tmrsdiary

[tmrsdiary]

THE SERENADE OF PERSEPHONE

PROLOGUE

WATTPAD

AO3

The fog was already suffocating, and the only certainty was that it could engulf everything in its path. However, if only it could devour the unbearable pain that Althea Lynch felt, that was eating away her soul like a worm inside a rotten apple. The sadness pierced her chest as if someone were hitting her with a powerful bat.

The Lynch family cemetery was immense and could certainly accommodate another similar mansion like the family estate. Marble tombs covered its surface, with lit candles everywhere, filled with mold and moss. Insects slid undisturbed, unaware that they were desecrating something as sacred as a grave. Its aura was neutral, not one of those cemeteries where someone with unease would say that they are the source of all spirits.

Spirits preferred more crowded places. It seems even they did not want to be alone in the afterlife. They say you escape all torments when you take your last breath. Nonsense, thought Althea deeply. No one would want to be confronted only with themselves.

And indeed, this was true. In this world, people tend not to attribute responsibility solely to themselves but to those around them, hoping that at least someone else will bear the burden of their actions. What could be worse than seeing from the observer's perspective all that you have done, with your only judge now being your pure spirit?

Crystal-clear blood could flow from the pressure she exerted as her hands tightly wrapped around the thorny stems of the roses, tearing into her flesh. Her pristine white gloves were ready to turn crimson, causing the velvet texture and silky sensation to be destroyed. But who cared if her expensive gloves were ruined? Her life felt like it had started from scratch, and a ruined pair of gloves would not be as painful as everything else that was happening.

Her blood would soak the earth she stood on with a sound similar to that of a small river flowing undisturbed on the mountaintop of a valley, symbolizing the prosperity of a serene soul freed from all pain. This was such a paradoxical image, as Althea Lynch's blood, besides being viscous, would conceal within its plasma and blood cells the bitter and venomous taste of death and wrath. Althea's soul had shattered into small, sharp fragments, all turned inward, piercing the sack containing her tears even more.

Wrapped in a veil made of dark woven fabric, Althea walked with a slight tremor evident in her step, with an arrow of mental fatigue overflowing from within her. The scent of incense was unbearable, and the memories she held in her mind weighed on her more and more.

Back in the days when her mother had come to the mansion to be buried, the weather was nothing but a cruel mockery.

The weather of that day could not resemble at all the tragic death that had happened. The sun was hitting with its light rays the lifeless graveyard of Lynch's family with a warm breeze and the jovial tweet of birds gave a tragic irony to the whole scene as if someone was making a cruel joke against this bloody day. London's weather was gloomy most of the time. However, August 2nd, brought poetic justice to the girl's heart as the sunny weather had oddly changed since her mother's death. Now, the jovial birds were nowhere to be seen, the warm breeze was replaced with monotony, an almost natural silence, and the sun had been covered with heavy grey clouds, debatable if they could vanish after days and bring back the warm temperatures.

The memory sprang from the darkest corners of her mind like lava from the crater of a volcano, burning everything in its path. The volcano of her memories was similar to the lava that burned, just like the loss of her mother, the most significant person one needs from the beginning of their existence until the end.

The heavy smell of the damp filled her nostrils and she understood that the possibility of rain was close. The sound of shoes shattering the gravel filled the soulless air. Althea Lynch clomped with heavy, but unstable steps, to her mother's grave.

A soft gown draped over her chestnut hair, which was adorned with small braids on the side. The shells of her eyes were swollen from crying, and her blue eyes felt heavier than usual. Her face concealed indescribable beauty, with sharp angles and stern cheekbones adorning her round face, with rosy cheeks and lips as red as peaches. She had inherited many features from her mother, and thus her Greek beauty was almost palpable every time she looked at her reflection in the mirror. It was another reason she had been avoiding doing so regularly in recent days. She could not bear to see the eyes shining like her own, her hair cascading like a veil in the color of the night over her chest, just like her mother's.

Her gravestone was encircled with colorful flowers that were left the previous days of her by other guests that were visiting the Lynch Estate offering their condolences to the family. The first days Althea could not face anyone and could not stand the idea of going to her mother's funeral and seeing everyone look at her with pity in their eyes. Being in denial the first days meant that seeing their faces would certify a reality. She could not stand the idea of her beloved mother being seven meters under the ground. She fixed the previous flowers and sat in front of the grave. An alluring expression almost bleak showed up on her face seeing the golden portrait of her mother's face beside the gravestone.

A woman with curly hair moved within the frame, her smile shining and her eyes glowing even when hey were not under the sun. A witch who sought to administer justice against the muggles who happened to inherit magical blood— against all those who had been relentlessly oppressed for years under the barbaric grip of the darkest wizard the world had ever known.

Garerlet Grindelwald was still outside commuting terrible crimes against the wizardry world. No one could stop him, not even the Ministry had power against him, and many witches and wizards had lost their lives because of him. This world was unfair, this world seemed to support evil and Althea despises it.

This is supposed to be the world where good rules over God's sight. Where is God now though? Where is God when the only thing that reigns in the world is cruelty and inhumanity? Maybe humans are designed in the first place to serve the bad and seek more and more from their life greedily without being enough adequate with what they have.

If hatred and destruction were liquid and could be consumed, then Althea Lynch would gladly drink it if it meant gaining energy to unleash the most fearsome Armageddon-like wrath, like a lightning bolt tearing through the sky, striking directly upon the diabolical existence of Garett Grindelwald. She hovered, flapping in the air like a small butterfly adorned not with wings, but with razor-sharp blades

The girl closed her eyes, letting a small prayer escape her lips as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her hands wrapped around the cross with the Mallorcan pearl in the middle, her mother's baptismal gift, and as her words dispersed like a breeze that had escaped from Aeolus' sack, she hoped to feel her mother's touch somewhere close by.

