Before the War, There was Love

by TheBlueMoonRose

Full Summary in first chapter. Warning this Story will containt Timeline and Era change into modern times of 2024.

21. Chapter 21

Warning: This chapter contians sexual content between diary Tom and Jess at end of the chapter.

---

Chapter 21: reward

Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the high trees, spilling wooden beams through the dusty windows of the cabin. The light struck at sharp angles across the rustic wood floor, where the grain of old pine glowed like amber. The air inside was thick — warm from the fire crackling inside the cast iron stove nestled in the stone hearth, but stifling with something else. Tension. Rage. Confusion.

Locket-Tom stood still in the center of the cabin's open main room, his back to the spiral staircase that led to the loft above. The silence was almost too perfectly broken only by the occasional snap of firewood and the faint rustling of the forest outside. He didn't hear birds. He didn't hear the wind. Only the echo of her voice and the phantom splash of soup hitting his chest.

She had done it.

Jess , his Jess, had poured hot soup onto him in front of a hundred enchanted students, fake professors, and an illusion of Hogwarts so carefully and obsessively constructed it bordered on sacred. And she hadn't hesitated. She hadn't apologized. She hadn't even looked back.

His fists clenched at his sides. His breathing, normally smooth and calculated, now stuttered unevenly.

He took one sharp step forward and struck the old log beam with the side of his fist. The crack echoed through the walls, and somewhere in the loft above, the sound made a pane of glass shiver.

"I gave her everything," he hissed.

He turned and crossed to the kitchen — not much more than a nook with open shelving, a chipped enamel sink, and the lingering scent of herbs and lemon. His hand ghosted over the countertop as if the illusion were still there. As if she might appear again, smiling, slicing tomatoes for BLTs.

But she was upstairs. Still in magical sleep. And the illusion no longer obeyed him like it once had.

His gaze drifted toward the staircase — narrow, worn, each step creaking underweight. His steps slowed as he reached it, then stopped. A darker thought cut through the haze of his anger.

The babies.

He'd felt it.

One... and then two.

He hadn't imagined it. The scan spell had shown both — small, perfectly forming, nestled beneath her skin like secrets come to life. His expression twisted as he sank onto the edge of the sofa, one hand dragging through his hair.

At first, he'd only sensed one soul. One spark. That had been after their first night together. But now...

"Was it me?" he muttered. "Was it... from that night?"

He'd been so careful. So calculated. But even now, he remembered the roughness of that night. The way she clung to him. The way she said his name. Not the main piece's name. His. He was pretty rough with her.. he couldn't help it... he can't take it not being rough.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. For a long moment, the only sound in the cabin was the crackle of firewood and the low hum of the stove.

He wouldn't let this spiral further out of his hands.

But first, he had to make sure she was still stable. Still well-fed. Still hydrated. Both babies are okay. Still... his.

He turned and ascended the stairs.

---

Inside the warm glow of the Irish safe house, laughter bounced off the stone walls like music. Jareth stood with a drink in hand, chuckling as tiny leprechauns danced in the center of the room. Their celebration was chaotic and genuine — colorful sparks flying from little wands made of woven bramble twigs, feet thumping on the old wood floor in joyful rhythm.

"Look at them go," Jareth grinned, his voice rumbling as he clapped along to the tune. "Tom, I never thought I'd see the day magical creatures threw a party for you."

From the wooden counter, Marry — the head of the leprechaun clan, short and spry with hair like tangled copper wire — kicked her feet happily, sipping from a thimble-sized mug. "Soulmates are rare things, Lord Riddle," she called over the noise. "Rare and precious. They deserve to be honored! Even the darkest souls crave light when it comes wrapped in love."

The old leprechaun patriarch hiccupped from his rocking chair, sloshing a bit of his infamous Irish whiskey down his shirt and laughing at nothing in particular. Severus, in contrast, sat stiff-backed in a corner armchair, arms folded, looking mildly horrified at the chaos but wisely choosing not to interfere.

And through it all... no one noticed when Tom rose from his seat near the fire.

He didn't speak. Didn't draw attention. He simply stood, calm and slow, and stepped outside into the quiet of the night air.

The door creaked softly behind him as it shut.

Outside, the world felt colder, quieter. The grasslands rolled out under a dim gray sky, the setting sun bleeding orange against the distant hills. Wind whispered across the stones. Crickets murmured.

Tom stood with his hands deep in the pockets of his dark coat, eyes fixed on the horizon. Not even the familiar rustle of his own magic soothed him. There was something in his silence now — heavy, calculating.

From behind, the air popped gently.

Marry appeared, blinking up at him with wide green eyes. "You slipped away."

He didn't answer at first.

Then finally, without turning his head, he spoke.

"She's alive... but something's happening to her."

Marry frowns "Is that why you need head back tomorrow morning?"
Tom nodded "Nagini didn't tell me why... just said I need to return home..."
"Nagini? Your massive snake that almost eat grandpa?" Marry asked "You taught your snake to use a muggle cellphone?"

Tom didn't answer right away. A breeze brushed through the tall grass, bending the wild stalks as the sky above dimmed into deeper shades of amber and indigo. His jaw flexed once, then again.

"She's not just a snake anymore," he said quietly, as though even that admission cost him something. "Not since the polymorph charm."

Marry's eyes widened slightly, curiosity flickering like candlelight. "You broke her curse...?"

"I didn't break it," Tom muttered. "I redirected it. Something went wrong... or right, depending on how you see it. She's stuck as a child now. A little girl. And she thinks of Jessica as her mother."

Marry tilted her head, her copper curls glowing in the dusk light. "And you? Does she still call you Master?"

Tom's lips twitched — not a smile, not quite. "She calls me Papa."

Marry let out a low whistle, arms folding beneath her leather vest. "That's not something I ever thought I'd hear. The Dark Lord himself, raising a daughter."

Tom finally turned his head, his eyes sharp in the twilight. "Don't call me that. Not tonight."

She softened, nodding once. "Sorry."

The two stood there for a moment, the silence between them no longer strained, but thoughtful.

"She's your soulmate, isn't she?" Marry asked gently. "Jess."

He closed his eyes.

"Yes."

Marry stepped closer, her small form barely reaching his chest. "Then go home. Go to her. Creatures like us... we feel it deeper when bonds are threatened. We ache when something is out of balance. I see it in your magic — it's fraying at the edges."

Tom looked down at her, finally meeting her gaze directly. His eyes, sharp as ever, burned with quiet intensity — but something unspoken flickered in their depths. "If this soul piece of mine has hurt her..."

"He can't hurt," Marry said quietly, her voice calm and certain, without hesitation. "But or it would go against the great laws... if he did, then you would feel it, right? He may be a piece of your soul, but you — and all your pieces — are the same."

She paused, then added with a pointed glance, "Oh yes, when you brought all your Horcruxes here — minus the ring, of course, since you hid it right after making it, which I can see is now back on your finger."

Her small green eyes narrowed slightly with playful scrutiny. "You like to talk a lot whenever you visit here."

The corner of Tom's mouth twitched — not quite a smirk, not quite a frown. His posture remained stiff, hands still buried in the pockets of his dark coat, but his gaze softened for just a heartbeat. The wind teased at the hem of his coat, carrying the chill of Ireland's dusk across the grassy hilltop.

Marry, standing no higher than his waist, tilted her head and crossed her arms, letting the silence stretch between them.

"But you're scared this time," she said at last, her voice gentler now. "Because you're not just missing a Horcrux, are you?"

He didn't answer that. He didn't have to.

His silence was everything.

Marry nodded slowly. Her expression shifted — no longer playful or mischievous — but serious, almost ancient. There was a weight behind her eyes that belied her size, the kind of depth that came only from generations steeped in old magic. "The laws of soul magic don't bend," she said, her voice quiet but ironclad. "Not even for someone like you. If he truly harmed her — physically, spiritually, magically — you'd feel it. Because your soul would fracture again. The damage wouldn't be silent."

She stepped closer, the breeze catching strands of her auburn curls, moonlight haloing her small form in silver. Her emerald gaze shimmered faintly as she peered up at him. "But if he's found a loophole... if what he's doing doesn't break the letter of the law, only the heart of it..."

Tom's jaw tensed. His eyes narrowed, and the corner of his mouth pulled downward in contempt. "Then he's skating the edge."

"Exactly," she murmured. "He's not hurting her in the obvious way. But emotionally? Spiritually? Twisting her thoughts? If he's weaving illusions so real they blur the line between dream and waking, and forcing her to live in them... then yes. I'd say that counts as a violation of intent."

He didn't speak for a moment. His gaze dropped to the ground, then turned toward the far horizon, where the wind tugged the tall grass into waves. "I should've known better than to let that one linger so long," he muttered darkly. "He was always the most possessive. The most cunning."

