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“Don’t be offended,” you breathed quietly, your lips ghosting against his, “but you’re incredibly pretty.” You leaned forward and shared a chaste kiss with Tom Riddle. You bit your lip as you stared into his dark brown eyes. They radiated brilliance and cunning. “It’s usually a compliment for women, but just think about it like this – your dashing good looks are strong enough to defy gender norms.” The smirk on the Slytherin’s lips affirmed your words.
“Now, aren’t you a pretty thing?” He pressed his forehead against yours. “Worshipping the ground I walk on without sounding pathetic.” Tom slowly ran his fingers through your hair.
You snorted. “You may have a golden tongue and marionette strings strung on everyone else, but I see it. Tom Riddle the good boy…” You buried your face in his chest and laughed.
“Don’t you think I know that, you foolish girl? It’s the only reason why I can stand having a conversation with you.” He leaned forward and looked up and down the hallway. “It’s also the reason why I snuck out of the great hall to get a bit more familiar with you.” He slipped his hands inside your robe and ran them up and down your sides. With a sigh, he gently nipped your neck. You hummed, your eyes fluttering closed.
You ran his green and silver tie through your fingers. “You need to show me whatever you talked about now or a whole lot of professors are going to see us. I’m not sure if even King Riddle could get us out of that one.”
Tom shot you a crooked grin. “Normally I’d want to stay and prove how very wrong you are, but what I have to show you is far more amusing than such basic manipulation.” He offered his arm and you happily linked yours with his.
With that, you began to stroll down one of the many hallways of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with Tom Riddle, the boy who was on his way to being the Dark Lord and the absolute love of your life. To the world’s awe, he felt same.
Although Tom strode through the school like he owned the castle, which he did, he was incredibly lonely. To the untrained eye, the idiots – everyone, he was the school’s most popular student. Granted, everywhere he went he was surrounded by his large group of “friends” that he had been amassing over the years through his wit and charm. They were all thugs looking for a chance of redemption that Tom promised them. Of course they never changed their low class ways, but they were manipulated to think they did. This allowed Tom to control them with a snap of his fingers. However, Tom couldn’t relate to such jug heads.
While it was fun having blind followers do whatever he wanted, Tom Riddle had no equal. There was no one just as smart as him, quick as him, and as cunning as him. It made for a very boring life, never having another person who he could truly interact with – who could challenge him. He wanted someone who wasn’t weak enough to be manipulated. Playing others like they were chess pieces was a joy, but the adrenaline rush always ended and Tom was stuck in the boring stasis off life.
On a boring grey, dreary day, Tom was sitting in the Great Hall with a scatter of a few other students, munching on a raspberry tart. He needed to be alone. He could only stand being around plebes for a certain amount of time before he had to get away. He had no problem hexing someone he found annoying, but not within the confines of the school. Professor Dumbledore was already hot on his trail and he couldn’t risk such a slip up.
As he continued to eat his pastry, he flipped through his charms homework.
How boring.
He was about to turn another page when he hear a blood curdling scream. Tom whipped around to find some Hufflepuff fall to the floor. His skin had become red with irritation and the boy quickly began to seize.
“SOMEONE GET A PROFESSOR!” a student shouted.
Tom was about to get a closer look when a girl with red hair ran past him, giggling in delight. Tom raised his eyebrows. Was she giggling at the boy writhing on the floor? His interest peaked, he gathered his things and ran after the mysterious girl. He skid to a stop at an intersection. He spun around, trying to figure out which way he should go. Just when he was going to accept that he had lost her, he felt a wand tip press against the nape of his neck. A smirk immediately spread across his face.
“What do you want, Riddle?” you asked, your Irish accent rolling off your tongue like velvet, giving the boy goose bumps.
The smirk never leaving his face, Tom asked, “I’m curious as to why someone would find another student falling into a seizure so amusing.”
“Because the girl made him go into the seizure,” you said slyly. “Ground up arnica in his cupcake.”
Tom’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She hurt another so severely just for her own pleasure? And in such an elegant way. He licked his lips, doing his best to stay calm. “And why would you do that?”
You took your wand away and Tom turned around. You cocked your head. “Because it’s fun.”
Tom took you in. Green eyes, pale skin, red hair, endless freckles kissing your nose and cheeks. People would say that you were the typical Irish girl, but he knew that you were far from it. He reached out and slipped a lock of your long hair through his fingers. “Why haven’t I seen you before?”
“Because,” you snorted, batting his hand away, “you’ve surrounded yourself with fools and the only thing you’d do if I came within a foot of you is try to manipulate me.”
Tom lowered his hand to his side and blinked. “Well, I certainly can’t when you are clearly aware of it. I’d send the minions away as soon as I see you, of course.” He took your hands and took a step forward so you were only a hair’s breath away.
You squinted your eyes as you looked up at Tom. “What in the devil are you doing? You’re sounding like a right stooc.” When Tom raised an eyebrow, you sighed and rolled your eyes. “It’s Irish slang for ‘fool.’”
Tom vowed never to show weak emotions, but you were not a regular person. So when he gave you a genuine smile at the ridiculousness of your foreign colloquialism, he did not feel like a fool. “It’s truly unfortunate that my first experience of Irish culture is being insulted.”
