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Hogwarts had a friendlier presence than Durmstrang - but maybe you just had bad memories associated with the latter.
The flashbacks of backstabbing friends and relentless bullying, with you not even getting a break from physical and mental torture during the holidays.
Why?
Well, that was a story.
As like many magic families from the Durmstrang catchment zone, pure-blood supremacist idealism was strong, coupled with the muggle-born hatred that came as a result. Your father's family was no exception: the purest of the pure when it came to blood, or so they claimed.
A stark difference from your mother: a muggle-born.
Only, she didn't tell him that, she lied and told your father (and everyone else for that matter) that she was a pure-blood witch, and the reason they didn't know of her family is because she was from Western Europe (which she was) and fed into Beauxbatons instead. After all, she didn't meet your father until post-education at a European wizarding event.
It wasn't until after marrying and falling pregnant with your father's child did she reveal the truth, burning your father's reputation on the spot. Evidently, your mother had thought that locking down a pregnancy with your father would prevent him from divorcing her - she was dead wrong. Literally, dead wrong.
You would never be sure, but you suspected that your father's family had something to do with your mother dying during childbirth. After all, magic medicine meant there were rarely fatalities around labour.
After you were born and your mother was dead, you were kept as hushed child, hidden away in the corners as your father remarried a woman of a well-known Swedish pure-blood family and continued on to have pure-blood heirs to your family's estate. In all fairness, your stepmother wasn't horrible to you.
But your father was.
The physical and mental abuse you endured for years chipped away at your sanity, and your siblings grew to mirror your father's behaviour. They were younger than you, but there were more of them, and your friendships fell apart at Durmstrang after they enrolled and told everyone of the circumstances of your conception.
Your stepmother never particularly abused you, but she didn't do anything to stop the abuse either. She simply acted indifferent towards you, which given how everyone else was, made her your favourite person by default.
You hated your father and everything he had done to you.
You resented your mother and the situation she had put you in.
When your stepmother fell terribly sick, your father decided to send you away. Which, honestly, was the nicest thing he had ever done for you.
He sent you to live with another hushed secret of his family - even more hushed than you - his squib sister. After she was discovered to be magicless, she had been essentially banished to England where she then was put through all-year muggle boarding schools until she aged out of the system. You had never even heard her mentioned before, yet she welcomed you more warmly than anyone had before, and under your father's orders, you transferred to Hogwarts - the magic school closest to your aunt's residence.
So, there you were, at the beginning of seventh year in an entirely new school. The certified new girl.
Hogwarts was more welcoming, sure, but you didn't think the idea of friends appealed to you anymore. You had been a lone wolf for so long that being anything but seemed unnatural, you were just looking forward to not being bullied like you used to be.
You were sorted into Slytherin: the green house. Unfortunately, it seemed to be the one house that had a similar vibe to Durmstrang. Well, beggars can't be choosers, you thought.
The people in Slytherin gave you curious looks as you sat down, making you scowl.
"What?" you snapped.
They all mumbled, "Nothing," and looked back down at their plates, all apart from one.
The one boy that remained gazing at you curiously had a piercing stare, accompanied by his strong jaw and perfectly gelled hair.
You raised an eyebrow at him, "Can I help you?"
He cleared his throat, "Tom, Tom Riddle. As head boy, I am more than capable of answering any questions you have." His words came across as kind, but the sinister glint in his eye told you every sentence he spoke was just for show.
So, you rolled your eyes, and began eating your food.
***
Your very presence pissed Tom Riddle off.
Everything from the way your lips moved when you spoke to the colour of your eyes irritated him.
The way you answered shortly and curtly towards him, the way you didn't give him the time of day, the way you didn't hang off his every word.
The way you saw through his façade.
Tom Riddle hated it when things didn't go his way, despised it, even. He had learned to perfectly craft his words in such a silky smooth manner that both men and women fell at his feet. He could talk anyone around, fall into anyone's good graces.
But you didn't even give him a chance to build a positive rapport. It was like you smelled his true intentions on him the very second his cologne entered your nostrils. Which was an exaggeration: you were naturally mistrusting of people given your childhood, so you clung to any reason to dislike someone in order to give yourself a reason to avoid them and not risk exposing yourself to another betrayal.
