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cassiopeiasdaughter · 7 months

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like the moon loves the earth

Tom Riddle x fem!reader

summary: in which Tom is dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, because he is a simp to help his friend, deliver a hippogriff. (based on a request from anon)

main masterlist

Tom was dreaming, or actually having a nightmare. He felt cold and the world around him was dark. There were strange faces looking at him, calling him Dark Master or Lord, he doesn’t remember now, his attention is on the school- his school- around him, on fire and in ruins. Children and teachers are screaming and running around and he…he-

He wakes with a gasp and later a scream, at the first thing he sees; a pair of wide eyes staring deeply at him.

“Quiet!”, you whisper and cover his mouth with your hand “Are you mental? You’ll wake everyone.”

His eyes widen at the realization, of you in his room and not a terrible monster that has spilled from his dream into the real world.

“What?”, he asks confused as he removes your hand lightly

“I think you were having a bad dream.”, you whisper

“How did you know? Was I screaming in my sleep?”

“Ah no. I came here for something else.”, you reply awkwardly- twirling your hair in your fingers innocently.

He had to control himself and not smile, at that. Truth was, that you and Tom had been good friends for a few years now. You did almost everything together; almost, because you like animals and he doesn’t. More specifically, you will head off to the forest at times, care for the creatures there, spend time with them or just observe them. He loves that about you, how soft you’ll turn around magical creatures, how protective you are and how caring.

He loves many things about you; he loves your voice and how it sounds when you laugh at his jokes. He loves your expression, the one you make when you try to keep up with his long talks about magic and life. He loves how you don’t care about the whys and the what ifs whatsoever, but still pay attention to him and his existential worries. He loves you, but will never tell you.

And now, you are in his room at night, wanting to tell him something. Will that be a confession? A demand for you two to not be just friends anymore? Would you kiss-

“Bobbi is in labour.”, you rushed out worried ,“You need to come and help.”

“Uhh- what?”, he asked in confusion- trying to ignore the pain in his chest.

“Come on, we don’t have time, the baby could be out any minute.”

“The baby?”

“Yes! Bobbis baby- egg actually. Did you not hear what I said? Come on, up we go.”, you pushed the covers off and threw a few of his clothes on him.

“Who in the name of bloody Salazar, is Bobbi?”

“Bobbi, the hippogriff, she is pregnant- was actually. Come on!”, you whispered loudly, waiting for him impatiently with your hands on your hips and your eyebrows raised. If you were together, Tom would plant a kiss on your lips and maybe drag you back to sleep; but you weren’t and that is why, as he told himself, he got out of bed.

“Wouldn’t it be better if- I don’t know- a professor helped Bobbi, instead of us?”, he asked- as he put on his clothes, after spinning you around so you wouldn’t face him.

“Tsk.”, you let out “Bobbi doesn’t trust them, she trusts us.”

“She trusts you, you mean”

“Only, because she hasn’t met you yet, you should join me more often when I visit her.”

“I don’t see why.”, he lies- he would join you if it meant spending more time with you, but it would still be hopeless.

“For starters, you could leave your dorm- and the library does not count.”, you lifted your finger towards him and he snorted

“And, you and Bobbi are alike-”

“In, uh- what way exactly?”, he asked fully dressed now and ready to leave with you

“Well, you both seem grumpy and scary, but in reality- you are way too soft.”

Only around you, he wanted to finish, but wouldn’t dare to, instead he walked over to the door, lightly bumping your shoulder on his way out, “Come on then, Poppy is waiting.”

“Bobbi!”, you said laughing and ran after him.

Bobbi had indeed been waiting, and in obvious pain, as she lay down on her side- letting out screams and cries. You quickly run to her side- kneeling by her and running soothing circles on her beak with your fingers.

“It’s going to be alright, sweet girl.”, you whispered in a tone that made Tom’s heart swell and slow down his breathing. With hesitant steps, he walked over to you two, kneeling quietly behind you- releasing a hiss from the frightened hippogriff in front of him.

“Maybe, I should go.”, he whispered cautiously trying to maintain eye contact with the creature

“Stay where you are! Bow and you’ll be fine.”

Mumbling an annoyed “Shouldvegonetobed” under his breath, he listened to you and slowly- without breaking eye contact, bowed to Bobbi, who gave him a less suspicious stare now. It took a few seconds, but they felt like many agonizing hours to Tom, for the poor creature to lightly bow in return, proving she approved of him and was willing to trust him.

It wasn’t the bow he earned that melted his heart, washed his stress away- no- it was your hand clasping his and the smile you beamed at him, a thank you and an I told you so all in one.

He didn’t have enough time to savor the feeling, a scream whipped both your heads away from eachother, turning your attention to the animal in front of you.

“What do we do now?”, he asked anxiously

“Well, I- I don’t know, I figured you’d come up with something.”, you replied anxiously- moving closer to the animal, touching her beak in a comforting manner

“How on Earth, would I know how to help hippogriff in labor, this is the first one I’ve seen up close.”, he whispered loudly, doing his best to not cause nay more stress to poor Bobbi, who’d now curled up even further into herself.

“I don’t know Tom, you always think of something.”, you said back, looking at him with open eyes, vulnerable and honest and scared. He wanted more than anything to wipe that look off your face, comfort you- fight every single one of your fears and worries, so he could see you smile at him, once more.

“Alright, alright.”, he said, mostly to himself while taking a deep breath, “First, let’s cast a warming charm, I-I spotted the calming roots we learned about last week in herbology, you remember which ones?”

“Yeah, yeah.”, you replied collecting yourself- “The ones with a little yellow at the tips?”

“Exactly, I saw some a few feet behind, can you fetch some? And water, also?”, he said rolling up his sleeves and casting a Lumos so he could see clearer.

You tossed your bag at his feet, “There’s a bottle in the front pocket.”,you said running to pick some of the roots he told you about.

The moment you ran away anxiety crashed him, his hands felt sweaty and unsteady and he drew a shaky breath staring at the poor creature, folded and in visible pain, whimpers and cries falling from her mouth, “I did not ask for this.”, he said earning a loud whine from Bobbi.

“You are right, sorry.”, he replied, “We can do this, come on.”, moving closer and transfigurating leaves and mud into a blanket for her.

“I am here.”, he heard your voice from afar, running breathless with a stack of leaves and flowers and anything that resembled the roots you looked for.

“Here-“, you handed him the roots, “-I also picked up these.”, you placed a few flowers on his lap-

He started at you for a few seconds with confused eyes, and red color creeping up on his cheeks, staining them.

