the market filled back in around them like nothing had happened.
His hand was still there, she noticed that before anything else. She looked at him, and took a step back, breaking the contract.
“Thank you,” she said, quieter now, more controlled, her pulse hadn’t quite settled.
He watched her for a moment.… attentive.
“You handled it,” he said. “They didn’t.” that wasn’t comfort, it wasn’t meant to be.
Something in her expression shifted at that—something that almost resembled agreement.
A small pause settled between them, heavier than before, charged with something that hadn’t been there earlier.
“I can walk you back,” he
said then, offering but not insisting
She hesitated a second and said.
“…thank you.”
They left the market together.
The noise fell away behind them gradually, replaced by the quieter stretch of road that led out toward the edges of town. Night had settled more fully now, shadows deeper, the sky a darker blue threaded with the last traces of fading light.
For a while, neither spoke, the space between them felt different now, like closer but not just in distance but in presence.
“You do that often?” she asked finally. “Walk people home?”
“No.” A glance, brief but pointed. “That.” A faint shift touched his expression. "Only when necessary.” he said
She huffed softly, not quite amused.
“I didn’t need help.”
“I know.” that landed.
She looked at him properly then. “You still did it.”
“I wanted to, and at the end, there were 4 of them ...”
---
The path narrowed as they moved further out.
Trees began to edge closer, the air shifting with them.
She slowed slightly as the turn toward her place approached, the outline of her house just beginning to form in the distance.
“Ok, we finally got here.” she said and he stopped with her.
No attempt to step closer, just presence, for a moment, neither moved.
The distance between them felt thinner than it had any right to, but they weren't too close either.
“Thank you,” she said again.
This time, it held more weight.
He inclined his head slightly.
“Of course.”
Something hovered there—unspoken, but close enough to take shape if either of them let it.
For a fraction of a second, she considered of letting him in, but the she question herself, what for?, the possibility and the thought was there.
Something shifted, a sound, not a hard, loud or scary one, but curiously it felt wrong.
Her gaze flicked past him, toward the dark line of trees, there was nothing over. When she looked back at him, something had changed—subtle, but there.
His attention had moved too. “You should go inside.”
It wasn’t concern... maybe, it was certainty.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight."
She didn’t watch him leave, but she felt the absence when he did.
I'm tired of those writes where our protagonist is kinda weird, white woman...???
So I made one myself, hope you like it..
----
Y/n is a woman, a witch in her own quiet way—sensitive to things others can’t see, drawn to energies she doesn’t fully understand. She’s Annie’s friend, not from here, not really belonging anywhere, and already tired of the kind of people this town attracts.
Then there’s Remmick.
A vampire who should’ve taken her the first chance he got—but didn’t.
What starts as curiosity turns into something darker: tension, hunger, restraint. While chaos unfolds and blood is spilled, he doesn’t choose her like prey… he waits.
And when everything burns down, when the night takes more than it gives..
Not quieter—never quieter—but arranged. As if every sound had been told where to go. Bells first, then footsteps, then murmured greetings that carried just far enough to be heard, but not enough to mean anything.
You could map the whole place with your eyes closed.
She didn’t need to.
The road curved gently from where she lived, cutting between patches of shade and low brush before opening toward the town. From that distance, the church was little more than a pale shape rising above rooftops and trees—softened by heat, blurred at the edges.
Still, she could tell when it began.
The shift in rhythm was enough.
Doors opening. Fabric brushing. That particular cadence of people moving with purpose that wasn’t really theirs.
She slowed, just slightly.
Not enough to stop. Just enough to look.
Figures gathered along the distant path, pressed shirts and careful skirts catching the light as they moved in the same direction, step after step, like something rehearsed. Predictable. Neat.
Contained.
Her gaze lingered a second longer than necessary.
It wasn’t hatred. Not even close.
Just a quiet resistance she had never quite managed to shake.
Back home, faith had never looked like that. It had been louder, messier—alive in ways that refused to behave. It carried smoke, earth, sweat. It sang when it wanted, not when it was told. It didn’t sit in rows and file itself into something presentable.
Here, it felt… narrowed.
Like something vast had been folded down until it fit inside walls.
Her mouth curved faintly, though there was no real humor in it.
She had seen what happened to things that didn’t fold.
So she didn’t look for long.
Her gaze dropped back to the road, and she kept walking.