Perhaps a gentle caress on her shoulder and a caramel-voiced whisper assuring her that everything would be alright and time would heal her wounds. With an embrace of her as warm as the sun's rays, Althea would be enveloped, held tightly, never to be let go until the world froze and fell into the vast void of the universe.

Drops fell upon her face, and the girl felt her legs giving way. Disheartened by fate and overwhelmed by emotional turmoil, she fell to the ground, her hands covering her face, as an embodiment that could only be translated into the language of boundless sorrow settled upon her. Perhaps she let out a scream amidst the tears, or perhaps she remained silent.

Eventually, a frenzy of rain began, and the girl continued to cry in the face of the madness that tormented her mind. Her emotions had a simple shade of black, devoid of any color. No shadow painted the canvas of her soul, and it seemed that for a while, the girl would echo apart from the normal rhythms of her daily life.

"Get up, my girl, get up,"

Her brother's voice echoed as two hands began shaking her shoulders. Feadon was trying to gather the pieces left behind by this death, and as the eldest son of the family, he felt obligated to do so with as much courage as he could muster.

Feadon Lynch was the oldest and only son of the family, and now he was the one who, in some way, had to recover from all this death and help their home stand tall again. He had returned from Greece twenty days ago, reluctantly, upon learning of his mother's passing.Of course, the young man was devastated by everything that had happened— but how could the family's life go on if everyone was as fragile as a house of cards? Someone had to stand strong.

His coffee hair, which moments ago was slicked back with gel, now fell heavily onto his forehead, forming neatly shaped curls that adorned his radiant face, while his chocolate eyes stung from the rain. Althea rose from the ground, her clothes covered in mud and dry grass, and with a swift motion, she embraced her brother, whispering with a voice ready for confrontation.

"Please, take me away from here, Feadon."

The boy hugged her back, feeling his heart shatter at the sight of his little sister being so disheveled and desolate. She resembled a creature from which every drop of hope and life had been drained. Like a creature that from now on lived only in the memories of the past, completely forgetting the future that awaited her.

"We should go inside. Mika will prepare your favorite dish, a lentil soup," Feadon suggested, unsure of how else to divert her attention. Althea was no longer the little girl he left behind in London when he went to study literature in Greece. She was not the short, mischievous child who used to play pranks on the maids. She had grown into a young lady who took care of herself and always behaved with impeccable manners.

Of course, he did not know exactly what pursuits she had chosen since he left her with their father, but whatever had happened during that time, it was for the better. Except for now, with death looming over them, heavy and capricious, its otherworldly scent burning their world like a melting candles.

Althea did not say anything more. Feadon opened the umbrella he was holding and positioned it above their heads as they crossed the vast garden of the house, which resembled more of a courtyard in an imperial palace than a mansion's garden. Everything was made of stone and almost unchanged over time — there were no cracks in the cement structures, and the marbles gleamed as if it were polished with diamond sandpaper.

The scent of hyacinths overwhelmed the space, and the towering pine trees could obscure the sky with their dense branches and foliage. Althea's heart tightened as she heard a group of crows cawing in the sky, and despite her unbiased nature, she could not help but curse them as she watched them form shapes against the sky.

The garden was quite aristocratic, with neatly trimmed bushes in intricate shapes lining the stoned pathways. In the center of the garden, there was a circle of chairs and a table, inviting everyone they passed to sit and enjoy the tranquility of the place. A fountain with a majestic lion statue stands tall and proud, and the sound of trickling water adds to the peaceful ambiance.

Their house resembled a castle, large enough to accommodate twenty or more people, as the rooms were countless, and the food was unlimited, thanks to Mika and Grumpy, the house's elves, who tirelessly worked to cater to everyone's desires. However, most of the time, the house was empty, with only the elves and the family residing there. Rarely would someone stay in the house.

The little female elf rushed out from the balcony door towards the two siblings. "Master, you found her. I told you I saw her going outside. Mika called out to her, but the lady of the house ignored her. A thousand apologies," the elf tried to apologize, and Feadon, with the kindest smile he could muster, reassured Mika,

"It is alright, Mika, no one blamed you,"

Feadon had grown up with Mika, and in this family, the elves were not servants like in other households. They were considered members of the family, individuals as significant as humans.

The man took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack. Feadon, approaching his twenty-fifth year, was already quite charming, never going unnoticed wherever he went. No one could overlook his sharp eyes adorned with bright hues of brown and chestnut. Nor could they ignore the refined aura he emanated every time he passed by someone.

"Mika, could you make that special lentil soup Althea loves?" Feadon asked.

"Of course, Mika will tell the lazy Grumpy to prepare it immediately," and with that, the elf disappeared from their sight.

Althea had a stern look in her eyes, and Feadon observed at her curiously as she followed him to the living room, ready to confront him.

"You know, Feadon," her voice was still shaky and weak, "I am not the same girl you knew. I have grown up, and I do not need babysitting as if I am a little child," she said, annoyed, circling him and wiping her red nose with her coat sleeve.

Feadon sighed and spoke in Greek this time, "I am not doing it for that reason. It is just that everything we are facing is difficult, and it requires a little guidance."

The girl looked at him expressionlessly and sat down next to him in the living room, her eyes staring into space. Althea was never one of those children who knew how to express their emotions through words. She could only show what she felt through her actions.

"Since you left, dad put me on a daily training program," she suddenly said.

"What do you mean?"

The witch settled more comfortably on the couch, leaning her head backward. "I am not as weak as I used to be. Dad taught me martial arts, sword fighting, and all the things boys my age do," she replied with a sarcastic smile on her lips as she pronounced the word boy "You never listened to him, and all the pressure fell on me,"

She did not say it as a complaint, nor did her words hold any anger towards anyone. She mentioned it more to prove to her brother that she had finally grow up.

