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dinoplantsghost · 9 months ago

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pairing: Tom Riddle x fem! original character

warning(s): tom is a warning in itself, 1940s: mentions of WW2, teenage behavior: drama and language, mention of assault

word count: ~4.6k

Disclaimer: I have a huge google doc that holds all of my drafts and I'm quite literally just copypasting everything, so if there are any typos/errors, no there isn't!! :)

-- Tchaikovsky Winter is here and in full swing despite it being late Autumn

Chapter List

Yule Break in France [9]

After exam week, Abraxas became fiendishly impatient. He wanted to leave, to get away from all the studying and the papers and the constant ticking of the large clock that stared him down in the Great Hall throughout the entire week. The night before the weekend rolled around, the boy dragged Saoirse to the Slytherin dorms to help her pack. However, when she told the Knights she barely had any clothes outside from her uniforms, all Hell broke loose.

Eloise, being the group’s fashionista other than Miles, was devastated. “What do you mean you don’t own at least a dress or two?” He circled Saoirse, his red hair in disarray and his hands tugging at the girl’s black robes. “You seriously don’t have anything else other than this?”

“We never wore dresses, and there was no reason to,” Saoirse argued. “I’ve never been to a ‘ball’ before, Avery!”

“Saoirse, you’ll be fine,” Miles said. “We can walk to the town that’s not far from the main manor. Besides, you have that dress from that Gryffindor girl.”

Apparently, it was also common for old families to have multiple manors, or châteaux, as they called them. Most, if not all, of the Knights were French, or at least descended from another European country. English was already difficult for the average Japanese speaker; French, however, could crash and burn for all Saoirse cared.

“Oh, you know, I’ve been hearing a lot about that girl,” Avery gasped. “What’s her name—de la Rosa? I heard some rumors about her and that Hufflepuff bloke. According to Walburga, Griffin tried to force himself onto her or something. Apparently he was complaining about the girl to his friends and people came to that conclusion. I always thought he looked like a weird goblin, to be honest. It’s surprising since I always see him walking with a random girl for a few months before hopping to another one.”

“Don’t talk about Ava-Lynn like that, it’s rude.” Saoirse frowned. “That’s none of our business; drop it. Black’s cousin isn’t a good source, anyways.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But honestly? Even I know not to do anything like that; I know when to cut my losses. Are you sure you can hang out with Mayfield? It’s not like he’s dropped the guy, you know, even with the knowledge of what he may or may not have done to her.”

“I’m sure it’s more complicated, we can’t assume anything. Tracy badmouths Griffin any time he gets.”

Eloise made a noise of sarcasm, a concept Saoirse caught wind of quickly when she first learned English from Merrythought.

The door slammed open, and Abraxas stomped through with his hair pushed back with a headband. “Enough gossip, we need to be packed by lunchtime so we can leave for France.”

“Don’t say that,” the red head whined. “We always have time for gossip, it’s what we do!”

“Well, we’ll have time for more gossip if you hurry up!”

He opened his mouth, finger pointing to the blond before he considered his friend’s words. “I don’t like that you’re right.”

Saoirse dragged her hand across her face, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. She drowned out the noise with her thoughts, mentally going over their plans one more time.

While they wanted to goof off and show Saoirse what France had to offer, the Knights needed to focus on figuring out Riddle’s dilemmas for him. Exams had drowned the group in studies and they had no time to find anything about the Chamber of Secrets before the break. If the main Malfoy Manor in France did not have anything, the blond heir said that was another, smaller manor six hours south near the Spanish border. But with the Muggle War, it would be a risky move; the whole trip to France was entirely dangerous within itself.

With a snap, Saoirse closed her suitcase, its fresh leather and gold locks shiny. France already sounded troublesome before stepping foot on its land.

───────────

Saturday, December 19th

The Knights of Walpurgis left Hogwarts midday, carrying their luggage through Hogsmeade to a comically small carriage pulled by Unicorns. Abraxas made it his personal mission to push Saoirse into the carriage first to avoid familiar mishaps the first time she encountered the horned creatures.

The trip to France took about three hours. The sun had begun to fall when the carriage settled at the front of the manor. The girl had never seen so much snow until now. France was covered head to toe in a thick blanket of white, all while snowflakes continued to pour throughout each hour. Being so used to the weather in Iwo Jima, which was further south from Japan, Saoirse was starting to miss the humidity.

Stepping out of the carriage, Saoirse knew deep in her heart something was wrong. The moment her feet crunched on the path of sand and gravel, a sinking feeling in her stomach kept her from moving forward. It wasn’t until Patrick took her hand that she distanced herself from the wagon.

The French manor of the Malfoy family was extremely large, rivaling the space Hogwarts took up in Scotland. The pillows of snow surrounding the castle reflected back, shining in Saoirse’s eyes and illuminating the navy blue roofs sitting high on the sixteenth-century architecture. As the group walked along the pathway, two muddy figures could be seen near the towering doors of the chateau.

Abraxas immediately abandoned his luggage to greet them, the most comforting smile Saoirse had seen from the boy. “This is my mother and father, Lady Ayla and Lord Henry of the great House of Malfoy.”

The boy was a splitting image of his mother. Both had the same polite smile, the same broad nose that arched sharply, and the same desire for diplomacy. His father, however, had a much kinder disposition. It was clear as day who Abraxas got his hair from, as well as his steel blue eyes.

Avery ran up to the adults in a familiar fashion, squeezing both into a hug. “Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,” he laughed. “It’s great to see you two!”

The other Knights followed suit, each giving Henry a firm handshake and a brief hug, while Ayla received either a kiss to the cheek or the back of her hand. Henry and Ayla had the most favorable reactions when approached by Riddle, however. The man greeted Tom like an old colleague, going out of his way to pat the boy on the back while Mrs. Malfoy greeted him as if he were her son.

“I’m so glad you decided to join us again this year, sweetheart,” she gushed. “Every time you visit I can’t help but feel for you, Tom, I wish we could take you in.”

With a polite laugh and smile, Tom shrugged his shoulders. “You have done more than enough these past few years, Mrs. Malfoy; I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Please, Tom, my mother and father would kill to take you in,” scoffed Abraxas. “Sometimes I think they love you more than me and my brother.”

When Ayla moved to hit her son on the arm, she noticed the smaller figure behind the group of boys, her hands shivering next to her ashed and dry lips in an attempt to warm her skin. “Oh, and who are you, darling? You’re absolutely freezing.” She pushed the boys away, forcing all the attention onto the girl as she wrapped her shawl around Saoirse. “Let’s get you inside, dear. Richy,” a house elf popped in their view, “could you take this girl’s luggage? Thank you.”

The large doors of wood heaved, swinging open to allow the teenagers inside the manor. The foyer extended far and wide, a sharp and shiny chandelier dangling from the ceiling as feet walked along the red carpet. Past the numerous moving paintings and the glamorous objects that were sure to be centuries old, Mrs. Malfoy sat Saoirse down on the leather couch in the middle of the parlor decorated in green foliage.

“Now, what’s your name, sweetie,” Ayla smiled. “You must be the new exchange student at Hogwarts. Abraxas had mentioned you a few times in his letters home.”

“Has he?” Saoirse mused. “I hope it’s nothing that ruins my image, ma’am. I would hate to leave this beautiful architecture behind.”

The lady laughed behind her palm, taking a seat next to the girl. “Nonsense! This is the first time our son’s brought home a young lady. I would never want to see you out, dear.”

“Mum,” Abraxas blushed. “It’s not like that! I’m supposed to marry that Torsia girl, remember?”

“Oh, yes, son; how could I forget?”

Lord Henry rested in his loveseat, fingers gripping his mug of coffee. “Say, girl,” he started. “You look awfully familiar. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t, sir; my name is Saoirse.”

“Really? I apologize, but that’s an interesting name to have considering your ethnicity. What’s your surname?”

“My family name is Watanabe. I highly doubt you would know anyone from my family, though, as it’s a fairly common surname.”

