Both obsessed/Tom Riddle (completed)

003 The train and people

Everything I wanted - Billie Eilish

The train clattered along the tracks, the rhythmic sound of its movement blending with the occasional whistle of steam. Inside one of the compartments, two figures sat together in a strange, silent intimacy—both connected by a bond that had been forged long before they had stepped onto the train that would carry them to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Ernest Balcom and Tom Malvolo Riddle had been inseparable for years. Their lives had begun in the shadows of Wools Orphanage in London, a dark, oppressive place that could make even the sunniest of souls feel strange and twisted. But not for them. The orphanage, with its crumbling walls and damp floors, had become a place of strange comfort for the two boys. There, Tom had found a companion like none other—Ernest, a pale, porcelain-like child with an unsettlingly quiet nature.

Ernest was the kind of boy who looked like he belonged in a Tim Burton movie, his pale skin nearly translucent, his hair dark as ink, and his eyes large and black, pools of still water that seemed to reflect nothing at all. He often stared at Tom with an intensity that made the other boy shiver—yet it was a look that Tom craved, that Tom reveled in. He adored Ernest, loved how the boy clung to him, whispering barely audible words that were more felt than heard.

The compartment was small, the window streaked with the rain that fell in sheets outside, but in here, they were untouched by the world beyond. Ernest was asleep on Tom's lap, his head resting on the older boy's knee, his dark lashes fluttering in a dreamless slumber. Tom continued reading aloud, his voice barely a murmur, even though Ernest had long stopped responding. It didn't matter. The sound of Tom's voice was enough. Tom had been reading to Ernest for months now, ever since they had left Wools. Ernest hated reading in English—he thought it was a useless language, unworthy of his attention. But Greek? Latin? Those were languages that whispered to him, that sang to him in ways English never could.

"—And so the ancient snake-wielder," Tom murmured, his finger tracing the worn pages of a book of dark magic they'd picked up in Diagon Alley, "was said to possess the power to bend minds and control shadows..."

Ernest let out a soft sigh, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Tom paused in his reading, glancing down at the boy. Ernest had always been like this—so quiet, so distant, like a doll that had come to life. And Tom loved it. He loved the way Ernest depended on him, the way Ernest's life seemed to revolve around him.

A few weeks ago, they'd been in Diagon Alley, where the bustling streets and magical shops seemed almost too bright for the two boys. They had gotten their school robes and books, all the things any first-year would need. But it was the visit to Ollivanders that stood out in Tom's mind. There, in the narrow, dusty shop, the two of them had stood side by side, awaiting their wands.

Ernest's wand had been a strange thing—black, wrapped with a serpent curling around the handle, its dark green highlights shimmering eerily in the dim light. A single Greek word was carved into the side: Control. When Ernest had held it, the air had seemed to thicken, and for the briefest moment, Tom could have sworn he heard the faintest hiss.

Tom's own wand had been just as unusual. It was white, with a smooth, bone-like appearance, and at the top of it rested a bird—its wings outstretched as if in flight, but the bird was made of bone, hollow and silent. Ollivander had whispered that these wands were never meant to be separated, though Tom hadn't fully understood the significance of that.

The train jolted slightly, pulling Tom from his thoughts. He looked down at Ernest again. The boy's head was now tilted against Tom's leg, his hair spilling over the fabric of Tom's robes like dark silk. Tom's fingers gently brushed through the boy's hair, feeling the coolness of Ernest's skin against his fingertips.

Suddenly, the compartment door slid open, breaking the stillness. Tom looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing. Two children stepped inside, both looking around as if they'd never seen a train compartment before. They were about their age, maybe a little older, and their appearances were strikingly familiar.

The girl was dark-haired, sharp-eyed, and elegant—she had the kind of beauty that could be seen from a distance, and her posture made it clear she was used to being admired. Her eyes lingered on Tom for just a moment longer than necessary before she gave him a tight, almost knowing smile. The name "Black" flickered through Tom's mind, and he instantly knew who she was. One of the Black family, a name that carried weight in the wizarding world. The boy beside her was almost the opposite—blonde, with a sharp, pointed face that seemed almost too perfect, too calculated. "Malfoy," Tom thought, his lips curling in slight distaste. Draco Malfoy's family, another legacy of pureblood arrogance.

Neither child seemed to acknowledge Ernest in any way, as if they saw him as an afterthought. Tom, however, felt their gazes. They were watching him, their eyes calculating, measuring. The girl, Black, leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms, while Malfoy looked at Ernest with an expression that could only be described as disinterest.

Ernest shifted slightly in his sleep, his face still pressed into Tom's lap. His hand, which had been resting limply by his side, twitched faintly. The other children stared at him for a moment, then quickly looked away, as though there was something unsettling about the quiet boy. Tom barely suppressed a smile. He relished that look, the way others were put off by Ernest's presence.

"You're in our compartment," Black said sharply, her voice tinged with a superiority that only the Black family seemed capable of. Tom didn't answer immediately, his eyes still locked on the two newcomers.

"We're already occupied," Tom said coldly, his voice firm. "Find another compartment."

The children hesitated, exchanging a quick glance, but neither of them moved. It was Malfoy who spoke next, his voice smooth but laced with a touch of annoyance. "You should watch yourself, Riddle," he said, his gaze flicking to Tom's wand, which rested on the seat beside him. "The Malfoy family doesn't take kindly to—"

"Then stay away," Tom interrupted, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. His eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, the air seemed to grow heavier, thicker.

The children's expressions shifted, just slightly, before Black nodded curtly, and they both retreated to the next compartment. Tom's gaze lingered on them for a moment longer, feeling their presence still hanging in the air. He wasn't concerned by them—he had long since grown used to the games that people like Black and Malfoy played. But what they represented—pureblood arrogance, the weight of ancient wizarding families—made his skin crawl.

He looked down at Ernest, who had remained asleep through the entire exchange, his breath steady and slow. Tom gently ran his fingers through Ernest's hair again, his thoughts drifting back to their visit to Gringotts. The goblins had taken their blood test, the one that was supposed to confirm their magical lineage. They had found something unusual about Tom, a connection to the Gaunts, the ancient family that had once been one of the most powerful bloodlines in the wizarding world.

But when it came to Ernest, the goblins had found nothing. No record of his family. Only that his bloodline was ancient, stretching back to Greece—far older than any family they had ever encountered. The lack of information had unsettled them, but not Tom. No, Tom had already known that Ernest was different. He had always known.

And that difference was part of what bound them together, what made them inseparable. They were two sides of the same coin—Ernest, the quiet, mysterious boy with an unknown past, and Tom, the ambitious boy with a future already being written in shadows.

The train began to slow, the distant rumble of Hogwarts' castle walls echoing in the distance. Tom looked out the window, his fingers still tracing through Ernest's dark hair. Soon, they would be at Hogwarts. But Tom knew, with certainty, that Hogwarts would only be the beginning for them both.

And when the time came, when the world began to bend to their will, they would be there together.

....