Feadon chuckled wryly, "Classic feminist Maximilian Lynch. At least there is something good in his character,"

"Dad is not a bad person," Althea rushed to defend him. "He is just a bit eccentric."

"My silence is my response to you, dove,"

Freedom did not feel like getting into an argument with Althea about how honorable their father truly was. It was known to everyone that Maximilian Lynch was a stern and difficult person. Everyone had heard a lot about him, but few knew what he truly was like. Althea knew this, but she had grown up beside him. What more could she have done than show him respect? They sat in silence, both immersed in their thoughts, and Althea tucked her legs against her chest.

The living room was very clean, with a sofa and armchairs adorned with purple covers, golden candlesticks placed on the large buffet, and small statues in various poses made of the cleanest and whitest marble the human mind had ever encountered. Paintings were hung on the walls, depicting kings, Renaissance scenes, and personal portraits of the family. The room had high ceilings with painted golden motifs representing waves, and in the center, there was a huge chandelier with glass tassels. Everything truly sparkled in the room.

Footsteps were heard from the outside hallway, and Maximilian Lynch entered the room wearing a black suit with his hair neatly pulled back.

"Here you are," he stood in front of them, and Feadon looked at him, trying to hide any trace of disgust on his face.

"I went outside to tell Leukothéa to come home," the boy murmured.

"My name is Althea," she whispered.

"Yes, but your real name is more beautiful and unique," he replied.

Althea shrugged indifferently "It is long and not so British,"

Their father ignored this small conversation, "Well, I guess it is time to go to the kitchen for a meal. I just came to inform you,"

"What is the point?" Althea monologued, and they looked at her. "Mom is gone. And being all gathered in the kitchen will not be the same as before."

"I know, my dear, but we can try," her father said awkwardly. "Get up, we have a lot to talk about,”

Althea along with Feadon, walk down the long but narrow corridor until they get to the kitchens. The smell of thistle soup reminding of autumn filled her nostrils and Althea noticed that her hanger had not alarmed her much until now. Inside the kitchen, another house-elf, Gruppy, was cutting some vegetables up in a chair and he looked for a moment at the young witch and her older brother.

The family sat at the table, and Mika began serving the food on the shiny plates, accompanied by a good appetite. The elves also had a place at the table, and Mika reluctantly served them as well as Grympy. After a while, everyone sat at the table and started eating quietly until Maximilian decided to break the silence "I received a letter from Albus Dumbledore, you know him, I suppose," he said.

Feadon nodded his head. "I recently read an article about him in the newspaper. A great wizard from what I understand,"

"Yes, indeed, he is one of the greatest. Surely blessed by Merlin himself," Mika chimed in with her high-pitched voice.

Maximilian nodded, agreeing. "The letter I received was an invitation to his school, which I requested before the start of summer." His eyes landed to Althea. However, she did not look at him as she ate, seemingly unaffected by what was happening around her.

"So, I thought it would be a great opportunity for Althea to start socializing. I believe she has been home for quite some time,"

Althea looked at him, puzzled, and then tried to sound as casual as possible "You mean Hogwarts?"

A smile formed on the man's lips. "You have wanted to go there since you were very young, and all the tantrums you have thrown and the begging did not go unnoticed in my mind."

Althea remained thoughtful for a moment and then said somewhat disappointed, as if she had been sent to the well to fetch water and ended up not doing it. "I do not know. What will happen when Feadon leaves? How can I leave you alone? What if something happens?"

Maximilian looked at her sympathetically. "Thank you for your concern, but I think I will be just fine at home by myself," he paused and then continued, "Althea, you have been accepted. They will be waiting for you at Hogwarts in September. Albus Dumbledore did a great job persuading the headmaster for this."

Althea felt a mix of emotions upon hearing that she belonged to Hogwarts. She had dreamt of attending the school since she was very young, and every time she heard her cousin, Cassiopeia Greengrass, talk about it, she wanted to take her place more than ever.

Perhaps this was a sign for her, a small glimmer of warmth and hope that she needed to feel after everything she had been through. The girl had no friends and did not live like other kids her age. Her parents were overly protective, something she never quite understood.

Maybe fate was smiling upon her now, or perhaps it was playing tricks on her.

Nobody truly knew.

[tmrsdiary]

[CHAPTER SIXTEEN]

[📖] : The Serenade of Persephone

[✍🏻] : tmrsdiary

[🌐] : wattpad and ao3

[tmrsdiary]

THE GLIMPSE OF US | TOM RIDDLE FF

Summary; Year 2023, Y/n successfully shifts realities to the world of Harry Potter and especially at the year that Lord Voldemort attends at Hogwarts. To her this is a game that she is going to play for a half and year. But, a prophecy is going to be a twisted turn to the whole scenery. Now Y/n needs to be someone who she is not in order to gain the trust of the one and only Tom Riddle. Is she going to make it or her fate ahead of her will lead her to a failure?

WATTPAD

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

The chaotic midnight passed and the universe brought another day with the shining stripes of the Scottish sun hitting Hufflepuff's dorms, waking the one by one the students. Grace Johnson poked Y/n's body to wake her up for breakfast, while Charlotte had already left the dorm followed by the Slytherin troublemaker, Theseus Lestrange. Of course, the two of them had something like an affair, but an affair full of intrigue and aimless quarrellings. They were exhausted from it, but the endless self-masochism by arguing like enemies with each other was keeping them close from time to time.

However, Charlotte was a person that could be fooled easily. You could say that the strawberry blonde girl was controlled merely by her feelings that the young heir of the Lestrange family was causing her whole existence without even mind to have second thoughts.

