Hogwarts: a school of Witchcraft and Love (Tom Marvolo Riddle x F!reader)

Chapter 4-11

(A/N: devastated to hear the news of Michael Gambon's passing 💔 as promised here is a chapter I wasn't planning on posting today but I just have to.

Rest In Peace beloved Headmaster Albus Dumbledore 💔)

Magic was not the answer for everything.
You would not have been wasting May on numbing your own tongue with enunciating Accio if it was.

If you weren't the wizarding world's greatest witch at the summoning charm after casting it hundreds of times, then you might as well ask Dippet to snap your wand, take the train back to Wool's, and pretend the last four years of your life to have never happened. (You wouldn't trade any of it for all the Galleons in the world, but, you had to make a point).

"Accio Amortenti–aaa-ahh..." The 'a' was drawn out for as long as it could go without being cut off by a breath.

Forget about it. You tried, but Rosalind's love potion was not in the dorms, not hidden somewhere in the common room, or stowed away in the bathroom's cabinets. She had to be keeping it on her person.

You'd seen it—the pearly white substance almost spilling all over the floorboards in her rush of barging inside to tell Eileen she brewed it.

You knew it existed; you just didn't know its location.

And let it be its location that skyrocketed from 4 to 10 on the scale of importance when thinking, to hell with privacy, and invading Rosalind's like it was your paid job to do so.

And you did regret it. It was indeed regrettable that the heart-adorned light-pink journal owner's friend caught you reading its secrets, but not as regrettable as Rosalind's poorly thought-out strategy of shouting that she was going to rob Tom and that there was nothing you could do about it.

Love made people do crazy things, but using personal items as nothing more than projectiles to throw at each other...

Did Hogwarts have anger management counseling? Rosalind seemed to be in need of it, flinging a framed picture at you.

Glass smashed the base of the coat hanger in the corner next to the door. Good thing the stone didn't feel that. Your temple—which was hovering right above one of its feet after diving away from the missile—would have.

The picture was the latest object to join the others on the ground which was already strewn with books covering histories of influential Slytherins, stuffed animals cuddling your every little angle at night, pens, quils, you name it. You weren't just surrounded by those, but also by madness and a tint of daylight fighting through the murky waters of the Black Lake.

Feeling as suffocated as you did, you missed staring down at the water from above as opposed to into it through a window. To see the sun making the small ripples on the lake glitter on the surface instead of only staring into a stale and depressing brown.

"Rosie! Bitch!" Rosalind must have gotten carried away if her BFF was the voice of reason. Only out of concern for her, not for you, but you were relieved to get up, knees turning numb as a weight crushed them, which was your body. "Stop or you'll get Slughorn on your case and he'll mutilate you! This is nuts!"

Eileen's observation could use some adjustment. This was nuts, or she was nuts?

It wasn't Slughorn they had to watch out for. The books weren't his babies. Them being chucked like that would be something that Madam Pince's boggart would do.

Rosalind either didn't think you were going to do report her, wasn't worried about Slughorn's lax punishments on the chance that you did, or was too upsetti spaghetti. "I'm not gonna stop when she's smiling at me like that!"