The man nodded, a solemn look falling on his features. “I see. It’s just…Ayla and I have invited a business partner from Japan, and they just lost their daughter a few months ago. I was hoping you would be able to shed some light on that.”

Flames from the fire flickered, warmth spreading through the parlor as attentive ears fell on Saoirse’s silence. “I knew of her,” she muttered. “Himiko was her name, Himiko Itohata. According to the rumors, the staff at Mahoutokoro found the girl tied to the wall of her dorm. To say she looked nothing like herself would be an understatement.”

“Merlin,” Mrs. Malfoy gasped. “I couldn’t possibly imagine losing one of our sons like that…It makes me nauseous to even think about it.”

Abraxas frowned, leaning forward on the back of the couch. “Surely, they brought the girl to justice, yes?”

Saoirse nodded. “Her murderer was beheaded, supposedly.”

“Is that why you transferred to Hogwarts—because of her death?”

“No, I was a problem child. I’ve grown a considerable amount ever since I came to Hogwarts, and I’m extremely grateful.”

Maybe it was the rush of exams, or the rush to enjoy their Yule break, but a veil of quaint awkwardness was pulled off the girl’s visage and character. The Knights were very much aware of Saoirse’s capabilities as she easily rose in the school’s ranks just below Tom as their year’s salutatorian. She was on par with the Slytherin descendant, the constant reminder of her skill permanent on the boy’s skin. But since the Knight’s first meeting, all caution was thrown out the window. Saoirse was a friend, a comrade, and a Knight just like they were. She was one of them, part of their nightly debates and their weekly cloud watchings by the Black Lake.

Abraxas hoped he was wrong, so painfully wrong. But with his previous theories coming to fruition, optimism was quickly drained like a vampire with their victims.

───────────

The Knights were crammed into Abraxas’ room, Eloise making divots in the carpet as he paced back and forth with his hands in his red hair. “I can’t wrap my head around it,” he wheezed. “Saoirse wouldn’t do that—would she?”

“Of course she wouldn’t,” Patrick reasoned. “Besides, you heard what she said; she hardly knew the girl.”

“She could have easily lied, Patrick,” said Orion.

“But why? Why would she lie to us?”

“Patrick, we understand that you have feelings for her, but this is no time to be biased.” Tom said. He crossed his legs in his seat, his forefinger fiddling with the stick of glorified death, a cigarette, in his hand. “Let this be a wakeup call—to all of you. Need I remind you of what she did to me?”

The boys were silenced, jaws tense and snapped shut. In retrospect, it was easy to forget what they had initially thought of Saoirse. She was always quiet, the very few words she decided to let fall from her lips sticking to their ears for as long as they could. The more she spent with them, the louder her voice would be, the more confident she was. Saoirse always argued with Eloise, Cassius, and Miles, entertaining the rest whenever she would give up in a fit of passion and resort to her hands to get her point across. In short, they had grown attached, as if she had been in the group for as long as they could remember.

That was not to say that they had any problem with her actions; it was just baffling to think of the girl digging her hands in the bowels of someone the same age as them. Tom had murdered people before, so it should not be any different, right? But deep down, they knew; it was drastically different to kill for the sake of curiosity than to kill for the sake of revenge and pride. Tom had killed the only blood relatives he had while Saoirse killed a girl that used to roam the halls of the very respectable school that was Mahoutokoro.

Tom took a drag from his cigarette before continuing his monologue, his tone sardonically light. “You said it yourself, Nott; once we’re done with the girl, we kill her. Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now. Let us put it this way: if we do not kill her, we have no reason to think she would attack or betray any of us, regardless of what she did to me previously. So, if you—and the rest of the Knights, are seriously putting her on some pedestal, then fine; we won’t kill her. However, don’t think for a second that I would hesitate to take action if she decides to do something stupid.” A stub of ash fell from his Lucky Strike. “She would be foolish to even try, anyways.”

A knock hit the door, followed by the click of the doorknob to reveal the topic of discussion peeking her head through the crack. “I had a hard time finding where you all were,” she huffed. “I had to ask one of the house elves and I don’t think they like me.” Oblivious to the shared looks around the room, Saoirse slipped inside to lean against the round table. “So, when are we going to the library?”

“Right,” Abraxas exhaled. “We were planning to head there soon since dinner is going to take a while. After that, we can look inside the study rooms if we have the time.”

“You look constipated,” Saoirse laughed. “In fact, all of you look tense. Are you okay?”

Sweat pooled on the boy’s lips, his gaze looking anywhere but in Saoirse’s eyes of concern.

“We were having a boy talk, Saoirse, you wouldn’t get it,” Cassius said, waving a hand of reassurance. “In fact, we had a man talk. About manly things.”

After snuffing out his cigarette, Tom stood up and wiped his palms on his trousers. “Alright,” he sighed. “Take us to the library, Abraxas.”

───────────

While the others seemed to have these forced opinions of the foreigner, Tom held onto his instincts. He was far from dumb, but so was Saoirse. It shouldn’t take a genius to figure the girl out; she laid everything on a silver platter. Well, most things. Tom was positive Saoirse had killed that Himiko girl, no matter how hard his Knights tried to deny it. However, she was lying about one thing, but it was difficult to navigate through her vague and aloof demeanor towards her past. He was very familiar with the tactic, though, having fabricated his own background with half-truths.

Tom did not know what to make of her, truly; she was a big, red question mark that stuck out from his plans to greatness. When the girl was not Hell-bent on being annoying, she was an airhead. The boy’s thoughts were only confirmed as the group walked through the long halls of the manor, Saoirse’s head swiveling on her neck with a few loose screws. She was as loud as she was quiet, a walking contradiction insistent on being a creeping nodule of irritation.

Abraxas, once they found the library, heaved the doors open to reveal a tall void covered in books and pockets of knowledge from wall to wall. A labyrinth of curiosity and power is what Tom could describe it as.

“I’ve always hated the way books smell,” coughed Eloise. “It reeks of nerd.”

As Saoirse walked past the red head, she couldn’t help but comment: “It really explains your scores, though, Avery.”

For a moment, a breeze of laughter reflected the way deep orange sunlight filtered through the giant windows, revealing each speck of dust.

Tom, in all of his joyful cheer, pushed through his lackeys in stride, his mind set on ending the day with his nose buried in aged tree pulp. The air simmered in favor of silence, the occasional whisper or rebuttal here and there filtering through pages flipping and hard leather slamming against thin tables.

Soon enough, it was difficult for the fifteen-year-old to be pulled from his flow state. With each word his brain drank up, he felt like a boy driven by naïvety once more. The dust in the library felt familiar as it clung on to the fabric of his white polo, a painfully warm reminder of his upbringings on creaky, moldy floors of wood. Books were always his escape, a way to breathe through the ostracism powered by weak beliefs. He never wanted to be harmful; never once did he ever think to maim little Billy’s rabbit until his fatty of an owner decided to get on his last nerves that day. He never wanted to live in that orphanage any more than Miss Cole wanted to take care of him, or any of those kids for that matter. It wasn’t his fault his poor excuse for a mother birthed him on the same dirty, disease-ridden floors he read on; it shouldn’t be his fault.

“You’ve been stuck on that page for a long time,” said a voice. “Maybe you need glasses, Riddle.”

Riddle. What a horrible, hair-raising surname of his. He pressed a forefinger between the pages before closing the book, begrudgingly lifting his head to meet Saoirse’s eyes. “I find it odd that you would stare at me long enough to figure that out.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “I just came over to tell you that Patrick might have found what the monster in the Chamber of Secrets is. I’ve been calling your name for about a minute now.”

That is certainly one way to catch his attention. Tom pushed the book in his hand back in its proper place on the shelf. “Speaking of Nott,” he sang glibly. “How have you two been? Surely he’s made better advancements in courtship by now.”

As the two walked side by side, Saoirse recoiled. “Don’t act like you’re interested in our lives all of a sudden. If you really wanted to know, you would hang out with the boys more.”