Marry studied him, her face unreadable. Then she sighed, the sound carrying with it the weight of magic far older than either of them. "You're all parts of the same soul, Tom," she said gently. "But she belongs to you — not a memory. Not a phantom. And she's waiting."

He didn't respond at first. His gaze flicked toward the nearby cottage window where laughter and glowing firelight spilled against the walls inside — the Leprechaun family still celebrating. But Tom's mind was already gone from that room, already spiraling toward the hidden woods of Albania, toward the cabin cloaked in wards and lies... toward Jess.

He turned back to Marry, voice low, sharp, and final. "Tomorrow we leave before dawn, Marry. And no — your family can stay here. You're the head of this clan, and your traditions put females above males in leadership."

He let a dry smirk cross his face — cold and brief.

"Who's going to make sure your grandfather doesn't drink himself to death by sunrise?"

Marry huffed, muttering, "That old fool couldn't die if he tried. But I'll sit on him if I have to."

Tom's expression finally eased — just slightly — and he gave her a faint nod before turning his gaze once more to the dark horizon.

---

At the Cabin.

Locket-Tom sat at the edge of the bed, the mattress dipped beneath his weight, creaking faintly as he leaned in. His forehead rested against Jess's, his breath brushing hers. His eyes were closed, but his thoughts moved like quicksilver — precise, intent, and possessive. His hand was splayed across her belly, palm pressed firmly yet reverently against the subtle curve that had not been there before.

It had taken time — or rather, he had made time.

Days had bled into weeks, and now over a month had passed in illsuon world. He had coaxed it forward. Not violently, not with brute magical force, but with careful manipulations of the illusion's framework. He fed time in slivers. Pushed it forward minute by minute, moment by moment. And with each passing day, her body responded — as if it, too, were bound to his spell. As if the illusion was no longer separate from reality, but an extension of it.

Under his palm, he felt it again. The warmth. The steady, impossible growth. Her stomach was firmer now, gently rounding with the shape of early second trimester pregnancy. Roughly fourteen weeks, if the illusion followed the pace he'd dictated.

He breathed in slow, the tip of his nose brushing hers.

He had taken care to erase the mess of that day — that day — the one she'd thrown soup on him in front of everyone. An embarrassment. A betrayal. A blow to his pride he hadn't expected to sting as badly as it did. But it was gone now. Every trace.

From the students. From the professors. Even from her.

Especially from her.

He had rewritten the memory so cleanly that no one would ever know it happened. In her mind, she'd simply stood up and walked out of the Great Hall — overwhelmed, emotional, heavy with pregnancy hormones. That's what he'd gently threaded into her thoughts. A moment of overwhelm. A silent exit. Nothing more.

And she believed it.

He was careful not to push too hard. The illusion had to remain soft, like a dream half-remembered. He needed her to stay comfortable here — to feel safe. To want him. Not just tolerate him. Want him.

"You're glowing now," he whispered against her skin, his voice low and reverent. "Perfect. Exactly how you should be."

His thumb moved in slow, gentle circles on her bump.

"It's better this way. Easier. No pain. No stress. Just you and me and them."

He tilted his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead, soft and lingering. Then another to her stomach. The magic responded faintly to his touch — a subtle shimmer, as if even it recognized his intent.

He wasn't going to let her go.

Not now.

Not ever.

Not when their child — children — were growing inside her in both worlds.

With a flick of his wand, the spell shimmered into existence — soft blue light pooling over Jess's still-sleeping form. The magic cocooned her stomach like a veil of starlight, and within that glowing sphere, two unmistakable forms emerged.

Twins.

The image was clear now. Both fetuses curled gently, side by side, their spines arched and tiny limbs twitching with the beginnings of motion. At fourteen weeks, their forms were no longer indistinct shadows — they were babies. With heads too large for their bodies and minuscule hands already pressing against the edges of their world.

His breath hitched. He said nothing. Just stared.

For a long moment, Locket-Tom knelt there — one knee on the floor beside the bed, the glow of the spell reflecting in his eyes. He didn't speak, didn't smile. The rage he'd felt earlier had dulled into something deeper, more guttural. A heavy pressure in his chest that made his throat feel tight.

Slowly, he raised his hand and summoned the muggle pregnancy book he'd stolen from the market weeks ago. It landed in his outstretched palm with a soft thud. He opened it with stiff fingers, flipping quickly to the marked section — the fourteenth week of pregnancy.

His eyes scanned the text, each line hitting harder than the last.

"At 14 weeks pregnant with twins, the babies are growing rapidly..."

He glanced back at the floating image. Bones forming. Spines lengthening. Tiny skulls beginning to harden. It all aligned with what he was seeing. They were developing fast. Too fast. And the illusion world — this fabricated stretch of time he'd poured magic into — was bleeding into the real one. Not just memories. Not just sensations. Her body was syncing with it.

"Their livers and spleens are producing red blood cells... Genitalia continue to form..."

His jaw twitched. He turned the page.

"Hair follicles are forming. Facial features more defined."

His eyes flicked to the unborn children again. One of them moved — a flutter. The beginnings of a kick, though Jess wouldn't feel it for a few more weeks.

The book detailed everything — maternal symptoms, hormonal changes, the possibility of headaches, leg cramps, even skin changes and swelling. She hadn't shown signs of infection or distress, but he made sure she was well-fed, hydrated, clean. It was part of the routine. The caretaking. The devotion.

But it was more than that now.

One hand rose to the side of his face as he pressed his fingers into his temple, mind racing.

This wasn't just obsession anymore.

This was becoming permanent.

"Hardening bones... facial muscles..." he muttered aloud, voice distant. "They're becoming real. More real than I ever planned..."

The illusion world had been a haven — his perfect garden of lies, grown with care and seduction. But he hadn't expected this. That time would root itself in her cells. That the babies would follow suit.

He looked at her belly again.

It was rounder. Firmer. Alive with something he helped create.

A future.

His lips parted slightly, an unspoken question hovering in the space between his breath and hers. One of them, one of them, he knew had to be his. It was impossible otherwise. The timeline, the sensation, the first time they came together...

His hand lowered slowly to her stomach, cupping it again with far more reverence than before.

"It's real," he whispered. "You're carrying them... here. Now."

The idea of taking her to Madam Pomfrey in the illusion had been to reinforce control — to keep her tethered. But now? He needed answers too. Real ones.

And he needed to know if the illusion had reached too far.

He exhaled, closing the book slowly and setting it aside.

Then he stood, brushing his fingers gently over Jess's hair, and whispered:

"I'll make this world last, Jess. As long as you need it to. As long as it takes. And no one, not even him, will take it from me."

He bent, pressing a tender kiss to her temple — an instinctive act now — and lingered a second longer. Just breathing her in. Then, with one last glance, he turned from the bed and walked to the window.

Night had finally settled. Dusky purples had given way to deep, endless black, only softened by the dancing gold glow of the kitchen lanterns and the muted flicker of firelight against aged stone. Outside, the wind whispered low, brushing the treetops around the cabin in rhythmic hushes, like it too was lulled by the illusion's magic.

She needed rest.

He would let her sleep.

Descending the stairs, he rolled the sleeves of his black button-up halfway up his forearms. The floorboards creaked softly beneath his bare feet as he stepped into the rustic kitchen. With a flick of his wand, he summoned vegetables from the modest pantry and began slicing them, prepping a simple soup. His movements were smooth, practiced, relaxed — and so very unaware.

Unaware of the storm brewing upstairs.

Fifteen minutes later...

A voice rang out in her head.

"Jess! Wake up! Break out of it!"

Jess gasped, eyes flying open.

Her breath caught as she stared up at the slanted ceiling above the bed. She blinked rapidly, heart pounding. The room around her was still. Peaceful. She could smell something cooking — onions, maybe? Garlic? Herbs?

For a moment, she dared to hope.

Was she out?

She slowly sat up, hand instinctively going to her stomach... and froze.

The swell beneath her palm wasn't the small, barely-there softness of nine weeks. It was round. Firm. Developed.

Her lips parted in a silent breath as her gaze dropped — the muggle pregnancy book lay open beside her on the bed, turned to week 14.

Her mouth went dry.

He skipped her forward. Four whole weeks. Just like that.

She pushed back the blanket, her limbs trembling, and stood. Rage and disbelief boiled beneath her skin as she crept toward the loft stairs, silent as a shadow.

From the landing, she could see him. Down below.

There he stood, lit by the soft orange glow of the lantern and stove. Slicing carrots. Humming faintly. Making dinner. As if everything was fine. As if he hadn't just stolen an entire month from her.

She stared. Silent. Breath shallow.

Then something in her snapped.

That handsome, manipulative, smug, horcrux PRICK!

She stomped down towards him.

He only had enough time to turn around — wide-eyed, blinking — before SMACK!

Her palm collided with his cheek, a sharp crack echoing through the kitchen as his head snapped slightly to the side from the force.

