Both obsessed/Tom Riddle (completed)

007 A 2 years later.

It's been a 2 years since that day, they are now in third year. Tom has some new followers.

Ernesh still has Tom.

The Potions lesson unfolded in the dimly lit classroom, its cold, damp air filled with the acrid tang of crushed ingredients. Ernesh moved methodically, grinding beetle eyes into a fine paste as Slughorn's instructions droned on. Despite his focus on his task, Ernesh was acutely aware of Tom beside him, his presence like a silent, commanding beacon. Tom's deft hands moved with confidence, slicing moonstone into translucent shards that caught the faint light.

Ernesh admired Tom's precision. Every movement was deliberate, as though he were already the master of this world. It wasn't envy Ernesh felt—it was awe, an unrelenting fixation that gnawed at the edges of his mind. He wanted to become an extension of Tom's will, a piece of his perfection.

"Careful," Tom murmured, his tone smooth and laced with authority. Ernesh realized his grinding had slowed, distracted by the lure of Tom's proximity.

"Yes," Ernesh whispered, straightening his posture. He resumed his task with renewed fervor, determined to match Tom's skill.

Around them, the classroom hummed with hushed murmurs and the clinking of glass. Occasionally, Ernesh felt eyes on him—not just those of their classmates but something deeper, something unseen. The castle itself seemed to be watching. The torches lining the walls flickered, their flames bending as if caught in a ghostly draft.

Tom, however, was unaffected. His confidence was unshakeable, his focus unbroken. As the pair completed their potion—a vivid emerald liquid that shimmered with an almost hypnotic glow—Slughorn approached, his round face alight with approval.

"Marvelous, Mr. Riddle. And you, Mr. Balcom," he said, gesturing to the potion. "The best in the class by far. Such potential in you both! You'll make quite a pair of potion masters someday."

Tom smiled, but it was thin, calculated. "Thank you, Professor. We aim to meet expectations." His words were polite, but Ernesh detected the undercurrent of disdain. Expectations were beneath Tom—he intended to exceed them effortlessly, always.

As the lesson concluded, students began to file out of the room in clusters, their chatter filling the hallways. Tom and Ernesh lingered, packing their belongings with deliberate slowness. Abraxas Malfoy hovered nearby, as he often did, his pale eyes flicking nervously between them.

"Tom," Abraxas ventured hesitantly, "will you be attending the Slytherin study session tonight? Professor Slughorn mentioned it during breakfast."

Tom turned to him, his expression unreadable. "No. I don't need the distractions. Neither does Ernesh."

Abraxas blinked, clearly taken aback, but he quickly masked his disappointment. "Of course," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I'll see you both later, then."

As Abraxas disappeared into the crowd, Tom's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Clingy, isn't he?"

Ernesh tilted his head, watching Tom carefully. "He admires you."

"They all do," Tom said, his voice edged with amusement. "But admiration is fleeting. Loyalty... that's what matters." His gaze sharpened as it settled on Ernesh. "And loyalty, my dear Ernesh, is something I value deeply."

Ernesh felt the words sink into him like hooks. "You have mine," he said softly, earnestly.

"I know." Tom's smile widened, but it was devoid of warmth. It was a predator's smile, one that sent a shiver down Ernesh's spine and ignited something dark within him.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of classes and whispered exchanges. By the time night fell, the castle's atmosphere had grown heavier, the shadows deeper, as though the very stones were holding their breath. Ernesh found himself drawn to the dungeons once more, where the air was damp and cold, and the walls seemed to hum with ancient secrets.

He followed Tom silently, their footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. The flickering torchlight cast strange shapes on the walls, and Ernesh could swear he saw them move when he wasn't looking directly at them.

When they reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Tom paused, his hand hovering just above the cool stone. He turned to Ernesh, his expression inscrutable.

"There's something I want to show you," Tom said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ernesh nodded without hesitation. "Anything."

Tom's smirk returned, sharper this time. He led Ernesh past the common room entrance, deeper into the dungeons. The air grew colder with each step, and the faint sound of rushing water echoed in the distance. Ernesh's heart raced—not with fear, but with anticipation.

Finally, they reached a narrow, arched doorway. Tom pushed it open to reveal a small, circular chamber. In the center stood an ornate, weathered pedestal, its surface etched with strange, serpentine symbols that seemed to writhe in the dim light.

"What is this?" Ernesh asked, his voice reverent.

Tom stepped closer to the pedestal, his fingers tracing the carvings. "Something old. Something powerful. It's been here for centuries, hidden from prying eyes."

Ernesh felt a chill as he approached, the air thick with an unnameable energy. The symbols on the pedestal seemed to pulse, alive with a dark magic that called to him.

Tom turned to him, his eyes gleaming with something primal, something dangerous. "Do you trust me, Ernesh?"

"Always," Ernesh replied, his voice steady.

Tom's smile widened, and this time, it reached his eyes—cold, calculating eyes that burned with a dark fire.

"Good," Tom said softly. "Because tonight, we begin."