“Why would I? I socialize with them enough.”

“Honestly,” she sighed. “With that attitude, it’s difficult to think you want more respect from them. They only reflect your own efforts for a connection—which are very feeble, by the way.” Before they turned the corner between two rows of shelves, she frowned at Tom. “Haven’t you ever wanted friends? Those are more loyal than any posse or follower, even for the most powerful figures in history.”

“How naïve you are, Saoirse.”

The girl did not bother to reply, making her place next to Patrick. The Austrian boy pushed the large tome in the middle of the table for all to see, the crinkles on the faded pages making its age archaic.

“It has to be a Basilisk.” Patrick said. “If Salazar wanted to make an impact, he would have housed this in the Chamber of Secrets.”

“That thing is huge, though,” argued Abraxas. “How would it navigate through the castle?”

“I’m not sure, but there’s no other answer; this has to be it.”

The table creaked under the weight of Cassius leaning forward to read the cracked script. “‘A Basilisk will be birthed through the process of incubating a chicken egg under a toad for up to three months.’ That’s ridiculous! The Basilisk would be dead by now!”

“Salazar Slytherin would be smart enough to prolong its death, Mulciber,” said Tom. “It’s perfectly reasonable to assume the Basilisk is the monster in the Chamber. The problems that present themself to us now are the creature’s way of navigation and the location of the Chamber.”

“If the Slytherin common room is below the castle in the dungeons,” Saoirse suggested. “Is it possible the Chamber would be built in a similar fashion?”

Abraxas shrugged. “Maybe. The only thing I can think of the Basilisk moving from place to place would be the pipes. My father has shown me the plumbing plans for this property before, and if Hogwarts is anything like this manor, then the pipes should be large enough to fit a snake like that.”

“So, what?” Louis frowned. “The Basilisk just makes its way through the pipes? That would imply that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets would be…”

None of them wanted to say it, let alone think of the possibilities. There was no way in Hell a group of aristocratic boys would spend their spring semester lounging around lavatories and toilets.

┌────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┐

“I still can’t believe you’ve never celebrated Christmas before. Don’t tell me you would spend weeks studying for finals at Mahoutokoro.” Said Miles.

Saoirse shrugged. “The High Priestess found Christmas to be redundant, and it’s a western holiday anyways; she saw no point in it.”

The Yule Ball was set for December 25, otherwise known as Christmas. Having solved their problems as Knights, the Slytherin boys were more than happy to finally relax and enjoy the season. They had woken Saoirse early to get a head start in the day. Since the girl did not have any dresses appropriate for the upcoming occasion, they did their best to provide Saoirse with the best shopping experience Val de Loire had to offer.

Miles and Louis hooked arms with Saoirse, the girl unable to stop a grin from crawling on her face as they skipped through the little town a few ways from the Malfoy Manor. The snowy breeze was cold on her cheeks, but she never felt so warm before in her life.

“Now, since France is a bit occupied by Germany,” the Lestrange boy muttered. “The fashion is a bit…stuck in time. My personal favorite, and I think the period you fit the most, is Edwardian fashion from a couple decades ago. The shops here should have some dresses like that in stock. If not, I’ll have my mother owl you a few for the time being.”

“‘Brax’s mum would lend some, too,” Louis said. “She looked so happy to meet you yesterday.”

The group eventually stopped in the middle of the town. Miles and Louis begged the other boys to drag Saoirse and “shop-hop” as they called it, but Abraxas and Patrick were firm in their wishes to stay together.

“We can’t afford to split up,” Nott sighed. “I want Saoirse to have a good time too, but an air raid could happen at any moment.”

“Well, let Tom follow us,” Miles whined. “If something happens, we’ll be fine. The Ministry couldn’t possibly do anything if we use magic to save ourselves, right?”

“And what makes you think I want to be part of your senseless gallivanting?” Tom challenged.

Miles gasped. “You take that back! It’s never senseless if it’s a girl’s first dress. This is her entry into womanhood, Tom!”

“I got my first dress from Ava-Lynn…” Saoirse muttered.

“Well—that doesn’t count.”

Without another word, Lestrange tugged the girl along, Louis following as he hung from her other arm. They ignored the words Patrick, Orion, and Abraxas were yelling; Miles was too busy complaining that his dark complexion looked dead in the winter season. He was much more of a warm summer tone.

Patrick turned to Tom. “Please go follow them,” he frowned. “It’s the least you could do for us—for her.”

“This will cost you a packet,” Tom uttered, taking a cigarette from the metal container in his pocket. He shuffled over to a corner to cup his tobacco stick, using his magic to discreetly light the end. The boy made strides to catch up with Saoirse, Miles, and Louis, his hair moving with the chilling wind. He would have put gel in this morning, but he always saved the product for school and special occasions.

The small group had walked in and out of three shops due to Miles’ expensive taste and sharp eye. In the final shop, Louis stood by Tom as Miles helped Saoirse pick out her last dress, carrying the rest of her options in his arms. After some shuffling and not-so-subtle cursing, Saoirse stepped out of the changing booth in apprehension.

“I don’t think this is my color,” she pouted. “I think purple makes me look sickly.”

When they first entered the shop, Saoirse was adamant on avoiding pink and yellow. Blues looked fine on her, since her hair was already cerulean, and brown complimented that as well as her jade green eyes.

“I think the lavender looks nice on you, though,” Louis argued. “It puts a bit more pink in your cheeks. Actually, that might just be the weather instead. Whoops.”

Miles nodded, taking a closer look at Saoirse’s skin. “I can see the vision, Louis. What do you think, Tom?”

“It just looks purple to me.” He clicked, tapping off the ash from his Lucky Strike.

Saoirse frowned. “Don’t ask him, he’s such a Gloomy Gus about everything.” She looked at Miles expectedly, a hint of hope in her eyes as she stared at the boy. “Did I use that phrase right?”

Ignoring the high-five Miles gave Saoirse, Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Maybe I have my reasons to be pessimistic.”

“Forget about him, Saoirse, get the dress.” Lestrange smirked. “Besides, the only opinion you really should be worried about is Patrick’s.”

“Nott would not know a single thing about color,” Tom nipped. “He’s colorblind.”

“Well, he doesn’t have to choose by the color, necessarily. Every dress has a different design.”

“If Nott is anything like me, then he wouldn’t know a thing about women’s clothing.”

“Florian has a mother, a sister, and two cousins; what makes you think he doesn’t know how to distinguish dresses? The only person who doesn’t know a thing is you, Riddle.”

Tom lit another cigarette, his heartstrings tugging at the thought wasting another in a fit of stress and annoyance. “What I do know is that purple doesn’t look good on her.” He sassed. “Saoirse was right when she said she looked like a corpse.” He pushed himself off the pillar he was leaning on, pressing his rough hands into his coat. “There’s no use in purchasing the other dresses, the only one she should wear is the brown one. She clearly looked most comfortable in that.”

Stares burned into his black hair as he turned to leave the shop. The bell dangled against the door as he stepped out, only for the familiar ring of sirens to blare into his ears.

The town turned into a cloud of black and gray, ears now ringing and bleeding at the shock of sizable bullets hitting the ground, glass, and any surface death could touch.

Credit(s): Dividing banner (^^^) by Chen Lu (1436 - 1449) - "Plum Blossoms in Moonlight" scroll painting; sourced through Pinterest

#fanfiction #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle x reader #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #tom riddle #fanfic #decade: 1940s #1940s #wattpad #dinoyaps #SoundCloud #Spotify

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dinoplantsghost · 9 months ago

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𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝, 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Y/N teases Tom Riddle, playfully addressing him as "My Lord" after one of his followers does the same.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - Literally came up with this while re-reading my dark fics. Needed some softness in my feed.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

Y/N had been walking through the halls of Hogwarts, her mind occupied with thoughts of her day, when she spotted Tom Riddle talking with a few of his followers.

They were whispering in hushed voices, but she caught snippets of their conversation.