“For the taste…of the potion.”, you added

“Ah, yeah, of course.”, he shook his head and began brewing a potion to calm the poor hippogriff and ease her pain, make the situation easier and faster. He felt your hand gripping his shoulder, tightly, when you heard Bobbi scream and toss around, and if it weren’t for the terrible circumstances, he swears his heart would have stopped.

Tom Riddle has felt relief, many times in his life. Moving to Hogwarts is a memorable one, you telling him that you would never date the annoying Hufflepuff prefect- another special to him. But, this exact moment, watching Bobbi, curled around her egg- with you by his side, resting your head on his shoulder and sniffling quietly with your arms wrapped around his, this moment; he is sure, he’ll remember and cherish forever.

“Thank you.”, you whisper on the way back to the castle, “I can always count on you. I- I can trust you and you are always there for me. Thank you, really.”

You squeeze his hand. His fingers are growing sweaty and hot as each moment passes. You must have realized by now- what you mean to him. How you affect him; how he’ll always follow you, like the Moon orbits the Earth, at all times. Every night it shines for the Earth, like he would for you- if you asked him to. Maybe it’s the moon that shines bright tonight, or the sentimental- vulnerable moment that passed, or maybe it is all the years of pining that have piled up and can’t be contained anymore.

“You know why I did it, don’t you?”, he stops abruptly , “I would do anything for you, anything you ask of me- it’s yours. For Merlins sake I- I would hatch a dragons egg for you!”

He stares at your expression; mouth slightly open- eyes focused on him, playing with your rings nervously. Nervous, you are nervous. Probably thinking of a way to let him down gently, because you are kind like that, you try to please everyone- make everyone happy, sacrificing in result your needs, but he won’t stand for that, especially not now.

“Sorry, forget it”, he says and takes quick steps away from you- wanting more than anything to hide under his blankets and pillows.

As he contemplates every decision he’s made in his life and tries to think of anything more stupid than his confession, right now, he doesn’t hear you running behind him shouting his name annoyed.

“Would you just, wait one second!”, you grab his hand and turn him- to face you, “You are so annoying when you act like this.”

“Like what?”,

“Like a complete self-pitying know-it-all-”, you shout, “Excuse me.”, he interrupts but you continue, “-it’s bloody annoying, especially when-” you stop and let out an exasperated breath at his ignorance; eyes looking at you innocently and blush all over his cheeks. He wanted to ask, “when what?”, but you let out a sound that reminded him of Bobbis groans and grabbed his tie- lowering him to you, smashing your lips to his.

It took him a few moments to realize what was happening, and then a few more to convince himself that he wasn’t imagining this and you were in fact kissing him. And boy, when he was convinced he kissed you like his life depended on it.

His arms wrapped around your body, keeping you close to him, fearing you’d slip away. But your hands pulling at his collar, and playing with his buttons assured him there would be no slipping away, not tonight and hopefully not ever.

He smiles at your lips as you part from him, both of you in need of air as you take deep breaths.

“I would hatch a dragons egg for you too.”, you say quietly and intertwine your fingers, kissing his knuckles as he grins down at you. “Don’t look at me like that.”, you say blushing and then prompt him to move, walk back to the castle with you, “Come on, we have to wake up early tomorrow and help Bobbi with her egg.”

“Of course we do.”, he says tucking you to him, with his arm wrapped around your shoulder, as he gives your hair a kiss.

At this exact moment, Tom Riddle doesn’t feel relieved or content. This feeling can’t compare to anything, not to the satisfaction a perfectly curated potion brings him and neither to the sweet peace he feels as his head lands on his pillows on Friday nights. No, right now he feels joy and that counts for so much more than he ever thought it would.

A/N: sorry for any mistakes! feedback & criticism are very very appreciated

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle au #he isn't evil #just grumpy #ok?#sunshine x grumpy #tom riddle fluff #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle

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lostmyremembrall · 11 months

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Tom Riddle, a man of sophistication

Tom: I don't play a barbaric game like quidditch. I prefer chess, a more sophisticated-

Y/N: We all remember you projectile vomiting in our first flying lesson.

Tom Riddle Incorrect Quotes

@buckysmetalhand @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @percy-the-hufflepuff

#tom riddle fluff #tom riddle x fem!reader #tom riddle x gn!reader #tom riddle oneshot #tom riddle #tmr #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle incorrect quotes #tom riddle imagines #lord voldemort #tom marvolo riddle #harry potter incorrect quotes #tom riddle fanfiction #harry potter #tom riddle x you #tom riddle au #tom riddle fic #harry potter fanfiction

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cardansriddle · 11 months

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You're so dark - (tom riddle x fem!reader) (modern au)

Summary: A mysterious stranger in a bookshop takes a sudden interest in you when he notices your peculiar taste in literature.

Warnings: not proofread bc i'm a bitch like that.

A/N: inspired by arctic monkeys' song "you're so dark" because I'm obsessed with it and I had to incorporate it into my writing somehow.

༻♛༺

The bell chimed distinctly in the dimly lit library, announcing the arrival of a yet new customer. You kept your head hung low, eyes fleeting over the words inked on the pages of the book with brows furrowed in concentration.

It was only when you heard the thump of shoes against the wooden floor did you raise your gaze from the page, only to be met with the sight of a man who looked like he walked straight out of a dark fantasy book. You assumed he would be the anti-hero, with his chiselled features, and dark hair. His face was unfairly handsome, and the self-assured yet stoic expression on his face only proved your theory further. Definitely a villain.

“How may I help you?” You asked after a brief moment of silence, marking the spot where you had left off and carefully setting your book aside to help out the customer.

His dark eyes flickered down to the book, fleeted over the cover before it locked with your own leather jacket clad form.

He was about to say what he had come after; you could tell he knew what he wanted, but then in a split second, he seemed to change his mind, and he cocked his head to the side, stare still on you.

“What would you recommend?” He asked, and the deep rumble of his voice sent a shiver straight down your spine. He gestured to the book you had just put down. “How about that one?”

You rose an inquisitive brow. “Not many people are fond of Lovecraft’s works. Too dark for their particular tastes.”

The stranger did not seem bothered by your answer, if anything, he was spurred on to continue. “What if I want to read dark literature?”

He watched as your eyes roved over him, lingering for a second too long on the perfect frown of his lips, before you tore your gaze away. “Perhaps you may want to try Edgar Allan Poe.” You suggested. “Dark and poetic.”

“And that is what you like? Dark and poetic?” The stranger asked again, and you felt his stare burn through your whole being as the implication of his question ran deeper than simple literature. He was watching you, in that intense manner of his, and it was enough to ignite fire in your entire being.