Tom Riddle was too arrogant to realise you treated everybody the exact same way as you did him. He was but another face that could potentially harm you, like every other person in Hogwarts.
Your dorm mates had given up on trying to bond with you, so why wouldn't he?
"Miss L/N," Tom Riddle called to you after a potions lesson. Glances from other students came and went - Tom Riddle was not known for speaking to girls alone all that much.
You exhaled slowly through your nose, turning towards the head boy to raise your eyebrow at him.
"I feel as though we may have gotten off on the wrong foot," his words were calculated, "Perhaps I can amend that?"
His question - if it could be even called a question - was left open ended, leaving the ball in your court. You narrowed your eyes at him. "Amend what exactly?"
"The impression I have made upon you."
"Tom Riddle, I do not think about you outside of whenever you speak to me. There was nothing between us to be broken, and thus nothing to amend."
You picked up your bag and began leaving the classroom, only for the boy to quickly catch up to you. "But your responses have been so curt and... rude."
"Have you ever considered that maybe it's not personal? Maybe my attitude isn't a vendetta against you specifically?" you countered, refusing to even look in his direction.
"Yes, but-"
You stopped in your tracks and turned to him, "The world doesn't revolve around you, Tom Riddle. I treat everyone like this and I have no interest in a positive relationship with anybody here. Please leave me be like everyone else is doing."
And then you departed, only this time, Tom Riddle didn't follow you. He stood, stunned at your words.
Unfortunately, as big of an impact as your words had on him, they had the opposite effect of what you wanted.
Instead of him abandoning all thoughts of you and ignoring your existence, you became a person of incredible interest to the orphaned boy.
***
Tom Riddle moved to sit next to you in every single lesson you shared.
Tom Riddle would always sit next to you during meals.
And Tom Riddle would follow you around a significant amount of the time, always trying to make conversation with you. The conversations were very one-sided, and he didn't lose the arrogant aspect to his personality, nor ever show that he actually cared about you. He would just talk. Talk and talk.
Apart from during lessons when a teacher was talking: he was a studious boy and aimed to master every subject. You cherished those moments of silence.
"Great question, Mr Parkinson," your history of magic professor spoke as you came back to reality from your thoughts, "How does a man as evil as Grindelwald come to be?"
You glanced at Riddle's notebook which was full of notes.
"Bad people come from bad people," your professor stated, making your grip around your quill tighten to the point you snapped it.
Riddle observed your reaction curiously.
"Grindelwald was likely abused as a child, giving him an intense desire for power to make up for the lack of power he had while receiving the abuse."
Your English may not have been perfect, but you understood what the professor was saying all too well.
You couldn't be your father, you simply couldn't.
"We all have skeletons, L/N," arrived a whisper from Riddle in your ear. You turned to him in mild horror, feeling as if he could read you to your core as he gazed into your eyes.
That was when you felt him in your mind. You weren't all that familiar with legilimency, but you were almost entirely sure that Tom Riddle was using it on you.
You broke eye contact with him, but it was too late. He knew.
"Fascinating," he muttered, "Absolutely fascinating."
It felt like you couldn't keep up the cold exterior around Riddle anymore as you shrank in your seat, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," he said simply, "As long as you do a few things for me."
Fuck, blackmail.
***
Now you were the one who followed Tom Riddle around instead of him you. Despite maintaining a cold nature towards everyone else, you trailed behind the head boy like a scared little lamb - because you were. You didn't want people to know of your past in fear of being bullied again. You could no longer speak to him brashly, your voice would crack and quiver as you avoided eye contact with him, not wanting to feel so vulnerable with his presence in your mind again.
He hadn't even given you anything to do yet like he said he would, and it had been a week. Was it an empty threat?
No, that wasn't it. It fuelled his ego to have you following him around and maybe that was enough for him to keep your secret - for now.
***
"How do you feel about mudbloods?" he asked you one time, sat in the library together as you worked on your respective homework assignments.
You looked up at him and frowned. You had come to understand that 'mudblood' was an English insult for muggle-borns. "My mother was muggle-born."
"I am aware." Right, he had been in your mind. "But you're upset with her, yes? Her faking her blood status to your father ultimately led to your life being the way it is."