Tom’s usual commanding presence had them all hanging on his every word, his dark eyes flashing with that sharp intensity only he could manage.

As the conversation ended, one of them turned to Tom with a dramatic bow, lowering his head in reverence. "My Lord," he said, before walking off with a hurried step.

Y/N couldn't hold back a laugh. It was always amusing how his followers treated him with such absolute deference. To them, he was their leader, their lord.

Stepping forward, she put on an exaggerated, mock-serious expression and dipped into an overly dramatic bow of her own. "My Lord," she said in a teasing tone.

Tom, who had been about to turn away, froze, his brow furrowing as he looked down at her. His usual stoic demeanor softened just a little at the sight of her playful smirk.

"Don't call me that," he muttered, but his voice was filled with an affectionate kind of annoyance. He was used to being the one who commanded attention, who was never the one on the receiving end of mockery. But with Y/N, it was different.

Without saying another word, Tom reached for her, his strong arms wrapping around her shoulders in a tight embrace, pulling her against his chest. Y/N laughed softly, pressing her cheek against his robes.

"I could call you whatever I like, my Lord," she teased again, her voice muffled as she looked up at him with bright eyes.

His lips twitched at the corners, but he didn't respond immediately, instead letting out a quiet sigh, almost like he was defeated by her charm. "Please call me anything else," he said, almost pleading.

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. "What about Tommy?" she asked, drawing out the name with an innocent tilt of her head.

Tom's face immediately contorted in a mix of disbelief and mock horror. He hated it. He hated every variation of his name that came from her lips, especially that one. He sighed again, this time in resignation.

"You know I don't like that, love," he muttered under his breath, his eyes closing briefly in frustration.

Y/N leaned up on her tiptoes, pecking him lightly on the chest. "Okay, love," she said softly, smiling sweetly as she tucked herself against him.

The word made his heart skip a beat. He felt a flush creeping up his neck, his usually cool and composed demeanor cracking for just a moment. He hated how easily she could make him feel this way, but at the same time, it warmed him in a way he couldn't describe.

"Love," he repeated, his voice soft and a little more vulnerable now. He kissed the top of her head, his arms tightening around her slightly as if grounding himself in this quiet moment of affection. "That’s only for you."

Y/N rested her head against his chest, smiling contentedly as she felt the warmth of his embrace. "And you're mine, Tom," she murmured, feeling the unspoken bond between them grow even stronger.

Tom didn't say anything more, but the way his arms held her tighter was all the answer she needed. He may have commanded the loyalty of so many, but with Y/N, he was simply hers, in a way that no one else could ever claim him.

#thank god for fanfiction #if only he was like this

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dinoplantsghost · 9 months ago

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pairing: Tom Riddle x fem! original character

warning(s): tom is a warning in itself, 1940s: time-accurate prejudice, one or two racist comment(s) and mention of WW2, teenage behavior: drama and language, mention of Paganism and Christianity, there's probably more but idk

word count: ~2.3k

Disclaimer: I have a huge google doc that holds all of my drafts and I'm quite literally just copypasting everything, so if there are any typos/errors, no there isn't!! :)

-- omfg I blinked and all of a sudden, it's December and I haven't updated on Tumblr or Wattpad, this is so devastating bruh 💀 this is what college does to a mf. Since this chapter is short, I should be dropping another one tomorrow...hopefully.

Chapter List

Happy Birthday [8]

December 8th

Saoirse did not feel any older than the day before, and she definitely did not feel any younger. The girl spent countless nights studying for winter finals in the library, unable to find any reason to join study halls in the Ravenclaw Tower despite Tracy begging on his knees countless times. The boy could not stop leaving her alone. The separation between Ava-Lynn and Griffin hit him hard, it seemed.

She opted to stay with Patrick when it came to studying, but one day, when the boy had gotten a cold and insisted on being locked up in his dorm, Saoirse had no other choice than to study with Mayfield. Truly, it was the worst decision in her life. He couldn’t study whatsoever and gave her a migraine by lunchtime.

Ever since her induction, Saoirse had gotten closer to the other Slytherin boys, namely Malfoy, Black, and Lestrange. They were the only others besides Patrick who appeared to have a brain while Avery always tried to pry his way into her life with annoying “one-liners.” In hindsight, Saoirse probably should not have expected higher standards for the Knights of Walpurgis; her induction only consisted of a small, simple silver ring that would burn whenever a meeting was set for the week. She was never one for jewelry, so she kept the ring hung around her neck by a beaded metal chain.

Saoirse had always thought of friend groups to be more adventurous, filled with animated moments that would surely make their way as important core memories late in life. However, the more she started to converse and let herself be, it was clear to her that there were more precious moments of quiet than of rambunctious laughter. Sure, they were boys; yelling and arguing was expected, but the girl could only guess that their aristocratic upbringings led them to enjoy leisure time, sitting around in the damp grasses covered in browns, reds, and oranges to stare at the sky.

She started to notice the little things, details she would have never considered had she listened to Mayfield and stayed away from those in green. Malfoy had certain compulsions and wanted everything done in a certain manner, in a certain order; Lestrange was always writing to his mother, something Saoirse could never relate to. Avery, though known for his infidelity with young women around the castle, always stuck up for his friends during Quidditch matches and advocated for a healthy relationship with one’s being and body; Black, though the most intimidating, was the nicest out of the 9 snakes—save for Patrick and Rosier.

The two with the longest hair, one with strands made of ambered honey and the other with strands of spilled oil, were stuck to the hip. Saoirse was never one to probe around and eavesdrop, but with Lestrange’s enabling tendencies, she couldn’t help but let her eyes follow Rosier and Mulciber in their personal adventures. Mulciber always tried to pull Rosier’s chair out for him, and always offered to clean the boy’s glasses and braid his hair. Rosier, being a worrywart, naturally scolds the other boy whenever he would be too rough during practice. In the end, though, he would always end up dressing Mulciber’s wounds with a gentle touch, one that was reserved for a frail butterfly too weak to fly on its own.

The one person that was too caught up in his own woes to notice his luck was Riddle. He was always gone, wanting to study on his own or finding odd excuses to not partake in a group outing to their tree by the Black Lake. If Saoirse were asked a few months ago, she would have aligned with Tom’s actions and deem him reasonable for wanting to be alone. But now, she liked having people around, even if it meant being together in silence. It was fun, and it actually made her happy.

Whenever Saoirse would ask about the boy, the rest would look so dejected to say he did not want to hang out. It was obvious to her that they saw Riddle as a genuine friend, especially with the large promises he tells them over and over again, but he was like a broken record player.

From time to time, whenever she found herself laughing a little too hard at Malfoy’s face that turned red whenever he got too much dirt and grime on his person, Saoirse’s thoughts always returned to Himiko. When days were particularly happy, she wondered if she could have been good friends with the girl, genuine friends. Saoirse saw her face in her dreams more often, and even saw her figure in the corridors when she was out and about exploring the castle with Patrick after Astronomy. She used to never see Himiko when she died in October, but she could not figure out the reason for the deceased’s now frequent occurrences.

Saoirse wanted to tell someone about Himiko, perhaps Patrick, but she would rather be preoccupied than focusing on her past. It was her birthday, yes, but there was barely anything special about it to disregard her papers and readings. She had never celebrated her birthday before and she definitely was not going to start now, not when life was starting to look more colorful.

But, of course, the Knights never missed the opportunity for a good party. By sundown, Saoirse made her way to the Slytherin dungeons as she usually did on Tuesday. The girl had become a recurring face to see in the Slytherin common room, a speck of phthalo blue in a sea of faded tea green. When she walked into room number 13 on the boy’s side, Saoirse was met with a loud pop in the ears, followed by the tickling sensation of confetti running down her cheeks.

Eloise was hysterical, a grin slapped on top of his face. “Happy birthday!”

“I’m so sorry about him,” Lestrange said. “We said not to pop the confetti until later, but he wanted to open one now.” The boy gave her a friendly side-hug, something she was surely getting used to, and let her into the dorm.