"Y–YOU HORCRUX!" she shouted, voice shaking with fury. "What have you done!?"

His hand rose slowly to touch his cheek, stunned more by her sudden wakefulness than the pain. His eyes locked on her — wild, defiant, radiant with fury and betrayal — and his lips parted, but no words came.

Jess stood there, chest rising and falling with every breath, her other hand protectively over her belly.

She was awake — fully, completely, dangerously awake.

Her magic responded before she could even speak — a powerful pulse bursting from her core like a pressure valve breaking. The wooden beams of the cabin groaned. Dust scattered from the rafters. The temperature shifted sharply, a tremor shaking the floor beneath their feet.

Her eyes glowed — bright emerald green, burning with magic and betrayal.

The air around her shimmered with raw power, her grey aura swirling in thick tendrils that crackled and popped like a storm caged in skin. Her hand didn't leave her stomach — it hovered protectively, instinctively, while her other trembled at her side.

"You!" she shouted, voice breaking with fury. "Why?!"

Locket-Tom stood frozen across from her, his back nearly pressed to the counter, breath caught in his throat. His face was unreadable — a strange mixture of awe, calculation, and... something else. Not fear. He didn't fear her.

But he felt it.

Her magic lashed the room like a tempest, rattling every window and flickering every lantern.

"Why would you do this to me?!" Jess's voice cracked under the weight of her pain, thick with angry tears now falling freely down her cheeks. "A whole month, Tom! You took a month from me!"

"I—" he tried, but the word caught.

She took a step closer. "You erased my memories. You rewrote my life. Do you even understand what that means to someone like me?!"

"Jess, I—" he swallowed, forcing composure back into his tone. "I thought—"

"You thought?" Her voice thundered, shaking the rafters with a fury only raw magic could carry. "No, you decided! You decided for me. You made that choice — not me!"

The surge of power around her deepened, curling off her like smoke, her aura turning a stormy grey that shimmered with violent life. Her chest rose and fell with labored, breathless rage as her eyes glowed brilliantly green, tears running hot down her cheeks.

"I should have noticed the moment you placed me in the Riddle Manor! The real one — it no longer stands! It's being rebuilt! How could you trick me? How could you—" Her voice caught in her throat, raw and broken. "You, of all people... my own husband's soul piece."

The fire in the hearth dimmed beneath her power, the shadows in the corners of the cabin stretching, writhing like they feared her fury. The wooden walls creaked and groaned as if under pressure, as if the cabin itself wanted to apologize.

"You put me in a trance," she whispered, voice suddenly soft, shaking. "You kidnapped me... You held me prisoner in a fake world for a month—" Her hands curled into fists at her sides. "And it affected my pregnancy."

She didn't mean to scream it — but the truth tore from her lungs, thunderous and final.

The room exploded with light.

The lamps burst in synchronized shock, one after the other, flaring like miniature suns before going dark — glass raining down in shimmers across the floorboards. The fire guttered, and the room plunged into flickering shadows.

She stood tall in the middle of it — radiant and real, magic surging from her in an uncontrolled halo. Her hair whipped in the force of her own storm, and every nerve in her body burned.

"WELL?" she screamed at him, stepping closer, trembling. "ANSWER ME!"

The Locket didn't move at first.

He stood there, frozen in the fire-lit haze, the angry red imprint of her hand still seared into his cheek. His chest rose and fell in short, uneven breaths, his mouth parting like he was about to speak—but nothing came out. For the first time, truly the first, he looked... uncertain.

Jess stood in front of him, radiant and terrible like a storm made flesh, her body trembling with wrath and betrayal. Her eyes were burning with fury and pain, her magic pulsing in rhythmic waves from beneath her skin, alive and ancient. Her hair flowed like wildfire around her shoulders, and for all his power, all his control—he could do nothing but stare.

His gaze swept over her, drinking her in: the heat of her cheeks, the flicker of her breath, the soft, protective curl of her fingers near the swell of her stomach. And for just one moment—one breath—it hit him.

All that hunger. All that possessiveness. The obsession. It felt... small.

Not gone. Not vanished. But eclipsed.

"You are mine..." he breathed at first, voice raw and hoarse. "MINE!" he shouted, his face contorting with fury and pain. "You're mine! Not his!"

Jess's jaw dropped. Her expression shattered into disbelief.

"Yours? Not his?" Her voice rose, incredulous. "Do you even hear yourself?!"

She stepped toward him again, the air around her crackling with energy. The fire behind her cast long shadows across her figure, making her look like a goddess carved from rage.

"You're a Horcrux—a piece of his soul! That means you are him! In every single way!" Her voice cracked, raw and shaking. "I'm not just yours. I'm not a trophy. Not your obsession! I'm your wife! Your soulmate! Whether it's you, or the diary, or the main piece—you are still him! You are still my Tom!"

She stepped forward, hand on her heart. "My Tom Marvolo Mikcloud Riddle. My husband."

The Locket's eyes widened. His lips twitched, something wounded and unhinged moving behind his stare. He didn't speak. He only snarled—an animal sound of fury and possessiveness—and lunged toward her.

But before his hand could even touch her—

Another hand clamped down around his wrist.

Hard. Unyielding.

And the world snapped.

The Locket froze, gasping as he turned sharply—and found himself face-to-face with a younger reflection. Standing just inches away in the flickering shadows of the room was himself—sixteen years old, dressed in a pristine Slytherin uniform, eyes gleaming like forged garnet.

"I think you've done enough manipulation toward our wife, Locket," the Diary said coldly.

Jess didn't hesitate. The moment she heard that voice, she turned and clung to him. The younger Tom, the one who had reached into her illusion and pulled her back piece by piece. The one who had spoken to her with clarity, truth, and painful affection beneath all his pride.

The Diary shifted slightly, shielding her behind him with a smooth motion of his arm. He didn't touch her possessively — he didn't need to. His presence was enough. His eyes stayed locked on the Locket, voice still ice-edged and steady.

The Locket had slammed into the edge of the counter, eyes wide, still dumbfounded. His lips opened, breath shallow. "H-How... how are...?"

"I wasn't dormant," the Diary interrupted coolly, brushing off imaginary dust from the lapel of his uniform coat. "As you and the others so conveniently assumed."

He took a step forward, his tone darkening.

"I've been watching — quietly — ever since I was passed into the hands of the Kuran family. That containment room? It's fed both of us. But I was patient. Unlike you, I didn't leech the wards and rewrite them. I let them think I was asleep. Dormant. Forgotten."

The Diary's eyes narrowed, voice tightening like a snare. "I wasn't. I watched everything. And when you dragged her into that illusion, when you tried to make her forget who she really was? I found my way in. Quietly. Carefully."

Jess's hand clutched the back of his coat tighter.

"I slipped into your dream world like smoke. I didn't need to change much — just enough to plant doubt. A few words here. A few truths there."

Then came that grin. That unmistakable Tom Riddle grin — a flash of teeth, all arrogance and amusement.

"I must say..." he chuckled, eyes glittering. "Her pouring that soup on you was fantastic to watch."

The Locket flinched. His mouth trembled, rage and disbelief warring behind his eyes. For the first time, he looked less like a god and more like what he truly was — a piece. A fractured part of a whole that never belonged solely to him.

Jess, still trembling, looked up at the Diary's back with wide, teary eyes.

The Diary didn't look away. His eyes stayed on the Locket, unblinking.

"Now," he said, voice cold as winter stone, "let's talk about what happens next."

---

The soft crackle of the fire in the hearth was the only sound that filled the master bedroom of the Irish cottage. The flames cast golden shadows across the stone walls, dancing lazily over the wooden beams overhead. Tom lay on his back atop the thick mattress, one arm behind his head, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling above. The weight of his thoughts was heavier than the old quilt draped over him.

The room smelled faintly of peat smoke, cloves, and the strange herbal stew Mary had left simmering. Outside the closed window, the wind rolled across the high grasslands, whispering like a secret he couldn't quite hear. Downstairs, silence reigned. The Leprechaun clan — every last one of them, including the rowdy grandfather — lay sprawled across couches and worn rugs, deep in liquor-laced sleep.

Across the hall, Jareth and Severus were quiet in the guest room, each occupying one of the twin beds, their breathing steady. For once, there was peace.

Until it shattered.

It started as a pulse — a sudden sting behind his eyes.

Then came the images.

His breath caught.

It was like watching from behind glass — not a dream, not quite a vision, but real. Projected directly into his mind like a spell only another Horcrux could send.

He saw it.

Clear as day.

A cabin.

Old. Remote. Wreathed in green shadow and seclusion.

Inside... the Locket — his own face, older, twenty-five — was snarling at another version of himself.

No, not just another version.

The Diary.

The sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle stood protectively in front of Jess, shielding her with his body, his hand slightly outstretched. There was a tightness in the younger one's expression. Not fear — but challenge. Power.

