Tom Riddle

The library was empty.

Well, almost empty.

Because, by some cruel joke of fate, the only person still there at ten o'clock at night was Tom Riddle.

And you.

The raindrops pounded against the Hogwarts windows so hard it felt as if the castle were under attack from the sky itself. The rest of the students had already returned to their common rooms, but you were still trying to finish an essay while pretending the boy sitting across from you didn't exist.

Tom turned a page in his book.

You clenched your teeth.

Another page.

Again.

"Do you have a problem?" he asked without looking up.

-Yeah.

-What a surprise.

—You are my problem.

Now he looked up.

His dark eyes locked onto yours.

—What a worrying obsession.

—What an unbearable ego.

For a moment there was silence.

Then, unexpectedly, Tom smiled.

And that was worse.

Much worse.

Because when she smiled she looked like a normal person.

Almost pleasant.

Which was suspicious.

"If you keep looking at me like that, you'll end up drilling a hole in my skull," he said.

—I'm considering my options.

—I'm flattered that you dedicate so much time to them.

You rolled your eyes.

The storm roared outside.

A flash of lightning illuminated the library.

And just then the magic lights flickered.

A.

Two.

And they went out.

—Perfect—you murmured.

—Don't be dramatic.

—We are in the dark.

Tom's wand emitted a soft light.

Yours did the same a few seconds later.

Unfortunately, that meant you could now see it clearly.

Sitting in front of you.

With that arrogant expression.

With that perfectly styled hair that, frankly, should be illegal.

"What?" he asked when he noticed you were watching him.

-Nothing.

—You're a terrible liar.

—And you are unbearable.

—You already said that.

Before you could answer, thunder shook the windows.

Instinctively you gave a small start.

Tom raised an eyebrow.

—Are you afraid of storms?