Theseus was manipulative and the definition of toxicity was in his veins as much as the pure blood ran in there. She couldn't tell what the thing that got her closer to him was, but maybe the interest that he showed to her like no other man was enough to make a click in her heart. He was a true gentleman, with fluffy dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and the brightest smile she had ever seen in a person.

At the time, Theseus was apologizing to Charlotte for not being on his time on their previous date claiming that had some duties to take care of.

Either way, Charlotte Macmillan and Theseus Lestrange were not a good match.

At the other side of the castle, Y/n had woken up watching Grace's form taking care of her thick curly hair while talking about the recent gossip that she learned the same day.

Grace Johnson as her house chaser was popular among the other pupils and always was welcomed to every group to sit and keep company telling the most interesting stories. However, she was enough overloaded for her own good with burdens that she was hearing from other students. Y/n from the other side was listening to her forgetting completely that she had shifted only to meet Tom Riddle.

Her new reality felt almost too real.

She put on pride her Hufflepuff uniform ambling side by side with Grace Johnson to the Great Hall hoping to find at least two empty seats for them at their House table. As they entered, the strong smell of fresh eggs and pumpkin juice filled Y/n's nostrils beefing up her appetite. The room was full of chanters from students that were chatting with each other and the ear-piercing sound of glasses and plates.

Ahead of her, four tables resembling the four houses of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft.

Starting from the right, Hufflepuff, the house of loyalty and fairness, maybe it hadn't the most talented students, but it had the students that everyone needed in their lives to cope with the bad times; hard-working friends and with its yellow color symbolizing the sun and hope.

The following house right next to Hufflepuff was Ravenclaw, the house of Rowena Ravenclaw, a royal-blue tone hulking in their flag, in which the students with extraordinary wisdom had been sorted there. At the time most students were studying with their breakfast beside them, not sharing another word as the other tables did.

Third in the row. the red-colored table with the bravest students stood the most approachable of them all. Gryffindor house had a tradition of owning the most capable Quidditch players, winning every year against every house. Students that hold bravery in their heart like a lion.

The contrary, however, with the last and neighbourhood house was quite noticeable as you could see closely some nasty looks that both of them were giving to each other. The emerald color of the snake characterizes the House of Slytherin; a house for pure-blood families with cunning heirs who had the ambition to achieve great things in the feature.

At the Slytherin table, Y/n could spot her friend chatting with Theseus Lestrange intensely, again, and beside him his group of friends; Michael Avery, Antony Rosier, Theodore Nott, and another man that was sitting with a bored expression on his face looking at the void drift on his thoughts, looking ethereal under the bright light of the Scottish sun with enchanting handsomeness, Tom Riddle.

She could feel her breath stuck in her throat as she observed the Slytherin prefect, the boy she desired to meet. The Slytherin boy had midnight dark hair and his skin was pale as the moonlight that was glowing on the cold nights of January. Better than the books, even better than the movies.

Y/n noticed that the boy was scribing down in his notebook, more like his journal, with attention paying no mind to the loud chants around him as if they were not there. The girl's stare became intense and it followed him even when she sat down at her table with Grace next to her. The power of the state hold something that didn't pass unnoticed by the boy, and as if everything around him didn't bother him, this stare was the reason made these two pairs of eyes start an endless dance that resembled much the ode of the famous ballet by Tchaikovsky, Swan Lake. The slow pace at first, doubtingly of where it ends, but then gaining dynamic and potential into something great.

Tom Riddle looked through her pupils, trying to understand why this girl with the Hufflepuff attire had the right to stare at him with this curiosity. The state felt familiar to both of them, although Tom had never seen her, however, Y/n could sense the same fear as she did one night, in her reality, ago. His eyes could glow even in the morning hours like the serpent he was and she could feel an allure feeling crawling into her chest as the loud music of the orchestra become louder.

She broke the gaze turning her head to Johnson listening to her story avoiding completely the furrowed eyebrows that Tom Riddle had in his expression. He never missed students in this castle, yet anyone that knew him would never dare stare at his magnificence and continue after catching them. His puzzled look turned to his fellow follower, Rosier, who was eating peacefully his breakfast and talking joyfully with Avery about the upcoming Quidditch game.

"Rosier, who is she?" his eyes found Y/n's form at the end of the opposite table from them.

Michelle Avery bowed his head to the side muttering to Riddle "Isn't she Y/n Greenhouse?"

"I do not recall her," Tom responded trying to find one single memory of this girl in his head but the only thing that was there in her "binder" was emptiness.

"Oi, Lestrange, what's your girlfriend's friends name?" the boy questioned to make sure that he didn't have mistaken the girl's name, showing also a playful grin on his face when he pronounced the word girlfriend to Theseus.

"A git like him could never have a girlfriend," spatted with a high-pitched voice Charlotte was influenced as always by Lestrange's childish behavior. "Y/n Greenhouse and Grace Johnson, why do you ask?"

"Nothing, just curious," Rosier said and turned his head to Riddle "What about her, my lord?"

Tom blinked a few times throwing away his thoughts and replied with coldness "I have never seen her before that's all,"

Michelle shrugged his shoulders speaking to them with a low voice "She is a friends with Jonson, so it is hard to not know her or even remember her," he paused "I mean everyone knows her,"

Tom Riddle however didn't have any thought of her not even when Avery mentioned, hearing the conversation, that she had been several times to their table looking for Charlotte or the fact that she was one of the best students among the others of the Hufflepuff house (in Tom's opinion this was debatable as "this house had only failures")

He gazed at the girl and saw her enjoying the delicious breakfast without sharing any other stare.

...