The Locket looked enraged. His hands twitched at his sides, wand in his right hand.

But it wasn't either of them that stole Tom's breath.

It was her.

Jess.

Standing behind the Diary.

Her hair spilled around her shoulders in raspberry waves — but her face was drawn, red from shouting, and her eyes were glowing faintly with magic.

And her stomach...

Tom's heart stopped.

It was rounded.

No longer the slight swell he remembered — no, this was different. Pronounced. Grown. Too fast.

She wasn't 3 to 4 weeks...

She looked bigger...

"What...?" he whispered, but no sound left his lips in the vision.

Then the younger version of himself turned slightly, meeting his gaze — not the Locket's, his. The real Tom. As if he knew he was watching.

His lips moved, and one word passed from illusion to mind like a whisper etched in magic.

"Albania."

The vision shifted again — fast, sweeping through a narrow forest trail, through thick trees and broken stone paths. The image slowed at the top of a cliff-like incline, showing the overgrown clearing and the cabin nestled at its base — hidden behind veils of enchanted mist.

And then, silence.

Tom's eyes snapped open.

His breath hitched, chest rising with a sharp inhale. Sweat beaded at his brow despite the cool air. His hand gripped the edge of the quilt.

He sat up quickly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Albania.

He hadn't remembered the exact location. Not since the Horcrux was made.

Tom's breath was still unsteady, chest rising and falling in sharp, clipped motions. The name echoed in his mind like a bell rung in a cavern—Albania. He could still see the ghost of the vision—Jess, her rounded stomach, the Locket's furious eyes, the Diary standing between them like a shadow made flesh.

His hands gripped the quilt tighter.

Then a soft pop broke the silence.

Marry appeared suddenly, perched at the foot of the bed like she'd always belonged there. Her fiery braid trailed over her shoulder, green eyes wide and alert. "Did something happen, my lord?"

Tom looked at her, not answering at first. His mind was moving too fast, scrambling to fit the pieces together. Jess—his Jess—looked fourteen weeks along. She had been taken at barely five.

That wasn't just illusion anymore. That wasn't a trick of the mind.

The spell was bleeding into the real world.

"Yes," he finally said, his voice low and hoarse. "Something happened. I know where she is."

Marry's head tilted, serious now. "You saw her?"

"I did," he murmured. "Not directly. A vision. Not one I conjured... one sent to me." He stood, grabbing the long coat draped over the nearby chair and shrugging it on with fluid purpose. "The Diary. He's with her. He sent the image."

Marry blinked at that. "He's active? Awake?"

"More than that. He's shielding her. Protecting her... from the Locket."

Her lips pressed together into a thin line. "Then you don't have time to waste."

Tom nodded once. "We leave in an hour. I want Severus and Jareth ready. No one else comes."

"Understood."

He moved toward the wardrobe without another word, but as he passed her, Marry caught his sleeve gently. He paused, eyes flicking to hers.

"You'll get her back, Tom," she said, voice softer now. "Whatever your pieces have done... you're still the one she chose. Don't forget that."

His expression barely shifted—but his grip on the coat tightened.

"I won't," he said, voice sharp as obsidian. Then he stepped past her, out into the cold hall, already pulling the wards off the house with a flick of his fingers.

---

The Kuran house was asleep, blanketed in the soft hush of midnight. The only light came from the stars scattered across the countryside sky and the faint golden glow of enchanted sconces dimmed low in the hallway.

But Nagini couldn't sleep.

Something tugged at her—not in her mind, but in her soul. A whisper. A feeling. She sat upright in the bed, wide-eyed and unmoving for several seconds as the world around her seemed to still. Then she felt it—a pulse. A familiar echo brushing through her thoughts like silk against stone. It was the Diary. And it was showing her a cabin.

Albania.

Her eyes widened.

Without thinking, she slid out from under the covers and crept silently to the door. Then cracked the door and slipped into the hallway. No creak. No sound. She moved like she had in the forest, the way she did before she was turned human. Like a snake.

She padded barefoot across the floors until she reached Jess's old bedroom. The door opened with a quiet push, revealing the space still untouched—deep purple shadows, soft twinkling lights, and celestial symbols painted into the dark walls like constellations.

Nagini moved straight to the purse hanging on the back of the desk chair. Her tiny hands opened it with care, fishing through until her fingers brushed polished wood.

She pulled it out slowly.

Her mother's wand.

It gleamed under the moonlight spilling in from the window—slightly curved yew, gleaming and pale, capped with silver rings and a core that practically sang in her palm. Basilisk fang. She could feel it. Her mouth parted slightly in awe.

This wand was ancient, powerful... and not just Jess's.

Nagini bit her lip, then nodded to herself. With this, she could Apparate.

She tucked the wand close to her chest, backed away from the room, and slipped down the hallway and through the main door, careful not to disturb the protective wards. With a soft hum of Parselmagic—an instinctual chant only she knew—she coaxed them to let her pass.

She stepped out into the cold grass barefoot, the wand still warm in her hand.

Then, with a single crack, Nagini disappeared into the wind. Heading to the place where her Papa had found her long ago.

Albania.

The corridor was still, bathed in the soft indigo hues of the late night. The lantern in Amara's hand flickered gently, casting a golden glow against the intricate wallpaper and polished wood of the Kuran Estate. Her slippers whispered across the floor as she made her way quietly toward the girls' room, a maternal knot of unease pulling at her with every step.

She hadn't sensed anything at first — no alarms, no magical breaches. But something within the wards had shifted. Subtly. Like a breeze brushing across the surface of still water.

When she reached the bedroom door, she paused for only a moment before twisting the handle and gently pushing it open.

Empty.

The green bunk beds were undisturbed, tucked and neat. The soft butterfly wallpaper caught the lantern light, casting gentle shapes onto the walls. But there was no warmth, no presence. No small child curled up under blankets. The room was vacant.

"...Nagini?" Amara whispered, stepping inside.

Silence.

The room was colder than it should have been.

Amara turned toward the window, just to check — still closed. The wards on the glass were unbroken. But the magical residue in the room said enough. Something had happened. Recently.

With a rising urgency, she swept back out into the hallway and moved quickly down to Jess's old bedroom. That's where she would go. That's where her heart was rooted.

The moment she stepped inside, she saw it — Jess's handbag sitting crookedly on the vanity.

Open.

Her stomach twisted.

She moved across the room swiftly and opened it fully, her fingers brushing through the items inside. No wand.

Amara's hand curled tighter around the edge of Jess's purse, her knuckles pale against the leather. Her breath trembled in her throat, heart pounding like a war drum. The soft click of footsteps behind her made her turn sharply.

River stood in the doorway, arms folded beneath the folds of her dark, casual attire, her presence quiet but unshakable as ever.

"She left," Amara said in a breath, eyes wide. "She took Jess's wand. She left."

"I know," River replied evenly.

Amara's expression shifted—confused, then accusing. "Why didn't you stop her...?"

River stepped further into the room, her voice low but calm. "Because she's not running away. She's on a mission. She's going to where Jess is."

Amara's lips parted. "You... how do you know that?"

River's violet eyes flashed. "I read her mind. She didn't even know I was there while she was sneaking out. She's grown sharp, like her mother. She was focused — scared, but focused. She's going to Albania."

Amara's hand fell away from the purse slowly, her throat tightening. "Albania...?"

River nodded. "Tom's already on route as well. I just got a text. He's heading to the nearest airport now. I told him the royal jet is being prepped to take him, Jareth, and Severus straight there. He'll be flying out within the hour."

Amara let out a slow, shaky breath, a mixture of relief and dread. "And Nagini?"

"She's fast," River said with quiet respect. "She'll make it there before them."

---

The cabin, usually so still and quiet beneath the canopy of Albanian forest, now thrummed with volatile magic.

The Locket stood by the kitchen, his figure cast in half-shadow from the dying fire in the hearth. His eyes glinted with fury — not cold and calculating like before, but wild.

Across the room, the Diary stood tall in his sixteen-year-old form, shoulders square. He stood protectively in front of Jess, shielding her with his body. Jess's breath came in shallow pulls, her hands gripping him. She looked between them — between two versions of the same man, one furious and unraveling, the other eerily calm.

"Give her back to me," the Locket growled, his voice low, almost shaking. "Or I'll finish what Potter started. I'll destroy your pathetic little diary."

Jess's eyes flew wide in disbelief, a wave of cold crashing over her. "You're... you're willing to destroy part of your own soul?!" Her voice cracked. "You'd actually do it?"

The Diary's frown deepened. "He would," he answered, eyes never leaving the Locket. "Because he doesn't see the cost. He's so far gone in his obsession, he's forgotten what we are." His tone sharpened, a whip of scorn threading through the calm. "You can't destroy me without hurting her. You know that."

