Both obsessed/Tom Riddle (completed)

012 Down by the lake

A month had passed since Tom and Ernesh had become even more entwined in their dark bond. Their connection had grown stronger, more possessive, the lines between them more visible and undeniable. It was as though the world outside of their bond no longer mattered, and nothing could tear them apart. Today, Ernesh was waiting by the Black Lake, sitting under the shade of a tree as the crisp autumn wind blew through the branches.

Tom had given him a task-a simple one, but one that Ernesh would never dare to question. He was told to wait there, to be patient, to finish the snack Tom had given him before going to meet him after class. It was a weird black goo that oozed from the small jar Tom had handed him. It smelled strange, but it tasted like chicken, a comforting, savory flavor that soothed his senses.

Ernesh didn't question it. He never questioned Tom. The goo gave him energy, made him feel alive in a way he hadn't before. His mind buzzed with excitement, his heart fluttered with anticipation. He could feel the presence of Tom even from this distance, and the thought of seeing him made his pulse quicken. He would never have been able to focus on anything else, even if he tried.

Meanwhile, Tom was submerged in the familiar, intoxicating routine of his studies. Potions for Slughorn. A visit to the Restricted Section of the library. It was all part of the plan-his plan-and Ernesh was always at the center of it. He spent hours studying, perfecting his craft, knowing that each hour spent away from Ernesh only made their bond grow stronger. There was power in separation, a power that fueled his obsession even further.

But today, things were different. As Tom made his way toward the Black Lake after finishing his classes, he was intercepted by a few Gryffindors-Potter, Longbottom, and a boy Tom didn't recognize, Smith. The latter, Tom noted, must be a Mudblood. He didn't even try to hide the distaste in his expression as he regarded them.

The Gryffindors were laughing, exchanging casual remarks that made it clear they were trying to rile him up. Potter, as usual, was the loudest, his arrogance practically radiating from him.

"What's the matter, Malfoy?" Potter jeered, eyeing him like he was some kind of trophy to be hunted. "Still following that creepy friend of yours around? Thought you might be sick of his company by now."

Tom's lips curled into a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You've no idea what you're talking about, Potter," he replied, his voice smooth and icy. "But it's clear you want a lesson in manners."

Potter laughed, clearly underestimating Tom. Longbottom, always the coward, was trying to hide behind Potter, his face a mixture of uncertainty and reluctance. But Smith, the Mudblood, didn't seem to care about the danger in the air.

Ernesh, from his place by the lake, could feel the tension building in the air. His fingers twitched as he sat up straighter, eyes narrowed, his hands slowly curling into fists. His loyalty, his devotion to Tom, was palpable, and it wasn't long before he made a silent decision. He wasn't going to let them disrespect Tom. Not when Tom had given him purpose, not when Tom had made him feel alive.

As the Gryffindors continued to taunt Tom, their insults became more cutting, more personal. Potter was trying to provoke him, but he was about to learn that some things were better left undisturbed.

With a subtle, almost imperceptible movement, Tom raised his hand, flicking his wrist as if to signal to Ernesh. The boy, always attentive, immediately obeyed. Without a sound, Ernesh stood up and began walking toward them.

His movements were unnervingly calm, as if he were nothing more than a shadow, a whisper in the wind. By the time he reached the group, his expression was blank, his gaze fixed firmly on Potter.

Smith, who had been watching the exchange with growing interest, was the first to speak, his voice laced with that ignorant sense of superiority only a Mudblood could possess. "What's this? The little pet coming to save his master?"

Ernesh's lips barely moved as he spoke, his voice nothing more than a whisper, but it carried an edge that made the Gryffindors pause.

"You don't understand your place," Ernesh muttered, his eyes locked on Smith. "And now you'll learn the cost of disrespecting him."

Before anyone could react, Ernesh raised his hand. A subtle flick of his wrist was all it took, but the magic that surged from him was immediate and violent. A wave of searing golden-green light shot out from his fingers, lashing out at the Gryffindors. They had no time to react, no time to flee, as the magic hit them with brutal force.

Potter, Longbottom, and Smith were thrown backward, their bodies writhing in pain as golden, glowing injuries appeared on their skin. The injuries were deep, horrific, the marks burning into their flesh like brands.

Longbottom's screams echoed in the distance, but no one could help him now. The curse had been cast too perfectly, and the Gryffindors had no way to escape. The golden injuries spread across their bodies, their life force draining away with every passing second. They could feel the pain intensifying, their veins burning with a fire that felt like it would consume them from the inside out.

Tom stood motionless, watching the scene unfold with a cool, calculating gaze. His hand was still resting on Ernesh's shoulder, the bond between them pulsing stronger with every heartbeat. There was no need to speak; Ernesh had already done what was necessary. And Tom... Tom was pleased.

"Should've known better," Tom whispered, his voice cold and detached. "You were warned. There are consequences for crossing us."

Smith and Longbottom were barely conscious now, their bodies shaking violently as the golden marks continued to spread. Potter, the last to fall, was already on the ground, his eyes wide with terror as he clawed at the dirt in a desperate attempt to escape.

But escape was impossible.

By the time the others arrived-professors, students, anyone who might have heard the screams-it was too late. The Gryffindors had already paid the price. Their bodies were marked, their lives extinguished by the magic Ernesh had unleashed. The only trace left of them was the golden injuries, glowing faintly in the air like fading stars.

Ernesh stood beside Tom, his eyes never leaving the fallen bodies, his chest rising and falling with excitement, a strange satisfaction in the aftermath.

Tom, ever the calm, controlled figure, turned to Ernesh. He didn't speak. There was no need to. The connection between them was all the communication they needed.

The others could only watch in silence, their eyes filled with fear and awe. Tom and Ernesh were untouchable, their bond a force of nature that no one could challenge.

"Let's go," Tom murmured, and without another word, he turned and walked away, Ernesh silently following behind him, as always.