Crimson || Tom Riddle [1]

𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞 𝖘𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓

Tom Riddle had always prided himself on his self-control. Emotions were weaknesses, distractions from his grander ambitions. He was a master at hiding his true feelings behind a carefully constructed mask, not that there was much emotion to reveal. Yet, in the privacy of his own thoughts, that mask occasionally slipped, revealing an inner world he rarely acknowledged.

The memory of his moment with Chambers haunted him. It was a moment that should never have happened, a lapse in his otherwise flawless self-discipline. As he sat in the library, attempting to read a book (though he had not turned the page in 20 minutes), the echoes of that moment replayed in his mind. He remembered the way her eyes had locked onto his, the electricity that had sparked between them. It was maddening.

Why had he felt inclined to press his lips to hers? It was a question that gnawed at him, refusing to be silenced. She was infuriating, always challenging him, pushing his buttons in ways that none else dared. But she was also fascinating. Her intelligence, her cunning, her ability to match him in ways no one else could. There was a part of him, a dangerous part, that was drawn to her.

He wouldn't admit it to her, but he was grateful Arabella had pushed back at the very last second. If he had gone through with whatever she was manipulating him into, Tom wasn't sure how it would have affected his alliance with her.

Tom shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts. He couldn't afford to let himself be distracted. Arabella was a pawn in his larger game, a means to an end. He needed to keep his focus, to remember his ultimate goal. But the image of her, the memory of her scent, the feel of her so close, it all kept creeping back, unsettling him.

His thoughts wandered to his loyal followers. They were devoted, blindly so, willing to do anything for the promise of power and glory he dangled before them. Yet, in their eyes, he saw only a fraction of the ambition that burned within him.

They followed him with a fervour that bordered on worship, but it was a devotion born of fear and awe, not understanding. They were useful, tools to be wielded, but ultimately expendable. Yes, each one was chosen meticulously for their pureblood status, wealth, and unwavering loyalty, but they didn't see the complexities of his plans, the depth of his vision. They were driven by a thirst for power, but their ambitions were shallow compared to his.

Even their parents, many of whom were influential figures in the wizarding community, were fond of him.

None of them challenged him, none of them made him question himself. None of them were like Arabella. She was different. She wasn't driven by blind devotion or fear. She provoked him and it was both infuriating and exhilarating. It was a dangerous game they played, one that required careful manoeuvring. He couldn't afford to let her be a distraction, but neither could he ignore the potential she represented.

Recruiting Colette Swan had been an amusing diversion. She was enamoured with him, her admiration palpable. She hung on his every word, eager to please, desperate for his approval. It was almost too easy to bring her into the fold. And he had enjoyed the way it had riled Arabella. The jealousy in her eyes, the subtle tension in her posture — it was a delicious form of power over her.