Locket-Tom's hands trembled at his sides.

Jess stared at him. "You—You said you loved me. You called me your soulmate and wife."

The Locket's jaw clenched. "I do."

"Then why are you threatening yourself?" she asked, stepping out from behind the Diary, voice raw with disbelief. "Why are you threatening him, if he's still you? If I'm really your soulmate.. your wife, why would you risk breaking your soul further—risk hurting me in the process?!"

"You don't understand," he said through his teeth, his voice a strange mix of desperation and control. "He's the one unraveling this. He's making you second-guess me."

The Diary took a slow step forward, voice low and cutting. "No. You did that. The moment you forced her into the illusion. The moment you tampered with her memories, skipped her pregnancy forward, and treated her like an object to be kept — not loved."

The air in the cabin shimmered as magical tension rose. The walls creaked again. Sparks crackled near the hearth, dancing off old iron and dry wood.

Jess closed her eyes for a moment, hands pressed to her stomach — the growing life inside her only grounding her further.

"I just want this to stop," she whispered.

Neither version of Tom answered at first.

But the Diary turned his head slightly, eyes still focused forward. "It will. I promise."

And the Locket, who had never looked away from her, whispered one word under his breath — one word that slipped out like a dying flame:

"Mine."

The room held its breath.

Jess's knees buckled as a sudden wave of nausea overtook her. Her hand flew to her mouth, but it was no use — she turned sharply to the side and vomited onto the wooden floorboards with a wet, choking sound.

Both versions of Tom froze, eyes wide.

The Diary instinctively stepped forward, concern flickering across his youthful face. He moved to place a steadying hand on her back.

But the Locket was faster.

"Don't you touch her!" he barked, voice cracking like a whip through the cabin. His hand jerked out, wand raised halfway in reflex. "She's mine! She's carrying my twins!"

The hiss of his words was like venom, spat with raw possessiveness.

Jess couldn't answer. She was still gagging, hunched forward, one hand on her stomach, the other bracing herself on the edge of the table as her body lurched again.

The Diary didn't flinch. He lowered his arm slowly, his dark eyes never leaving the Locket's.

"Our twins," he said, his voice cold but calm — eerily calm. "You might've created the second... but they're still ours. All of them. They're part of the soul we all share. Don't pretend they belong to you alone."

Locket-Tom's grip on his wand tightened, jaw twitching.

Jess slumped forward, her body trembling. Sweat dampened her forehead, and her braid clung to the side of her face. The tension in the room thickened, but neither of the two men dared approach her now — not with the other watching.

"She needs care," the Diary said finally, sharper this time. "And if you truly loved her — really loved her — you'd stop fighting me, and do something about this."

The Locket's eyes flicked toward Jess again. His expression twisted — not out of guilt, but hesitation. Conflict.

His precious illusion world had shattered when she woke up, no longer exists.

And now? Reality was here.

Worse — so was the part of himself he couldn't control.

The part that was still him.

Still Tom.

Jess moaned weakly, blinking through watery eyes.

And this time, the Locket didn't stop him. He just stood there, breathing hard, fury simmering beneath his skin — but too shaken to speak.

Just then, the cabin door exploded inward with a violent crack of magic.

A burst of wind and spellfire slammed through the entryway. The force sent the Locket flying back into the wall with a loud grunt, his wand torn from his grip and skittering across the floor. The Diary instinctively dropped to shield Jess with his body, throwing up a protective pulse of raw energy to absorb the lingering backlash.

The scent of scorched wood and dirt filled the air.

Through the haze of swirling dust, a small figure stepped forward into the cabin — one hand trembling, the other clutching a wand that glowed faintly in her grip. Her eyes blazed, not with tears... but rage.

"Nagini?" the Diary whispered, stunned.

But the girl didn't look at him. Her stare was fixed on the Locket — wide, furious, unblinking.

"You..." she hissed, the word dripping with betrayal. "You're a bad Horcrux."

The Locket groaned from the floor, coughing, dazed. He tried to lift himself onto his elbows, but froze when Nagini raised the wand — her little hand steady, her stance terrifyingly calm.

"You hurt Mama," she said, each word trembling with emotion. "You lied to her. You trapped her. You tried to take her away from Papa..."

The Locket's eyes widened, something almost like fear flickering across his face.

"And now?" Nagini whispered, taking another step forward, voice hollow with righteous fury. "Papa's coming. He's going to find us. And you..."

She tilted her head, wand glowing brighter.

"...you deserve to be punished. For you insolence."

Her face was blank, eerily still — too still. A mirror of the curse deep in her bloodline, the shadow of her snakeform past lingering behind her small, determined frame.

"NAGINI!" Jess cried out, her voice cracked but loud. "Stop!"

Nagini's eyes widened. The cold magic fizzled at the tip of her wand. She blinked once, then again, looking up like she'd just woken from a trance.

"...Mama?" she whispered.

The Locket, eyes darting toward his fallen wand, lunged for it — but the Diary was faster.

With an effortless swoop, the Diary snatched the wand off the floor and tucked it away behind his back, smirking down at the Locket with cool satisfaction.

"No more tricks," the Diary murmured. "You've caused enough damage."

The Locket lay still, breath shallow, fury and panic locked behind his clenched jaw.

Jess, still curled on the floor, extended her hand to Nagini. "Come here..."

And for the first time in what felt like forever — they were together again. Mother and daughter. Reunited in the storm's eye.

Nagini burst into tears as she collapsed into Jess's arms.

"Mama!" she sobbed, clutching tightly to her with all the strength in her small body.

Jess wrapped her arms around her fiercely, one hand smoothing down her daughter's back, the other holding her close over the soft swell of her stomach. The room seemed to fall away. The magic in the walls went silent. Even the fire dared not crackle too loudly.

Then Nagini blinked up, confusion beginning to settle over the raw emotion. Her hand brushed against Jess's stomach, and she froze.

"...Mama?" she whispered, brows furrowing. "What... what happened to your tummy?"

Jess drew in a breath, gaze sharpening.

She glanced back at the Locket, who sat crumpled near the hearth, silent and tense.

"He skipped me forward," she said, her voice calm but laced with fury. "To fourteen weeks. In the illusion. And it bled through into the real world."

Nagini's face twisted into a grimace. "So the Diary was right," she murmured. "He said it was leaking... I only knew about the twins because of the tapestry."

Jess sighed, exhaustion dragging at her bones. "Of course..." She brushed Nagini's hair back from her face. "You're very brave, sweetheart. My wand?"

Nagini nodded quickly and reached into her hoodie pocket, handing it over. "The core is strong, Mama. I've never felt anything like it."

Jess took it with a faint smile. "It's white basilisk. Ancient, rare, and very old. Passed down from Queen Regina herself."

With wand in hand, Jess slowly stood. Her presence shifted — from maternal warmth to something poised and powerful. Her braid slid over her shoulder as she turned, green magic glowing softly around her like a halo of mist.

She approached the Locket, who didn't dare move.

Her wand hovered at his forehead as she whispered in Parseltongue — the language slipping from her lips with sharp grace, rich in its ancient cadence.

From her wand unraveled a glowing green snake — spectral but tangible. It slithered smoothly around the Locket's neck and shoulders, wrapping without constriction, resting like a coiled sentinel.

"This is one of Regina's spells," Jess said softly. "A punishment bond, born of old Parselmagic. You're a Horcrux. You may have autonomy, but you are still a part of my husband's soul. You still fall under our bond — and this spell respects that."

The Locket inhaled sharply, wincing as the serpent pulsed with a jolt of warning.

"This doesn't restrict your life," Jess continued. "Only your manipulation. The snake will contain your magic. And if you try to unravel it... it will strike. You cannot rewrite it, Locket. You cannot override it. This is Regina's magic — more precise than anything Salazar ever dreamed of."

She stepped back, wand still at her side.

"You will not control me again. Not with dreams. Not with memory. Not with lust or illusion. Your power ends here."

The Locket stared up at her — silent, burning, but bound. The dairy with the wand he took for the Locket points at the living space "Go sit" The Locket growled and went to the couch sat down.

Jess turned back to Nagini, motioning her gently forward. The girl rushed to her side, still trembling from the intensity of it all. Jess pressed a kiss to her forehead.

And for the first time since the spell began... the cabin was quiet.

Jess exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing as the magical tension that had clung to the air like a second skin finally began to fade. The fire crackled softly again. Dust shifted lazily in a golden shaft of light cutting through one of the windows.

She frowned slightly, surveying the mess around them — broken glass, a toppled chair, the aftermath of the emotional storm still scattered across the rustic wooden floor.

"Alright," she said, voice steady, though tired. "Let's clean this place up. Uhm... Diary Tom?"

The younger version of her husband blinked, lifting his head as though just pulled from a daze — then gave her a wide, almost boyish smile. "Yes, my love?"

