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The Battle of Hogwarts had come to an end. Watching his army gradually lose ground and fall, the Dark Lord's usual arrogance began to crack. The connection to the Horcruxes had completely vanished. The final piece of soul hidden within the snake Nagini had also just been destroyed. The immortality he had dedicated his whole life to pursuing now crumbled. In Tom's mind at this moment, there was no longer room for calmness, only an extreme, boiling rage upon realizing his empire was collapsing.
His gaze was pinned tightly on Harry Potter. He hated this boy, the one who had stripped away his authority, ruined all his plans, and pushed him to a dead end.
Amidst the ruins of the school, the only remaining thought in Tom's head was to kill Harry, a life-or-death final duel to reclaim everything. The Killing Curse was unleashed, carrying all his ruthlessness and desperate wrath. But at that very moment, the Elder Wand betrayed its master. The cold green flash of light refused to obey his will, rebounding and striking straight into his chest.
Right at the second when time seemed to freeze, he saw her.
That familiar silhouette stood silently in a far corner, completely separated from the smoke and screams of the battle. The faded morning sunlight shone through her translucent figure. The eyes she looked at him with were exactly the same as in the past, tranquil and holding the emotions he had spent his life both loathing and yearning for.
As the darkness of death began to swallow his vision, he suddenly found himself longing to reach out and touch that figure. More than ever, he wanted to hear that voice ring out, calling his name and saying "I love you, Tom" one more time.
But his body had lost its last bit of strength. He helplessly collapsed onto the cold stone floor.
The final thought flashing through Tom Riddle's mind before his soul completely dissipated was a regret: If I could do it all over again, I would save her.
To Tom, Myrtle Warren was once an incredibly contradictory existence. She was like a rare ray of light, the most silent yet radiant flower in his dark world. But at the same time, she was also a fatal weakness that he went to great lengths to hide from the eyes and ears of the world. To Tom, the affection he held for her was a testament to a humiliating weakness, a piece of humanity that he always fiercely denied and hated to the bone.
Myrtle stepped into his world the year he was fifteen. Among the students who constantly surrounded him, she was completely different. She possessed a kind, pure heart and a strangely tolerant, selfless soul. While everyone was mesmerized by Tom Riddle's outstanding appearance, perfection, and talent, Myrtle seemed not to care much about those things. She quietly immersed herself in her own small world. Even when she frequently became the target of teasing and bullying by other girls, that girl never once thought of revenge, nor did she ever loudly complain about anyone.
That tranquility was something Tom could not understand. And precisely because of that, the beginning between the two of them was not at all like a pure youth story.
Right from the first day he proactively approached her, Tom did not harbor any good intentions. Behind his gentle smile and fake concern, he silently evaluated her. In his eyes at that time, this faint, fragile schoolgirl who was easily forgotten by others was a perfect prey. He coldly plotted a ruthless move, planning to use her as his first sacrificial pawn, using her blood to pave the way for his own grand pursuit of immortality.
However, contrary to Tom's calculations, Myrtle never truly paid attention to him. When he took the initiative to strike up a conversation, a flash of surprise appeared in her eyes hidden behind thick glasses, but it stopped right there. She did not appear happy, shy, or excited like other girls usually did when receiving his attention.
Myrtle treated Tom as calmly as she treated anyone else in the school. Her attitude was always detached, measured, and she consciously maintained a safe distance, as if his brilliance held absolutely no appeal to her world.
Initially, that blandness made Tom feel this girl was truly boring. However, the cold logic of a hunter held him back. Because, at that time, Myrtle Warren perfectly met all the cruel standards he had set: a Muggle-born student, so faint as to be invisible, weak, and completely lacking even a single friend. If someone like her disappeared, no one at Hogwarts would truly shed a tear or bother to search.
Precisely because of her perfection in the role of a scapegoat, Tom Riddle decided to be patient. He hid the disgust in his eyes, restrained his arrogant nature, and continued to wear his fake gentle smile to step by step break the safe distance she had built.
