Many years later, in my hut in the Albis Valley, I received the news of his death, just as I had received intermittently over the years, rumors that were difficult to distinguish between true and false. But this time, it might really be the end.
I often dream of that summer, in the quiet hall of the Hogwarts library, in a corner with only two people. I propped up a difficult potions book and secretly stared at Riddle across from me, and clearly heard my heartbeat, again and again, cramped, violent, and clear.
Many times in the future, I wondered if everything would have been different if I had woken up from this dream earlier.
Purpose: A short essay about secret love