"What are you suggesting?"
"That she is an example of why mudbloods should not be allowed in this world. Her greed and selfishness is what killed her in the end."
"What caused you to be so hateful?" you asked - a bold question on your part. Your voice was timid as you spoke.
"Well, growing up in an orphanage doesn't help," he said, sitting back in his seat, "My mother was a pure-blood and my father was a muggle, and look what happened. Muggle culture should stay separate from the wizarding world. But that's only possible if mudbloods are eradicated."
You cast your eyes down to your work laid before you. Tom Riddle scared you. He scared you because he had the eyes of a cold-hearted man, and you knew what came from people with those kinds of eyes.
Riddle observed you as you zoned out, attempting to piece together your thoughts, which was difficult as your eyes weren't locked with his.
"You and I are not so different, Miss L/N," he spoke, "Relations between someone from muggle society and a pure-blood is what caused our childhoods to be so unfair. We have the right to retaliate."
"How do we know it wasn't the pure-blood's fault?"
"It doesn't matter whose fault it is, it simply proves that the two societies should not mix. Mudbloods are the bridge between them, and so we must break that bridge."
You exhaled slowly, daring to look up at Riddle but without looking in his eyes.
"Are you not angry? Angry for what has happened to you?"
"Of course I am, I-"
"Whose fault is it you ended up in an abusive situation?"
"Technically my mother's, but-"
"No, no buts. There's your answer, L/N."
You finally locked your eyes with his, but he didn't push into your mind like he did before.
"You think I'm going to abuse you like your father did, don't you?" he had drawn that conclusion without even using legilimency - was it that obvious?
At your lack of response, he hummed.
"I understand you are distrusting, but I do not wish to hurt you, Miss L/N. I am here to help you."
You stared at him blankly.
"Look, everyone else avoids you, thinks you are strange. But not me, I understand you. I'm the only person who understands you."
Considering his childhood, that was a fair observation, you thought.
"You need to learn to trust me," he said simply, "Because I am all you have."
"But, Riddle, I-"
"Tom," he corrected, "Call me Tom. You will never trust me if we continue to be so formal. May I call you by Y/N?"
You feebly nodded, unsure of what was happening to you in that moment.
"Perfect," he smiled a gorgeous yet uncanny smile that made you feel queasy, "If you are ever in dilemma, don't hesitate to come to me. I'm your only option, after all, but I'm a good option. I'm here for you."
You again nodded.
"I'm going to need you to verbally agree, Y/N."
"Y- yes, Tom," you words almost caught in your throat.
He smiled the eery smile again, "Glad to hear you're willing to build trust with me."
***
When he said to do some things for him you had thought he meant do his homework for him or something along those lines - apparently he meant join his muggle-born hate group. You didn't know where your life was heading, but you did know that you were becoming increasingly trapped.
With the amount of time you spent with Tom Riddle, rumours were beginning to flood around the castle that the head boy and the new girl were dating. He never corrected the rumours, not even once.
In fact, you were pretty sure it made him feel as if he had even more ownership of you.
"Students, it is with great sadness that I inform you today that a student by the name of Myrtle Warren has passed," the headmaster said during dinner, "Due to the circumstances of her death, the girls' toilets on the second floor will be shut until further notice, and an investigation into the cause of her death will be opened."
Although he didn't say the word 'murder', everybody knew, but they didn't know who. You, however, had a sneaking suspicion that was confirmed when your eyes met Tom's and he smirked at you.
Myrtle had been a muggle-born.
With an increased amount of fear you followed Tom as he departed from the table, as you usually did on your way back to the dungeons. He hardly acknowledged your presence, but you still heard mutters of how cute it was that you were always together as you passed the tables. Well, at least you weren't being bullied, you supposed.
And it wasn't like Tom ever harmed you - he was true to his word in that sense. So, maybe your fear was unwarranted.
In fact, this was the safest you had ever felt.
Was it Tom that made you feel this way? You glanced up at his stern expression as he walked, feeling your stomach twist when you heard someone in the corridor say, "Look, it's Riddle and his girlfriend." Girlfriend?
You continued to look at Tom, trying to fit the word boyfriend to him: he was handsome, that was for sure. And he cared about you, in a strange way, but cared nonetheless.