You bit your lower lip, before slowly looking up at him. “I think everything dark is naturally poetic.”

Something flashed in his eyes, and you could sense that he was strangely pleased with your reply. A raven cawed from somewhere outside, and a chill ran down your spine at the sudden tension that seemed to hang around the two of you.

“Then Allan Poe it is.” He decided with a subtle smirk tugging at his lips.

You nodded and began making your way between the shelves to find the book you presumed the stranger would enjoy from the author’s works. You felt him following your trail but did not notice how his eyes had become glued to the tattoo on full display thanks to your shirt that exposed some of your back. The black ink engraved on your skin in the form of a murder of crows sent a sense of thrill through his veins, and with every new thing he discovered about you, he was becoming more and more hooked.

Rising on your toes, you reached towards the upper shelf to grab the book you presumed the stranger would enjoy, and as the pads of your fingers barely grazed the spine of the object, you suddenly felt warm as a body pressed against your back to retrieve the book with ease.

Your lungs stuttered, struggling to find air to breathe while his chest brushed your back, and then you felt his hand grabbing a firm hold of your waist.

Tom usually withheld himself from such urges, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that he wanted you bad. It was as if all rational thoughts had been drowned by the need to have you. He wanted you down on all fours as he made you scream his name into the night, and he wanted his teeth to be marking your throat with bruises that would stay on you like a tattoo.

You turned around in his hold to face him and the sight of his form half shrouded in shadows and the other half illuminated by the winter sun seeping through the windows was enough to send your mind reeling. You caught his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. As if on instinct, your own dropped to his mouth, and it did not go unnoticed by the stranger.

You did not know who moved first, you did not care, because one second you were staring at one another, and the next his lips were moulded against yours. His hand on your waist circled to your back to hold you tighter against his body, while the other grasped your hair. It was messy, desperate, and urgent— the way he kissed you as if he was a man starved. But you were just as eager, with your back pressed against the bookshelf and your hands running over any part of him you could find as you allowed yourself to get ensnared in his trap.

When you finally pulled away to catch much needed air, you were both panting. His dark eyes roved over you once more before he stepped closer, entirely blocking the sunlight from your view.

"I'm Tom Riddle." He said with his gravelly voice.

And when you gave him your name, it felt as if you willingly handed your soul to the devil instead.

༻♛༺

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#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle one shot #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle x you #tom riddle au #tom riddle modern au #tom riddle fluff

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fortisfilia · 2 months

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Promised Masterpost

Pairing: Tom Riddle x f!reader

Status: Completed (currently being rewritten)

Total word count: 45k

Info: This is a rewrite of a story I've posted on my old account years ago. If it sounds familiar, that might be why :)

In this story, Tom didn't grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader's sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Links for other platforms: AO3 | Wattpad

Part 1 - Dinner Guests

Part 2 - Back in Hogwarts

Part 3 - Parallels and Potions

Part 4 - One and the Same

Part 5 - Making believe

Part 6 - Of Vows and Wrangles

Part 7 - Gift Giving

Part 8 - Slughorn's Party

Part 9 - Never trust a Snake

Part 10 - Mors Grano

Part 11 - The Earth's Centre

Part 12 - Pillow Talk and Butterbeer

Part 13 - Pranks and proper Paybacks

Part 14 - Gaunt Manor

Part 15 - A Dagger for a Devotee

Part 16 - 30th June 1945

Part 17 - Epilogue

Find the sequel to Promised here.

Moodboards:

Camille Kegley

Benjamin Hilt

Freda Morris

Bonus (blurbs and drabbles, sent in by readers or answered by me):

Tom teaching you a spell

How Tom would react if he saw you crying

You comfort Tom when he gets letters from Marvolo

Tom taking care of you when you're sick

Tom taking care of you when you're sick II

How Tom would react if you wore his clothes

When it's cold outside

Kissing you while you're asleep

Tom calling Ben on the phone

Tom and reader seeing Lord Voldemort

Tom blushing and being mad about it

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pearlstiare · 2 years

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* About to meet Y/N's Parents *

Y/N: Be nice!

Tom: I'm always nice.

Y/N: Really nice, not bitchy nice.

Tom: You're tying my hands, but fine.

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sriracharocks · 10 months

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Rewrite the Stars (Tom Riddle x Reader Songfic)

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Summary: In a world where darkness looms and fate draws its tangled threads, two souls find solace in a forbidden connection. Word count: 3.5k+ TW: None

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Tom strays into the great music hall after classes end. The corridors lie deserted, devoid of life. While some students bury their noses in books in the library, consumed by their impending exams, others seek solace in their common rooms, surrounded by familiar faces, completely lost in their worlds, and separated from reality by their little bubbles of self-perspective.

It's a fine winter day. The entire Hogwarts grounds are covered with snow, littered with footsteps all over from all the students having sauntered back and forth from class, Hogsmeade, or whatever it is that bored, tired teenagers can engage in.

They entertain themselves, or at least attempt to, by humouring themselves with the usual obnoxious, mindless, and frankly speaking, fruitless chatter of mundanities of ordinary, quotidian endeavours of life no one is interested in knowing or hearing about; or gossip about people resembling slander more than they do constructive criticism. This is the perfect time for rumour mills to churn – spouting out, most often, outrageous lies, or rarely spreading considerably exaggerated versions of the truth; always on the lookout for their next victim to talk about for the rest of the night, or seldom, the rest of the week.

The music hall is enveloped in haunting darkness, dimly illuminated by the rays of moonlight shining through the towering stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colours upon the polished floors and the ancient stone walls. The soft glow dances with the dust particles in the air, resulting in an enchanting interplay of light and shadow. The acoustics of the hall make it so that the tiniest drop of a pin can be heard echoing throughout the space, its sound bouncing off the walls and resonating in every corner of the room, effectively creating an ethereal atmosphere that engages all five senses.

Footsteps approach the door of the music hall. "Y/N, you've come," a smooth, honeyed baritone voice reverberates in the large hall, as the looming figure in robes of black, green and silver turns to take a better look at the intruder.

"I have, Tom. What brings you here?" I reply, curious as to why he's here, especially at such an hour when everybody is off minding their own business in their respective common rooms.

"The same reason why you're here, Y/N," Tom murmurs, his voice smooth and velvety, echoing in the vast music hall. "To find solace in silence amidst this tumultuous world. The incessant cacophony outside is making me lose my mind. It’s too overwhelming to my senses."