But then, the more patiently he stepped deeper into her world, the more Tom realized he was wrong. He had misjudged Myrtle Warren thoroughly.
Behind those thick glasses and the posture of always shrinking back to avoid attention, Myrtle possessed an astonishingly rich inner world. That Ravenclaw girl was not shallow or bland like those who only focused on outward vanity. Hidden deep within her timid demeanor was a brilliant mind, a strange sensitivity, and an incredibly sharp perspective on all things.
Tom still remembered a late afternoon in a quiet hidden corner of the library, when streaks of golden sunlight slipped through the dusty windowpanes. He used the excuse of discussing a complex essay to approach her. In his heart, he had prepared outstanding arguments about the greatness of magic, about how the strong are born to decide everything, cold viewpoints that he believed would overwhelm a weak girl.
However, upon hearing his endless rambling, Myrtle only quietly stroked the edge of her frayed book. She looked up at him with tranquil eyes and uttered words that left a constantly complacent person like Tom stunned.
"The greatest magic is not born from the desire to control," she said softly, her voice light enough to drift into the air yet distinct in every word. "Those who always seek to suppress everything, trampling on others to rise, are in fact the most heavily shackled ones. They fear their own fragility, so they must use imposition to fill the void inside."
That was merely a confession, an empathetic perspective on the roots of power and decay. But to Tom, those words were like a thin, razor-sharp blade, gently slicing open the perfect mask he had always carefully put on. A perspective so profoundly deep on the human ego, on the fear behind the facade of power, things that an arrogant teenager always pursuing absolute power like him had never even given a thought to, or rather, had always intentionally avoided.
Not only that, Myrtle also demonstrated a refined observational ability. She could easily see through the hypocrisy in the friendly smiles of the school's boys and girls, recognizing the nature of the benefit-driven relationships surrounding Tom. She knew it all, understood it all, she just chose to remain silent. She chose to live in her own world, not wanting to be tainted by the meaningless vortex of calculations.
It was that exact sharpness and intellect that created an invisible gravitational pull. The conversations between him and her gradually deviated from the script he had originally mapped out. Tom began to develop genuine curiosity. He yearned to know how she would evaluate the books he read, the ideas he kindled. He was surprised to realize that he himself sometimes unconsciously waited for her sharp remarks.
Without knowing when, Tom Riddle no longer considered Myrtle simply a foolish scapegoat. In his heart, he began to place her in a different position, a rare soul refined enough to touch the hidden corners of his thoughts without any judgment or fear. And that, to a cold person who always closed off his heart like Tom, was an incredibly dangerous deviation.
Everything truly started to veer off Tom's controlled orbit that winter.
The war in the Muggle world was entering its fiercest stage. The spreading smoke, fire, and instability made it impossible for Myrtle to catch the train home for the holidays. She had to stay at Hogwarts. And unintentionally, she became Tom Riddle's frequent companion during those cold winter days when most students had left the school.
The massive Hogwarts castle suddenly became quiet and vast. In the tranquil space with only the crackling of firewood and the sound of falling snow outside the windowsill, they shared a strange yet unbelievably peaceful time. They spent hours together in the hidden corners of the library or deserted corridors.
They talked. Tom realized he could speak to her about topics that the students out there would certainly yawn at out of boredom, or simply because they would never understand what he was saying. From the origins of ancient spells and the history of magic, to philosophical perspectives on the boundary between good and evil. Myrtle listened to it all. She would calmly reply, sometimes gently untangling his extreme thoughts with a strange empathy. Beside her, Tom's mind, always taut with ambition and guardedness, suddenly found a place to relax.
And then, that girl's gentle, sweet nature quietly shattered the icy wall he had built since childhood. For the first time in his fifteen years of life, Tom Riddle felt what genuine care was like, without calculating benefits, and unmixed with hesitation or fear.
On Christmas Eve, amidst a space carrying the faint scent of pine wood and biting cold, Myrtle gave him a gift, a black leather-bound diary. She said that someone with thoughts as deep as his needed a place to keep his own ideas.