He was truthful about wanting to eradicate muggle-borns, as proven through Myrtle, so he must be truthful about not wanting to harm you as well. After all, if he had proved such an extreme thing about himself, a much milder thing such as caring for someone else's wellbeing was basically a given.
"Are you alright, Y/N?" his voice brought you out your thoughts, "You are staring off into space."
"Sorry," you mumbled, taking a deep breath before asking, "Are you my boyfriend?"
Tom stilled in his movements, turning to properly look at you, "What makes you ask?"
"Well, everyone says because we spend so much time together we must be dating," you said nervously, "And you don't correct them."
"If that's how you would like to describe our agreement, then so be it."
Agreement was a strong word.
"I don't correct rumours because I don't care for them," he added, "But if me being your boyfriend makes you more inclined to trust me, then I suppose I should thank the rumours."
"I don't... not trust you," you found yourself saying, which made Tom smile.
"Then all that's left is trust," he held out his hand to you, and you stared at it pensively for a few moments before taking it.
***
"Salazar, I sound just like my mother," a girl sat nearby you at dinner laughed in reference to her previous statement, her surrounding friends joining in with the giggling.
"Well, that's what they say. We become our parents," one of the friends added, which was a passing remark - but one that stuck with you.
You couldn't be like your father... you simply couldn't.
"Tom," you asked quietly after you were tucked away in the corner of the Slytherin common room together, "Do you think I am like my father?"
The boy looked up from his essay, "In terms of what? Appearance?"
You shook your head, "Personality."
He paused, "You are not entirely different."
That struck a chord in you, "But- but I'm not abusing anyone!"
"You are not pleasant to anyone who speaks with you," he said, "I assume the manner in which you talk is learnt from your father."
"No, I- I'm like that because I don't trust people!" your voice was exasperated, but not loud.
"Did your father trust you?"
At your lack of response, he continued talking.
"Darling-" that was new, "-when you are raised by bad people, you know more of how to be a bad person than somebody raised by good people. In fact, you know more of how to be a bad person than a good person in general. It can't be helped."
"Why not?" all the insecurities and self-doubt you had built over the years were now amplifying.
"Because it's your default learned behaviour."
"I- I..." honestly you felt like crying, "No, I can't be..."
Tom shushed you softly, "Don't fret. I understand you, remember? The others don't accept your flaws, but I do, because I have the same flaws."
"You just called me a bad person," you mumbled.
"Bad was perhaps the wrong word to use. Misunderstood or socialised differently are perhaps more fitting terms."
"We really can't change ourselves?"
"No, but we can find like-minded people and grow in numbers in order to change the structure of society. Make it a place for us and not them."
"That just seems so extreme."
Tom traced his fingers along your exposed arm, sending shivers up your spine, "Don't you think it's our time? The so-called good people have had their way for so long. We didn't choose to be 'bad', we were unlucky with who we were born to - we deserve compensation not societal neglect."
"I mean, I- I guess."
The head boy smiled at you: that uncanny yet charming smile he had equipped in his inventory for moments like these. Still, you hadn't been smiled at in such a way ever before, and couldn't help the fact it gave you butterflies.
You let the silence sit for a few moments, noticing how the common room was now practically empty because of how late it was. It hadn't been Tom's turn to do the prefect rounds that night.
With the absence of people, you felt safe enough to state, "It was you."
"It was me what?"
You let your eyes meet his for a brief few seconds, but he didn't attempt to enter your mind. "You know what. Who else would it have been?"
He hummed softly, "She would have just gone on to traumatise her future children with her muggle ways in some way or other."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do. I was raised in a muggle orphanage. Muggles are cruel and horrible, and they cannot plague wizarding society."
You stared at him, no words coming to mind.
"Besides, her death was not without cause. I needed someone to die in order to ensure my immortality."
"What?"
Tom gave that smile again, before explaining something that only made you further aware of how twisted his mind was.
***
That night you lay awake in bed, thinking over everything Tom had told you about horcruxes and the basilisk that lived in a chamber beneath the school. You knew you weren't the only one that knew, as you weren't the only one who hung around him. Avery, Lestrange and Malfoy were also a part of Tom's 'movement', as he called it.