The sun could be compared to a clock's index rotating around the highest point of the school, the astronomy tower, bringing the peaceful sunset light into charge hitting the marbles, and creating a wonderful enviable scenery in front of Y/n's unbelieved eyes. The muggle was astonished and couldn't believe that her plan had succeeded— she was home, the place she was dreaming of since she first saw the movies; the place that she was sensing as her true destination since she read the Philosopher Stone. She was one of those kids that were waiting for the imaginary Hogwarts letter to arrive at their house in the hope that the magical world of Harry Potter was real. Little Y/n couldn't understand the difference between imagination and reality, but right now the grown version of herself could understand the power that the human mind has; creating an alternative universe that could stay there for eternity.

Y/n would tell everything to her Marisa when she woke up, for the time being, there were six months left for them to meet again, and in her reality some hours until then. Marisa Scott was her friend since childhood, growing up in the same neighborhood, with the same interests and the same psychosynthesis.

Marisa had short hair in the color of the night-blue sky and her eyes grey like the gloomy weather of a November day. She was spiritual, being fond from a young age of her grandmother's charisma, and as she had spent most of her life next to her she was excellent at handling these things. The young girl had respect for magic and didn't ever cross any boundaries that would harm her or any other around her. Being gifted with this charisma was a blessing and a curse at the same time, without showing respect to its ability could function like an atomic bomb, counting backward to your downfall.

The air became colder and she was one hundred sure that the temperature was about to hit under zero. The goosebumps stopped as soon as her body welcomed the castle's warm breeze and Y/n sighed and took the road to the library leaving the Astronomy Tower.

The library was crowded with students, most of them being in the seventh year, and she could tell by the lunatic looks plastered on their faces as they were surrounded by books with their hair resembling a caricature that someone had drawn. Deep down in the library's corridors, she found a quiet place to sit. Behind her was a bookshelf in which she recognized some muggle books and poems and decided to pick one to keep her mind away.

With her arrival at Hogwarts, someone would want to explore every inch of the castle, every corridor, and every ancient history that this building was hiding. But, then, the solitude, the calming aura was begging her to stay in her place and enjoy the journey.

Her hand roamed through thick covers and stopped at a book with a cream cover that was standing out from the other books. She reached her hand, expecting her hand to collide with the hardcover, but instead, her hand collided with another one with slender and crimson, perhaps from the cold, fingers.

She didn't need to turn her head to see who it was. however, her curiosity got her and her head snapped meeting Tom Riddle's gaze. Fuck the Wattpad books, maybe Tom Riddle was always destined to creep out of nowhere and surprising of nowhere.

He flattered a charming smile, fixing his composure to fool the girl more, little did he know that the strange woman knew him like an open book. He hold the velvet cover in his hands and turned it to meet the title "Les fleurs du mal, am I correct?" his french accent rang into her ears and he handed her the book. What I macabre coincidence, Tom Riddle was the Devil's seed who grow up like a flower, a moonflower, that was hiding behind its beauty a poison ivy.

The girl breathed heavily "Charles Baudelaire, indeed. An extraordinary poem collection, isn't it?" the witch responded bracing his fingers with her hand as she touched the book.

"Precisely. I understand why they call him one of the cursed poets, you see not everyone finds the truth behind this world," Tom Riddle could say instead that this world was made for wizards to rule, with a pioneer himself; the great Lord Voldemort.

But of course, he had to show another persona to the world, it would be such a pity his plans go waisted because he couldn't control his outbursts.

He continued his monologue, however, "People with great minds always seem lunatic and got distanced from the lame sheep which is called mass,"

Indisputably, Tom Riddle was scarier when he was talking to Y/n's eyes. The way the words flew out of his mouth revealed the wild and unforgivable nature he had since childhood. Maybe the mask he was wearing couldn't hide the evilness of his soul.

Y/n could swear that in this scene the perfect song for a background would be Mad Hatter by Melanie Martinez, an artist from her time that was judged by the meanings of her songs and mostly for their content.

All the best people are crazy, and Tom Riddle was crazy.

"I prefer creating my truth for this world, it's in my hand to live through the dark or the bright side,". she said and Tom raised an eyebrow. The girl seemed to hold no fear against him, her body didn't even tremble from it. It felt like she was talking to a normal person, not to the future ruler of the wizardry world. And with another shot, Y/n disturbed him even more "Excuse me, but I don't catch your name," playing a game with Tom Riddle's mind was dangerous, perhaps the boy should have a sign in front of him with the phrase Do not attempt to get close.

If a stare could kill Y/n would be dead with her head chopped splitting her brains out on the oak wood table, but again Tom Riddle knew how to maintain his composure "I thought that my persona was known for everyone here," he gave her his hand "I am Tom Riddle," his name left an acidulous taste in his tongue, disgusted by the muggle name that his mother gave him.

"Y/n Greengrass," the girl shook the boy's hand twice this day.

[tmrsdiary]

The Serenade of Persephone | PROLOGUE

wattpad

ao3

you find them there if you want <3

AD ASTRA ABBYSOSQUE

[to the stars and the abyss]

__________

The sun burned beneath their weathered faces, and their breaths were sharp as if someone was pressing a blade against their chest, forcing them to exhale when all they craved to do was to let it struggle within them until their hearts ceased to beat. Until the world becomes obscure and full of the shade of emptiness.

Sweat dripped as a chilling touch, rolling over their skin like a stream born from their anguish and misery. Their bones ached, and the extremities of their hands were bound by the ropes that immobilized them behind their backs. Some stifled sobs could be heard, quietly tearing through the air, while others remained silent, having accepted their harrowing fate.

The beautiful island of Rhodes was known for its abundant vegetation, colorful flowers, and fragrant blossoms. Pine-clad mountains adorned its land, and lace-like beaches lined its edges, with the summer sun caressing its crystal-clear waters, creating a kind of dreamlike psychedelia. Colors like the blue of a pearl, white picturesque houses, and the green of the flora resembling a freshly thawed leaf emerging from the winter cold. The island of butterflies remained untouched throughout the passage of centuries, as the grand castles preserved from the Byzantine period were still flawless, giving a different hue to the entire image of the island. Greece is predominantly agricultural land, and many people rely on it as their sole means of sustenance. Lively fields abound with all kinds of plants, trees, and abundant livestock.