And on his birthday night, the last day of the year, she brought him another surprise. It was a woolen scarf knitted by her own hands. The knitting stitches were clumsy in places, not perfect or expensive at all like the exquisite items the Slytherin students used to bring to win his favor.
But when that soft scarf was wrapped around his neck, embracing a bit of warmth amidst the harsh Scottish winter, Tom stood stunned for a very long time. He lowered his eyes to look at the small girl smiling in front of him. For the first time, the sharp logic of someone who always calculated everything suddenly went blank. He realized the feeling creeping into his chest right now was not the triumph of having lured his prey, but a true flutter of the heart, so pure and dangerous that it made him unconsciously want to hide.
The subsequent days and months of that school year would perhaps always be kept in some hidden corner within Tom Riddle's torn soul. Those were the most beautiful, purest memories, yet simultaneously the cruelest things that bound his mind for the rest of his life.
The budding spring brought warm rays of sunlight blanketing the moss of the ancient Hogwarts castle. Everything went smoothly, accurately, and perfectly down to every detail, exactly like the plan he had mapped out from the beginning: Myrtle had fallen into his arms. Her tranquil eyes now always stirred with soft ripples whenever she saw him. She had completely dropped her defensive wall, willingly giving him absolute trust.
She was already his.
However, when everything was neatly within his control, Tom lost his ruthless instinct. He did not use her at all. He ignored the original purpose that brought him to her side, not turning her into a sacrifice, nor letting her become a stepping stone for his dark ambitions. On the contrary, the feelings he once vehemently denied now began to sprout, bud, and take deep root in every nook and cranny of his mind. It grew silently but fiercely, beyond all calculations and the pride of a Slytherin.
They began to have their own secrets, quiet moments hiding from the scrutinizing gazes of the crowd. Those were late afternoons by the shore of the Black Lake when the wind started blowing cold, or nights sneaking up to the Astronomy Tower just to immerse in the silence of the night sky. Myrtle never demanded him to show affection or promise vain things. She just sat quietly beside him, tilting her head to rest on his shoulder during the times both were absorbed in the pages of books.
Tom clearly remembered the feeling the first time he proactively interlaced his fingers with hers as they were walking along a deserted corridor. Myrtle's hands were not soft like those of noble ladies; her fingers had small calluses from frequently holding pens and knitting wool, but they brought a genuine, strangely peaceful warmth. That small hand was swallowed up in his, obedient and trusting.
Every time he gently squeezed her hand, he felt a tearing contradiction in his chest. On one hand, the desire for possession rose strongly; he wanted to hide her away, wanted her to forever only look towards him. On the other hand, the warmth from her soothed the coldness and ruthlessness in his veins. In those brief moments of interlacing hands, the ambition for power or immortality suddenly became faint. Tom Riddle's world shrank down, leaving only the faint smile and clear eyes of the girl walking beside him.
Myrtle had silently become the sole exception, the fragile thread holding onto the last bit of humanity and softness he had once sworn to discard.
Tom Riddle was not someone who would utter sweet words, and he would never voice the true feelings blossoming inside him, especially when it was the emotion he always denied. To him, words were usually just cheap tools used to manipulate human hearts, too fragile to contain the flutter taking root in his chest. Instead, he chose to express it through actions, in silence yet wrapping around every aspect of her life.
He started to pay attention to the tiniest details. When the girls who used to bully Myrtle in Ravenclaw house suddenly encountered countless unlucky "accidents" for unknown reasons and began to fearfully avoid her, only Tom knew it was absolutely no coincidence. He memorized her habit of reading until she forgot the time, quietly used magic to dry the hem of her cloak on wet melting snow days, or simply always reserved the most wind-sheltered and quiet seat in the library waiting for her to walk over. He took care of her the way a hunter protects his own treasure: absolutely safe and allowing no one the right to intrude.