You didn't know what to do. You felt trapped within a relationship with Tom, since you now knew he was fully capable of murder and you knew too much about him to be able to distance yourself safely.
At the same time, a lot of what he said made sense, and maybe you were just harbouring more and more resentment for your mother, but you found yourself beginning to agree with him. I mean, you were sorted into a house that didn't allow muggle-borns into it, just like Durmstrang didn't allow muggle-borns at all. At this point, it was written in the stars that you weren't supposed to be fond of 'mudbloods', since you always wound up in spaces that despised them: your family, Durmstrang, Slytherin... and Tom Riddle.
It's not that you even had a choice anymore.
***
The Christmas holidays arrived, and you didn't think twice about signing yourself up to stay at Hogwarts for the two week period - Tom was obviously staying as well. It was weird, as you weren't sure if you should be getting him a gift for the day.
Despite the fact you had never kissed or even hugged, he was technically your boyfriend, so you reasoned that you should be getting him something. But what do you buy for a man whose only interests are world domination? On top of that, you had no money.
You could make him something.
And that was how you found yourself sat at your desk in your dormitory (which you had all to yourself until the next term), carving a snake out of a bit of wood you had (magically) cut from a part of your bed. It wasn't a large amount, just enough to make a small figurine, but you intended to charm it to create some sort of snake hologram that would erupt out of the wooden snake's mouth. Wood carving had been a common activity in your family growing up, although you always had to use the scraps of wood and blunt knives while your siblings got the good quality stuff.
Once you had completed the final step of perfecting the charm, you smiled proudly to yourself at your work and wrapped it up carefully.
***
Your routine since the Christmas holidays began was pretty simple: you, Tom and a second year were the only Slytherins staying, and there was only a handful from the other houses too. Every morning you would meet Tom in the common room at 8am and head to breakfast together, where you would eat plenty before heading to the library to study. Tom's studies were almost exclusively directed towards dark magic, meanwhile you worked to improve in your subjects, which you struggled more with due to English not being your first language.
Being head boy, Tom had basically permanent access to the restricted section, especially because he could get Professor Slughorn to sign off on anything. Everyday he learned darker and darker wizarding secrets, which scared you more than you would ever admit.
After morning studies, you would return to the Great Hall for lunch, and then Tom would insist on a walk around the castle grounds after a morning of mostly sitting down. Afternoon would be when he would have his meetings with Slughorn, whatever they were about, whilst you took the time to relax and decompress in the Slytherin common room with a good book.
Then it would be back again to the Great Hall for dinner, and then, since Tom didn't have prefect rounds to worry about, he would sit with you in the common room for a couple hours. Sometimes you chatted, sometimes you didn't.
"Y/N, darling," he spoke as he sat down next to you, the two of you having just returned from dinner. The second year was nowhere in sight.
You hummed, turning to look at him.
"Slughorn is starting to suspect my interest in dark magic is more than just curiosity."
"It is, isn't it?" you replied nonchalantly.
"Yes, but it is making him stop answering the questions I ask so easily. It is most frustrating."
"Maybe you should back off for a while then, build up trust again."
That was when Tom surprised you by dropping his head on to your shoulder, exhaling as he felt your warmth touch his cheek. "I'll have to. I just hate that it will cause a delay in my learning."
You nervously let your head rest against his as you pushed back the butterflies swarming in your stomach, wondering desperately how a man with such violent thoughts had only ever been so kind to you. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't so bad being trapped with him.
Tom's eyes fluttered shut as his body began relaxing, and you took the moment to work up the courage to initiate more affection. You reached out and took his thumb into your hand, since the rest of it was balled up and not easy to hold. He acknowledged the gesture by rubbing the back of your hand with his forefinger, without opening his eyes.
You were probably the first to see this soft side of Tom.
***
Christmas Day quickly rolled around, not that the day had ever particularly meant much to you. So many years had been spent with you watching your half-siblings open their luxurious gifts, meanwhile you got a new pair of socks if you were lucky. That was until you were at Durmstrang, where you always stayed behind for the holidays while your half-siblings went home to loving parents that you never got.