The towering pine trees stretched across the entire area, their height rivaling even the sky. The intense scent of flowers emanated from the deep groves, while the fragrances of aromatic herbs permeated the atmosphere. Even the branches were lush and verdant, forming a dense canopy overhead.

However, even if these prisoners knew where they truly were, still nothing could appease their souls, which would evaporate moment by moment like snow melting on the peaks of Mount Olympus— as if their existence was as insignificant as a worm crawling on the floor, searching for food, only to be stepped on by a passerby.

One pushed them forcefully, someone else pulled with frenzy those who were left behind, while some other soldiers watched the whole scene bewildered.

"Move on, beasts of hell," the man growled loudly, and a woman could be heard shrieking.

Another soldier turned his head and saw that his superior had grabbed the poor witch by her hair, dragging her to make her move faster. It seemed that her feet could not bear her any longer. The boy cleared his throat with the view next to him.

Some other women whimpered along with the witch's sobbing, while some men were too tormented and injured to react in any way. Their eyes were covered with cloth, leaving them unaware of where they were being led. Perhaps it was for the best that their eyes were covered, because if it was true what they said, that the eyes are the mirror of the soul, then most of the soldiers would have ended their lives before even embarking on the road into the forest. Perhaps they would have drowned themselves in the river flowing nearby, or perhaps they would have taken their own lives with the rifles tightly held to their shoulders, tossing their foolish minds into the air— perhaps, again, they would fall in the place of those wizards at the heart of the maelstrom that they were guiding them.

A large platform awaited them ahead, with hundreds of branches stacked on the surface and an equal number of stakes scattered here and there. No birds could be heard, nature had fallen silent in the face of this dreadful torment. What else could Mother Earth do, apart from watching in shock at what was going to happen? Since God could not help them, then no higher power could relieve them from their condemnation.

A young girl dared to open her mouth "What do you intend to do to us?" she asked.

Her blonde hair had been lightened by the heat of the sun, giving it a dark shade, while the way it stood on top of her head resembled the appearance of a withered plant that had not seen a drop of water in years. Her knees trembled, and her lips were bleeding from constant biting. She was surely a very beautiful girl. Maybe just sixteen years old. 

Surely a witch with a bright future ahead of her, which would now turn into ashes and ruins because she had found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. They say that the Fates have only one eye, and if that was indeed true, the girl would gladly gouge it out until every nerve cell became a lifeless mass of blood and neurons.

The soldier looked at the girl, seemingly more experienced than the others, and appeared to have done this job before.

"We will send you back where you came from!" he spat out the words, and the witch felt a shiver piercing through her body. No, they would not.

The moments passed slowly, and they were tormented. Each second that ticked away on the clock felt like an interminably eternity. The shackles they wore clung to their flesh, and the stench of confinement was so prominent that some could not even bear to smell themselves. How long had they been locked inside that filthy cell? No one would answer them, and it would not matter anyway because they would not have the chance to recount their experiences to anyone they knew.

Many mothers waited at home for their lost children or their husbands to return, hoping that they had simply lost their way back. However, the world was harsh, and someone being absent from home for such a long time was likely an indication that meant that they had either been devoured by wild animals or captured by organ traders. That is how life worked— there was no time for mourning and miseries. Growing up in a world where only evil lurks, people had to learn to reconcile with pain and accept it like a mother's caress.

The soldiers began speaking in Greek, their words carrying an intensity that no one could quite determine. Fear? Awe? Disgust? Joy? Nothing seemed to fit the situation.

"Traitors," said a wizard, also Greek, among the prisoners. "We are compatriots, you scoundrels. We grew up on the same land. Kimonas Kartalis, from Piraeus, son of Myrtali and Stefanos Kartali. We speak the same language, believe in the same God, and have the same tradi—"

A punch struck him in the chest, and the man folded in half, clutching his lips as blood boiled beneath his battered skin. The ethics of these people were irrational. For so long, they were torturing people who had grown up with the exact same things as them, played in the same impoverished neighborhoods, and fell asleep to the same lullabies sung by their mothers. How could they do such a thing? All because they had magic blood on their veins.

"Do not you dare call me a compatriot again. I would never conspire alongside someone like you, a scum, a spawn that Devil has planted in our country," the soldier retorted. He waited for the wizard to catch his breath before hearing his response. When he did, an ironic smile formed on the soldier's darkened lips.

"As much of a monster as I am for the blood that runs through my veins, you are just as much, as long as you going to bath in it, wearing the aroma of debauchery and bogus dignity," he spat at him, and the general's expression turned to disgust. Nevertheless, he turned his body toward the soldiers and gestured for them to take the wizards to the platform.       

They tied them around a wooden column, large enough to accommodate them all. That is when the chorus of loud cries and prayers began, attempting to reach the ears of some divine power up there in the heavens. In vain, though it only called eagerly Death. Before they could finish their supplications, the fuse was lit, and within five minutes, the plank was engulfed in flames, with the wailing of the unfortunate sorcerers struggling with their psyche ready to be one with the air— some uttered curses towards their murderers, deadly enough to haunt their descendants in future generations. But actually who cared? The wretches were burning, paying for their sins, returning to the depths of Hell with their voices resembling a symphony that no human could hear. How much weight did their empty words carry before the Reaper?

On that day, fifteen warlocks and ten witches were burned alive, with the only sign of their existence being the echoes of their screaming that still resonate through the forest— some flesh remained charred on the wood, while a few of the trinkets they wore had come loose and lay on the fertile ground. Perhaps in this way, death found a new way to satiate its bloodthirsty nature.