And the reward for those silent cares was simply her smile. Myrtle rarely laughed out loud; she usually just slightly curled the corners of her mouth, her eyes glinting with a peaceful, crystal-clear serenity behind thick glasses. But that was all it took. Every time he saw that smile, Tom's gloomy and calculation-filled world seemed to light up. It dispelled the coldness seeping into the marrow of the Slytherin dungeon, soothing the extreme ambitions and dark rages that always lurked to tear at his mind.
Myrtle's existence gradually changed even the visions of the future he had worked so hard to build. Previously, in Tom Riddle's ideal kingdom, there was only submission, power, and immortality. But now, amidst the map of those grand ambitions, he silently placed an additional supreme and inviolable position specifically for her.
He told himself that when he reached the pinnacle of the wizarding world, he would personally pave a path for Myrtle. It would be a path strewn with roses, where he had shed blood to cut off every sharp thorn and trample every person standing in the way. He wanted her to simply walk peacefully under his protection. Tom Riddle's ambition at this moment was not only to stand above ten thousand people, but also to create a world safe enough to protect her from all harm, and above all, to imprison that sole light, keeping her by his side forever.
Tom's grand plan could not stop, but because of Myrtle's existence, he was forced to change direction. To complete the ritual of tearing the soul and creating a Horcrux, he needed another sacrifice. The cold gaze of the hunter very quickly locked onto a new replacement target, Olive Hornby.
That was not a random choice. Olive was the ringleader of the teasing and bullying aimed at Myrtle. By choosing her, Tom could both complete the ambitious turning point of his life and silently dispose of an eyesore who dared to disturb the peace of the small world he was protecting.
Myrtle inherently never paid attention to the noise of the outside world. She always quietly drifted to her own rhythm. Precisely because of that indifference, Tom was fully confident that she would not mind in the slightest when he began stepping into the light and publicly approaching Olive.
With a perfect facade and a gentle smile, getting Olive Hornby hooked was as easy as flipping his hand for Tom. He only needed to drop a few polite greetings in the hallway, occasionally linger to praise a curve of her spellwork, or pretend to patiently listen to her trivial stories. In reality, for Tom, having to stand next to Olive was a tasteless endurance. He saw through her hollow arrogance and shallow mind, but for the perfection of the play, he hid all his coldness and contempt at the very bottom of his eyes. He played the role of an elegant gentleman perfectly.
However, Tom had underestimated the vanity of a glory-seeker. The attention from the Slytherin Prefect, the most outstanding and sought-after boy in school, made Olive Hornby sink into delusion and extreme smugness. She did not miss any opportunity to show off.
Before long, rumors began to spread as fast as a wildfire on dry grass. Throughout the hidden corners and staircases at Hogwarts, people whispered to each other that Tom Riddle and Olive Hornby were dating. In the Great Hall, Olive deliberately laughed and talked very loudly, smoothing her hair and loudly boasting to her friends about how Tom had smiled at her, or how he had attentively guided her in Potions class. She swaggered all over the school, holding her head high with pride as if she had truly become the queen beside the uncrowned king of Slytherin.
Tom calmly let those rumors flare up. In the calculations of someone always accustomed to manipulating and mastering the chessboard, the louder this play was, the safer his cover became. He smugly believed that everything was still neatly within the palm of his hand, and the quiet hidden corner where Myrtle was would forever remain an intact secret no one could touch.
That spring night was a night that until the very last moment of his life, when the cold green light of the Killing Curse rebounded on the ruins of Hogwarts, Tom Riddle still fully engraved in his memory.
The castle fell asleep, all things were silent, leaving only the windy Astronomy Tower embracing the gentle warmth of the encroaching spring. The night sky was clear, crystal, and scattered with sparkling stars. Myrtle stood next to him, leaning against the stone railing. Her hair blew lightly in the wind. She did not mention a single word about the noisy rumors that had surrounded him and Olive Hornby over the past few days. The world of the two of them on this tower seemed completely isolated from the bare reality down below.
Then suddenly, Myrtle turned around. She slowly took off her thick glasses, fully revealing her clear eyes that were reflecting the entire starry sky. She stood slightly on her tiptoes, leaned forward, and placed a kiss on his lips.
