Oh, Ophelia | Tom Riddle

Count Down To I Do

Ophelia looked between her brother and Primrose as they had just laid something massive on her.

Tom Riddle. The Great Love of her life, had murdered Richard McKenna, one of her best friends, and Carl Spencer-Moon, the most caring man on the planet, for the singular crime of loving her.

Ophelia externalized herself from her body. Disassociating from reality. She shut her eyes as their voices faded around her.

She blamed herself. My God did she blame herself. But she didn't want to think about that.

Ophelia opened her eyes slowly to see the pages of research pasted onto a Bristol board with a picture of Tom's face in the middle connecting him to a plethora of crimes.

Now, if Ophelia was healthy, she'd likely be crying her eyes out and allowing her best friend and her brother to comfort her.

Instead she appreciated the research in the poster, the presentation, the powerful way the presentation was delivered. She looked to the golden yarn connecting the crimes.

Golden. The colour and its association to her seemed to be slowly dragging her back into reality. She bit her lip and ran a finger over the burn mark on her wrist.

The twinge of pain was the least of what she deserved. The reason Carl died, and Ricky died was her. Because she'd broken their hearts. (Ophelia didn't actually believe that she broke Ricky's heart but everyone else seemed to).

Ophelia hadn't been enough for Tom. So now all this was happening because she'd failed.

Ophelia Marigold has failed the world. That was a depressing thought. Ophelia could barely even stand the thought of who he'd grow to be. A monster.

Ophelia should have stayed with him, she should have pulled him away from it all by any means necessary. Ophelia felt like there was this massive weight on her chest, almost like a boa constrictor around her heart.

Her previously pure heart, now darkened with sin.

Ophelia had come a long way from who she was when she was first placed on rounds with Tom Riddle.

She swore a lot less. I guess when she got older and people stopped treating her like a cute little bunny she didn't really need it anymore.

Ophelia used to never get drunk, and now Jason and his infinite number of concoctions seemed her relief from her day to day tragedy.

Ophelia had a thing for saving the damned, but at what point did she become the damned?

"Lia?"

"Where's dad?" Asked Ophelia,

"No one told you?" Asked Henry, and Ophelia froze,

"No." Said Ophelia, and Henry had to actually turn away from her, "What is it? Henry? Where's dad?"

"Lili, your dad tried to get out." Said Primrose, "Tried to take you with him and us Grindelwald got to him."

"Personally?" Asked Ophelia, her big golden eyes wide as she pressed her thumb into the previously healed burn mark,

"What does it matter?" Asked Primrose,