-------
By the time she reached the center, the town had loosened around the edges.
Sunday had taken most of its people in one direction and left the rest behind—half-open shops, unfinished conversations, the occasional voice carrying farther than it should in streets that suddenly felt wider.
She adjusted the strap of her bag slightly as she walked, already turning over the day’s work in her head—what needed mending, what could wait, what she could stretch a little further than it was meant to go.
“Hey—” that voice, at least, didn’t belong to the silence.
She glanced up, and there he was.
“Shouldn’t you be in church?” she asked, not breaking stride as he caught up to her.
Sammy fell into step beside her easily, like he’d done it a hundred times before.
“Shouldn’t you?” he shot back.
She gave him a look—quick, unimpressed. “That’s not my thing.”
He grinned, like he already knew that. "Yeah, I figured.”
Her gaze shifted past him then, catching the second presence a step behind. New.
“Oh—right,” he said, turning slightly. “This is my cousin, Stack.”
Stack didn’t rush the introduction. Just gave a small nod, eyes settling on her with a kind of easy confidence that didn’t try too hard.
She returned the gesture, just as polite, just as brief.
Their attention met for a second—long enough to register, not long enough to linger.
“And this is—” Sammy said her name like it belonged, like it always had.
Stack’s gaze flickered once in acknowledgment.
“Nice to meet you.”
There was a hint of charm there, but it sat loosely, like he didn’t need it to land.
“You too.”
“I told him about you,” he said. “About the clothes—and the singing.” sais Samuel.
Her expression shifted just slightly. “You talk too much.”
“Not true.”
“It is.” Stack huffed a quiet laugh under his breath, glancing between them.
“So you sing?” he asked, tone light, curious but not pressing.
“Sometimes.” same answer. Same deflection.
It seemed to amuse him more than anything.
“That mean we’ll hear you at the bar?” he said.
That made her look at him properly this time. “The bar?”
Her gaze moved between them, taking it in—not just the words, but the way they stood, the energy under it.
“You picked a good town for it,” she said after a moment. “People here like something to look forward to.”
Stack smiled slightly at that.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s the idea.”
A beat.
Her eyes dropped briefly to his clothes, then back up.
“Good taste, by the way.”
It slipped out easy, almost absent-minded.
But it landed.
Stack’s smile shifted—sharper now, a little more deliberate.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
Sammy made a small, exaggerated gesture between them.
“See? I told you.”
“We're running late, let's go” Stack nodded to Samuel.
Sammy stepped back, already turning.
“I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“We’ll see.”
She watched them go for a moment.
Not long.
Just until they disappeared into the turn of the street.
Then she turned the other way.
------
Her shop greeted her the same way it always did-quiet, dimmer than the street, carrying the faint scent of fabric and thread and something older that had settled into the walls over time.
She closed the door behind her, the outside noise softening into something distant.
Work waited where she'd left it.
Folded pieces. Half-finished seams. A dress draped over the back of a chair, marked with pins that caught the light when she moved past.
She set her bag down, rolling her sleeves slightly as she stepped into the space like it was something she wore rather than owned. Familiar
Her fingers moved without hesitation-checking stitches, adjusting tension, smoothing fabric between her hands as if it could tell her what it needed if she listened long enough.
Time shifted there.
Slower. Quieter.
Outside, the town would find its rhythm again. Inside, she kept her own
---
Time slipped, as it tended to, when her hands were occupied.
By the time she stepped back from her work, the light had shifted without asking. What had been warm and steady now stretched longer across the floor, gold thinning into something softer, quieter.
She straightened slowly, rolling the tension from her shoulders before glancing toward the window.
Late.
Not quite evening, but close enough to feel it.
She moved through the shop in practiced motions—covering what needed covering, setting aside what could wait, fingers lingering briefly over a seam she’d redo tomorrow. Nothing rushed. Nothing left careless.
By the time she stepped outside, the air had changed.
The heat of the day had begun to loosen, giving way to something cooler that settled against the skin instead of pressing into it. The town, once scattered, had started to gather itself again in quieter ways—voices lower, movements slower, like everything was preparing to fold into night.
She adjusted her bag and turned—not toward home.
The path toward Annie’s place cut away from the main road gradually, almost as if it didn’t want to be followed too easily.
Fewer houses. More space between them.