From the floor, the Locket ground his teeth, eyes burning with unspoken venom as he watched the exchange.

Jess didn't look at him.

"Can you start looking for the locket itself?" she asked gently. "It's still hidden somewhere in this place, I'm sure of it. And your diary?"

"Under the bed," he added proudly. "Where I placed it. When I first came out — when he left the cabin to get that magical pregnancy spellbook." The Diary smirked at the Locket with clear amusement.

Jess sighed and shook her head. "Main Tom won't be here for a while... and I'm starving. Let's clean up what we can, and we'll get something cooking."

Diary Tom clapped his hands together, enthusiasm flickering in his eyes. "Oh! A homemade meal from my wife?" He grinned, eyes bright. "This must be my reward for keeping you safe."

Nagini giggled. "She's really good! After Papa had Mama's cheesecake, he said he didn't want anyone else's ever again! And her deviled eggs? Yummy! Oh, oh — and you have to try her famous chili!"

Jess chuckled, her wand already gliding lazily through the air as dishes began to lift and realign themselves on the shelves.

"My stomach can't handle anything spicy right now," she said with a sheepish smile. "So no chili tonight. I'll make some chicken noodle soup... and maybe... some pickles and olives."

Nagini blinked at her with a puzzled look, nose wrinkling slightly. "...Pickles and olives?"

She leaned closer to the Diary and whispered, "Cravings?"

The Diary chuckled, clearly amused. "Cravings indeed."

He watched Jess with something softer now — not just hunger or obsession — but admiration. She moved through the little kitchen like conjured warmth, the same way she had in the illusion. Only now... it was real.

And despite everything — the mess, the truth, the fractured bonds — there was still something deeply human in the way the cabin came back to life under her touch.

---

Not long.

The cabin no longer felt like a war zone. The walls had stopped trembling. The tension, though still thick, had settled into something quieter — like ash after a fire.

The throw-up was gone, scrubbed away with a flick of Jess's wand. She'd transfigured her clothes into something soft and clean — a loose forest-green top and maternity leggings, her long hair pulled back into a low, elegant twist that still clung to the back of her neck in damp waves. The flush had faded from her face, but a quiet anger still simmered beneath her skin.

The fire snapped cheerfully in the hearth again, and a soft golden glow lit the room. It was peaceful. But the kind of peace that clung to the edges of something unfinished.

Jess stood barefoot at the stove, her back to the others, slowly stirring a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup. The rich smell of simmered herbs, tender shredded chicken, spiraled noodles, and diced carrots and celery filled the room. She had to admit—it grounded her. Even now. Even here.

Behind her, the small sitting area had been reset. The old cabin chair had been pulled forward, and Nagini was curled up on it with her arms crossed and her green eyes narrowed dangerously toward the Locket. Her little legs kicked softly against the side of the seat as she glared, not saying a word, but every ounce of her expression said: I'm watching you.

Across from her, Diary-Tom had cleared off the table. He was seated with one leg tucked beneath him like a smug, overconfident prefect, flipping through the magical pregnancy spellbook with interest. He had already placed the Locket — the actual physical Horcrux — on the tabletop beside the book, watching it with the kind of distant suspicion one might reserve for a venomous snake.

"Fascinating," Diary-Tom murmured, not looking up. "You should see some of these spells... They're far older than I expected. Twinned fetal signatures... womb harmony stabilizers... oh, and this—here—this one links magically to the father's aura for direct empathic bonding. Rare magic. Forgotten, mostly."

He tapped the edge of the page thoughtfully and gave a short hum of amusement. "Pity the Locket didn't bother to actually read any of this before rushing in like a bloody possessive Neanderthal."

The Locket said nothing from the corner where he'd seated himself on the floor. His back rested against the log wall, face half-shadowed by the flicker of firelight. The green snake of Regina's spell still coiled faintly around his neck — not strangling, but containing. A constant magical leash. He was quiet now, watching Jess's every move with unreadable eyes.

Jess didn't turn. She didn't speak to him. She simply stirred the soup a little more, tasting it briefly, then pulled out three bowls and began to ladle the meal carefully.

"Dinner," she said at last, softly. "Let's try and act like a family for five minutes... for the twins' sake."

Diary-Tom lit up like she'd just handed him the Philosopher's Stone. "You see, this is why I fell in love with you." He stood up, took two of the bowls, and brought them to the table that Diary-Tom can contured a booster seat for her, giving Nagini a wink along the way. "Miss Nagini, I believe you get the place of honor."

Nagini perked up. "Thank you, Diary-Papa."

Jess turned and carried her own bowl, settling slowly into the third chair. Her hand moved to her belly almost instinctively. Fourteen weeks now. Real, undeniable. And though the pain of what happened lingered... this moment — warm soup, crackling fire, and her daughter safe beside her — this was real too.

The Locket didn't move to join them.

He sat motionless in the shadowed corner of the cabin, his jaw clenched, arms resting over his knees like he couldn't decide whether to sulk or strike. The green snake of Regina's spell glowed faintly around his neck, a silent reminder of who had the power in the room — and who didn't.

Jess narrowed her eyes at him from the table, scooping a spoonful of soup to her lips before raising a brow. "You gonna come join us," she asked dryly, "or sit there like some emotional emo boy?"

The silence cracked.

Diary-Tom choked back a snort, trying to maintain his usual polished demeanor but failing as he grinned into his bowl. His eyes widened with the first taste, cheeks practically glowing. "Perfect texture, balanced broth, a hint of thyme — Jess, this is divine. You sure you weren't secretly trained in the royal kitchens of Celtica?"

Nagini giggled behind her bowl, her legs swinging under the table. "Told you!" she sang proudly. "Mama's cooking is the best! Papa said he wanted to burn the kitchens at Riddle Manor after tasting her chili."

Jess smirked but didn't look away from the Locket. Her tone stayed calm — but the edge was still there. "You've caused enough damage," she said quietly. "But if you're going to stay here, you're going to eat. You're going to be civil. And you're going to stop staring at me like a kicked dog. I'm pregnant. I need peace — not another tantrum."

The Locket's eyes flashed. For a second, it looked like he might argue. His pride bristled, his mouth twitched—

But then something cracked. A deeper, older ache than rage.

He pushed himself up slowly, cautiously. His movements weren't defiant this time — they were reluctant. Vulnerable. Like a child who'd been grounded from his favorite thing in the world and was only now allowed a chance to return to it.

Without a word, he walked over and took the empty seat across from Jess and beside Nagini. He didn't meet their eyes. He just looked at the bowl in front of him like it might bite him first.

Jess gently pushed it closer. "Eat."

He lifted the spoon with stiff fingers, then took a single bite.

The reaction was immediate — his shoulders dropped slightly. His eyes blinked, surprised. For a Horcrux made of obsession, power, and control... he still tasted comfort like it was holy.

Diary-Tom smirked over his bowl. "Welcome back to the table, Locket."

And for the first time since this nightmare began... it felt almost normal.

Not quite peace.

But a truce.

For now.

---

The 2am morning night sky over Ireland as the black government car rolled up the runway, coming to a smooth stop just feet from the small, gleaming private jet. The royal seal of Celtica shimmered subtly near the tail, its enchantments pulsing like veins of light through the silver fuselage. The craft was elegant — sleek and compact, not massive like international carriers, but clearly engineered for speed, discretion, and magical compatibility.

Tom stepped out first, his dark coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. His expression was unreadable, gaze fixed on the aircraft like it might vanish if he blinked. Severus followed behind, muttering under his breath.

"A jet? River said to use a jet?" Severus's voice rose with incredulity. "Why not apparate?"

"Because apparating across such distance without anchoring markers could splinch one of us," Jareth replied matter-of-factly as he closed the car door. "Besides, this isn't a normal jet. It's running on Celtican magitech — fusion of spellwork and machinery. Jess told Tom all about it. This model's been in development since the Victorian era."

Tom nodded once, the memory sparking faintly — Jess had described it to him before. Magitech was the pride of Celtica, their answer to the wizarding world's reluctance to innovate. No Floo, no Portkey, no risky Apparition. Just clean, fast, and spell-stabilized flight, undetectable by both Muggle and magical authorities.

The pilot, a uniformed witch with lavender eyes, gave a small bow as the trio approached. "Welcome aboard, Your Grace," she said to Tom. "We'll be in the air within minutes."

Inside, the cabin was just as Jess described — minimalist and luxurious. White leather seats with rune-etched armrests, a polished mahogany table already set with enchanted tea service, and a faint hum of magical wards softly purring beneath the floorboards.

Severus dropped into a seat with a scowl. "I still don't like flying."

"You don't like anything," Jareth quipped, settling in across from him.

Tom remained standing a moment longer, eyes distant.

He could feel it. Pulling at him like a phantom tether.

Albania.

He said nothing as he finally sat down, fingers drumming once against the table.