"Maybe you are. But I have my own reasons to come here," I reply, without missing a beat. Speaking to Tom was akin to breathing, an instinctive rhythm that flowed effortlessly between us. Our shared history and unspoken understanding had woven a bond that transcended words, making every conversation a comforting embrace in which our souls found solace.

"I'm here not to enjoy the silence..." I begin, my voice holding an eerily quiet timbre and an unusually soft quality, almost ominous. "...but to make a confession."

Tom's ears immediately perk up in attention, picking up every following syllable that leaves my lips, like a child learning to speak like their parents, hyper-aware of every hand gesture, every lip movement, and every body language cue exhibited during a conversation.

I continue, "You know I'm quite straightforward in general so I decided to get something off my chest, it seems... as if..."

"As if what, Y/N?" Tom grows impatient, unable to wait any longer, and extremely irritated by the amount of suspense that is building up at the moment as a result of my leaving him with an unnecessary cliffhanger.

"As if I've developed feelings... For you. And I'm not the only one, Tom. I know."

"You know nothing, you naive, foolish girl."

By now, Tom’s mind is overcome with unresolved and mixed feelings about the matter. Connecting to someone on an emotional level was exhausting and fruitless to someone like him, who thrived on surface-level attachments, inspiring loyalty from his followers and fear from his enemies.

But love? Love was a foreign emotion to him, an unnecessary obstacle on his path to power, to fulfilling his true purpose and to usher in a new reign in Wizarding Britain, one that would purge every nook and cranny of the magical community of non-magical, useless Muggles that dared to defile the magical community’s purity and sanctity with their ignorance, inferior blood, and foolish idiosyncrasies.

What good did loving his disgusting Muggle of a father do to his mother, Merope? She had loved him, yet he never reciprocated those feelings. How long could she have given him Amortentia in an effort to make him love her? She had to stop sooner or later - and once she did, the result was tragic.

His father left her immediately as the effects of Amortentia wore off, without even stopping to care that she was pregnant with his son. Hence his lonely, weak, and pathetic witch of a mother died at the footsteps of an orphanage while giving birth to him.

Even at the orphanage, Tom was treated like an outlier, an abomination. He was called a freak. No one befriended him or showed him a modicum of love or affection. Of course, he wouldn’t mention how he hung the limp corpse of Billy Stubb’s rabbit from the rafters in an effort to get his revenge for bullying him, or how he took Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop to a cave near the beach, and they were never the same since. To any sane person, it was clear - Tom had psychopathic tendencies, and hence it was quite difficult to garner affection or love for him in one’s heart.

In the world he lived in, Muggleborns, Squibs, and quite hypocritically, even half-bloods, though he was himself one, were nothing less than the scum under a pureblood’s shoes. Tom had no plans to change the status quo; he was smart enough to know that if he could puppeteer the purebloods into doing his bidding, the reins of the wizarding world would be in his hands. And hence, he had wasted no time in raising a loyal group of his own, comprising the heirs of Britain’s pureblood elite, christened ‘the Knights of Walpurgis,’ who would later in life, become the infamous Death Eaters.

Tom couldn’t possibly let his emotions get the best of him now, could he? He has worked too hard and invested quite a lot of his time and energy into his cause to back out now for the sake of emotions, feelings, and something as revolting to him as the ridiculous notion of ‘loving’ someone. No, he is above such mundanities as emotions - far too powerful, important, and busy to willingly experience what was to him a blissful mirage in life’s figurative desert.

But I wasn't one to let anyone have the last word, not even if it was Tom Riddle. So with confidence, I proceed to walk towards him, one step at a time, making him back up against the wall at the same pace. Tom is neither scared nor intimidated in the slightest – though he was being backed up against the wall, his sharp, piercing, calculative gaze remained unwavering and steady.

My steps are slow and deliberate, my heartbeat accelerating to almost a mile a minute with each ticking second. Every footfall has its echo reverberating in the music hall, its own audible manifestation of its underlying physical and emotional weight. My heart is filled with nervous anticipation of what’s to come after I take the last step toward him. Our senses of time and distance become overwhelmingly distorted as the gears in our brains whir as fast as possible to process the intensity of the moment we are currently experiencing.

Should I tell him, or should I not? The whirlwind of emotions bottled up inside of me craved for a release, for fearless expression, unable to stay confined within the walls of my mind which I built up over months of denial and suppression. Spending a substantial amount of time with him in and outside of classes for so many months had led to the emergence of feelings that I had never known would develop for such a cold and detached personality like him.

Memories of reading in the library, studying in the Slytherin common room, playing chess, singing duets in the music hall, and many more flash in my mind as I contemplate whether to express what I feel or stay mum. But I finally gathered the courage to tell him the truth.

"You can't deny this feeling we share, Tom. No matter how much you try," I speak, undeterred by his nonchalant attitude and curt responses. A sense of relief washes over me as I finally feel the weight of my forbidden passion for him being lifted off of my shoulders.

My gaze locks onto his, searching his chocolate brown orbs for any flicker of understanding or emotion, scanning every twitch and movement of his facial muscles and lips, looking for the faintest sign of a reaction.

After a few seconds of contemplative silence, he speaks.

"Love is a weakness. Emotions are for the ones who do not rationalise. They cloud judgement, reduce our inhibitions and make us act on impulse," Tom replies, his voice as cold as ice. "Even if I do have any emotional connection with you, it doesn't matter in the end. We, us... It cannot happen, Y/N."

"But why not? Because for once, you manage to fall in love, to care for someone deeply? Is that what you're afraid of?" I shout, extremely frustrated by his unwillingness to open up, even to his best friend. Or am I the only one who thinks of him as my best friend? What if he never considered us more than acquaintances? No, that can’t be; he always treats me differently from his followers. We have a special, unreplicable - and possibly, inexplicable - bond.

Tom, equally frustrated by the confrontation, feels his pride wounded by the audacity of someone daring to question him, especially a mere girl he had spent only some time with. The thought of falling for someone sends a shiver down his spine, challenging his carefully constructed persona. With a roar, he responds, "Yes, because if I fall for you, what does that make me? Human. A pathetic, repulsive, weak mortal with disgusting emotions," stressing 'mortal', 'human', and 'disgusting' as if he's using the crassest of curse words. Love was an incurable malady to him, one that he did not wish to concern himself with.

"Besides, if we take this too far and give in to our feelings, you'll only get hurt in the end! You know what I am, and you know what my goals are. I will not let something as trivial and pointless as emotions and love dictate my life. A monster, you called me, that day we argued? Your gut was right, Y/N; people like me, we're meant to be hated, and feared. Not loved!" He shouts back, his normally composed and calculating demeanour cracking with each second that passes between us.