Then trees, not dense enough to be called forest—not really—but enough to shift the air, to filter the light into uneven fragments that moved when the wind did.
She knew the way without thinking.
Her steps fell into it naturally, the rhythm of it familiar in her body.
Somewhere along the path, she slowed.
Not for any urgent reason, just… an habit.
Her gaze drifted toward the edges of the trail, scanning without appearing to. It didn’t take long to find what she was looking for—small clusters of growth tucked just off the path, half-hidden beneath taller grass and low branches.
She stepped off the trail, crouching.
Her fingers brushed over the leaves first, testing, recognizing. The scent came up faint but distinct when she rubbed them lightly between her fingers—sharp, grounding.
Good.
A few stems, no more than needed.
She gathered them carefully, tying them together with a piece of twine she pulled from her bag. A little further in, she found lavender—less abundant, but enough.
That pulled something softer into her expression.
Annie would like that
---
When she returned to the path, the light had dropped lower. Shadows stretched longer now, less defined. The air carried a different weight—not heavier exactly, but… thicker. Like it didn’t move as easily between things. The wind shifted and a low rustle moved through the trees, but it didn’t travel the way it should have. It lingered, caught somewhere between branches, repeating itself in uneven patterns. She stilled for a moment, listening everything she could, there was not distinct, n footsteps, no voices, nothing , just the wind.
Her grip tightened slightly around the herbs, the feeling had been there before just the past few nights, especially, subtle and persistent.
Her gaze lifted, scanning the tree line more directly now. Shadows layered over shadows, shapes that could have been anything if you looked too long, she didn’t.
Instead, she exhaled quietly and stepped back onto the path.
If something was there— It had made no move to show itself, because she wasn’t about to start chasing things that preferred not to be seen.
The trees thinned gradually, the path opening back into something more familiar, a house came into view between the branches—warm light spilling softly from the windows, steady and lived-in in a way that settled something in her chest almost immediately.
Annie’s.
The tension she hadn’t fully acknowledged eased, just slightly. She approached without hesitation this time, the gravel shifting softly under her steps as she moved closer to the door.
For a brief second, she paused.
Her gaze flicked once over her shoulder—back toward the path, the trees now darker, less defined in the fading light.
Still, silent, watching, maybe, maybe not.
Her fingers tightened once around the bundle in her hand. Then she turned back and knocked.
The knock was soft, but it carried.
Annie blinked once in surprise.
“Oh—” a small smile followed almost immediately, warm, genuine. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I know,” she said, just as easy. “I was nearby.”
It wasn’t entirely true, but Annie didn’t question it, she stepped aside without hesitation, letting her in. The difference was immediate, where the outside had begun to cool, Annie’s home held onto warmth—soft light, the faint scent of something steeping, something lived-in and cared for in quiet ways.
“You came at a good time,” Annie said, moving back toward the table. “I just put water on.” her gaze dropped to the bundle in her hand. "And you didn’t come empty-handed.”
“For you,” she said, offering it over.
Annie took it with care, fingers brushing lightly over the stems before bringing them closer, inhaling.
“Lavender,” she murmured, almost to herself. “These are hard to find around here.”
“I had to go a little off the path.”
“mmmhh thank you.” she looked at her suspicions but smiling
Annie moved around the space with familiarity, setting the herbs down gently before reaching for a small jar near the counter." I've got something for you too,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.
She turned back, holding it out, dred leaves—different, sharper in scent. Protection, in its own way, not the same tradition, but not so far off either.
Y/n accepted them with a small nod. "Thank you.”
Annie studied her for a second longer than the exchange required.
“You look…” she hesitated, searching. “Not tired. Just—”
“Watched?” she offered, lightly.
Annie didn’t smile this time. "Yeah,” she said quietly. “Something like that.”
A small silence settled between them. “Has it been long?” Annie asked.
“A few days.”
“Only at night?”
She nodded.
“Have you seen anything?”
“No.”
That seemed to concern Annie more than the opposite would have, her fingers tapped lightly against the table once, thoughtful. " Pleople have been… strange lately,” she said, carefully. “Not everyone. But enough, so you should be careful. Just in case.”
“Yes, I know, I am.” it wasn’t bravado, just fact.
Annie exhaled softly, then reached for something else—a small object resting near the edge of the table. She turned it once in her fingers before offering it over.
It wasn’t ornate.
“Take it,” she said. “It won’t hurt.”
