Both obsessed/Tom Riddle (completed)

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The next day was quiet, the crisp morning air filled with the usual hum of Hogwarts students going about their routines. Ernesh followed Tom closely as always, his face an unreadable mask. His silence never felt out of place; it was expected, accepted by the others in their circle as just another part of who he was. Only Tom knew the truth of what lay behind that still exterior-the obsessive devotion, the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure Ernesh felt at being Tom's.

That evening, the group gathered in the Astronomy Tower under Tom's summons. The stars above cast a cold, distant light, but none dared complain about the chill. Abraxas Malfoy was already there when Tom and Ernesh arrived, leaning against the stone railing with an air of studied elegance. The others-Nott, Rosier, and Lestrange-sat nearby, speaking in low voices. When Tom entered, silence fell immediately. They all turned to him as though he were the very axis of their world.

Ernesh stayed close to Tom's side, just slightly behind him. His hands rested at his sides, his posture straight but deferential. No one paid him much mind; they never did. To them, he was an extension of Tom, a silent, enigmatic fixture in the group.

Tom stepped to the center of the circle, surveying his followers with sharp eyes. "We're here to discuss what lies ahead," he began, his voice smooth and commanding. "Power isn't simply taken-it's cultivated, demanded. And we will claim it."

As he spoke, his hand brushed against Ernesh's arm, seemingly casual. But the moment his fingers made contact, Ernesh felt it again-the lines flared to life, golden-green, pulsing faintly under Tom's touch. He didn't flinch, didn't tremble, not here, not in front of the others. But inside, the rush was overwhelming. The pleasure, the raw, electric surge of power, made his chest tighten.

Tom's lips curved into the faintest smirk, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping so only Ernesh could hear. "There they are again."

Ernesh nodded once, his expression unchanged. His voice, when he whispered back, was steady and quiet. "Only when you touch me."

Tom's smirk deepened, his tone almost teasing. "Good." His fingers traced the lines deliberately, drawing out the glow, the sensation, the connection between them. "You're mine, Ernesh. In every sense of the word."

Ernesh whispered, so softly no one else could hear, "Always, Tom."

The private exchange went unnoticed by the others, their attention focused entirely on Tom's words. When Abraxas finally spoke, his voice held a note of tentative curiosity.

"Tom," Abraxas began, his tone measured, "this power you speak of-how do we ensure it belongs to us?"

Tom turned his gaze to him, sharp and unyielding. "By doing as I say," he replied, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. "When the time comes, you'll understand your role. Until then, Malfoy, don't overreach."

Abraxas inclined his head, clearly chastened. "Of course, Tom."

Tom let the silence hang for a moment before continuing his address, the tension dissipating as he shifted the focus back to his grand vision. Ernesh stood silently at his side, the lines fading as Tom withdrew his touch.

The next day unfolded as any other-classes, meals, and the rhythm of Hogwarts life. In Transfiguration, Professor Dumbledore's voice carried through the room as he lectured about the intricacies of human-to-object transformations. Ernesh sat beside Tom, his quill scratching steadily against his parchment. His expression remained impassive, but his mind lingered on the lines, the power, the connection.

Tom, as always, appeared effortlessly confident, his notes immaculate. Occasionally, he would glance at Ernesh, a flicker of amusement in his eyes that only Ernesh could catch.

When the class ended, Abraxas approached them as they gathered their things. "Tom," he said, his tone careful. "That meeting last night... it gave me a lot to think about."

Tom raised an eyebrow, his voice light but edged. "Good. Thinking is a start. Let's see if you can act on it."

Abraxas hesitated, glancing briefly at Ernesh. But Ernesh's face betrayed nothing. Tom's doll, always unreadable in front of the others. Whatever Abraxas thought of him, it didn't matter. Ernesh belonged to Tom, and only Tom understood the depths of his devotion.

As they walked to their next class, Tom's hand brushed Ernesh's arm again, a fleeting touch. The lines flared briefly, hidden beneath his sleeve, and Ernesh felt the familiar rush. He said nothing, his expression perfectly neutral.

Tom's voice was low, meant for him alone. "You'll feel more of it soon."

Ernesh's whisper was soft and unwavering. "Whenever you wish."

Tom smiled, a dark, knowing smile, and led the way down the corridor.