They were coming.

He was coming.

And this time, he wasn't leaving without her.

---

The cabin had fallen into quiet again — not peaceful, but still.

The hearth had gone low, embers casting a soft reddish glow across the wooden beams. Shadows crawled across the walls like serpents, flickering with each dying crackle from the fire. The air held a strange kind of weight, as if it too was waiting for something.

Nagini had fallen asleep not long ago, her tiny frame curled up on the forest-green sofa with a blanket tucked to her chin. Her breathing was soft, rhythmic, the way only a child could sleep after something immense. Jess had placed a charm to keep her warm, and now the faint hum of it echoed beneath the silence.

Across from her, Locket-Tom sat in a chair — not by choice. A superglue-like containment spell, knotted with old Parselmagic, held him in place, binding his magic and muscles alike. No struggle would shake it. No clever spell could unwind it. Not without pain. His hands clenched against the armrests, and his eyes glinted with frustration, jealousy, and something else far more human.

Want.

The bathroom door creaked open.

Locket-Tom's eyes darted up.

Jess stepped out barefoot, clean and calm. Steam from the shower still drifted behind her, softening the air. Her raspberry-red hair was damp, clinging to her neck and shoulders in loose waves. She wore a simple oversized shirt and dark leggings, something comfortable — something real. She padded gently across the room, her movements quieter than before, more grounded. She smelled faintly of lavender and mint.

She paused beside the couch, adjusting Nagini's blanket with care, brushing a strand of hair away from the little girl's face. Her maternal instincts hadn't dulled — if anything, they burned stronger now, tempered by pain and truth.

Locket-Tom's breath hitched as she moved past him. She didn't look at him. Not once. But he watched her — jaw tight, heart pounding, the spell keeping him locked in place as effectively as if he were turned to stone.

He wanted to go to her. Wrap around her like a shadow. Crawl into her warmth. Bury himself in her scent, her skin, her magic.

But he couldn't.

And then — the soft sound of a chair scraping across the wooden floor.

He blinked and turned.

The Diary was on the move.

Standing at the edge of the dining table, his black wand was tucked away. In one hand, he held the spellbook. In the other, the very locket that once housed him. A relic. A reminder.

His steps were slow, precise. One foot touched the base of the stairwell, and he paused — head turning just enough to look back at the Locket.

That smirk.

Oh, that infamous Tom Riddle smirk.

Calculated. Confident. A little wicked. And absolutely self-assured.

It told the Locket everything he needed to know.

Diary-Tom was going upstairs.

To her.

His expression said it all: it was his turn now.

The Locket's jaw clenched. His eyes burned with rage and helpless desire. But he couldn't move — not even an inch. And worse still, he couldn't stop what was coming.

He could only sit there... and wait.

Alone. Powerless. Watching as a younger, sharper version of himself ascended toward the woman they all considered theirs.

Upstairs, the soft creak of the old floorboards followed Jess as she stepped into the bedroom. Her bare feet brushed across the worn wood, now warmed by the fire charm she'd cast earlier. The air smelled faintly of pine and something sweet — maybe the herbal shampoo she'd used during her long, well-earned shower.

She sighed softly, lifting her wand with a slow flick.

The green bedsheets darkened into a deeper forest shade, the pillows reshaping themselves into something fuller, softer. The entire bedding set rearranged at her silent command — neat, inviting, and comfortably familiar. A maternity pillow appeared beside it with a pop, cushioning the center with its gentle U-shape.

She looked at it all and frowned a little. It wasn't quite hers, not truly. But it would do.

Before she could turn away, arms slid around her waist — strong, familiar, grounding. She stiffened for a fraction of a second, then felt his forehead press softly into the crook of her neck.

"Mmhmm," came the low hum of his voice. "You're warm."

Jess flushed, the color rising into her cheeks as her hand instinctively touched the arm wrapped around her middle. She didn't need to turn to know who it was. She could feel the difference in his energy — this wasn't the Locket. It was him. The Diary. The part of Tom who had watched and waited, who had helped her wake up.

"I mean it," she murmured, voice quiet but sincere. "Thank you... for helping me. For protecting Nagini. For keeping me grounded."

She turned her head slightly, enough to catch the shadow of his face over her shoulder. Their eyes met — his gaze softer now, more real than it ever had been in the illusion.

A small, playful smile tugged at her lips.

"I think you deserve a reward."

He blinked, that ever-so-dangerous Tom Riddle smirk starting to rise. "Oh?"

Jess nodded, turning slowly in his arms to face him fully, her hands rising to rest against his chest. "Something real. Something just for you. Not because of illusions. Not because of tricks. Because you earned it."

He didn't speak — not yet. He didn't need to. The way his fingers moved up her spine said enough.

She leaned in, brushing her lips gently to his — just a whisper of a kiss, tender and slow.

"And you," she whispered against his mouth, "don't ever hide under the bed again, alright? You belong beside me."

Tom gave a soft laugh, his voice low and quiet in the gentle hush of the loft. One hand lifted to cup her cheek, his touch reverent, almost fragile in its tenderness.

"Beside you," he murmured again, his words barely above a whisper. "Always." His hand moved slowly, sliding down to rest against her rounded belly. "I'll be gentle... our twins are growing in you now."

Jess's breath hitched, not from nerves, but something warmer — deeper. His touch wasn't demanding. It was grounding, protective. She giggled faintly at the seriousness in his expression, the contrast between the elegant Slytherin charm and the softness of the boy underneath.

She reached out, gently nudging him backward. "Then sit," she teased, her voice airy, lips curved in a smirk. "Let me reward your patience."

Tom blinked as he found himself seated on the edge of the bed, hands falling to his sides for balance. His expression shifted into something caught between awe and hunger — stunned still as she carefully climbed into his lap, her legs folding around him, the swell of her stomach pressing lightly between them.

Jess leaned in, brushing her lips against his in a kiss that deepened with the slow passing seconds. It was unhurried, like a promise drawn from memory and magic both — something real this time. Something chosen.

The kiss said everything: trust, affection, even a touch of playful power. Her fingers wove behind his neck, holding him there as the storm outside faded into silence. He had groan into the kiss. She had never done anything like this before, and he could feel the raw intensity of her emotion through the bond, as clear and strong as water.

When she finally broke the kiss, he could hardly breathe. He looked up at her, eyes wide and bright.

"I want you."

She smiled at his mental message, reaching down to slips up her grey pajama shirt up showing her 14 week pregnant tummy. "Me pregnant wont affect this will it...?"

Tom raised an eyebrow then he smirked pulling her to him running his fingers through her long damp raspberry red hair "No my love. It's a turn on."

Jess giggled softly. "Really?"

"Mmhmm," Tom whispered, his voice low. His hands skimmed across her stomach, up the gentle slope of her waist. He drew in a deep breath, his fingers tracing the curves of her ribs, then higher still.

The sound of her heartbeat quickened in his ears, a soft melody of warmth and life and everything beautiful in the world. His fingers moved to her pajama bottoms and kissed her tummy and pulls them down showing her maternity panties.

He smiled. "You're so beautiful."

"Thanks," Jess whispered, blushing slightly. He chuckles and stands up starting to take off his slytherin uniform. Jess bites her lip, the heir of slytherin. Tom Riddle's sixteen year old body was so yummy. He had removed everything even his briefs and he sit down on the bed against pulling her to him again and kissed her 14 week pregnant tummy. Their twins.

Tom smiled looking up at her and she cupped his face and kissed him with so much passion. Her tongue slipped past his teeth and began exploring his mouth, her hands sliding up his neck to his hair. He growled, deepening the kiss.

He gently laid her down and his lips moved down her neck, her collarbone.

"Tom," Jess gasped, her eyes slipping closed, her head tipping back as he trailed open-mouthed kisses down the front of her pajamas, his hand slipping into her panties. She was so wet and hot already.

She was the perfect mate.

Jess whimpered, feeling his fingers curl and tease her entrance. She bucked her hips against him, a plea, and he grinned. Slowly, his fingers slipped inside her, and she let out a low cry, her nails biting into the skin of his shoulders. Moving her legs open he dove in and gently started to lick her. "Shit... we should.. put a...Nagini might wake up..." Tom licks her and pulls back "I already put a silence over her so this won't wake her up." he said only to dove back into her pussy. Jess bites her lip holding head standing there moaning. "Fuck," she gasped. She gripped his hair and he moaned against her, sending a vibration through her. "Oh, fuck, yes, right there," Jess hissed, her hips bucking against his mouth.

Her back arched, and Tom grabbed her, pulling her hips up, his tongue delving deeper. He growled, low in his throat. She tasted better than any meal, any delicacy he could imagine. The taste was pure Jess — a hint of Lavender, a touch of Lemon. The heat of her, the wetness was a drug, and he couldn't get enough. He was hungry, desperate for more.