She looked at it for a second, then at Annie.
Then took it. “Thank you.”
A door shifted somewhere deeper in the house, footsteps followed, she turned slightly at the sound, she got still for a second with a kind of recognition didn’t come from knowing, it came from familiarity, same height, same build, but not the same presence.
Her gaze flicked, almost instinctively, measuring the differences.
“Oh—” Annie said, glancing between them. “You haven’t met.”
The man stepped closer, slower than Sammy had earlier that day. More grounded. “This is Smoke,” Annie said. “Smoke, this is y/n”
She said her name again, placing it into the space, smoke nodded once in acknowledgment, gaze steady but not intrusive.
“Evening.”
“Evening.” Her voice came just as even, though there was a flicker of something behind it—quick, passing. She glanced between him and the memory of the morning.
“Your brother,” she said, more observation than question.
A small shift in his expression. "Stack.”
She nodded once. “I met him earlier. With Sammy.”
“That sounds about right.” there was something almost amused under that, subtle but there.
She let the silence sit for a moment—then stepped back slightly. “well, I didn’t mean to interrupt, hehe”
“You’re not,” Annie said quickly.
But y/n was already gathering her things. “I should head back before it gets too late, anyway”
Annie didn’t push, just walked her to the door. "Be careful,” she said again, quieter this time.
She gave a small nod. “I will.”
They hug
"It was a Pleasure, Smoke" she said , waving at him.
Smoke just nonned with recognition, and she left.
------
The night had settled by the time she stepped back onto the path, not fully dark, but just dark enough.
The air had changed again—cooler now, but heavier than before. The kind of weight that didn’t press down, just… lingered, she exhaled and adjusted her grip on her bag, the small charm Annie had given her tucked safely inside.
Her steps were steady and masured, the path stretched ahead, familiar even in low light.
The feeling returned faster this time, like a blink, she didn’t stop walking.
But that's when she listened
“You’re heading the wrong way.” the voice came from ahead.
It wasn't loud either sudden, it was like if it has been always there.
She slowed, out of instinct.
A figure stood a few steps off the path, half-claimed by shadow, but not enough to hide him completely. The last traces of light caught just enough—outline, posture, stillness and watching.
Her gaze settled on him, steady. She looked behind her, just checking if he was actually talking to her “ammm no, I’m not,” she said and tilted her head slightly, studying him the way she studied most things—quietly, without offering too much in return. “And you?” she asked. “Lost?”
Something in his expression shifted, not quite a smile. "Not exactly, I’m looking for a place,” he continued. “Thought this path might lead somewhere useful.”
“It does,” she said simply. “Eventually.”
That seemed to interest him more than a direct answer would have.
He glanced past her briefly, toward the direction she’d come from. Then back.
“Mind showing me?”
She considered him a moment, then turned slightly, gesturing ahead.
“I’m only going part of the way.”
“That’s fine.” He fell into step beside her, not too close, not distant either.
They walked in silence at first, not uncomfortable, but of course she was aware and in all her sense
The night carried differently now. Every step sounded clearer, sharper against the quiet. The wind had settled, leaving the space between sounds wider than it should have been.
“You’re not from here,” she said after a moment, it wasn't a question
He smiled at her and asked “You pass through often?”
“Yeah, there other ways, but this one is... Safer. Do you?” she looked at him curious,
"Sometimes" another half-truth, maybe.
She didn’t press.
Instead, her gaze shifted briefly toward him, and they kept walking
The path forked ahead, she slowed, "This is where I turn.”
He stopped with her. For a second, neither moved.
“Thank you,” he said, genuine enough to sound real.
She gave a small nod "Don’t get lost.”
“I won’t.” he smiled
Creepy, but interesting she thought, then she turned, stepping onto her path without looking back, behind her, he didn’t follow, but he didn’t leave immediately either.
Tom Riddle (pre-Voldemort) x Original Female Character (Alhena
Genre: Romance, Suspense, Time Travel, Dark Magic, Drama, Slow Burn, Smut
Timeline: Canon Divergence - Year 5 (Harry Potter) / Tom Riddle adult era (1950s)
Tags: time Travel, enemies to Lovers, Obsessive Tom Riddle, latin Witch OC, ancient Magic, mind Magic, Forbidden Love, Mental Bond, Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Angst, Dream Manipulation, Magical Rituals, Found Family, Voldemort Redemption Arc.
