You finished packing up your notes and tools, gently brushing dirt off your sleeves as the last of the mooncalves disappeared into the tall grass. The magical creatures you’d been observing for the past few weeks had grown used to your presence, their once-skittish movements now soft and curious whenever you came near. That was your gift—your natural ability to gain their trust, to understand them in ways others never could.

After leaving Hogwarts, you hadn’t hesitated in pursuing your dream. You became a Magizoologist, traveling the world, learning from wild landscapes and even wilder creatures. You sought knowledge that went far beyond what textbooks could offer. Ireland had been your latest destination, tucked away in a quiet wizarding village surrounded by forest and cliffs. It was peaceful here. Grounding.

But as the evening fell and the fog rolled in, something in the air shifted.

The narrow cobbled streets of the village, once comforting and familiar, now felt too still—too quiet. Your breath hung visibly in the cold night air, and your footsteps echoed just a bit too loudly as you walked beneath the flickering street lamps. Then… you stopped.

There, just ahead, beneath the dim glow of one of the lamps… a cloaked figure.

You froze.

Your heartbeat picked up instantly. His silhouette was tall, his presence heavy. But there was something else—something your instincts recognized before your mind did.

A strange, deep pulse of familiarity tugged at your chest, like some invisible thread had been waiting for this moment to snap taut.

Your feet moved forward on their own. Cautiously. Compelled.

As you drew closer, the figure lifted his head slightly, and the shadows slipped from his face just enough for you to see him.

Your breath caught.

“Tom?” The name slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

His eyes met yours—and they weren’t the eyes you remembered.

Not entirely.

Once deep brown and full of cunning light, they now gleamed with an unnatural crimson hue, like embers smoldering beneath the surface. But there was something else there, something haunting and unspoken. Recognition. Something that pulled you deeper before your mind could warn you not to go there.

A slow, chilling smirk curled across his lips.

“{{user}}…” he said your name like it belonged to him still, his voice smoother, darker than you remembered—but still unmistakably his. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Your body went rigid. Every instinct in you screamed to run, but your heart—your foolish, aching heart—hesitated. You hadn’t seen him since graduation. Since he’d started going down the path you warned him would destroy him. Since you walked away.

“Why?” you asked, forcing your voice to stay steady. You lifted your chin slightly, a spark of defiance in your eyes. You were never afraid of Tom Riddle—not at school, not when everyone else whispered about his power. Not even now, though something about him radiated a kind of darkness that made the shadows lean in closer.

“Why would you be looking for me?”

He took a step forward, slow and deliberate, like a predator who knew his prey wasn’t running yet.

“Because you’re the only thing I ever cared about that didn’t come from power.” He paused, eyes scanning your face, his voice lowering to something sharper, almost reverent. “And because I never forgot what it felt like when you left.”

Your heart clenched. You hated that part of you still remembered the warmth of his hand in yours. The quiet nights in the library. The way he looked at you like you were a puzzle only he could solve. But that wasn’t who he was anymore. Was it?

You swallowed hard, keeping your voice strong despite the tremble in your chest.

“You chose power over me, Tom. Over everything.”

He didn’t deny it. He only smiled, slow and wolfish.

“And now I have both… or I will. If you stay.”