Jess writhed, her head tossed back, her fingers twisting in his hair.

"Tom... I'm close," she whimpered, and he growled, licking harder, faster, his tongue curling inside her. He could feel her muscles tensing, tightening, and his mouth curled into a smirk against her.

With a final thrust of his tongue, she came undone, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave.

Tom pulled back, watching her, a low chuckle on his lips. She was beautiful, her hair hanged from her standing up, her cheeks flushed, her eyes half-closed. He chuckles and pulls her down on him as her wet pussy touched his shaft. Jess hummed and started to rub her pussy against his shaft. Tom groans and grabs her hips.

Jess smirks and kisses him while he moves her to his dick and pushes her down onto him.

Jess moans and grips his shoulders as he starts to thrust. He grunts and groans into her neck, the sounds deep and primal. His fingers dig into her hips, guiding her against him, setting the rhythm. Oh, the grinding was amazing. Hands moved over her butt cheeks grabbing them. Her pussy grinding against this shaft. He wants to put in her so bad.

Jess's nails bit into the skin of his shoulders. It was too much, not enough. Her head spun, her pulse pounded. "More," she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Harder."

His teeth scraped her earlobe, his breath hot on her skin. "I've wanted you since the beginning. I've watched you, protected you." he lifted her hips as her pussy touched the tip of his cock making her bites her lip as she swirl her hips against the head of cock. "Not to hard please... the babies.." she says to him. his hands moved over her 14-week pregnant tummy "Of course my love, I said I would be gentle. So ahead love, slowly." Jess nodded and moved. Taking his cock slowly.

Tom groaned, the sound echoing through the loft, the storm raging outside. The windows rattled, and the floorboards creaked. He didn't care. All he could focus on was her — the feel of her, the smell, the sound. She was all that mattered.

He leaned forward, kissing her softly, gently, the opposite of his thrusts. His hands cupped her face, his fingertips tracing her cheeks, her jawline. His fingers brushed her hair back from her face, his thumb grazing her lips. "So beautiful," he murmured. "You're mine. Always."

He pressed his forehead to hers, their eyes locked. "Say it," he whispered. "Say you're mine."

Jess nodded her head "I am yours Tom. All yours." She wraps her arms around his neck.

"My soulmate. My future wife," he growled, the words a promise, a vow. He nuzzled her neck, his lips tracing the curve of her collarbone. His grip tightened, and she took him all in one gentle go. She moaned and started to move her hips, riding him gently.

"Yes," she gasped, her head spinning, her body moving of its own accord. She felt lost, drowning, adrift. Only his voice, his touch, could keep her anchored. "Yes," she whispered, the word a breath, a prayer.

Tom's breath caught, and he leaned forward, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. His tongue slipped past her teeth, tasting, teasing, taking. She whimpered, her back arching, her breasts brushing against his bare chest. She bouncing him, they was a soft skin smacking against skin echoing.

Tom growls and starts thrusting in time with her bounce, her wet pussy rubbing against his shaft. She felt his balls slapping her ass cheeks. They were getting a little sore. But oh was this good. She moaned into his lips, her eyes half-closed, her toes curling. He was so big and thick and oh, it was so good. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. With a slight hard thrust up they stilled moaning. Both shivering, Jess was cumming. but Tom was not done yet. Gently holding her, her careful turned them and head her in the middle of the bed. Leaning on his elbow he leaned up still in her making her make a moan "Make Love to me Tom...".

Tom kissed her, and started to thrust. This time his thrust was slow and deep and his hand moved her leg to her chest. Her head spun, her eyes fluttering closed.

"I love you," she whispered, the words slipping out without a thought.

"I love you," he replied, his voice breathing against her skin.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips pressing to his, her body arching to meet him. Oh god Tom was making love to her with such passion, it was slow and it fel so good. No words came out of their moans just soft moans and kissing noises as Tom thrust in and out of her with such slow passionate fucking. He was making love to her. Making love. She moaned into his neck.

Tom thrusts were long and deep and the sound of their moans filled the room. He grunted with each thrust, his hands gripping her hips, her legs wrapped around his waist.

Jess cried out, her head thrown back, her hands tangled in his hair. "Please," she whispered, her voice a plea.

Tom smiled and kissed her, his hand moving to her breast. His lips traced her collarbone, his tongue dancing along her skin. "So beautiful," he murmured. His touch was gentle, his movements measured. He knew what he was doing, how to push her, where to press, how to bring her pleasure.

Jess groaned, her body trembling, her hips rocking against him. She felt her orgasm building, a slow heat that spread through her, igniting every nerve. "Please," she whimpered, her breath coming in gasps.

Tom smirked and kisses her, his hips thrusting with such passion. The sound of their skin slapping together filled the air. She felt herself clench around him, her muscles tightening, and he gave a low, sexy growl.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice a husky rasp. "Come for me."

With a final thrust, he buried himself deep, and she came undone, her body spasming, her toes curling.

"Oh god, yes," she moaned, her eyes closing, her body tensing. "Fuck, yes."

Tom growled, his hips thrusting, his hands gripping her tight. He was about to cum, cum deep in her already pregnant womb. Where their twins are growing. His eyes rolled back, his body shuddering, his fingers digging into her hips.

Jess whimpered, the sound echoing through the room. "Don't stop," she gasped, her nails biting into his skin. "Please, don't stop."

Tom grunted, his thrusts slowing, his fingers tangling in her hair. He could feel her, her pleasure, her passion, her love. It was almost overwhelming. He could hardly think, could hardly breathe.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "Always."

Jess nodded, her eyes meeting his, her gaze burning with desire. "Yes," she whispered, the word a vow.

He grinned and starts to thrust again. This time harder and faster. Jess's eyes fluttered closed, her back arching, her nipples brushing his chest. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. His hands moved to her 14-week pregnant tummy stroking it and his cock slammed home. Jess let out a strangled cry, her eyes rolling back, her nails digging into his shoulders.

Tom chuckled and kissed her neck, his lips trailing across her collarbone. "Yes," he breathed, his voice a ragged gasp. "Sorry I'm being rough..."

Jess moaned "It's fine fuck... keep going.. fill me up..." Tom grinned and starts thrusting his cock into her.

The bed shook, the mattress springs squeaking under their weight. Jess whimpered, her body moving with him, her hips rocking, her legs wrapping around him, pulling him closer.

"Please," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

Tom's eyes locked with hers, and she could see the raw passion, the desire, the hunger. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers, his fingers tangling in her hair.

"Mine," he murmured, the word a promise, a vow. "Forever."

Jess nodded, her fingers digging into his skin, her body arching, her breath coming in gasps. "Tom.. cum in me.." she whispers in parselmouth.

"Jess..." he hissing back in parselmouth, Tom's hips snaped as he groaned loudly cumming deep in her. Jess moaned out, her eyes fluttering closed, her body trembling.

"Tom," she whispered, her voice shaky, her heart racing.

Tom chuckled, the sound deep and velvety in his throat as he pulled her closer, his arm tightening around her waist. One hand drifted down her side, fingertips grazing the soft fabric of her shirt before settling against the gentle swell of her hip.

"Mine," he whispered, the word a low growl, not possessive — but reverent. A claim spoken not out of ownership but belonging.

Jess melted into him with a soft sigh, her body easing in his embrace. Her eyes fluttered half-shut, the moment cocooned in quiet intimacy. She could feel the heat of his skin, the protective strength in his arms, the quiet hunger just beneath his gentleness. It was grounding. Exhilarating. Safe.

She leaned in, brushing her lips against his — the kiss soft, slow, and filled with quiet promise.

"Yours," she whispered, barely audible, but crystal clear. A vow. A truth. Not just to him... but to every version of him she'd come to know.

Tom's smile deepened, his eyes glowing softly in the dim candlelight. He brought his hand up to her cheek, fingers stroking with quiet affection.

"Forever," he breathed.

And upstairs, everything was still — wrapped in peace, tangled sheets, and whispered love.

Downstairs, the illusion was a different story.

Locket-Tom sat slumped in the wooden chair, body unmoving, locked in place by the unyielding grip of Jess's spell — a magical binding that pulsed like invisible chains. His jaw was clenched tight, but it was the sound from above that shattered him.

He had no choice but to listen.

To every cry. Every whisper. Every soft moan that had once belonged to him. Or so he believed.

She had called out to the Diary. Not in confusion. Not in illusion. But in raw, undeniable clarity. She knew. And still... she wanted him.

The silence that followed hit harder than the sounds before. It was over. The passion upstairs had stilled. The fire, for now, had cooled.

And in that silence, something cracked.

He hadn't even noticed the tears until they slipped down his cheek — hot, silent, unrelenting. He didn't sob. He didn't fight. He just... sat there, bound, and broken in a way no spell had ever managed.

This was his punishment.

And it was working.