Still writing....
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Late that night…
The candle had burned low.
She blinked hard at the ink-covered pages, trying to make sense of the archaic text. Runes. Theories of temporal manipulation. Mentions of ancient rituals lost to time — and a few not so lost. But her vision had begun to blur. She rubbed her eyes. Her shoulders ached. Somewhere between her last thought about ley lines and magical anchors… her mind slipped.
The book slid slightly as her body relaxed in the chair, her hand still curled near the page. Sleep claimed her. She was on his lap again. Just like before. Just like the vision in Knockturn Alley. But this time… she didn’t wake.
His hands gripped her thighs, strong and possessive. Her head was thrown back, neck bared, the sound of her own voice echoing around them — moaning something broken, incoherent, desperate.
His mouth trailed along her throat, slow and unbearably hot. She could feel every inch of him beneath her, the way her hips instinctively pressed closer, the ache between her legs sharp and pulsing.
“You wanted this,” he murmured against her skin, voice low, like silk over steel.
Her eyes fluttered open, trying to focus — to remember how she got there. But it was hazy. Warm. Intoxicating. Something in her chest sparked. This already happened…Not exactly. But she’d seen this. Felt it.
She looked down at him — at the way his gaze locked with hers, deep and dark and endless. Just like in the shop. Just like before. Only now… she was moving. Grinding. His hands slid beneath her robe, gripping her hips, guiding her rhythm. His mouth caught hers — tongue slow, demanding, devouring. A kiss that felt less like seduction and more like claiming. She whimpered into him. He pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing hers.
“You’re mine in this,” he whispered. “Even if you lie to yourself when you wake.”
Her breath hitched.
She tried to speak — to say something, anything — but his hand slid up her spine, the other into her hair, pulling her head back gently.
“Say it,” he commanded, voice velvet and iron.
“I…”
Why does this feel so real? She looked into his eyes — and that was when she knew. It was him. Not just a dream. Not just a memory. He was there with her. Not physically, but his presence filled the space between thought and desire. He was watching her. Touching her through whatever magic this was.She trembled.
"You're shaking," he whispered. "Because you know this isn't only yours."
His lips found her ear, breath hot. "It's ours."
And then he was inside her. Deep and slow, her hands clutched at his shoulders, his back — his name fell from her lips in a choked cry.
Every thrust sent heat spiraling through her. Her thighs clenched. She was close — too fast, too much — and the way he moved beneath her was relentless, controlled, like he knew exactly how to ruin her.
"Don’t wake yet," he said. "You’re just beginning to understand."
Her body arched, mouth open in a silent scream.. everything went black.
She woke with a jolt, gasping abd sweating. Her thighs were slick. Her hands trembling. The room was dark. Still.
But she couldn’t breathe, not from fear. From memory.
The exact feeling of his skin. His mouth. His voice.
Her legs curled beneath. A hot, aching gasp — body trembling, thighs tight, mouth dry. The sheets twisted around her legs, soaked with sweat. Her robe clung to her skin. The dream had been vicious this time. She remembered everything. His voice in her mind. His hands on her hips. Her legs spread over his lap, her back arched, his lips tracing a path up her neck as his breath teased her skin—
"You wanted this." Her own moan had echoed in her ears.
When she opened her eyes, her body still burned with the sensation. It wasn’t just arousal, It was invasion.
He was in her head. She knew it now. Not a suspicion. Not a maybe. It was him.
She got up, her feet hitting the cold floor as if that would ground her. The hallway was dark, moonlight cutting soft lines across the floor. She didn’t stop walking until she reached the sitting room, needing space, distance, air. She didn’t expect to see him. But of course he was there.
He was always there.
Tom sat on the edge of the low couch, shirt sleeves rolled up, one arm resting along the back as if he owned the night itself. A book on his knee, untouched. And when he saw her, he smiled.
Small. Calm. Dangerous.
Like he’d been waiting for her. Her breath caught, but she didn’t stop. She stepped fully into the room, trying to steady herself. He spoke first.
"Trouble sleeping?" His tone was too smooth. Too casual.
She didn’t answer. His gaze lowered, slow, assessing.
“You’re flushed,” he murmured. “And trembling.”
Her fists clenched at her sides. “Stop doing that.”
Tom tilted his head, his smile not fading. “Doing what?”