That was the first kiss for both of them. There was no calculation, bearing no base lust, that kiss was clumsy, as light as a petal brushing over the lips, yet so sweet and genuine that it made the heartbeat of someone who always controlled everything like Tom skip a beat. Her warm breath mingled with his breath, carrying the faint scent of old books and night wind to fill all senses. Tom's sharp, cold mind went completely blank; all layers of camouflaged armor, all deceitful defenses crumbled right in that moment. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace, returning that kiss with all the reverence he had never given to anyone.
When she gently pulled back, her cheeks flushed pink under the silvery light, she looked straight into his eyes. Her fragile yet incredibly steadfast voice rang out, breaking the silence of the night:
"I love you, Tom."
Just a few short words, yet they created a violent tremor deep within his soul. Tom froze. His abyssal black eyes were locked tightly onto the girl in front of him. Amidst the vast space, under the star-studded sky and the moonlight gently shining down on the tranquil lake, in Tom's eyes at this moment, no star could be more radiant than her, nor could any moonlight be as beautiful and pure as her smile.
In that moment, the dictatorial ego and dark ambition in Tom Riddle seemed to yield completely. All ruthless plans, all grand calculations suddenly became meaningless. He realized he was ready to trade everything, power, fame, or even the immortality he had frantically yearned for, just to exchange it for the peace of this girl. Myrtle was no longer a weakness or a humiliation; she was salvation, light, everything he wanted to keep in this world. His grand world, ultimately, only shrank down to the exact size of her silhouette.
Tom had calculated every move on his chessboard, but he had underestimated one thing: the power of love. He did not realize that such affection could make a girl who was always so indifferent and carefree like Myrtle become so sensitive and fragile.
Behind the stone walls of Ravenclaw tower, where Tom's sheltering arms could not reach, his fake play had carved a deep wound into her heart. That night, Olive Hornby returned to the common room with an extremely triumphant attitude. She loudly boasted about her hollow romance, fabricating embellishments about how she had kissed Tom Riddle. And then, like a malicious habit, she turned to pour mockery onto Myrtle. The bitter words, the sneering laughter of the surrounding crowd were like thousands of needles piercing and shattering her heart, which had just been overflowing with happiness.
Unable to endure it anymore, Myrtle turned her back and fled. She ran away from the mocking gazes, running to her familiar safe haven, the girls' bathroom on the second floor. She did not know that this tranquil refuge was destined to be the dark tomb burying her forever.
At the same time, down in the Slytherin dungeon, Tom was lying on his bed in the quiet night. His mind was still floating at the Astronomy Tower, endlessly recalling the sweet smile and the warmth from the touch of Myrtle's lips. A rare feeling of satisfaction and peace was enveloping him.
Suddenly, a cold sound rang out, slithering along the icy stone crevices. It was the hiss of the Basilisk echoing from the Chamber of Secrets.
"Mudblood... Mudblood... hungry... kill all Mudbloods... return purity to Hogwarts..."
The smile on Tom's lips instantly vanished. A freezing chill ran down his spine, followed by a burning sense of unease flaring up in his chest. His original plan was to open the Chamber of Secrets, but since realizing his feelings for Myrtle, he had left everything hanging. Now, the thousand-year-old monster had awakened out of hunger and was slithering to hunt prey on its own by its slaughtering instinct.
The slippery hissing sound continued to echo through the moss-covered water pipes, creeping through the thick walls of the castle.
"Kill... tear to pieces..."
The unease in Tom exploded into an ultimate terror he had never experienced before. Myrtle was Muggle-born. She often hid on the second floor.
Tom sprang up from his bed. He dashed out of the dormitory, running for his life headfirst through the dark corridors, heading straight up to the second floor. His footsteps rang out rapidly, frantically racing against death to reclaim the only light of his life.
But everything was too late.
When Tom broke the door and rushed into the girls' bathroom on the second floor, the space had sunk into an eerie silence. There was only the sound of water dripping from the sink faucet. And then, his eyes met the small figure slumped on the cold, wet stone floor. There were no wounds, no blood, only the eyes behind the shattered glasses wide open, soulless and glassy. The Basilisk had completed its hunt.
