HARRY POTTER | ONESHOTS |

15- Tom Riddle

Writing by candlelight in the dark, Slytherin common room, Tom can't help but periodically lift his gaze from the crisp white pages of his black, leather-bound diary to the girl casually lounging on the couch reading a book a few meters away from him. Every time he finds himself averting his gaze from his plans to somehow make himself immortal to Y/n, he mentally lashes himself from being distracted. But how can he not be distracted when she is the only person who does not give him any form of attention, whether by fawning over him like the rest of the Hogwarts, and some muggle, girls, or trying to gain his favour like the rest of the Slytherins.

It baffles him how she can simply sit in front of him, not acknowledging him in the slightest as anyone else would have done. Instead, she reads.

How boring He thinks as he, once again, finds himself observing her, his head resting on his hand, his posture slightly slumped as he had previously been hunched over his diary. He absentmindedly twists his torso to face her, unintentionally giving her his full attention for the time being.

His eyes squint slightly as he reads the cover of the book.

Sonnets of a Sorcerer. She's interested in poetry? How painfully, dreadfully, absolutely boring. Who in their right mind finds poetry fascinating? It's just a load of codswallop.

He watches her fingers gently drum rhythmically against the hardcovers creating a soothing, light, thudding sound. He guesses she doesn't even realize that she's doing it.

She pauses her taps to flip the page, his eyes following the movement as if it were more interesting as it actually is, only to continue.

His eyes travel from her hands to her face, so focused yet relaxed, then onto her body, curled up comfortably to rest the bottom of the book on her knees. Her demeanour is so calming and soft, almost as soft as her slightly large, beige sweater looks, and for the time being, Tom allows himself to finally set down his quill on the crease of the book and continue watching her.

He doesn't notice Alphard Black walk past until the seventh year passes him and crosses the room to Y/n, taking his seat beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to draw her closer to him.

Tom scowls as she immediately averts her attention from the poetry to him with a bright smile, leaning into his touch.

He rolls his eyes in blatant annoyance then averts his gaze, and posture, to his diary once more, snatching the quill and starts scribbling down more ways to fill the rest of the page with more of his ideas on how to become immortal. The pressure of his quill against the page not only indents the words but also slightly rips some lines where certain letters were scrawled and small ink blots dribble onto the page. He curses himself quietly as he scrambles for his wand to clean up the mess.

Her soft laughs fill his ears so he glances up only to realize that she wasn't laughing at him, but giggling as Alphard peppers kisses across her face. Something at the back of his mind secretly wishes that she was actually laughing at him because at least he'd be the one holding her attention rather than her boyfriend.

For some odd reason, Tom finds himself constantly wanting -craving- Y/n's attention while simultaneously getting irritated whenever any other girl gives him exactly what he wants from the one girl who doesn't.

After cleaning up the splotches of ink, he goes back to his writing, hating the fact that his mind is too far gone to properly continue his plot to create Horcruxes and his ears have trained onto the couple's conversation.

"Alphie, stop!" Y/n whines, all the while not bothering to make the attempt to push him away from her.

Alphard presses one more kiss on her nose and pulls away with his charming smile that she adores so much.