"You know what, I'm not going to have this conversation with you right now. I'm leaving Hogwarts tomorrow morning,” I reply frustratedly with a tone of finality. The in-built tension within me threatens to consume me whole, make me lose all sense of rationality, and say or do something that I might regret in the future.

"You're what?"

"...Yes."

"Don't leave."

"I can't do anything about it, Tom. It's done. I'll be going off to my homeland soon, and you know how my parents are; they never take no for an answer. I suppose that's where I get my stubbornness from; the apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all."

Tom knew what I was saying was right - he had experienced it firsthand when he visited our home once. He had witnessed himself how convincing them was a Herculean task, even for me, their own daughter. Of course, he had tried his hand at persuading them for doing us little favours like letting us go to Hogsmeade and succeeded, but not without difficulty. If a shrewd manipulator like Tom had to work hard to cajole them, he was sure that I would most likely fail at convincing them to let me stay at Hogwarts instead of transferring me to Ilvermorny or maybe even Beauxbatons.

"Fine," Tom says as he walks away with a stoic expression.

"Wait! Last duet? Please?" I offer.

"You mean, like old times?" Tom asks, contemplating if he should say yes or reject my advances and go study. But a feeling inside, a strange feeling indeed, to the likes of someone as ruthless, unemotional, and cold as him, beckons him to accept, say yes, and cherish what seems to be a potential final memory to make together.

"Okay," he reluctantly agrees. "Better make it count."

The warmth of our breaths intermingles, a tangible presence that deepens our connection, even as the world around us seems to fade into a distant echo. The grand piano comes to life as I bewitch its keys to play. Each note is like a gentle caress against the walls, carried by the acoustics that enhance its timbre and tone. The music wraps around us, creating an intimate cocoon of sound, while the scent of aged wood and polished brass mingle with the anticipation in the air. I start:

"You know I want you,” I sing, my voice filled with longing. “It's not a secret I try to hide. I know you want me, so don't keep sayin' our hands are tied.”

Tom’s gaze meets mine and I continue, “You claim it's not in the cards, and fate is pullin' you miles away, and out of reach from me; but you're here in my heart, so who can stop me if I decide that you're my destiny?"

As our fingers entwine, I softly sing the following lines:

"What if we rewrite the stars?

Say you were made to be mine?

Nothing could keep us apart

You'd be the one I was meant to find

It's up to you, and it's up to me

No one can say what we get to be

So why don't we rewrite the stars?

Maybe the world could be ours

Tonight.”

I attempt to unlace our fingers, but Tom holds on tight, taking over the song:

"You think it's easy? You think I don't wanna run to you?” He sings, his voice filled with uncharacteristic yearning and melancholy. “But there are mountains, and there are doors that we can't walk through. I know you're wondering why, because we're able to be just you and me, within these walls, but when we go outside, you're gonna wake up and see that it was hopeless after all!"

Tom takes my hand and gracefully twirls me across the floor as he continues, as if expressing the challenges we face:

"No one can rewrite the stars

How can you say you'll be mine?

Everything keeps us apart

And I'm not the one you were meant to find

It's not up to you

It's not up to me

When everyone tells us what we can be

How can we rewrite the stars?

Say that the world can be ours

Tonight."

As the music swells, we soar and spin across the room in circles, our voices blending seamlessly:

"All I want is to fly with you

All I want is to fall with you

So just give me all of you

It feels impossible

It's not impossible

Is it impossible?

Say that it's possible!"

In perfect synchrony, we continue our dance as we sing with a sense of endless hope and determination:

"How do we rewrite the stars?

Say you were made to be mine?

Nothing can keep us apart

'Cause you are the one I was meant to find

It's up to you

And it's up to me

No one can say what we get to be

And why don't we rewrite the stars?

Changing the world to be ours.”

As the song reaches its crescendo, Tom gently holds my chin, causing my cheeks to flush a deep crimson. I shyly meet his gaze before he finishes the final verse:

"You know I want you

It's not a secret I try to hide

But I can't have you

We're bound to break and my hands are tied."

A playful smirk dances across Tom's face, unaware that I can see his blush rising. We stand there, caught in a moment that feels both destined and fleeting, our hearts racing to the ghost of the rhythm of the music that filled the air mere moments ago.

“Children born under the influence of Amortentia have no capacity to love,” he had discovered while reading a Potions textbook in the Hogwarts library a few months ago. “As such, they can never feel or express love in their lives.”

But then, what is this peculiar feeling that blossoms inside of him, twisting and turning his stomach into knots, pulsating through his veins, and forcing his breathing to become shallow and laboured? What is this sense of attraction that he is currently experiencing, one that overwhelms him with joy, hope, and happiness? Is this the ‘love’ that famed poets wrote artistic sonnets about, the ‘love’ that caused the famous Trojan War, the ‘love’ that compels people to sacrifice themselves for another in the face of danger?

All he knows is that at this moment, just for a millisecond, he wants to let go and see what it’s like to love and be loved. Tom treats this not as a revelation of a potential softer side to him, but as a new experience. In reality, he’s deluding himself to be vulnerable so that the part of him that yearns for human touch, for love and affection - which, according to the Potions textbook he had read, is an exceedingly rare anomaly - can know what romance is like, if only for a transient moment.

We end up too close to one another, the increasing proximity igniting sparks of passion we never knew we harboured deep within our hearts. Tom looks down at my soft lips and silently asks for permission. I nod, and he makes the move.

Our lips meet in a desperate union, a collision of longing and desire that ignites a fervent electricity between us. As our bodies meld together, our fingers delicately weave through strands of hair, pulling each other closer in a passionate embrace, cherishing every touch and caress as if time itself were slipping away. At that moment, the world fades into insignificance, leaving only the intensity of our connection pulsating between us.

Tom experiences a raging inferno of emotions during the kiss: primal passion, love, hope, lust, longing, and a desire to never let go. His entire being is lit ablaze by the flames of his fervour. As Oscar Wilde had once said, a burnt child loves the fire - and Tom strangely wishes for nothing more except to be burnt over and over again by the fire of emotions that had been ignited in his heart by something as simple as a kiss. It was abundantly clear that to him, this was an epiphany - that no matter how much he denies the existence of his emotions and chokes them to death, they will always be there within him: latent, hidden, and buried deep inside the crevices of his dark, broken soul. That despite being born under the influence of Amortentia, he could love.