One by one, the other boys hugged her, patting Saoirse’s back in celebration of her sixteenth birthday. The last two people to hug her, one in blue and the other in red, were a surprise.

“Nott told us it was your birthday,” Tracy smiled. “And usually I don’t like being in enemy territory, but I’m letting it slide for now. You only get to be sixteen once, after all!”

“Happy birthday, Saoirse,” Ava-Lynn said. “Tracy told me what you said about Eugene a couple weeks ago. I’m grateful that you decided to keep being friends with me. Eugene has the tendency to get people on his side, so I was worried.”

Saoirse let a huff leave her nose. “He’s really weird,” she laughed. “I still can’t believe he was crying that hard. Again, I don’t know what happened between you two, but I don’t think it was anything crazy enough to have snot in his hair, especially since it was his fault, it seems like.”

“It definitely was his fault,” Tracy muttered. “Ava told me and—yeesh…”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Miles pushed. “But we got to sing to the birthday girl!” He took Saoirse by the arms to guide her to the round table that was moved to the middle of the room, a large cake sitting patiently in the middle. “My Mum sent me the recette via owl. It was my aunt’s, but it got passed down to us when she passed away a couple years back. Hopefully, you’ll like it.”

“It’s awfully big…”

“Yeah, well, I have a big sweet tooth and so does Cass’.”

As Saoirse sat down, Patrick lit the candles with his wand, each wick engulfed in fire illuminating her eyes in all of their jade-like beauty. The more the girl looked around, the more she realized that Riddle, as always, was nowhere to be found.

Her friends began to sing, though all in different keys and intonation, and Saoirse’s chest tightened. Maybe it was the dust in the room, or the way the candle flames irritated her eyes, but soon her nose was dusted with red as tears rolled down her cheeks. Her stomach was numb and nauseous, yet so warm and fulfilled. Her heart was on double-time, pumping blood through her veins as more tears crusted over her skin.

By the time her friends finished singing, her eyes were covered completely, hands over her face in an attempt to stop the crying. They could only laugh at her moment of weakness, a rare sight for Saoirse to hold her emotions on her sleeve—quite literally, too, as she rubbed her nose and snot all over her Hogwarts robe.

After some shouts of encouragement, the candles were blown, and the cake was cut. It was very sweet, a burst of flavor Saoirse was not used to, but with a hint of her salty tears the flavor seemed to subside.

“People cry all the time, Saoirse, don’t be embarrassed,” Ava-Lynn smiled. “I thought it was very sweet.”

Tracy nodded; his face slathered in frosting. “Mhmm!” He stopped himself to swallow his piece. “It was also cool of the guys to set this up and invite us. They’re actually kind of nice.”

“Of course we’re nice,” Eloise scoffed. “Why would we ever be rude to Saoirse? She’s a doll, really—changed the way I look at the Japanese!”

Saoirse chimed in, “I heard that Japan defended some territory in the east a few days ago—New Guinea, I believe.”

“Well, I don’t really care about Muggle Japan; you know that.”

“Yeah, I don’t care about them either,” Tracy said. “Now let’s open presents! Open mine first!”

───────────

Wrapping paper was thrown askew, trashing the room with bows littered here and there. Each gift was unique and special, reminiscent of Saoirse’s time in Scotland from October to now. Eloise gifted the girl hair products and hair clips, Miles gave her old French cookbooks that specialized in the use of fruits, and Ava-Lynn gave Saoirse a book on Spanish architecture and a dress for the warmer months. Tracy gave her a simple bottle of perfume, Orion gave her a more durable set of quills, and Cassius gave her a pair of binoculars for every Quidditch match she was “guaranteed�� to see. Rosier gave Saoirse a plant, having bonded over herbology and gardening in the past week or so, and Patrick gave Saoirse a ring that had the constellation of Sagittarius engraved in its underside. Tracy and Ava-Lynn excused themselves shortly after giving their gifts, not wanting to stay in the snake pit longer than needed.

When it was Abraxas’ turn to present his gift, Saoirse couldn’t help but crease her brows. “What is this, Malfoy?”

“A suitcase,” he smiled. “My family hosts an annual Yule Ball to celebrate the winter season. I thought you’d need one since you’re obviously invited.”

“What’s Yule?”

“It’s what we celebrate instead of Christmas, though we still do the gift-giving and all of that. The meaning of Yule has changed over the years, but it was originally a holiday from the Pagan religion.”

Patrick frowned. “My family’s manor was caught in an air raid a few weeks ago. A few grenades were thrown nearby, and I guess that was enough to ruin the infrastructure.”

Eloise grabbed another piece of cake, using his fingers to grip at the moist sponge straight from the source. “Which manor is the ball going to be at?”

“Our French one,” Abraxas replied. “Luckily most of our manors are safe from the Muggle War.”

“Merlin, I can’t imagine having one of my family’s manors being destroyed,” Lestrange sighed. “Didn’t you grow up in that manor before moving here?”

“Yeah…”

Saoirse reached with a hand to comfort Patrick, her thumb grazing his knuckles. The boy immediately squeezed her palm in response. She turned to Abraxas, a small smile on her lips as she spoke softly, “I’d be happy to attend; thank you for inviting me.”

The group cleaned up the dorm, bunching up the wrapping paper and ribbons before Abraxas gathered it all to make it disappear with the tap of his wand.

“Thank you so much for setting this up for me,” Saoirse sniffled. “I’ve never celebrated my birthday before.”

Patrick smiled softly, taking the girl’s hands in his. “We’ll celebrate it every year, then.”

In a fit of bravery, Patrick leaned in close to press his lips onto Saoirse’s cheek. His movements were quick, causing his action to land on the corner of her lip instead. Before Saoirse could get a word out, she was already out of the dorm, the loud guffaws of Avery, Lestrange, and Mulciber echoing down the hallway as the door slammed in front of her face.

She could only stare, gathering her thoughts together as her hands squeezed the box the leftover cake sat in. The boys insisted that she keep the sweet since it was for her. Her chest heaved, her heartbeat slowing. When she turned around to leave the Slytherin common room, her face smashed into another person, their hands quickly hovering over hers to save the cake.

“You should try keeping your eyes open for once,” they sighed, a boy’s voice reaching Saoirse’s ears.

It was Tom, his lips in their usual pout on his face. His hands were warm, yet rougher than the girl could have ever imagined they would be.

“My eyes were open,” she scoffed. “They always are.”

“Answer the damn question.”

“Are you seriously going to finish this cake on your own?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“...Well, no. It’s too sweet, but Lestrange made it.”

The cake box was pulled from her grasp, her hands cold now that Tom’s hands disappeared from her own. He didn’t say a word, opening the box to inspect the treat. Surprisingly, his lips curled up in the corners. His face looked oddly pleasant to look at, for once. Any sort of emotion went as quickly as it came, and soon the boy was walking away from her to return to his own dorm room.

As Saoirse walked in the same direction to leave, her ears caught a small wind of his voice.

Credit(s): Dividing banner (^^^) by Chen Lu (1436 - 1449) - "Plum Blossoms in Moonlight" scroll painting; sourced through Pinterest

“Happy birthday, Saoirse.”

#tom riddle #fanfic #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fanfiction #fanfiction #decade: 1940s #1940s #wattpad #dinoyaps

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dinoplantsghost · 1 year ago

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What's a character you regret having a crush on

This is a hard one!!! I think this dude who’s know for being a derange serial killer ⬇️⬇️

Like I know he’s a fictional serial killer buuuuuuuuuuuuuuut YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAhhhhhhhhh

#unfortunately relatable #there's just something about him and idk what it is #he's just so goofy

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dinoplantsghost · 1 year ago

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Inspired by @b1oodthrsty post!

