Harry Potter One Shots

Murder, She Wrote (Tom Riddle)

"You're not supposed to be here."

I sighed, not even bothering to look up. The intrusion had become a sort of nightly ritual, and I'd be damned if I let it distract me from my reading. Pausing only long enough to wet the pad of my fingertip with my tongue, I used it to turn the page of the rather large book resting across my lap. Hopefully, if I ignored him long enough, he'd leave.

"I'm going to have to ask you to return to your dormitories," came the voice again. It was cold and deep—strained with false politeness. I knew if I only looked up, I would be met with a rather disapproving glare. Instead, I tucked my chin into the palm of my hand and simply read on.

"Bloody Ravenclaws," I heard him mutter. Unbothered, I simply turned the page, allowing the silence to stretch between us.

After a beat, he tried again, sounding rather exasperated. "What are you reading?"

This time, I spared a glance in his direction, meeting his dark eyes briefly before shifting my gaze pointedly to the floor before me. His lips tightened imperceptibly, but he sat—albeit rather stiffly—nonetheless.

Stretching languidly, I made a show of closing the volume, running my fingers over its worn leather binding. "Evening, Tom."

He scowled, as he always did, when I used his given name. When he failed to respond, I blinked innocently at him, feigning disappointment. "Why, aren't you going to say hello?" He answered simply with an icy glare. I tittered softly in response. "And here I thought you had manners."

Pouting prettily, I made as though to stand up. Before I could, he sighed in defeat, rubbing his temple in annoyance. "Evening," he said finally.

"Was that so hard?" I asked, settling back onto the floor.

"Must you always be so difficult?" he countered, watching me warily as I rearranged my robes. His face was carefully blank, though I suspected he was fairly put out with me. No matter.

Beneath the folds of my cloak, my fingers wrapped tightly about my wand, the weight of it reassuring. "What do you want, Tom?" I wasn't so much a fool to think myself safe—not with him.

"Another duel." Something akin to madness flashed in his eyes, and I fought the urge to recoil.

Narrowing my eyes, I watched him skeptically. "Why?"

He licked his lips in what some would call a nervous gesture, but I knew better. Tom Riddle was dangerous, impossible, and handsome to a fault. At any rate, his ego left little room for fear, and now there was no mistaking the hunger that burned within him.

"I want to try something...new," he said. His voice was soft as velvet, and he shot me a crooked grin, as if to entice me. I frowned, getting to my feet slowly.

"I almost killed you last time," I remarked lightly, but the warning was clear. He was standing now, too, and we had begun to circle each other in a deadly game of cat and mouse. I wasn't quite sure who was which.

He stepped closer, twirling his wand idly between his long, pale fingers. "Scared, (Y/L/N)?"

I sneered, eyeing him suspiciously. "Or perhaps I just don't trust you."

"Perhaps some ground rules then," Tom said smoothly. "We will not maim, kill, or otherwise cause any serious injury."

"—Physical or mental," I cut in, glaring at his omission. He nodded politely in return, acknowledging the provision.

"Physical or mental," he agreed. The faintest ghost of a smirk flitted across his lips and I balled my hands into fists. "Stupefy."