I reluctantly pull back, fireworks erupting in my heart as I do so, my mind and body buzzing with the aftermath of the newfound high I experienced during the kiss. Tom's gaze softens as he locks his eyes onto my own, his intent clear: to imprint every minor detail of my body and personality into his memory, a treasured keepsake to be cherished in the years that lie ahead until our paths cross once more.

"Bye Y/N," Tom murmurs with a heavy heart. Deep inside, he is unable to accept that the magical moment we shared was over. To mask the pain, he regains his distant and cold disposition momentarily.

"We'll meet again, Tom. This isn't goodbye; this is a 'see you later'," I say, a bittersweet smile gracing my lips.

He opens his mouth again on instinct, as if to say something, but falls short of words. His feelings of vulnerability and sadness peek through the cracks of his calculative persona. Finally, he musters a response:

"Fine, see you again, Y/N," he replies with a genuine smile for the first time in his entire life, even though he felt as if someone had ripped out his heart from his chest and torn it into shreds.

I walk away with tears in my eyes, ready to face whatever adversity that lies on my path ahead. The future is uncertain, and the fate of our connection hangs in the balance. As I turn to steal one last glance, Tom stands there, his posture strong but his eyes betraying a sense of longing and conflicted emotions.

We share a momentary connection, an unspoken understanding that our paths may intertwine again, or perhaps diverge forever. I thought my love for him would be enough for him to stop – enough for him to listen to reason, even in my absence – but we all know what happened during the course of history.

Or do we?

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skylessnights · 5 months

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AMORET BANKS and TOM RIDDLE Paper Confines | by @sainteda

Synopsis: When the autumn of seventh year propels Amoret Banks into the heart of a muggle-born girl's murder, her plans to best death are circumvented by growing whispers of her guilt. The only person who seems to understand is next in the Ministry's line of suspects: Tom Riddle, the emerald twin to her promise; never her friend, neither her adversary.

➸ READ ON AO3

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sicutpuella · 11 months

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Desiderium

Tom Riddle and an Original Character

The third and last teaser…

Claudia Domitia Rosier

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Allectus Tiberius Rosier

Abraxas Septimus Malfoy

Chapter 0 will be posted in A03 and tumblr!

Posting it up in a bit ૮ • ﻌ - ა

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x oc #hogwarts au #hogwarts fanfic #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle au #tom riddle fanfic #tomriddle #tom riddle fluff #tom riddle angst #tom riddle smut #harry potter fanfic #tomriddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction

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sainteda · 1 year

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she hadn't even realised when her heart stopped—dad had said it so many times with his hand clasped over hers: you're so strong, etta. you would turn tides. you're so strong, so strong—and then there was nothing. she was swaying in the vast emptiness thinking, this is the sea. if i reached out i could swim.

paper confines, sainteda

#everybody point and laugh i made a little edit for my own fic #video editing is my thing idk what i’m doing here!!#paper confines #amoret banks #original character #oc artwork #tom riddle #tom riddle fic #tom riddle au #tom riddle x original character #hp fic #potterverse #harry potter au #book edit #i always feel the need to emphasize the main ship is sapphic when advertising this fic #nadyacolette nation come home

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rickityezrah · 2 years

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A fanfic AU where Tom Riddle is resorted into Ravenclaw because something in him changes, but he doesn't know what it is.

A One-Shot with 5,000 Words Based on a Prompt

Read it on ao3

tw: bullying that almost becomes t*rturing, but does not

#rare paring #ravenclaw #ravenclaw tom riddle #tom riddle #resorting hat #tom riddle au #harry potter au #angst #fanfic #fanficton a03 #ao3fic #read on ao3 #tom riddle fanfiction

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lostmyremembrall · 11 months

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Tom's Speciality: Manipulation &Manwhoring

Y/N: 10 galleons say you can't make Abraxas fall in love with you within the night.

Tom: *strips his robe to make you hold it*

Tom: Get ready to see manwhoring and manipulation at its finest.

Tom Riddle Incorrect Quotes

@buckysmetalhand @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @percy-the-hufflepuff

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lian-nt · 19 days

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Time travel! Tomarry AU

#art #doodle #sketch #harry potter au #harry potter #tom marvolo riddle #tomarry au #tom riddle #tomarry #au #fan art

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fortisfilia · 1 month

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Promised Part 7 - Tom Riddle x reader

Info: This is a rewrite of a story I've posted on my old account years ago. If it sounds familiar, that might be why :)

Summary: In this story, Tom didn't grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader's sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 3.2k

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 6 | Part 8

Part 7 - Gift Giving

“So this is the last part of the house,” you said, after giving Tom a tour around the estate, arriving upstairs in the corridor leading to the bedrooms. “The guestroom is right at the end of the hallway. It has its own bathroom, which is a bit small. I hope you don’t mind.”

Tom shook his head as he peered towards the half-open door to the guestroom, that the house-elves were preparing for him.

“This right there is Elsie’s room, next to it is the master bedroom. And this,” you said, leaning onto a door. “Is my room.”

Tom’s eyes met yours.

“Want to come in?”

He nodded.

There was a sense of excitement in the air, letting Tom enter your room. It was something so private, it felt like you let him walk straight into your head. But it was the polite thing to do. Although he didn’t seem too crushed from the argument he had had with his grandfather and uncle, it surely would make him feel better if he knew he was welcome here. He wouldn't want to be treated differently than usual, you knew, but a little empathy couldn't hurt.

“Take a seat if you like. Anywhere,” you said, trying to hide the nerves that were making your fingertips tingle. Sitting down on the sofa next to the bookshelf, you folded your treacherous hands and watched him walk across the room. He glanced at your belongings, only in passing, one would think, if he weren't Tom Riddle. Surely he had made up his mind about every single thing he saw. Every book, each letter from Camille on the desk, and crumpled note in the bin. You should have cleaned. He stopped by the desk and picked up a framed picture of you and your family.

“Sorry about my mother,” you mentioned when you noticed what he was inspecting.

“What do you mean?”

“She can be a bit brash, you know. When she asked you to stay earlier. But she usually means well.”

“Oh.” He set the picture back down. “I didn’t mind actually. You know my family. They’re brash. And not the good kind.”

Absolutely not the good kind. “Is it always like that with them?”

“Since I can remember at least.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I’m sorry,” you then said.

“For what? That’s just how it is. They have their ways and I have mine.”

Right. He must be used to them by now. What a sad thought. “Did you know they would bring up the unbreakable vow?“

“No… I had no idea. They’re idiots. Just stupid. Why ask for more each time? They always want to be a step ahead for nothing.”