#me when the spider in my bathroom hung around for two or three days and we feally bonded but then it disappeared randomly #i miss that spider :(

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dinoplantsghost · 1 year ago

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throwing this here for me, me thinks i need this

Writing Description Notes:

Updated 14th June 2024 More writing tips, review tips & writing description notes

Facial Expressions

Masking Emotions

Smiles/Smirks/Grins

Eye Contact/Eye Movements

Blushing

Voice/Tone

Body Language/Idle Movement

Thoughts/Thinking/Focusing/Distracted

Silence

Memories

Happy/Content/Comforted

Love/Romance

Sadness/Crying/Hurt

Confidence/Determination/Hopeful

Surprised/Shocked

Guilt/Regret

Disgusted/Jealous

Uncertain/Doubtful/Worried

Anger/Rage

Laughter

Confused

Speechless/Tongue Tied

Fear/Terrified

Mental Pain

Physical Pain

Tired/Drowsy/Exhausted

#dinoyaps #ignore this

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dinoplantsghost · 1 year ago

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do yall fw disco or nah?

this is what the discoholic fandom on tumblr is btw

its so outrageously small

#disco #discoholic #object head #goofy ahh #sillyposting #dinoyaps

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dinoplantsghost · 1 year ago

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pairing: Tom Riddle x fem! original character

warning(s): tom is a warning in itself, 1940s: time-accurate prejudice, one or two racist comment(s) and mention of n@z!s, teenage behavior: drama and language, mention of Walpurgisnacht and Christianity, there's probably more but idk

word count: ~4515

Disclaimer: I have a huge google doc that holds all of my drafts and I'm quite literally just copypasting everything, so if there are any typos/errors, no there isn't!! :)

-- okay now this one kind of eats, I just skimmed through it and I lowkey forgot I wrote this

Chapter List

The Knights of Walpurgis [7]

13:15 - Wednesday 18th

Tracy had bumped into Saoirse during their shared free period before lunch, his lips not in their usual smile when he dragged her off campus to a bench near the Black Lake.

He was concerned about his friends—or ‘their’ friends, as he had phrased it. For once, Saoirse understood what it was like to “be in the know” and be part of a unit of people.

“I tried talking to Ava,” he sighed. “But she gets all emotional whenever I bring it up; I just want to understand what happened, but I guess I get why she doesn’t want to tell me. Maybe it was bad or something.”

“Griffin was telling me something about it after the first Quidditch match, although very vaguely. He was mostly talking to himself, it seemed like.”

“Really? I’m surprised, considering how much he didn’t like you when I first introduced you to each other.” Tracy leaned back, his brows furrowed as a hand reached up to pinch at his delicate skin. “What did he say?”

Saoirse shrugged. “In all honesty, I wasn’t paying attention; I’m not used to comforting people and he was too busy crying to really say anything interesting or important.”

Despite her insistence that she didn’t remember much, Saoirse went into detail about how Eugene had wept over Ava-Lynn and how she “broke his heart.” She always took the opportunity to talk her mouth off.

Tracy, usually thirsty for drama and all of its wondrous theatrical moments, paused. “Eugene and Ava? Together? I don’t believe it,” he huffed. “Ava’s a great person with strong morals. And I mean, Eugene is my friend and all, but…”

Saoirse shrugged once more. He clearly knew them better than her and yet he was just as confused.

The boy shook his head, his shaggy hair hitting his cheeks as he rubbed his eyelids. “Thanks for telling me. I don’t think Ava would have told me that even if I threatened her; I would be embarrassed too. But also, there’s something else I needed to talk to you about.” Tracy pulled his legs up, sitting tailor-fashioned on the bench, smearing mud and grass on his trousers. “You know we share Defense classes, right,” he asked. “Because I’ve seen you hanging out with those guys lately—the ones from Slytherin. If you were smarter, you’d stop talking to them.”

Saoirse frowned. “That’s exactly what Patrick said about you and Griffin the other day. He said any friend of Griffin’s isn’t good.”

“Well, that nerd is a hypocrite,” he scoffed. “Every one of his friends, including him, is a no good, snotty, rich boy raised on outdated ideals. They’re no better than the Nazis we hear about from the Muggle war.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong about that, she thought.

“But Patrick is really nice,” she argued. “He told me that he hates the Sacred Twenty-Eight; he wants nothing more than to be on his own when he finishes school.”

“He’s obviously lying. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, as they say.”

“What do you mean? What apple?”

“Nevermind,” he groaned. Tracy stood from the bench, doing nothing to wipe off the grim from his uniform. “Forget what I said; it’s an idiom you don’t get yet. But either way, don’t come running to me when that group decides to throw you to the side, Saoirse.”

It was not until lunchtime did Tracy try to talk to Saoirse again. After their conversation at the bench, the boy left in frustration since she did not understand why he disliked Patick when he had Eugene Griffin as a friend. In her eyes, he had no right telling her who to be around when that Hufflepuff student was clearly just as bad.

When lunch rolled around, she didn’t entertain his attempts at conversation because she was too busy scratching at arithmancy work that was due within the next hour or so. Saoirse wasn’t horrible at mathematics, per se; it’s the way symbols and numbers danced around on the tree pulp that annoyed her. Mahoutokoro had a different way of calculating things, and Arithmancy was completely separate from what she was formally taught from a young age. Saoirse still had a hard time handling a quill, and her handwriting needed to be small so each equation could fit nicely on the same page. Her eyes also strained if she looked at her work for too long, which is one of many reasons she was currently sitting at the Ravenclaw lunch table alone, her back curled over as she scribbled away slowly. With each snag her quill hit on the parchment and each ink bubble that burst and melted into her skin, she felt closer to committing another murder. Maybe it would be better if it was her that was dying this time around.

Luckily, she was able to finish the assignment in time. Arithmancy class always went by faster than her brain processing every little thing she wrote. By the time she was out of the classroom and following her peers down the hall like a school of fish, her thumb had difficulty flexing and stretching out her fingers did not get rid of the tense feeling in her hand.

As she walked into Merrythought’s classroom, Saoirse pinched the bridge of her nose to numb the throbbing pain in her head as she plopped down next to Patrick, who fortunately recovered just fine after the start of the month.

“Are you alright,” he asked. “You’re pinching your nose again.”

He dug around in his satchel, pulling out a small glass container with clumpy circles of brown. The boy gave one to Saoirse, a thin layer of sugar melting from the warmth of her palm. “My family gets these Godiva treats every time we visit Belgium,” he explained. “We’re not supposed to do this at school, but I infuse the share I get with soothing elixirs I make in my spare time. I have this thing called astigmatism, so I get headaches and migraines often.”

She took a small bite, her front teeth sore from the sweet’s brittleness. “It’s very sweet,” she muttered. “Almost too sweet…”

Patrick blushed, embarrassed that Saoirse didn’t like it. “Oh, well, you don’t have to eat it all! I’m sorry you don’t like it!”

She waved a hand. “No, I will,” she replied. “I’m just not used to it. I like it.”

As the girl took another bite, she was unaware of the smear of crumbs on the corner of her mouth. Without another thought, Patrick cupped her cheek, flicking flecks of almond and caramelized sugar.

Eloise, along with the other Knights, made a noise of discomfort. “Get a room,” he whined. “No one wants to see that, Patrick.”

The Austrian boy froze, pulling his touch away from Saoirse’s cheek dusted in pink and red. “Sorry…”

───────────

The Transfiguration Professor was odd. In her mind, he resembled the many (old as fuck) men she saw in Japan, though he was not nearly as old. He always wore lavender robes, and insisted on speaking in a way that drove her to insanity. Albus Dumbledore, the Head of the Gryffindor House, always spoke softly. He spoke so delicately, in fact, that his breath would slip through the little gap in his front teeth, causing his speech to have a whistle throughout. It sounded like a fork dragging against a porcelain plate, a sound she only recently discovered her first night in the Great Hall.

When Dumbledore asked Saoirse to speak to him during her free time after Defense Against the Dark Arts, she wanted to bang her head against a desk. She had heard stories about him from Merrythought. He had a male lover that he was enemies with, apparently.