An ultimate agony, sharp as thousands of blades piercing through his chest, struck straight into Tom's mind. The truth before his eyes was so cruel that it exceeded the limits of human endurance. A choked feeling welled up from the very bottom of his soul, tearing apart his internal organs. A metallic taste surged up his throat. Tom staggered, spitting out a mouthful of crimson fresh blood, then completely collapsed onto the floor, right beside Myrtle's ice-cold body.
The arrogant, grand hunter was now nothing more than a pathetic teenager. The hands that always held the wand steadily, coldly stripping away the lives of others, now trembled violently as they reached out to cradle her pale face. Her skin was freezing cold; the bone-chilling coldness of the cruel realm of death transferred into his palms.
"Myrtle... look at me," Tom's voice cracked, sobbing and holding an unprecedented despair. He caressed her cheek, pressing his forehead against hers as if wanting to pass some of his warmth into that already cold body. "Please... open your eyes and look at me."
But answering him was only a deadly silence. The girl who had once radiated brightly because of his smile, the one who just a few hours ago had nestled in his arms and spoken words of love under the starry sky, now could never answer him again.
"I am sorry... I am sorry, Myrtle," he whispered softly, choked sobs bursting from his bleeding throat.
The gentle smile that had once lit up his dark world was gone forever. The light in her eyes had died out, leaving only a soulless, rigid corpse gradually losing its last bit of warmth in his arms.
At that very moment, the grand kingdom Tom Riddle had painstakingly built completely collapsed. The towering pride, the ambition to stand above ten thousand people, the peerless dark magical power... all became a ridiculous tragedy. He proclaimed himself the strongest, yet he could not protect the only girl he loved. He wanted to pave the way for her, but he was the very one who opened the door of death that swallowed her. It was his own deceitful calculation, the very thousand-year-old monster he awakened, that single-handedly crushed the only flower in his life.
Myrtle was dead, and along with her death, the fragile humanity, the final bit of warmth that had just managed to kindle in Tom Riddle's soul also shattered, vanishing into nothingness, leaving behind a demon forever submerged in darkness.
Holding Myrtle's cold body in his arms, the shattered despair gradually gave way to madness. If glory could not protect her, if cruel fate had stolen the only light of his life, then he would use his own way to fight against death.
A thought both tragic and extreme flashed in his abyssal black eyes. If he could not save her, could not have her completely in this lifetime, then he would attach his soul to hers, to forever be by her side.
Tom's bloodstained hand trembled as he pulled an object from his robe. It was the ordinary black leather-bound diary, the Christmas gift she had personally chosen for him. In the middle of the cold girls' bathroom, enveloped by the stench of death, Tom Riddle performed the most atrocious dark ritual. He used this very tragedy, used the death of the girl he loved most to tear his own soul.
The most primal piece of soul, carrying the most intense emotions of youth, love, remorse, gut-wrenching agony, and insane stubbornness, was drawn out and imprisoned forever within those pages. He sealed his soul into her gift, so that a part of him would forever remain in this place, forever frozen at sixteen, staying close to Myrtle's soul, never to leave. The complete metamorphosis of a Dark Lord had started from exactly such a dark and desperate love.
Decades later, when the drawn-out battle broke out, this truth had become a mystery that Harry Potter could never fully unravel. When investigating the Horcruxes, Harry always carried an endless wonder. Voldemort's other soul containers were all magical artifacts possessing peerless power: Hufflepuff's golden cup, Slytherin's powerful locket, or Ravenclaw's diadem of wisdom. They were all grand relics worthy of the Dark Lord's pride. Meanwhile, the diary was just a cheap, old Muggle object completely devoid of any historical value.
But Harry Potter would never know that this very diary, looking so harmless and ordinary, was the Horcrux with the most terrifying, most powerful mind-manipulating ability. Because hidden deep within those yellowed pages was not mere ambition for power, but the root of all tragedies. It contained the deepest, darkest magic: the torment, the pure love that had been twisted into obsession, and the promise to trade an entire soul just to be forever beside a girl named Myrtle Warren.
