His Story {Tom Riddle}

Chapter 6

I can't breathe. My brain is in full panic mode. 

I'm trapped in a secret room with Tom fucking Riddle. 

We're alone, in the dark. He's pinning me to the door, both his hands resting on my shoulders. I can feel the wooden texture of the panelled wall pressing against my back. I have nowhere to run to. 

I should be terrified, panicking, hyperventilating...

I'm actually a little turned on. 

I mean... the guy is hot as fuck.  

I lower my eyes to the floor, trying to avoid his hard stare. The room of requirements might be very dark but I still feel them burning through my skin. He's still panting a bit from chasing after me. One more step and I coud feel his breath on my face. Two more steps and our mouths could touch. 

I glance up at his parted lips. They look almost inviting. What it would feel like to have them gliding down my neck... 

He catches me looking at his mouth and smirks. It brings me back to reality. 

I turn my head to the side and push him away from me. Ignoring the sensation of fire running down my cheeks. 

'What the fuck is wrong with you.' I bite at him. 

I'm furious. Furious that he ran after me and practically assaulted me. Furious that I was dumb enough to get trapped into a room with him. Furious that he's incredibly sexy and dangerous. Furious that I like it. 

And furious that I'm stuck in this fucking fictional world with its worst villain. 

He takes a step back and looks at me, surprised. 

'What?' 

I try to act annoyed to hide the fact that I'm still shit scared of him and this situation. Nothing good can come out of this. 

'I've never met a young girl who swore like you.' he replies, bluntly. 

Fucking fourties manners. A graze in my mask, a breach in my cover. I just revealed something about me that perhaps should have remained hidden. 

I try not to let it affect me. I need to get out of this room. Preferably still alive. 

'I repeat. What. the. fuck. is wrong with you.' 

I'm praying to all the gods I'm aware of that he believes in my acting performance. 

He simply shrugs and gets something out of his pocket. 

I slightly jerk in fear. Is he getting out a torture device? 

It's a feather, no, a quill. 

He didn't miss anything of my little panic gesture.  His eyes shine with amusement as he hands me the quill. 

'You forgot this in class.' 

God, his perfect little wry smile. 

I take the quill from his hands, and my fingers brush against his. It takes all I have in me not to jerk my hand away. Still, I don't appreciate the way my heart quivers a bit at the contact of his skin. 

I give him a accusing look. 

'That doesn't give you the right to chase me down the castle and assault me in an empty, dark room.' 

He softly chuckles, and the sound bumps against my ears and breezes on my skin, giving me goosebumps. 

Whatever this whole psychedelic Hogwarts dream experience is, I think I've unlocked a new kink. Apparently, terror really does it for me... 

'You were the one who ran away from me.' he replies 'Almost as if you were... scared.' he pretends to hesitate on the last word. His grin is as charming as terrifying. 

I step to the side and look around the room, I can't see shit in the dark. He keeps on talking. I'm starting to wonder if he talks this much just because he likes to hear the sound of his own voice. 

'And here we are, in the room of requirements. Which you found... Why did you feel the need to come here, Cleo?'

I stop as he calls my name. The way he says it feels way too familiar. I don't like it. I turn around to face him. I gather all the good manners and posh-sounding language I can. 

'Look, I do not know you. And suddenly you're chasing me through corridors. Now we're in this dark room, unchaperoned and I cannot seem to find a candle or a lamp to-'

'Lumos.' The sudden light emanating from his wand slightly blinds me, and my eyes now have to readjust to the brightness. 

'Ever consider using your wand?' he mocks. 

I don't reply, another mistake from my end. But how am I even supposed to use this fucking piece of wood if I've never even learned how to??? Again, he's not supposed to know that. And with the room now being lit, I cannot hide my blush and embarrassment anymore. It's all there, ready to read off my face. 

He takes a few steps towards me. He looks like a predator. And I, probably like the perfect prey. 

'So why did you run away, Cleo?' he asks again, getting closer and closer.

I walk back, eyes glued to his. his gaze is mesmerising, I want to run, but cannot escape him. 

'Huh, why are you fleeing from me?'

This is surreal. I'm going to die right there, right now. Or perhaps I'm already dead. 

I take another step backwards and crash into what feels like a wardrobe, I cannot afford looking back to check. He's getting too close now, raising one hand above my head, he leans against the wardrobe. 

Here I am, once again trapped by Lord Voldemort. 

'Do I make you nervous Cleo?' he whispers. 

My breath gets caught in my chest. I try to ignore the terrified pounding in my chest, and the growing ache in between my legs, both feelings clashing and yet mingling at the same time. I let out an involuntary sigh. 

I can feel his fingers bringing to caress my waist, hesitantly. I can tell he doesn't know how far I would be willing to let him go. 

A few seconds go by, we both hold our breaths. 

That's my cue to escape. 

Ignoring the urge to just melt into his touch, I push him away from me for the second time in less than ten minutes and practically run for the door. Once I have my hand on the doorknob, I look back to see him resting against the wardrobe, arms folded together. 

His gaze remain fixed on me, burning through my body, a satisfied look on his face. This makes me slightly mad, how did he think it was okay to bully girls into making out with him? 

'Do not ever do that again.' I tell him, 'You do not have the right to pressure and trap me into a room to try and... and...' 

Pardon me, I'm looking for the 1943 equivalent of 'fuck'?

'... and seduce me.' 

He lets out a wry laugh. 

'You know you don't fool me Cleo. With your 'unchaperoned room', and 'seducing', and fake manners... I know what kind of girl you are, I see right through you. The messy hairdo, the running in heels, the swearing... Plus, you seem familiar with the kind of interaction we just had.' 

Fuck, he was wright: he did see right through me. That was a dangerous game for me to play. 

'And from what I know,' he went on, in voice had now taken on such a sexy rasp, 'I'm willing to bet you would enjoy the things I'm familiar with too...' 

This was getting out of hand, the flirting, the chasing, the messing with my head. It had to stop. 

'You don't know anything about me Tom. Don't bother me again or I promise I will fuck you up.' 

To hell with good manners, this was a threat he would not forget. 

And with those charming words, I leave the room of requirements.