“I hope Hogwarts has been to your liking,” the old man said. “I’m sure your former school was very enchanting. I’ve always wanted to visit Mahoutokoro, you see.”

“Hogwarts has been very kind to me, sir, much better than Mahoutokoro.”

“Wonderful! It’s always good to see the positive in every change and shift in life, after all. Now, how are you doing socially? Any friends? Like that Mayfield boy, Tracy.”

“I’m not that close to Mayfield. I would consider him more of an acquaintance; I believe that is the word.”

Dumbledore hummed, his eyes twinkling as he fiddled with his beard. “I see…Are you having trouble finding eagles to group with, dear?”

Saoirse shook her head. “No, sir, I just find myself around Patrick Nott and his group more often.”

The man sighed. He plucked his eyewear from his wobbling nose, wiping the grime off with a smooth cloth. “Saoirse, dear, the reason I have pulled you aside is because I am worried,” he frowned. “And while you are an eagle rather than a lion, it is my duty as an adult and a teacher to make sure every student is doing well. Now, I say this out of the concern from your friend—no, your acquaintance, as you referred to him. Mister Mayfield only wants the best for you, as do I.”

Saoirse’s brows furrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mister Mayfield has told me of the group you surround yourself with, Saoirse, and with my own eyes I can say with a full heart that these boys will give you nothing but trouble.”

He leaned against his desk, clasping his hands as he stared at the Japanese girl with a sorrowful expression. “I fear Saoirse, amongst that group of Slytherins, is a boy who is too dark, too far into his ambitions to be deemed safe. He is dangerous. Any involvement with him will throw you off a path of light and good.”

The girl craned her neck. She was sure her face was stuck with her lip pulling at the corner, her eyes darting around to avoid the old man’s gaze. “Professor,” she laughed. “I can assure you that none of them are ‘dangerous.’ They’re teenage boys that are driven by hormones, food, and sports.”

“No,” Dumbledore argued. “You’re not understanding, Saoirse. Amongst those boys is a tortured soul, one that cannot be healed or fixed by any means. Mister Mayfield came to me in hopes that you would realize the dangers these Slytherins put you in.”

Saoirse crossed her arms, scoffing. Mayfield was hardly any character to throw his opinion into her life. “With all due respect sir, I barely know Mayfield and he barely knows those boys. Patrick and his friends are nothing but dumb airheads, especially that Riddle kid; he drives me insane.”

“In what way?”

“That boy needs to be humbled,” she sighed. “He’s brash. He thinks he has this authority over everyone. He’s really not all that.”

“Would you care to elaborate,” Dumbledore pushed. “While Tom is destined for greatness, that is for sure, the boy is very troubled.”

The girl was silent, her jaw tensing in thought. “I’m sorry, sir,” she drawled. “I hardly think it’s my place to speak of Riddle’s issues, especially when I couldn’t care any less.” Saoirse stood from her chair, letting the legs scratch against the wooden floor of the man’s office. “Now if you’d excuse me, I’d like to enjoy my free time before History of Magic.”

Ignoring Dumbledore’s demanding gaze, Saoirse’s legs took a stride out of his office and away from his classroom. She glided through each hallway, twisting and turning each corner as her mind honed in on the plans forming in her head.

She had every reason to stick by those boys in green, to keep an eye on that sick fuck who took his “friends” for granted. It wasn’t hard to see how the others were strangled around his finger. Considering Rosier’s speech the night she was informed of their little club, it only confirmed the rumors she had heard, most of them from Mayfield. And while she never had friends before, it wasn’t rocket science to have basic human decency.

But she was curious, so fucking curious as to why Riddle seemed to have put it upon himself to carry the burdens of an entire aristocratic group of blue bloods. According to Patrick, Riddle was never a name within the Sacred Twenty-Eight. He was a nobody, to put it simply. Yet somehow, by some miracle, he was at the center of some of Europe’s powerful heirs of their generation.

There was darkness in the boy; that was something she could agree on with Dumbledore. During her spar in Merrythought’s classroom, Riddle was cold and calculated, but he was easily aggravated—”trigger happy” is what Patrick called it. Riddle gets jealous whenever the spotlight trails off him, causing a controlled temper tantrum of sorts in order to regain his title as the model student.

It didn’t take long for her feet to drag all the way to the Slytherin dungeons. The password slipped past her lips, and she ignored the harsh stares from those in green as she looked for the familiar door with the number ‘13’ on it.

The door swung open, Miles Lestrange leaning against the frame with crossed arms. “If you’re looking for your boyfriend, he isn’t here,” he smirked. “Patrick’s in the library, as usual.”

“I’m not looking for Patrick, I’m looking for Riddle. What’s his door number?”

Lestrange curled a brow in interest, pushing himself off the door frame as he mused, “Oh? You’re already bored of Florian? How rude of you, Saoirse.”

“Florian?”

“Yeah, that’s Patrick’s middle name.” He ran a hand through his curls. “Anyways, why do you need Tom?”

“I just need to talk to him,” she frowned.

Miles sighed, “His door number is seven; he rooms with ‘Brax, Louis, and Cass’.”

With a small thanks, Saoirse retraced her steps, eyes dancing to the bold, black number on teak wood. The girl did not have many hopes of speaking to the boy today, but when she rapped her knuckles on the door, it was quick to snap open and make her jump out of her skin.

It was odd to see Riddle in simpler clothing. He didn’t have his robe on, nor his gray sweater vest. Instead, he only wore the Oxford shirt all students were required to wear, along with his green and silver tie that hung loose under his collar. He did not speak, expecting Saoirse to have words roll off her tongue with ease, only to realize her eyebrows were crumpled up as she gathered her English.

“I don’t have all day, you know,” he uttered, a breath of annoyance flushing past his nostrils. “Midterms are coming up; you should be studying instead of wandering off.”

When the girl stayed silent, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Before he could slam the door, however, she spoke:

“Let me join that stupid club of yours, Riddle.”

Tom froze, the Adam’s apple in his neck bobbing as he turned on the ball of his foot. “Whatever Nott told you is none of your business.”

“It became my business when you beat up the poor boy for rightfully spending his free time with whomever he chooses. Besides, he was following your dumb orders regardless.”

Tom yanked Saoirse by her collar, throwing her inside the vacant dorm. The door finally slammed shut, the flame from the fireplace flickering against his high cheekbones and set jaw.

“What did those idiots tell you,” he demanded through clenched teeth. It didn’t take long for the distance between the teens to close, Tom’s long legs taking strides to push Saoirse against the beam of Cassius’ four-poster bed.

“They told me everything.”

“Really, everything?”

“Everything they wanted to tell me before Orion demanded that I get some sleep.”

Saoirse hated how tall the boy was. People were rarely his height in Mahoutokoro, but it seemed like European genetics had these boys shooting for the stars. Through her lashes and frames, she could see how flared his nose was, how his lip was in permanent disgust at the thought of her being in his presence.

Hesitant, Saoirse forced her tongue away from her inner cheek as she spoke, “Dumbledore spoke to me a while back…He seemed weirdly obsessed with you. I just wanted to know why.”

Apparently, the mere mention of the man was enough to set the boy off. His eyes flashed with anger, perhaps even fear, but it was difficult to tell when Tom distanced himself from the girl to pace around the middle of the room.

“What,” she smirked. “Do you have a secret affair with him or something? Trust me, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen such a—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he hissed. He turned to face her, a finger pointed in her direction as he pressed, “What did he say to you?”

“I may or may not have spoken of you in a negative light,” she shrugged. “Dumbledore was trying to ask what I knew of you, which isn’t much.”

Saoirse sighed, taking off her frames to rub her tired eyes. She sat down on Mulciber’s bed, letting her legs hang from the side as she laid down on his unmade sheets. “Whatever you’re trying to do with the Chamber of Secrets, It’s obvious that he knows.” She ignored the noise that came from his throat. “Senile men are a lot smarter than people would like to think; more deceitful as well.”

She was met with silence, with the occasional crackling from the logs under the fire.