Tom's Christmases had probably been even worse when they were spent at an orphanage. At least you were allowed a small portion of the grand Christmas meal at your childhood home. Orphans likely got the usual everyday food.
Regardless, you weren't expecting anything when you left your dormitory and entered the Slytherin common room. The Durmstrang Christmas feasts had made the traditional food your favourite part of the day, and you were simply hoping Hogwarts could top the delicacies. You were pleasantly surprised to see Tom already in the common room on the sofa by the tree, holding a neatly wrapped gift.
You couldn't help but smile at him as he noticed your presence, and clutched your gift for him behind your back as you approached his location.
"Merry Christmas, darling," he said to you, rising in order to greet you properly.
"Merry Christmas, Tom," you replied, standing still in front of him.
"I got you something," he said, holding out the box.
You accepted it and presented your gift to him, "And I got you something."
He smiled a small smile and accepted your present, moving in sync with you as you sat down to eagerly open the parcels.
You were absolutely shocked to uncover an absolutely gorgeous white gold ring with a snake design wrapping around, and two large emeralds in place of the snake's eyes. You had seen many expensive things in your life, but you had never had the privilege of touching one - let alone owning one. Looking over at Tom to search for some sort of answer, you received none as he was too busy gazing at the illusion you had spent ages charming.
"It's beautiful, darling."
"Thank you," you couldn't help but be shy, "I don't have any money so I could only make you something."
He smiled, "What do you think of my gift?"
"Oh, Tom, it's- it's gorgeous," you were speechless, "I- I don't know what to say. Thank you. Thank you so much."
"It's to your taste, then?"
You didn't hesitate to nod.
"Lovely, I was hoping it would be. I had to resist using legilimency to confirm."
"Why didn't you?"
"I want you to trust me, doll, and invading your mind won't get you there, will it?"
You softly shook your head, shifting closer to him so you could embrace him in a side hug. He turned his body to hold you properly, and as you buried your face in his chest, you smelled a scent that you had never had the privilege of smelling before: the scent of home.
Tom was your home - he had to be. He was the safest place for you to be in all regards, and that was what a home was, right?
"But what's the ring for?" you asked as you pulled away from the embrace.
"It's for my darling," he said simply, and he didn't elaborate.
But as you tried it on all your fingers, you found that the only one it fit perfectly snug on was your ring finger.
Perhaps that was a coincidence.
***
You had taken to wearing the ring at all times, and you could tell Tom liked it that way, having that mark of ownership on you. Due to the finger on which you wore the piece of jewellery, you received many comments from students and teachers when they returned after New Year's.
"Is congratulations due?" Professor Slughorn had asked during the first potions class of the new year, to which you had merely smiled as you didn't know what to say.
It didn't matter, though, because the rumour spread through the castle quick enough to be considered a well-known fact. Tom Riddle and Y/N L/N being engaged was simply a fact at Hogwarts, and no one had ever debated it.
It wasn't unusual for seventh year couples to get engaged: in fact, it seemed that your 'engagement' had triggered a domino effect of more proposals.
You supposed this probably happened every year after there was a first couple to announce their engagement. Girls pushing more hints towards their boyfriends to get them to ask to tie the knot, probably somewhat out of jealousy and not wanting to be left behind.
"How many kids are you going to have?" one of your dorm mates asked at lunch - the first time she had bothered speaking to you in a while.
"I- I don't know," you had never felt safe enough to even consider if you wanted kids. It's not like you even had a good role model to base your parenting off of. Her question had caught you so off guard you failed to even put up the cold exterior you held for everyone except Tom.
"I think I want four," the girl continued, "I want a kinda big family but not overwhelmingly big, you know?"
You nodded absently.
"But if my husband wants more then I guess I would consider it," she said pensively, "How many does Riddle want?"
"I haven't asked Tom," your cold tone finally caught up to you.
"Asked me what?" your 'fiancé' arrived at the table and sat next to you, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek - which he had never done before. The girls opposite you awed at his behaviour.
"How many kids you want," the same girl reiterated.
You watched as Tom chewed on his cheek a bit before saying, "As many as my wife wants, it's her body that has to go through the turmoil after all."
Your dorm mates began murmuring about how considerate that was of Tom, and how one of the girl's boyfriends was insistent on at least three kids with no room for negotiation.