Many years later, when he had stepped onto the pinnacle of power, sowing terror across the wizarding world, the Dark Lord's hands were stained with the blood of countless people standing in his way. But within that ruthless mind, the death that brought him the deepest, most complete satisfaction belonged not to an outstanding Auror or any great enemy. That person was Olive Hornby.
Taking her life was not a swift strike of punishment. It was a bloody vengeance he had waited for over many years. Olive's blood was used to water the place he considered Myrtle's tomb; her corpse was offered as a belated sacrifice for the soul of the girl he loved. To Tom, that was the most fitting atonement for the one who indirectly pushed Myrtle to her death, and also the price she had to pay for daring to trample upon her smile.
Tom knew very well, Myrtle did not truly leave. It was the dark magic from his insane stubbornness that night that tethered a piece of her soul to the mortal realm. His desperate love had imprisoned her soul forever within the cold stone walls of Hogwarts castle.
However, ironically, the Dark Lord feared by tens of thousands, the one who could calmly slaughter and rule through fear, never once had enough courage to set foot back in that second-floor bathroom.
He dared not go see her.
The deeper he sank into the dark arts to pursue immortality, the more his soul tore apart, and his physical identity transformed accordingly. The handsome teenage face of the past had been stripped away, making way for a hideous, cold, and inhumane visage. He was cowardly afraid. He was afraid to see the reflection of the present demon in her crystal-clear eyes. He was afraid that the gaze which once held such tolerance and selflessness would now only be left with utter disgust and hatred upon realizing the true nature of the one standing before her.
The Dark Lord Voldemort could ruthlessly strip away everything from the mortal world, but deep inside, the teenage boy Tom Riddle hopelessly clung to an illusion. He would rather choose to be thousands of miles apart, forever avoiding facing her, than to single-handedly destroy the rare, beautiful memory of his life. He wanted that, in the memory of the small soul wandering in that hidden corner of Hogwarts, his figure would forever be frozen at sixteen, a gentle, radiant teenager under the star-studded night sky, the one who fully embraced her in the first kiss of youth.
Tom Riddle never knew how to love correctly. Born from a lie and growing up in coldness, he did not understand what a complete affection was. The love he had for Myrtle, no matter how fierce and profound, was still tainted with too many impurities. It was a grim mixture of cold calculations, scheming moves, dictatorial possession, and an insane obsession.
He stubbornly clung to those dark emotions, convincing himself that it was love. But ultimately, that extreme and twisted love was like an antidote-less poison, slowly corroding and destroying both Myrtle and himself.
Starting with deception, he had spun a perfect trap to lure the faint, fragile schoolgirl. He confidently wore the facade of a calm hunter, holding control of everything in the palm of his hand. However, in the end, he was the one who misstepped and slid deep into the trap he had meticulously built himself. The hunter became the one carrying the deepest wound, gnawed by torment right up until his soul shattered.
Tom was never a good person. The only light of his life was her, but his nature was still darkness, and the love he brought was also infected with a thick black hue of selfishness.
There would never be a fairy tale ending with the words "happily ever after" for someone bearing an evil soul and bloodstained hands like Tom Riddle. Their tragedy was an inevitability, pre-written from the moment he chose to pursue dark power. Closing out this life, all he received in return was dissipation amidst the ruins, embracing a belated and silent regret.
Their story was forever buried under the shattered pieces of Hogwarts castle and the cold current of time. But perhaps, if fate, however belatedly, were to once again be moved by mercy, granting him a chance to atone for his mistakes...
Who knows, in some parallel universe, a place without hatred, dark magic, or power schemes suffocating humanity, Tom Riddle would meet Myrtle Warren again. And in that place, under a peaceful, tranquil sky, he would learn to walk to her side not with deceitful calculations, but with a complete heart, to give her the most simple, sincere, and pure love.