tom riddle imagines

24: parties suck

Solitude was company that never denied. It lived in creeks and corners, keeping you warm and content while the world spiralled into descend. You dwelled in your common room, in an incredulously vast space where footsteps would linger. Through the walls, your heart beats to the muffled music blasting from three concrete floors above. A stampede of footsteps followed the barrage of deafening tunes. An invite plastered in an insipid yellow paper lay amongst a heap of notes scattered across the large coffee table before you. Your focus remained cohered to the words on the Potions manual book, a fireside glow dancing upon the papers.

A set of languid steps began from a distance, growing closer by the second. Your attention diverted, like a deer in headlights, though your eyes conveyed otherwise. Your gaze, ever so swiftly, trailed towards the entrance. Confronted by a towering, cloaked figure, curiosity compelled your gaze upwards. You found yourself locking eyes with a familiar pupil, a man exuding an interlacing aura of fear and respect. At that precise moment, an air of mystique enveloped everything.

He drew closer towards you, footsteps softening. A growing sense of a urgency built up within you with each approaching step, until he was close enough to loosen his grasp on his books and unload them on the table. You scrutinised him, influenced by the whispers and rumours that circulated through the hallways and classrooms, occasionally even in the bathrooms, painting your perception of him–until the corner of his lip perked. 

"Not joining the flock?" he inquired with a hint of amusement, his gaze leisurely surveying the table before him. "Or have you decided to host your own intimate gathering, away from the commotion that has ensnared the rest of our peers?"

You offered a timid smile in response, your voice barely above a whisper. "The latter, I suppose."

A chuckle escaped his lips, his amusement evident as he settled into the seat opposite you.

"Quite the individualist you are," he remarked, his eyes glinting with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.

"I could say the same about you," you replied, your tone mirroring his, a hint of a challenge dancing in your words.

His smile broadened, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. "Hope that doesn't bother you," he said, his gaze locked onto yours, as if searching for a reaction.

You shook your head, a wide smile stretching across your face, though the familiar comfort of solitude and books still called to you. One must never abandon their initial company, must they not?

"I don't reckon you've heard of me?" he broke the silence once again, his head tilting ever so slightly as he attempted to capture your gaze once more.

A teasing glint shone in your eyes as you shook your head with a vacant stare. "Am I supposed to?"

"I'm just surprised," he grinned, seemingly enjoying the little game unfolding between you. "Tom."

"Y/N," you replied, matching his smile with one of your own. "And I suppose 'Tom' doesn't have a last name?"

"Riddle," he said, his lips forming the word with a sense of satisfaction.

You allowed the name to roll off your tongue, as if testing it out. Within a split second, your focus returned to the manual in your hands, feeling the weight of his gaze upon you. It was clear that you had captured his interest, and you couldn't help but revel in his struggle to maintain his composure. A sigh of frustration escaped his lips as he turned his attention to his own manual.

"And why, may I ask, are you away from the crowd?" you questioned, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

He seemed taken aback by your audacity, yet a smile played at the corners of his lips. "Inquisitive, are we?" he retorted, his gaze softening as he considered your question. "I'm not really into getting pissed or loud noises, but I needed a change of scene."