Oh, Ophelia | Tom Riddle

She drove him crazy

Tom could barely even stand it anymore. Everything she did drove him crazy. He had seen her laughing once and he had gotten jealous of Primrose for eliciting the reaction. When Tom saw Ophelia with McKenna doing regular platonic stuff he wanted to kill someone.

He only had to get through two more days then she would be all his for a whole day.

Even her interactions with Sandra Desmond had him biting the inside of his cheek. She would lean over Sandra's paper, helping her with whatever it was she was doing. Then they seemed to laugh every few minutes.

That day she had been playing with Primrose in the shallow waters of the lake and she had been hit with water, Tom had seen her soft lacy bra as the chased Primrose around the lake.

Ophelia was driving him mad. He lay in bed and he could not stop thinking about her. The lilt of her laugh. The subtle curl of her hair. The way she always seemed to be able to make him smile. Tom knew it was idiotic to feel that way about a teenage girl who might not even like him back. Who smelt like honey, who always made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

He shut his eyes, and rolled over. He just could not stop thinking about how she smiled at him How when she reached for a book on a high shelf her shirt rode up just a little bit and he could see her figure.

He thought about how human she made him feel and he wondered had he befriended her earlier, where would he be right now? Would she already be his? Would she sit with him in the library as they studied? Would she walk with him to class? Would prefects be finding the two of them half naked in broomclosets together?

Would he have been her first and not this army bloke who, lets face it no one really gave two shits about?

Tom groaned quietly as his nightly fantasies flooded his mind. A lot of it was adorable relationship stuff. Holding hands, walking down the halls laughing at nothing in particular. Bringing her to Slug club dinners and being the only person she danced with all night. Pulling her close to kiss her good morning, or just because he saw her in the halls and had the opportunity to kiss her.

Typically it would spiral from there. Taking her clothes off. Taking his clothes off. Worshipping every bit of the body that contained such a beautiful soul.

It always struck him that he did not in fact have a beautiful soul. It was split. clean in half contained in the very diary she had given him. He was the reason she had been tortured. It was his fault. He always chose not to think about that. What she did not know could not hurt her.

Right?