Although you didn’t want to, you let out a short breathy laugh.
The rest was history.
“In my wildest dreams I never thought you would take me somewhere so boring,” you drawled as Tom escorted you into the library. “I mean, we can certainly have a bit of fun in the stacks, but I don’t see how that’s anything special.”
Tom gently rubbed your lower back. “Sweetheart, please trust me. I would never waste your time with the mundane.”
“Good afternoon, Tom,” the librarian said with a blush.
Tom gave her a dazzling smile. “Good afternoon to you as well.” He slipped his arm around your waist and gave you a loving squeeze. “We were hoping we could go into the restricted section. We don’t have a note, but I promised this sweet girl to help with her advance Defense Against the Dark Arts class. I took it last year and I used an extremely helpful book in there.” He kissed your temple and you fluttered your eyelashes.
“It’s his best subject,” you added, looking up at him lovingly.
The librarian put a hand over her heart. “Of course you can go. I will never stand in the way of knowledge, especially when you’re sharing it with another.”
“We truly appreciate your understanding,” Tom shot another smile before the librarian turned and unlocked the restriction section. As soon as the woman left, it disappeared. “Idiot,” he muttered.
“Thomas Riddle!” you laughed, lightly pushing him. “You are truly maniacal.” Usually Tom would smite anyone where they stood for calling him by his first name, but it was you, and you could get away with almost anything.
He grabbed you by the waist. “If you tapped into your true potential, you would be as well.” Before you could reply, your legs were pressed against a table and Tom Riddle’s mouth as on yours. You fingers immediately dove into his dark curls as he nibbled on your lower lip. Your heart pounded as the man slid his body against yours and you clawed at his back. Tom’s lips touched the corner of your mouth before he left a surprisingly soft kiss just above your collarbone.
That was the one aspect you didn’t like about Tom. He was so obsessed with power, something that you had absolutely no interest in. He was constantly hounding you about how you were wasting your talent and suppressing your potential by not following in his footsteps. You loved to make people cry, but you didn’t like to control them.
“Is that,” you said between planting kisses on his neck, “why you,” you kissed him behind the ear, “brought me here?” You kissed his lips. “Did you just want a private place to snog?”
You felt Tom’s chuckle before you heard it. “No,” he drawled as he pulled away, “but it was certainly a bonus.”
Without reason, you reached out to him. “I love you.”
You earned a half grin before he disappeared into the stack of books. You sunk into a chair and began to drum your fingers on the table in irritancy. The smug son of a bitch loved you, but he rarely expressed it. Before you could delve deeper into the reasons why Tom Riddle was annoying, a massive book was slammed in front of you, causing you to scream. Your shriek was immediately muffled by a large hand.
“I didn’t know you were so skittish.” Tom kissed the top of your head and sat down next to you. He wrapped an arm around your upper back and used the hand to flip open the monster book. His other hand sat on your knee. “I was browsing through this the other day looking for certain spells to serve certain purposes…”
You sighed. Another thing you didn’t share was the obsession with magical blood purity. You were a very apathetic person and had no problem with almost everything he did, unless it was incredibly stupid.
In the entire world, you were the only person that you knew of who truly knew Tom’s bloodline. He had only just learned of it once he was a student after rigorous searching. He had been an absolute mess, so you were told. It was your belief that his obsession with purity was compensation for his half-blood ancestry.
“Okay, so we’re doing homework.” you said against his hand. It only came out as nonsensical mumbles, but Tom seemed to have understood.
He brushed a strand of red hair out of your eyes. “Far from.” He flipped through the book for a few more seconds before he stopped and tapped a word in bold.
Mortdiliscium
“It’s a spell that makes the love of anyone who you cast the spell on kill him or her.” He closed the book and you turned. The excited glint in his eyes glowed in the dark. “For example, if someone were to cast the spell on me, you would try to kill me.”
You may have liked making people cry, but this was demented. “Tom, I don’t know-”
“Now, I have something rather…extreme planned, and I think this will be not only a great distraction, but will aid my cause.” He pulled back. “Mudbloods killing each other off. How do you explain that?”
“By reading that book.” You jabbed your head in its direction. “Tom, this and whatever else you have planned needs to stop because it is incredibly stupid.” You felt Tom stiffen.
“And why, prey tell, do you say that?”
You turned so that your legs were hanging down the side of Tom’s lap. You ran your fingertips down his cheek. “Because dark magic eats those who use it up alive, not matter how clever they are.”
Tom glared at you. “I thought you were interested in dark magic. I thought you were like me.”
You sighed, the corners of your mouth fell down as you broke your love’s heart. “I’ve always enjoyed hurting people for my own amusement and I love to use others for my own advantage, but it doesn’t go any farther than that. I know how it could be confusing, but I don’t want to kill anyone, Tom. And by extent, I don’t want you to either.” You heart began to pound at Tom’s icy stare.
“You do know that there is a problem if you go on your own and know all of my plans?”
“Tom!” Your eyes widened in shock. “What are you saying?”
Pressing his forehead against yours, Tom smirked. “I’m saying that I love you and if I lose you, I might do some very, very reckless things in grief.” His brown eyes met yours. “Do you understand?”
You nodded silently, leaning into his embrace. You cursed yourself for your inability to see that you had fallen in love with a madman.
