Crimson || Tom Riddle [1]

𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞 𝖋𝖎𝖛𝖊

"Same time, next week" did not happen. Or any weeks after that.

It was the beginning of December and already the air grew colder and Hogwarts became a mesmerising sight. The grounds were draped in a blanket of snow, and the castle was decorated with twinkling lights and festive garlands. Despite the enchanting atmosphere, the tension between Arabella and Tom had reached an all-time high.

Since the almost kiss, they had barely exchanged any words. Other than the few Death Eater meetings where they reluctantly sat beside each other, they had avoided each other as much as possible.

Where they had grown closer in classes, they had drifted apart again. Arabella moved to the back of the class and stopped showing up for Transfiguration. Even the professors had noticed the strain between their two star pupils.

Arabella's determination to outshine Tom manifested in her academic performance. She consistently excelled, earning top marks and the praise of professors. Tom, used to being the best, and now used to working with Arabella instead of against her, found this shift infuriating. Every class became a silent battleground, their rivalry palpable to everyone around them.

With no Tom to torment, Arabella had found fun with the Death Eaters. And taking her emotions out in quidditch. She had earned the respect of the Slytherin House by leading them into victory in numerous Quidditch games. Her strategic mind on the pitch mirrored her cunning in the classroom, and students admired her for it.

But it wasn't just Quidditch that drew attention. Arabella had begun throwing lavish parties in the Slytherin common room, distracting herself from thoughts of Tom and their almost kiss. The night usually ended with Arabella downing her animal blood bags.

Tom was the complete opposite. Instead of partying, he immersed himself deeper into his studies. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on his studies, thoughts of Arabella continued to intrude. He couldn't shake the memory of that almost kiss, nor the frustrating tension that now seemed to define their interactions. Tom would never admit that he missed her jokes or insults.

But these longings turned into frustration when he would often find himself patrolling the corridors as a prefect only to stumble upon scenes that tested his composure. Arabella, in the arms of some boy, their intimacy visible as he ran his hands up and down her body, kissing her restlessly. Tom would catch her eye, only for her to smile at him, a teasing glint in her eye, as the boy would hungrily drag his mouth across her chest. The sight made Tom's blood boil, and it had happened too many times, with too many different boys, for Tom to keep his cool.

Every boy he found in her arms would end up in the hospital wing the next day.

It wasn't jealousy that drove him — Tom Riddle did not feel jealousy. It was more about the frustration of seeing Arabella seemingly enjoying herself so carelessly without him, while he could not function without her consuming all his thoughts.