Among the twenty-five sorcerers were three Jews, thirteen Greeks, two French, and seven from Great Britain. The Greek government discovered the bodies when natives from nearby villages reported hearing voices at night, shrieks, and occasionally a strong smell of burnt flesh dominating the atmosphere. It did not take long for them to realize that what had happened was not simply a random coincidence. Nothing was left of the individuals except for some severed flesh that wild animals had taken care of, and a few bodies that were still difficult to identify if they belonged to a man or a woman.

When the news became known, the Ministries of Magic revoked and decided not to disclose the case to the public audience. The world had heard enough about Grindelwald's crimes against humanity. Such news would only create more confusion than they had to deal with. The Greek government also kept silent about this event, and they had discreetly paid off Muggle farmers and landowners in the vicinity to keep them from speaking.

Thus, no one ever learned that on a sunny summer day in 1943, twenty-five sorcerers were completely charred, just like the witch trials that were happening in the Middle Ages. That day could have marked a new chapter in the history of magic, but some chose to leave it as a mere dystopian myth. The culprits were never found, although the case remains open.

_________

[tmrsdiary]

[TRAILER] The Serenade of Persephone by tmrsdiary on wattpad and ao3

[tmrsdiary]

The Serenade of Persephone

YOUTUBE TRAILER

WATTPAD

AO3

Had ever Tom Riddle heard of retribution?

Althea Lynch had and she was seeking it her whole life.

After her mother's tragic death by Grindewald's attack at the Ministry of Magic, Althea attends Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft after being homeschooled since she was little. A female ghost who haunts the girls' bathroom, some mysterious attacks towards students, and a boy that keeps messing around with her head lead her to one conclusion; that she has stepped into a nightmare, a nightmare that had a name. Was the war a person, it would not be Ares, it would be Tom Riddle.

[In other words, Tom Riddle Fanfiction that the mc is a normal person that has flaws and lives a life where it turns to be from good to bad. A lot of well-written humor if you ask me, enemies to lovers, slowburn and we see what else might bring this story]

[tmrsdiary]

THE GLIMPSE OF US | TOM RIDDLE FANFICTION

SUMMARY;

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨

𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙪𝙡

𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙬

𝙞𝙩 𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤𝙤

◃───────────▹

enemies to lovers | slow-burn | different realities | dark themes | +18

Year 2023, Y/n successfully shifts realities to the world of Harry Potter and especially at the year that Lord Voldemort attends at Hogwarts. To her this is a game that she is going to play for a half and year. But, a prophecy is going to be a twisted turn to the whole scenery. Now Y/n needs to be someone who she is not in order to gain the trust of the one and only Tom Riddle. Is she going to make it or her fate ahead of her will lead her to a failure?

-> you can find it also on wattpad

[tmrsdiary]

The glimpse of us

CHAPTER ONE

For many reasons visiting the parallel universe of Harry Potter and especially the year that Lord Voldemort was attending Hogwarts could end up only bad.

She knew that this boy hadn't any stake in the future and didn't deserve any affection, because he was a monster, the boogeyman of Hogwarts apparently; creeping out of corners and selecting his victims only to achieve his evil plans. However, why Y/n was so intrigued to do it again?

The answer was simple— the girl was fascinated by Tom Riddle since she first saw the second movie of Harry Potter, like many other, mentally unstable, girls. Visiting him again would fulfill her desire of meeting, at least in her sleep, the Slytherin boy.

"I can change him", Y/n murmured as she bounced through her bedroom floor. Her friend Marisa looked at her with a blank stare almost facepalming at her friend's statement.

"You gotta be kidding me right now Y/n," she sneered with a glimpse of irony in her eyes. Marisa Evans was a fan of Harry Potter too, but not as much lunatic and obsessed as her friend was. "You have read so many stories on these bloody websites about Tom Riddle— did any of the main characters did? No, and to be honest Y/n this is a waste of time,"

Y/n frowned and sat beside the bed with her friend staring at her intensely "It's a bad idea I know, but it would be fun shifting again,"

"Didn't you shat your pants in your last encounter?"

"Yes, but I didn't know that I was meeting him,"

"Same thing,"

Y/n sighed crossing her arms over her chest and falling with her back to her bed. The girl wanted so much to meet him again, just only to replay their previous conversation and turn it into a normal one, but indeed, he was a waste of time.

However...

Keywords; Selena Gomez outsold Hailey Bieber, she laughed at herself for selecting this, but she was too affected by the recent conflict between the two celebrities. She was one hundred percent sure that this keyword won't be forgotten that easily.

Being a waste of time or no, yet, the twenty-one-century girl played the same playlist subliminal to achieve change her reality once again. She knew that her plans could be doomed, waking up the next morning in her bed, without proper application of the method.

You can shift for as long as you want, but when you woke up you would be exhausted the TikTok video in front of her played numerous times as she was debating to herself if she wanted to stay that long there. What if she never woke up? Luckily, the possibility of sticking to a different reality was close to none, more like nonexistent. But still, the feat was crawling in the back of her mind like a spider debating if she is about to do the right thing.

Y/n's head began to feel heavy, and she knew that she needed to sleep. However, the temptation to shift was too strong to ignore, like a small voice whispering to her. With tomorrow being Saturday, she had the opportunity to spend the whole night trying to shift.

In her mind, Y/n had crafted a script where she was a powerful witch from the Greengrass family, sorted into Hufflepuff House. The script was simple enough to make her fit into this new world, but she still needed to decide how long she wanted to stay there.

Y/n felt a deep desire to stay at Hogwarts forever, as it felt more like home to her than her real one. She remembered watching a video where a girl had stayed there for six months, and Y/n felt drawn to stay the same amount of time. Surely, half a year at Hogwarts wouldn't be too bad, right?