“You know exactly what.”
A pause. He rose.
“Do I?” he asked, taking a slow step forward.
She backed up half a pace. “Get out of my head.”
“You’re assuming I was ever in it.”
“You were.” Her voice cracked. “You are. That dream— That wasn’t me.”
Another step. He was close now. Too close.
She could see the faint rise and fall of his chest. The way his pupils had dilated. But he looked amused. Teasing. Almost... pleased.
“And if I was?” he asked softly. “What exactly would you do?”
She stiffened.
He leaned in slightly. His voice dropped to a whisper.
“Would you scream?”
“No.”
“Push me away?”
A pause.
"...No."
Tom smiled, slow and sure, like a predator who already knew how the game would end.
“So,” he said, stepping even closer, his body brushing against hers now, “you’re not angry that it happened. You’re angry that I made you feel it.”
“That’s not—”
“But it is,” he interrupted, hand lifting — just a light touch on her hip, steady and electric.
Her breath hitched.
“You think you're angry,” he murmured. “But what you’re feeling now... it’s not anger, is it?”
His hand didn’t move, her skin burned where he touched her.
“You put things in my head,” she said again, softer now. “You made me want—”
“I didn’t make you,” he whispered. “I just gave it form.”
Their faces were close now — closer than they’d ever been.
His other hand lifted, fingers brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, then trailing down the side of her neck, slowly.
“I’m only showing you what’s already there.”
She swallowed hard. "That's.... that's no...."
His smile deepened, dark and unbothered. “No. You don’t.”
And then — before she could think, deny, run — he kissed her. Longer this time. Deeper.
One hand cupped the side of her face while the other tightened on her hip, pulling her flush against him.
She didn’t pull away. She couldn’t.
Her fingers gripped the front of his shirt, and for one long, breathless moment, she gave in to it — to the pull, the fire, the maddening way he fit against her like a threat and a promise. When he finally broke the kiss, he didn’t move far. His lips brushed the corner of her mouth as he spoke.
“You should go back to bed,” he said quietly. “Before you ask me for more.”
She stared up at him, dazed, dizzy.
“I won’t,” she whispered.
He smiled again. “Not tonight.”
And just like that — he stepped back, turning toward the books on the table as if nothing had happened. But the mark he left behind burned deep under her skin.
Tom - PoV
The sound of her footsteps faded down the hallway.
Tom stood still for a moment, eyes on the place where she had just been — flushed, breathless, trembling beneath his hands. His fingers flexed at his side. Not because of restraint. Because of the residue she left behind. She hadn't fought the kiss. More than that — she had leaned into it. Wanted it. Needed it. And yet, something about the way her lips had trembled, the way her breath had stuttered before parting for him—It wasn’t just desire, there was fear. No — not fear of him. Fear of herself.
Interesting.
He moved slowly, letting his body relax, but the tension didn’t quite leave.
There was a heat under his skin now — not just physical, but something harder to name. Something unsettling. It sat in his chest like a question without words. He looked down at the table, at the book he hadn’t touched, then closed it gently. His other hand lifted to his mouth. Fingers touched where hers had kissed him back. He didn’t know what disturbed him more. The fact that he wanted more... Or the fact that, for the first time in years, he didn’t know why.
Next Morning - Her POV
She didn’t sleep again, after the kiss — after his words — she’d stumbled back to her room like someone walking through smoke. Her body was still humming. Her lips still tingled. But the ache wasn’t only physical anymore. It was something deeper now. A knot in her chest. She’d dreamt of him. She’d felt him. And now she knew he had done it on purpose. And still she had kissed him back.
A sharp breath left her as she sat up on the bed, the morning light creeping across the floor. This was dangerous, this was getting out of control.
But the worst part?, It was starting to feel inevitable. Her eyes flicked to the book Tom had given her. Still resting on the desk. Still open to the same page. She stood, wrapping her robe tighter around her and crossed the room, pulling it closer. There — faint, but clear — one line under a subsection she hadn’t noticed before:
“Temporal anomalies and the binding of consciousness through intention.”
She read further. Carefully. Slowly.
Time magic. Shadow traces. Emotional tethers. Names she didn’t fully know but recognized, and then — toward the bottom — another mention of the same location she’d circled the night before.
