Tom Riddle

Tom Riddle sat in his office, the walls covered with maps and diagrams. The candles burned without flames—magic trapped the light in glass spheres, creating the illusion of a cold dawn.

There was an envelope on the table. The very one he'd mailed that afternoon. The address was written in his handwriting—smooth as a blade.

"Meet me by the old oak tree on the outskirts at midnight. Come alone, Tom."

He knew she would come. Fear is the best leash. And Eliana Vale wasn't afraid of death. She was afraid of becoming like him.

Tom ran his finger along the edge of the Horcrux journal. The pages rustled, as if whispering, "She will tremble. They will all tremble."

For two years, he allowed her to hide. He watched. He waited for her caution to turn into paranoia, and paranoia into error.

And she was wrong.

Yesterday his spies reported: she contacted the Order of the Phoenix. Sent a signal through the mirror. Foolish. Naive. As if he hadn't foreseen every crack in her defenses.

"Flowers fade in October," the message read. A code for those who still believed in her.

Tom smiled.

"Let them believe," he whispered, and the candles shuddered as if from a draft. "Faith is weakness."

He stood up, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow that never lags behind. The time had come.

At midnight, the old oak tree will witness: either Eliana Vale will return to his game, or disappear forever.

But even if she chooses death, he will find a way to use her.

It's always like this.

He walked out into the night, and the darkness parted before him.