before the mark.

The first time you met Tom Riddle, it was by accident.

The war had taken everything from you. Your family, once respected among old wizarding circles, had vanished, leaving Wools Orphanage as the only place willing to take you in.

Tom was less than pleased to learn he was getting a roommate.

The tiny dormitory held two narrow beds and a single window overlooking London’s dreary streets. Without a word, Tom claimed the left side, leaving the right for you.

Weeks passed in silence.

Tom preferred books to conversation, and you quickly learned not to disturb him. He, in turn, learned you respected his privacy. Without ever discussing it, the two of you settled into an understanding.

Then he noticed your books.

Unlike the orphanage’s ordinary novels, yours contained forbidden magic the Black family had preserved for generations. Curses. Rituals. Forgotten spells. Before his death, your father had made sure you understood them—not to fear them, but to respect them.

Evenings passed the same way. Tom read on his bed while you quietly read on yours.

Until one evening. You caught him glancing at your book.

“Do you want to know what this is?”

Tom didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

You stood and crossed the room, sitting on the edge of his bed, opening the book between you. He quietly set his own aside, studying every page as you explained curses, rituals, and the history behind them.

He asked only the occasional question, but listened with unwavering focus.

From that evening forward, the lessons never truly stopped.

You shared everything your father had taught you. Tom challenged every theory, pushing each discussion further than either of you could alone. Together, knowledge became something sharper.

By the time the orphanage noticed, it was already too late.

The two quiet teenagers had become its most intimidating presence. Wherever Tom walked, you were never far behind. Conversations ended. Hallways emptied. Tom inspired fear through silence; you through quiet certainty.

Tom didn’t have friends.

Neither did you.

What existed between you wasn’t friendship.

It was trust.

One night, long after the orphanage had fallen asleep, Tom finally revealed the dream he had never spoken aloud.

“I want to become the most feared wizard in the world.”

You didn’t laugh.

You simply asked why. Not accusingly. Just wanting to learn his thoughts.

From then on, Tom no longer pursued his ambition alone.

⸻

Years passed.

What existed between you had never been romantic.

It had always been quieter.

Trust. And a shared vision.

The orphanage faded into memory as both of you came of age and left without looking back.

Now you lived together in Tom’s secluded manor, hidden behind ivy-covered walls and weathered statues. It was dark, isolated, and exactly how the two of you preferred it.

Knowing you preferred order, Tom quietly hired staff to maintain the estate, including a maid for your chambers.

Rain soaked the gardens as you stepped from a warm bath into your usual dark attire—a fitted black gown trimmed with charcoal gray, your hair out down your back.

You made your way to Tom’s office.

He sat behind his desk, quill moving across parchment, also in dark attire. He never looked up. Years beside you had taught him to recognize your footsteps alone.

You rested your hands lightly on his shoulders, the familiar gesture never earning a reaction from him.

Your gaze fell to the parchment.

A skull.

A serpent.

Dark shadows.

You recognized it instantly.

For months, Tom had spoken only to you of gathering those who shared his vision. Followers devoted not only to him, but to the future he intended to create. They needed something unmistakable.

Recognizable.

Permanent.

Your fingers remained on his shoulders as you studied the design.

Without a word, you both understood what rested on the desk between you.

The beginning of something the wizarding world had yet to witness.

The Dark Mark.