Dreams of Dark Obsession - Tom Riddle

part one

It had started with whispers, like the faintest breeze rustling through the forbidden corridors of Hogwarts—rumors of a shadow lingering just beyond the periphery of Y/N's vision. The air around her felt thicker, colder, charged with a presence that sent shivers down her spine, though nothing ever appeared when she turned around. It was an invisible force—something, or someone, watching. Waiting.

Tom Riddle had always been an enigma, the handsome Slytherin prefect who moved through the school with an almost unnatural grace, his icy blue eyes cutting through any pretense, his smile never reaching his eyes. He was the perfect student, the ideal heir of Slytherin's dark legacy, but beneath that polished facade was a tempest of control, manipulation, and obsession. He had always been distant, untouchable—until now.

Y/N had noticed the subtle changes first—how his gaze would linger a little too long during classes, how his presence felt closer, almost suffocating when they were in the same room. A shared glance from across the library, an accidental brush of his hand during Potions—it was always enough to leave her with the feeling that she were being drawn into something dangerous.

Then came the dreams—vivid, intoxicating dreams where his pale hands would reach for her, his voice soft yet commanding, whispering promises of power and immortality if only she would give in to him. But there was something darker beneath the surface of those dreams, a cold undercurrent that warned of a terrible price.

One evening, as the full moon cast eerie shadows across the castle, Y/N found herself wandering the empty corridors, drawn inexplicably toward the Room of Requirement. The door creaked open without ever touching it, and there, seated in an armchair before a roaring fire, was Tom Riddle. His usual polished appearance seemed almost casual now, though there was a sharpness to him that couldn't be ignored, like a blade hidden beneath silk.

"You're not afraid of me," he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the silence. His piercing blue eyes locked onto hers, unblinking, as though he could see every thought, every fear, every desire laid bare before him.

"Should I be?" Y/N asked, her voice steady, though her heart hammered in her chest.

A smile curled on Tom's lips, that same cold, calculated smile he always wore. "Fear can be useful," he replied, rising slowly from his chair, his movements like a predator closing in on its prey. "But perhaps it's not fear you should worry about. Perhaps it's something far more dangerous... like desire."

His gaze darkened, and the space between them seemed to shrink with each heartbeat, as though the very air bent to his will. His hand reached out, not quite touching Y/N but close enough that she could feel the cold emanating from his skin. There was something magnetic, intoxicating about him—something that pulled her in even when every logical thought screamed for her to turn away.

"You and I," Tom murmured, his voice like velvet, "we could be so much more. Together, we could have power beyond imagination. But you have to trust me."

Y/N felt her resolve waver. Was it fear? Was it desire? Or was it something else entirely—something darker, more dangerous—that tied her to this man, this monster who looked at them not with love, but with a deep, twisted obsession? She could feel his cold breath on her skin, his presence suffocating yet irresistible.

"What will it be?" Tom whispered, his lips now dangerously close to her ear. "Will you surrender to me, or will you try to resist? Choose wisely, for once you give in... there's no turning back."

The choice was hers—though deep down, a small voice whispered that perhaps the decision had already been made, long before she ever realized it.