“What did you say to them?” you asked, hiding that you already knew.

“That I wouldn’t do it. They took our word for it then and that should be enough. They can’t force us to do a vow.”

“How angry are they?”

“They’ll come around,” he shrugged. “It wasn’t our first argument and it won’t be our last.”

“It must be hard to put up with them. They seem… exhausting.”

“I don’t know any different.” His voice was neutral as he leant against the desk, still looking around the room. “It’s not that bad I suppose.”

“Not that good either, though. I know it might not be my place, but they’re so cold. I can’t imagine what living with them must be like.”

“Well, I can’t complain, can I?” he said, raising a brow to your unsolicited sympathy. “I was fed every day. The house was warm and the bills were paid. What more could I ask for?”

A lot more, one would say if the question wasn’t a rhetorical one. “Have you always lived with them?”

“Yes.”

“What about -” You cut yourself off. There were plenty of rumours about Tom’s parents, each of them too wild to be true.

“My parents?” His eyes were still on you, not in anger, yet the intensity of his stare threatened to burn holes through your skin.

Your retreat was subconscious when you could no longer withstand his gaze and nodded. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

Tom exhaled sharply. It almost sounded like a laugh. “I don't usually talk about it because people just want to know about them so they can get something out of it. It’s not a sensitive subject for me though. I don’t mind.”

There was no irony in his voice, his features collected, so you dared to ask, "Do you miss them?"

“Never have.”

“Really? You never wished to live with your parents instead of Marvolo and Morfin?”

Tom smiled weakly and shook his head. “Wishing for something won’t make it happen. And no. It would have been quite the same, I think. Maybe even worse.”

“Worse?”

“You’ve heard how Marvolo talks about my parents. His daughter and a muggle. A stain in the bloodline he said, didn’t he?”

“But if they loved each other that shouldn’t have mattered to him.”

His eyebrows rose in what looked like a strange form of amusement. “Well, that’s a whole other story.”

What did that even mean? “Have they-”

Tom shook his head, making it clear that he wasn’t going to talk any further about it. He walked across the room towards you, fiddling something out from the inner pocket of his jacket.

That had been one question too much apparently, and it was unclear if he was pulling out his wand or was on his way out, but as you opened your mouth again, he sat down beside you.

“I’m going to tell you,” he said. “Not now though. You’re going to know everything about me eventually. Someday.”

“Someday then,” you repeated. “What have you got there?”

He held the thing from his jacket in his hand now. It was a package that seemed a bit squished as if it had barely fit into the pocket.

“Hold on,” he said and waved his wand at it, to smooth out the wrinkles on the paper. It was a present, a rectangular box, covered in dark green gift wrap. “I thought it would be impolite to come over for lunch without bringing at least a little Christmas gift.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” you said as he handed over the present.

“Go on, open it,” he said and motioned with his hand.

So you did and quickly found out what the package contained. A small handwritten book, full of potions recipes.

“Nicked it from my uncle when he wasn’t looking,” Tom said. “So you better don’t mention it to him.”

“Oh great,” you laughed as you flipped through it. “Wow, I haven’t heard of any of these.”

“None of them are taught in school. I thought you’d like them. Didn’t seem like the ones we do with Slughorn were much of a challenge for you.”

The book looked as if it had been used a lot. The thin black binder was frayed and faded, and the edges of the pages were crinkled. On every other page, the handwriting changed, so it seemed that many different people had written the recipes. Poisons, antidotes and bewitchments you had never heard of were all listed, neatly explained and completed with full lists of ingredients.

“Where did your uncle get this from?” you asked, still looking through it.

“I’m not sure. Knockturn Alley perhaps, or on some market. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had added a few ones himself.”

As peculiar as it was, not many people could say they got a book of dark magic and probably illegal potions for Christmas.

“What an unusual gift. I do like it. Thank you, really!” you said and opened your arms to hug him, out of pure habit, but froze when you saw his stern expression, your arms still open.

He looked into your eyes again, seemed to think for a moment and finally nodded to let you hug him. Just like when you had held hands, he was stiff and rigid, it felt like he was uncomfortable. You retracted, but as soon as you let go, he wrapped his arms around you and held you a little tighter, extending the embrace for a few more seconds.

There was a ghost of a smile on his face when you sat back straight and he was about to say something when the door flew open.

Tummy, one of the house-elves, stood in the door frame. “Miss, the guestroom is ready. Mister Riddle, Sir, please follow me.”

“Great,” Tom whispered under his breath, got up and followed the elf.

You quickly hid the book under your pillow and called after them, “It’d be nice if you could knock next time, Tummy!”

“Sorry Miss! Will knock!” His voice echoed from the hallway.

When Mother called for dinner in the evening it was quiet at first. The turmoil from lunch still lingered in the air and no one had the heart to talk about it. The usual pleasantries didn’t last for long, so everyone resorted to picking on their food, which was better than exchanging uncomfortable glances.

“Tom?” Elsie said all of a sudden, breaking the silence.

“Yes?” he answered and you looked back and forth between the two.

“Did you know I’ll go to Hogwarts too next term?” Elsie went on, a very proud tone in her voice.

He grinned while picking up some green beans with his fork. “I did know that, yes.”

“I haven’t gotten the letter yet, so technically I don’t know if I’ll get in, but my parents said it will come on my eleventh birthday.”

“I’m sure it will.”

He had barely finished his last word when Elsie asked the next thing.

“What’s your favourite subject?”

“Um… Defence Against The Dark Arts, I think,” Tom said. “It’s interesting enough.”

“Why?”

“Well,” he took a second to think. “I like to be prepared.”

“And you’re in Slytherin, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think I’ll get sorted into Slytherin?”

“Depends. Is it your favourite?”

You caught your parents exchanging looks and smiling at each other.

“Um… Well,” Elsie began. “I think they’re all nice. But Gryffindor is the best I guess.”

Tom clicked his tongue and shook his head jokingly. “Shame,” he said.

“Do you play Quidditch?” Elsie asked.

“No, I’m not into sports.”

“But can you fly?”

“Yes, I’m a decent flyer.”

She looked at your parents for a moment and whispered to Tom, “Do you think you can show me? How to fly a broom. I got one for Christmas, you see. And I-”

“Elsie,” Father laughed. “Let the boy eat, please.”

“No, I can show you,” Tom said. “It’s the least I can do to show my respect after you’re letting me stay here.”

“That’s very kind of you Tom,” Mother said. “And you can stay as long as you like.”

“Thank you. I won’t bother you for long though,” he answered.