"Salazar, L/N, now we all want your man," one of the girls joked.
You turned to look at Tom to see that he wasn't even looking in their direction, and instead looking at you.
***
"This diary is my first horcrux," Tom explained to you, handing the book over. He had surprised you by showing you the Chamber of Salazar Slytherin, where the basilisk who killed Myrtle under Tom's orders (as you learned) resided. Despite the fact you hadn't seen the giant snake, you were nervous. "This is what Warren died for."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" you asked, flicking through the pages of the diary.
"You weren't ready to think too much about my plans, as you were still processing the motive," he said, handing you a quill and ink pot, "Write in the diary."
You frowned, but took the quill and dipped it in ink, before writing a simple message of 'hello'.
You nearly jumped out your skin when the diary replied to you.
"What is this?"
"I've charmed the part of my soul in the diary to be able to interact with whoever's writing in it, and in the case I lose the body I currently have, drain the life force of this hypothetical person to create a new body for me."
Regardless of your feelings about the matter, you had to give it to Tom that he was incredibly intelligent.
"So, I suggest you don't write anymore in it," he said, taking the diary back, "I quite like you alive."
"You're immortal now."
He hummed, "After we leave Hogwarts, I would like to continue making more. I want them to be grand, meaningful items, like the valuable objects of each house here."
"Like the sword of Gryffindor?"
"Yes, but that one wouldn't be very wise to pick. It's kept in the headmaster's office."
You nodded, "What are the others?"
"Ravenclaw's diadem, Slytherin's locket and Hufflepuff's cup."
"And which one do you want to use?"
He sighed, looking around the gloomy chamber, "Ideally, all three of them."
***
APPROX. SIX YEARS LATER.
***
You returned home with bags of food weighing your hands down, a playful song replaying in your mind in a loop. This was a normal day for you, thus far, as you entered the household that you shared with your husband, Tom Riddle. It was a house in the middle of nowhere, as he preferred it.
As you walked into the kitchen, you couldn't help but notice that it seemed way too quiet - normally you could feel Tom's presence from his work study, but today you couldn't. After checking the office to confirm he wasn't there, you turned back towards the kitchen to unpack the shopping (presuming he was simply out somewhere and forgot to mention) when you noticed that the door to the cellar was slightly open.
Ensuring your wand was definitely on your person, you entered through the door of rotting wood and slowly made your way down the stone slab stairs. You peered around the corner to see Tom stood across from a slumped figure in the corner, and between them stood a small table with Slytherin's locket set on it. Next to the locket was a wand, but it wasn't Tom's since he was holding his.
You had never witnessed Tom during his... dark magic... before.
You observed as Tom slightly turned his back to the captive person, reading carefully a page of the dusty book he was holding. It was then, to your horror, that the person got up and rushed to grab their wand from the table, beginning to say the fatal killing curse, "Avada kedav-"
"Avada kedavra!"
Tom turned around in shock, looking between you with your wand extended, and the now-corpse on the cold stone floor. All you could do was stare in horror at what you had done.
Only, the horror didn't come from the fact you had just killed someone for the first time - no, the horror came from the fire pumping in your veins and making you feel alive. Why did something so bad make you feel so good? It was like a drug - unholy but godly all the same.
"Darling?" Tom snapped you out of your thoughts, and you finally lowered your wand, "Darling, are you okay?"
You nodded, finding yourself breathless as your husband embraced you.
"You saved my life."
"You're immortal, my love."
"You saved me the hassle of creating a new body," he corrected, parting from you to look down at your face, "How do you feel?"
You exhaled slowly, "Exhilarated."
He raised an eyebrow at you.
"Were they a mudblood?"
Tom's face displayed even more surprise: you had never referred to muggle-borns in such a way before. "Yes, doll, but I'll need a new one now to finish this horcrux."
"Sorry."
"Don't be," he chuckled, pecking your lips, "Never apologise for the death of mudbloods."
You gave him a small smile, "I'm apologising for the kidnapping hassle you now have to go through again, not the death."
"I'm in love with you," he said quickly, staring at you with his piercing eyes.
You beamed up at Tom: your lover, your devil, your rock.
"I'm in love with you too."