As she lay in the bed, she closed her eyes and began counting, repeating the script in her head over and over again, hoping it would work. After a while, the effects of the shifting began to take hold. This was a normal occurrence, but it felt creepier to Y/n than the time she had experienced sleep paralysis. The room seemed to spin around her, and she felt like the walls were closing in on her. Despite her best efforts to relax, her body felt as though it was flying and then dropping into a black hole, moving at incredible speed. The faint sound of the subliminal intensified as if it was an orchestra, reaching its climax with the melody.

Her heart jiggled in her chest and from the disturbance she fell from the bed she was laying on. Her eyes once again opened wild, her vision blurry and her hands perspiring. The ambiance of the room greeted her and it took some minutes to understand that this was not her actual room. It was dark outside, but she could notice that their beds were around her with students sleeping peacefully. The bright color of Hufflepuff's house could be noticed in her bed mattresses and Y/n felt her heart explode from happiness.

The names of her two roommates popped immediately into her head; Grace Johnson and Charlotte Macmillan were her friends since her first year, however, Y/n didn't script them, and the paradox there was that she had memories with them from the past that didn't knew that they were there. Y/n furrowed her eyes with a puzzled look, how what this possible? Her mind had also other information, such as memories from her family or her school schedule, the knowledge she had gained all these years from Hogwarts; everything that she didn't scrip was on her mind filling her memories. As much as shocked she was, she thought that maybe she accidentally scripted also a life with memories without understanding it.

She closed her eyes, tired, ignoring the fact that before she could finally fall asleep she had already replay to her mind the ingredients of the poly juice potion, she would need for her Monday's class, twice.

[tmrsdiary]

The glimpse of us

You fooled me

you played with my mind

but at least

i am grateful of what

you have done to me

PROLOGUE

Darkness can take root in anyone, regardless of who they are. It does not discriminate; if you allow it to take hold, it will stay with you, as an unwelcome guest. You are responsible for it, as darkness does not choose, but you do.

The boy's face hardened as he tightly clutched the book, his white-knuckled grip absorbing every word written on its pages. Perhaps the poem "Hatred" by Wisława Szymborska had influenced him to some degree, but as for darkness, Tom Riddle believed that his darkness was self-made, an auto-generated mechanism that he had possessed for as long as he could remember.

Muggles often wrote poems and prose about moralities that the simple human mind could not fully comprehend. Wizards and witches had a great interest in these sorts of things, as they were, according to the dark-haired boy, the superior race, more insightful and wise than Muggles.

Tom Riddle despised Muggles, yet there he was, with a Muggle book full of poems in his hand, striding down the Hogwarts corridors with a proud, confident gait, as if he owned the whole building. His Slytherin robes, emblazoned with the crest of Salazar Slytherin, were untouched on his tall frame, and he felt at peace, alone in the corridors of Hogwarts. The other students were attending the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw Quidditch match, a game everyone had been waiting for since the start of the year, except for Tom, who wasn't fond of these forms of entertainment. To him, Quidditch was a waste of time.

He heard the faint sound of shoes squeaking on the marble floor and saw a female figure walking down the corridor towards him. She had a puzzled expression on her face as she looked around the castle as if she couldn't believe her eyes. Tom lifted his head to see who the person was that preferred the ambiance of Hogwarts castle to the full of fanatical voices of Quidditch field.

The girl seemed delighted by the sight of Hogwarts, as if it was her first time here, despite the puzzled look on her face, Tom looked at her with a bored expression on his face, trying to recall her name. He noticed her uniform, with a badger on the side, and assumed she was from Hufflepuff. She didn't notice him at first, as she was looking around with wide eyes, but as soon as her eyes met Tom Riddle's, her movement stopped for a second before she resumed ambling in the opposite direction. Tom raised an eyebrow at her and quickened his pace to meet face-to-face with the strange Hufflepuff girl.

He approached her like a snake, ready to strike with venom and harm. The only difference was that Tom Riddle didn't need a sign of danger to protect himself, he was attacking everyone without a second thought.

"Hello," he said, wearing a fake warm smile, stopping and putting his book to the side. "Are you new here?" he asked, and the witch's eyes looked at him deeply, almost enchanting him. What was wrong with this girl?

The witch seemed to ponder a little before answering, trying to maintain her composure. "I thought, Riddle, you knew everyone from Hogwarts," she replied.

The girl's attitude suddenly changed, and Tom could feel his blood boil. He was annoyed by the lack of respect she was giving him. "Actually, I do, but I don't recognize your name. You must have passed unnoticed by me," he responded, taking a quick circle around her frame. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Y/n Greengrass," she replied.

Tom looked at her strangely. The sorting of a Greengrass into Hufflepuff was a strange occurrence, as the most pureblood families were typically sorted into Slytherin, proudly flaunting their uncontaminated bloodlines that spanned centuries. Perhaps this particular girl lacked the necessary attributes to excel in Slytherin.

"Greengrass, I would advise you to watch your tongue," Tom Riddle spoke in a low, threatening tone, and Y/n met his gaze head-on.

Behind those stunning emerald eyes, which many perceived as pure and filled with good intentions, Y/n could see the madness that was often discussed on the internet and in fanfictions about Tom Riddle. His attractiveness exceeded her wildest imagination, but his brilliance was matched by his wickedness.

Filled with a sense of fear, Y/n abruptly woke up from her sleep and was greeted by the irritating sound of the subliminal video she had set on her phone earlier. She closed the YouTube tab and sat up in her bed, bewildered by what had just happened. Her heart raced as if she were in the midst of a marathon, with Tom Marvolo Riddle chasing after her.

Shifting through realities had gained popularity on the internet, and Y/n's curiosity had gotten the better of her. She had decided to try it out, not anticipating that anything significant would occur.

However, she had just encountered Tom Riddle through shifting, and she intended to do it again.