Slytherin Boys x Y/N Short Stories/Reacts

Stalker #ONE

Y/N had always been sharp, perceptive, the kind of person who noticed the little things most others overlooked. But lately, it felt like the tables had turned—someone was observing her. She could feel it, a prickling sensation at the back of her neck, a chill down her spine whenever she was alone.

It started slowly. A shadow out of the corner of her eye, the feeling of being watched when there was no one in sight. At first, she brushed it off. Maybe it was her imagination running wild, her mind playing tricks. But then things began to escalate. Notes—cryptic, precise—appeared without explanation. You intrigue me. I see everything.

There was no signature, no trace of who had written them, but the tone was unsettling. It was more than mere admiration; it was an obsession cloaked in cold, calculated words. You can't hide from me.

At first, Y/N told herself not to worry. It was probably nothing—a prank, perhaps. But as the days passed, the feeling of being followed grew stronger. It wasn't just paranoia anymore. It was real.

The letters continued, each one more ominous than the last. You're so close, yet so far. I'll wait for the right moment. The handwriting was elegant, almost regal, and there was something deeply unsettling about the choice of words. Whoever this was, they weren't like the typical admirer. They were patient, methodical—calculating every move.

She confided in her friends, but no one seemed to take her concerns seriously. Draco scoffed at the idea that anyone could be targeting her. "Who would bother?" he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Blaise was too wrapped up in his own affairs to offer any real support.

But Y/N knew something was wrong. The letters became more frequent, more personal, as though the person behind them was learning everything about her. Details she had never shared with anyone began to appear in the messages. It was as though they could see her every move, hear her every thought. You fascinate me, the way you think, the way you move.

One night, after returning late from a dinner with friends, Y/N found a new note waiting for her on her bedside table. I was here. You didn't even know. Her heart raced, panic clawing at her throat. How had they gotten inside?

She strengthened the wards around her home, but it didn't seem to matter. Whoever was doing this knew magic—powerful magic. She couldn't keep them out, and that realization filled her with a deep, consuming dread. Whoever they were, they had no intention of stopping.

As the days passed, Y/N became more isolated. She started avoiding her friends, afraid that whoever was stalking her would retaliate if she sought help. The letters continued to arrive, always appearing in places that should have been safe. Her desk, her bedside, even her bag. Soon, you'll understand. You and I—we're meant for something greater.

It was clear now that this wasn't just a game. It was something far darker. The person watching her wasn't just interested in her—they were obsessed, convinced that she belonged to them.

One evening, while walking through the dimly lit streets of Hogsmeade, Y/N noticed a figure in the distance. Tall, composed, draped in shadows. They didn't approach, but she could feel their eyes on her, watching. Every instinct told her to run, but her legs felt like they were made of lead.

She rushed home, locking the door behind her, her heart pounding in her chest. But when she entered her bedroom, a new letter was waiting for her. You can't run from me. I'm always there.

Terror gripped her. This wasn't just someone playing a cruel prank—this was something far more sinister. The person stalking her had power, control, and they knew how to use it. The thought was suffocating.

She barely slept that night, every creak of the house sending her heart racing. When she finally drifted off, it was only to be woken by a soft whisper—a voice in the back of her mind, familiar yet terrifying. You're mine, Y/N. You've always been mine.

Y/N woke with a start, drenched in sweat. The voice lingered in her mind, a haunting presence that refused to leave. Was this person invading her dreams now? It seemed impossible, but then again, nothing about this situation made sense.

She felt trapped, like a mouse in a maze designed by someone far smarter, far more cunning than she could ever be. Every move she made was anticipated, every decision calculated. The person behind this was playing a long game, and Y/N was starting to realize just how dangerous they were.

Days turned into weeks, and the letters kept coming. We're not so different, you and I. You'll understand soon. The words chilled her to the bone. She couldn't escape, couldn't outwit this person. Whoever they were, they knew her too well.

Then, one night, everything changed.

She was in the library at home, trying to distract herself with a book when she felt it again—the unmistakable sensation of being watched. Her pulse quickened as she glanced around, but the room was empty.

Or so it seemed.

A soft rustle from behind her made her freeze. Slowly, she turned, her wand at the ready. But instead of an intruder, she saw a folded piece of parchment lying on the floor.

Her breath caught in her throat as she picked it up, unfolding it with trembling hands. Look up.

Heart pounding, she raised her head—and there he was. Standing in the doorway, his eyes cold, calculating, a twisted smirk playing on his lips. The truth hit her like a bludger to the chest.

Tom.

Of course it was him. It had always been him—the clever, manipulative, brilliant boy who had grown into a man with too much power and too little humanity. She had known him for years, but she had never truly known him, not like this.

The realization was suffocating. He had been watching her all along, playing his game of cat and mouse with the precision of a master. And now, there was no escaping him.