A hidden shop. Beneath a different name. No sign. No light. Only known to those who already sought it. She marked the page. She was going, she had to Not because Tom said so. But because whatever this was, she needed answers. Before she lost more than just sleep.
>>>>>*****
The narrow staircase creaked beneath her steps as she descended, candlelight flickering against the damp stone walls. The shopkeeper's instructions had been cryptic, but the book Tom gave her had pointed here. A hidden apothecary in the underbelly of Knockturn Alley, long forgotten by most but still pulsing with dark, humming energy.
She kept her hood low. Her fingers clenched the list she'd scrawled from her research. Symbols. Herbs. Runes. Anything that could hint at time manipulation—or reversal.
The smell of old paper, ash, and something metallic clung to the air. Shelves stretched high, packed with faded tomes and dangerous objects. A hunched woman behind the counter gave her a look, then went back to sorting bones into jars.
She moved deeper, eyes scanning the shelves.
"Temporal Distortion through Anchor Charms." "Tethers and Traps of Time." "Dreamweaving: A Study in Mental Manipulation."
Her hand froze on that last one.
She pulled it out slowly. The cover was embossed with swirling patterns. She opened it, scanning the index. Chapter 7: Shared Visions. Chapter 12: Invasive Projection. Chapter 15: Desire-Based Anchoring.
Her stomach tightened.
It described the symptoms with chilling accuracy. Lucid images. Sensory overload. Emotional entanglement. The target would begin to confuse suggestion with desire. Especially potent when used by someone with emotional or magical influence over the recipient.
Someone like Tom.
Her fingers clenched around the cover.
It wasn’t just dreams. It was deliberate.
She shut the book, heart racing, and turned around—
He was there.
Leaning against the far shelf, half in shadow, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"You found the right section," he said softly.
Her throat tightened. "You led me here."
"Did I?"
He stepped forward. The candlelight caught the gleam in his eyes. He looked less composed than usual. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, his sleeves loose. Relaxed. Intentional.
"You gave me that book. You knew what I'd find."
"You needed answers."
She backed up slightly, bumping into the shelf. "You planted those dreams."
He tilted his head, slow. "You think I needed to?"
Silence stretched. The air between them buzzed.
"Why?" she asked.
He took another step. "Because you think about me. Even when you're awake."
Her breath caught.
"Because I needed to know if you could handle it," he said, his voice lower now. "If you were strong enough to face what you are."
"What I am?"
He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved even closer, closing the distance between them. One hand reached up, brushing lightly against her wrist.
"You still tremble when I touch you."
She jerked her arm back. "You manipulated me."
He didn’t flinch. "No. I guided you."
"For what? To keep me here?"
His jaw flexed. "To see if you belonged."
She shook her head. "I want to go back."
"Do you?"
Her eyes snapped to his.
"Then why haven’t you run? Why do you keep opening every door I leave unlocked?"
"Because I need answers."
"And now you have them."
The silence between them pulsed. She could feel her heart pounding in her throat.
His fingers brushed down her arm, deliberate, soft. "You read the part about desire-based anchoring, didn’t you?"
Her skin prickled.
"I didn’t force it," he murmured. "You felt it. Just like I did."
She tried to speak, but he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.
"And now," he whispered, "you won’t sleep without wondering what else I could do to you."
She spun around to shove him, but he caught her hands—not roughly. Gently. Like he knew she needed the contact more than she wanted to admit.
Their eyes locked.
And she hated the way her body reacted. He leaned just a little "So why don’t you just tell me... the truth" he looked at her deeply "You already know what i think"
She didn’t answer. Not at first.
Her eyes shifted just slightly — the barest flicker — as if weighing her odds, testing her exits. And then, with a slow breath, she spoke.
“A misfired ritual,” she said carefully. “That’s why I’m here. Not exactly glamorous, but… magic is fickle.”
Tom’s gaze didn’t blink.
Her voice stayed even. Measured. Too practiced to be entirely false — which made it worse.
“I came here looking for a fix. That’s all. Nothing more.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then, slowly, he stepped back — just half a pace — his expression unreadable. That familiar smile tugged at the edge of his mouth again. Small. Crooked.
But this time, it didn’t reach his eyes.
“So that’s your story,” he murmured. “How very… convenient.”
She held his gaze, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
She turned ready to go and him, with effortless calm, he turned toward the table again, lifting a nearby book as if she were no longer of any consequence.