Dessert was served and Elsie peppered Tom with questions about brooms until Father finally told her to leave him alone.

Later that night, when you lay in bed, you pulled the book out from under your pillow and held it for a while. It probably wasn’t even meant to be so special, but the fact that Tom had thought of giving you a present for Christmas, was not what you would have expected.

And you hadn’t even wasted a single thought about getting him something. How ignorant.

You wondered how he felt about that. If he even felt about that, one way or another.

Your fingertip ran up and down the book spine countless times while you stared up onto the ceiling. You had to get him something. Something special.

And then you wondered if he couldn’t sleep either. If he wanted to talk for just a bit as well. If he thought about lying next to you, too. You could try to sneak out of your room and over to the guest room. Your parents wouldn’t like that of course, but you were going to marry him. They had to get used to the thought. And if you were quiet enough, they wouldn’t even notice.

You sat up slowly, put the book back under your pillow and tiptoed to the door of your room. Turning the doorknob as quietly as possible and holding your breath, you looked out into the dark hallway. You wouldn’t even need light, you knew this hallway like the back of your hand. Fifteen, maybe twenty quick steps and you would be right by the door to the guest room. So you took the first step out of your room.

“Miss!” a squeaky voice whispered in the dark from below.

It was Tummy, standing there alone.

“Tummy?” you asked quietly. “What are you doing here?”

“Miss, Master told Tummy to keep watch all night. So that Mister Riddle wouldn’t disturb you in your room.”

Great. Your parents were a few steps ahead.

“Can Tummy get you anything, Miss?”

“No, I… I just thought I heard something,” you sighed. “Does Father really force you to stay up all night? You can go downstairs to sleep if you want to.”

“No, Miss, no,” the elf said and smiled. “Tummy sleeps right here on the floor. I have very good ears, yes. I hear every little noise, you see? I will wake up whenever I hear something and alert the Masters.”

Unbelievable. They had thought of everything.

“I see,” you said. “But I’m not afraid Tom would disturb me. You really can go downstairs.”

“Miss, Tummy is thankful for your offer, but I must follow the Master's order. Tummy doesn’t mind it.”

“Alright then,” you gave up. “Hang on though.” You went back into your room, and fetched one of the three pillows from your bed. “Take this at least,” you told the elf and gave him the pillow. “It’s big enough for you to sleep on.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. Please.”

“I insist.”

Tummy smiled, took the pillow and nodded. “Thank you, Miss. Tummy is very grateful.”

“Good night, Tummy.

“Good night, Miss.”

The following day went by quicker than you had wanted it to. Father, Tom and Elsie went outside in the late morning to give Elsie her long-awaited flying lessons. They were a great team, against all expectations. You watched them from the kitchen window and noticed how Father held himself back from helping. He kept a careful eye on the two when Tom showed Elsie how to mount the broom correctly.

Elsie listened intently to everything Tom told her, tried to follow each step precisely and could properly hold herself in the air after a while. Father and Tom seemed incredibly proud, not only of themselves but of your little sister.

You could have watched them for hours, but Mother had called you to the reading room, to go to Diagon Alley via the Floo Network. You had asked her to take her with you since you wanted to get some new quills for school and a proper Christmas present for Tom.

Thankfully Diagon Alley wasn’t too busy, yet it took you a while to find an appropriate gift. You hadn’t even known where to start looking, but when you finally saw it in the shop window, you knew it was perfect.

Back home, Elsie, Father and Tom were just walking back inside, their cheeks and noses all flushed from the hours they had spent out in the cold. Elsie jumped through the living room, raving about how high she was able to fly now. She had even attempted to do some advanced twists but almost had taken a fall.

Father patted Tom on the shoulder and thanked him for his time, which made Tom’s ears turn almost as pink as his cheeks and nose.

After congratulating your sister on her achievement, you turned to Tom. “Would you follow me? There’s something I want to show you.”

You took him to the reading room, where the parcel you got him stood under the desk.

“Long day, huh?” you asked when you closed the door behind you.

He nodded. "Successful though. Your sister is a quick learner. She could make it on the Quidditch team one day.”

“Thank you for teaching her,” you said. “We all appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

Now that you were with him, you didn’t know where to start. Should you tell him about lying in bed with the book in your hand, thinking of him? That you almost would have knocked on his door in the middle of the night, if Tummy had not been there? That could sound terribly invasive. What if he wouldn’t have wanted you to come? Now that you thought about it, you were glad that Tummy had spoiled your plan. Nighttime certainly made you too reckless.

“So, is this a hint for me to leave?” Tom asked, pointing at the fireplace.

“No! I mean, it’s not. Are you planning on leaving?”

“I might go back home tonight,” he nodded.

“Already? Do you not like it here?”

A smirk crossed his face for a second. “Oh I do. I think I haven’t had a better night’s sleep anywhere, outside of Hogwarts.” He took a step closer. “If it wasn’t for the elf in the hallway, I’m sure it would have been even better.”

How would he also know about Tummy? Did he leave his room too? To prevent your mouth from hanging open, you bit your tongue and answered, “Father is overprotective.”

“Quite a shame.”

“Certainly.”

The look on his face held something new, something previously unseen. Something that resembled banter or a cheeky joke between friends. It would not have been awkward at all if you had gone over to his room. Tummy be damned.

“Still,” he said. “I should go home to smooth things over before school starts again.”

“Of course. Before you go though, there’s something I want you to have. I thought of your present a lot. And I decided I had to get you something as well.”

“Not necessary. Your family let me stay the night, that’s more than en-”

“Stop it,” you snapped and went to get the parcel from under the table. “There’s not a lot of things I thought suited Tom Riddle. But this does, I believe.”

He took the box with both hands, placed it onto the desk and pulled off the top. “Oh.”

“Her name is Nagini. She’s not fully grown yet.”

Tom took a dark green, medium-sized snake out of the box and let it curl around his arm.

“Did you know?” he asked.

“Know what?”

“That I’m a Parselmouth.”

“Yes,” you nodded. “People in Hogwarts were talking about it years ago and then I thought of your house and your relation to Salazar Slytherin. It made sense.”

“Thank you,” he said genuinely, looking into your eyes before he watched Nagini gliding from one arm to the other. “Stretch out your arm for me.”

You did and let your fingers touch his. Both of you now stood there with one arm pointing towards each other. The snake slithered around Tom’s arm, quickly making its way towards his outstretched fingers and over to yours. It hissed quietly while wandering up to your shoulder.

“She likes you,” Tom said softly. “A lot.”

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 8

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