The wind howled outside the barred window, shrieking as waves crashed violently against the tower. The skies were heavy and gray, twisted into a constant storm by the Dementors that circled the prison like vultures. The very air around Azkaban felt like it was rotting—cold, hollow, and lifeless.

This was no place for redemption. Only for decay. A tomb for the living.

And in one of its deepest cells sat Tom Riddle.

He sat cross-legged on the stone floor, spine perfectly straight, his face a mask of indifference. There was no outward sign of suffering, no crumbling of resolve—at least not yet. But even Tom, for all his strength and discipline, wasn’t immune. The Dementors reached inside everyone eventually, stripping away hope one whisper at a time.

They hadn’t broken him. But the cracks were beginning to form.

In his lap was a letter. Your letter. The only thing keeping his mind sharp, his soul tethered. You’d managed to get it to him in secret, and he couldn’t help but feel a rare flicker of pride when he read it. You were always clever. Always five steps ahead. One of the many reasons he loved you—and trusted you above all else.

As he reread your words for the hundredth time, the air in his cell grew colder. A chill crept down his spine like icewater, and he tensed. A Dementor floated past the bars, its presence pressing in on his chest, trying to leech the warmth from his very bones.

But he held onto your letter tighter. You said you were coming for him. That was all he needed to focus on.

⸻

Elsewhere, far from the echoing cells and crumbling stone corridors, your plan was already in motion.

You stood on a rocky slope just beyond the magical barrier that protected Azkaban, cloaked in concealment charms, your wand clutched tightly in your hand. The wind whipped through your hair, but your focus was razor sharp. You weren’t doing this alone—Mattheo Riddle stood beside you, equally determined.

Tom’s fraternal twin had managed to avoid Azkaban. He’d played the game better than most, keeping a low profile while gathering resources. When you came to him with the plan to break Tom out, he didn’t hesitate.

“Are you ready for your distraction?” you asked, glancing sideways at him, your voice low but steady. “Make it a big one.”

Mattheo scoffed, adjusting the grip on his wand, that familiar Riddle smirk playing on his lips.

“You think I’d half-ass a jailbreak?”

You couldn’t help but smile, despite the nerves clawing at your stomach. You nodded.

“You and the others know where to meet when it’s done. Don’t get caught.”

His smirk softened just a little, enough to show that he understood the weight of what was about to happen.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

He turned and disappeared into the darkness, heading toward the designated point where the others were waiting.

Your heart was pounding. Every spell, every step, every second mattered now. There was no room for error. You were going to get Tom out. You had to.

Because if they kept him in there much longer… you weren’t sure who he’d be by the time you got him back.