“I don’t see the point in you being a Knight,” Tom said. “You’re only doing this for Nott.”

“So,” she questioned. “You would be getting more out of your posse if I joined, regardless of my reasons. You would make a pretty shitty cult leader if you didn’t take advantage of your members, you know.”

“And what makes you think the Knights of Walpurgis isn’t already a cult?”

The ashes under the flame fluttered, logs crumbling further down in prolonged silence.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

TR~S

Saoirse did not know what to expect when she followed three boys in the middle of the night. After Astronomy class, Tom guided her, along with Patrick and Mulciber, up the castle. She never really got used to the moving stairs, but by the time they made it to the seventh floor, Saoirse’s head was already spinning and her hands clung onto Nott’s arm.

The four of them moved quickly, footsteps light against the limestone flooring. Corner after corner, corridor after corridor, the teens finally stopped in the middle of a fork. Tom, the self-appointed line leader, walked up to the towering wall in front of them before pacing back and forth. Soon, the floor received residual shocks as the wall shook and split in the middle to open up.

Patrick nudged Saoirse along, shutting her slack jaw with a forefinger. “You’re going to catch a fly in your mouth, Schatzi.”

Seeing the girl in awe of one of the many hidden treasures Hogwarts had to offer, Cassius slapped a friendly hand to her back. “You’ll get used to it,” he chuckled. “I remember when we first found the Come-and-Go Room; our buddy Patrick here had the same reaction. You two are cute together, by the way.”

“Don’t say that,” hissed Patrick, his glasses fogged and his ears red. “Saoirse, Cassius doesn’t mean that at all, he’s just joking!”

The foreigner only smiled, amused by how Patrick’s eyebrows always curled whenever he was nervous. She followed the boys inside, craning her neck to inspect the castle’s magical and ever-changing architecture once more. Saoire always loved buildings, especially those built in the period of Gothic architecture. She loved how stained windows had become popular then, and she especially loved the Biblical iconography of the Christian faith, how it drowned cathedrals and other buildings in symbolism.

Saoirse was pulled out of her trance by Patrick again, leading her to an ellipse-shaped table. He pulled out a chair for her before taking a seat next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she witnessed Mulciber attempting to do the same for Rosier, only for his burly hands to be swatted away by his friend.

“Now that everyone is here,” Tom drawled. “Patrick, if you could start the meeting.”

The boy in question nodded, his eyes fierce behind his perched frames. He stood, his chair scraping against the tile before he spoke, “The date is Thursday, November 19th, 1942. The time is 1:29 in the morning. All members are present and accounted for, along with one guest.” He glanced down at Saoirse, who had her eyes set on his figure the entire time. “The Knights of Walpurgis’ second meeting of the fall term is now in session.”

Tom thanked Patrick with a wave of his hand, allowing the boy to sit down before speaking. He stayed standing, opting to pace at the head of the table. “As you can see, men, we have a willing candidate to become our next knight.”

With each word he spoke, Tom held onto the boys’ attention; moths to a raging flame. Their backs were straight, hands in their lap as they kept their heads high and their loyalty even higher. Saoirse had never seen Avery so serious before.

“It has also come to my attention,” Tom mused. “That Dumbledore is attempting to thwart our plans once more. But do not worry; we have gotten past his insistence before.” He gestured a hand to Saoirse, signaling her to rise from her seat. “The girl has been in our presence for long enough, it seems. Saoirse, do you understand what the Knights of Walpurgis stand for?”

She could only shrug. “I have some semblance of a mission, I guess.”

“The origins of our name, the Knight of Walpurgis, comes from the holiday of Walpurgisnacht,” Patrick explained. “Walpurga was a saint long ago, known for battling diseases and witchcraft. She converted many people to Christianity and was sought after for protection against our practices. The holiday lasts from April 30th to May 1st, commemorating her canonization as a saint.

“We reclaimed the meaning of Walpurgisnacht. Just as she protected those from witchcraft and magic, we want to protect those from Muggles and their violent attempts at eliminating our populations. We, the Knights of Walpurgis, want to eliminate non magic folk, just as Muggle have done to us in the past in a similar fashion.”

It made sense, Saoirse thought. However, surely not every Muggle had the same opinions. She turned to Tom, questions pooling in her mind. “So what does this have to do with the Chamber of Secrets?”

“As I’m sure the boys have told you,” he responded. “The Chamber is said to hold the very monster Salazar Slytherin planned to use himself. Our main problem is that the Chamber cannot be located.”

“And you’ve checked everywhere?”

“Yes, we’ve checked the library, asked people in the Sacred Twenty-Eight; there is nothing.”

“Hogwarts: A History has a section on Salazar Slytherin, albeit small. It said that he was a Parselmouth and apparently, only those from his direct bloodline can inherit this ability. Maybe that’s why it can’t be found.”

It was like a lightbulb had gone off—though, lightbulbs were made by Muggles, and electricity barely made sense to the Pureblood heirs. Eloise downed the drink in front of him—presumably alcohol— slamming his glass down to the table in fervor.

“I knew Asians were smart,” he laughed. “But not this smart! It makes so much sense!” Eloise turned to Tom, arms outstretched in excitement. “Tom—sorry, my Lord, you’re a direct descendant of Salazar!”

Saoirse ignored the weird title. Maybe they had a similar hierarchy system here, like Japan.

“Yes, Avery, that’s an amazing observation.” Tom smiled ugly, stopping any laughter from bubbling in Avery’s throat. “Obviously I’ve thought of that, you idiot.”

It made sense now. That’s why Riddle was accepted into the group so easily. But still, as Saoirse picked at the chipped and frayed wood of the table, her mind could not wrap around the fact that the boy’s surname held no importance, no connection to any Pureblood family. Even with that information, it also wasn’t plausible for his status to be anything but Pureblood; his lineage made sure of that.

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out soon enough,” smiled Miles. “After all, we have until the end of fall term.”

“Which families were closest to Slytherin’s descendants,” Saoirse asked. “Surely there has to be something in an office or study.”

“We’ve tried that,” Abraxas frowned. “We even asked MIles’ mum, who practically knows everyone in Europe. The next family that would be closest would be mine, but I’ve been looking since last summer; my father has nothing.”

Tom spoke, his words carrying hopeful encouragement to his lackeys. “That is why I have decided to bring you tonight, Saoirse. With your foreign knowledge, we could broaden our horizons.”

The girl could only shift in her seat to cross her arms and legs. “You really think Salazar Slytherin brought a creature from Japan all the way to the middle of nowhere in Scotland?” The look in his eyes gave everything away to her; he knew it was a stretch, too. “Look,” she sighed. “Japan really only has spirits and demons. There’s nothing I can think of that would have that much power. Sure, there are yōkai that look like snakes, which seems like something Slytherin would be particular about, but again, like I said; nothing from Japan could have the type of power to kill entire populations.”

“Well, no matter,” he sighed. “It is just as Miles said: we have until the end of the fall term.” Tom waved an arm, prompting the girl to stand up and make her way to his side. “I’m sure you’re tired, Saoirse. It’s not usual to be up this late in the night. Before you leave, though, it is customary for all Knights to be…inducted, if you will. If I could have your left arm, please.”

───────────

“Which one of you thought it was good for the girl to know of our plans?” Tom sighed for the umpteenth time, his stomach churning with disappointment as none of the boys sitting before him could get a word out in full confidence.

“It was Eloise,” Abraxas tensed. “He accidentally told Saoirse about the Chamber, but Orion eventually convinced her to join for Patrick’s sake.”

Surprisingly, Tom did not blow up towards Avery’s mistake. “Orion, good job,” he mused. “This is very pleasant to hear. I’m glad to know that at least one of you knows how to seize an opportunity, the behavior of a true Slytherin.”

It was very rare for Tom to throw compliments. If he praised you, then he was just a smidge happy; if he was happy, then there was a lesser chance of him being mad. No one liked when he was mad. If you could gain Tom’s acknowledgement, you were given the highest doses of immunity one could obtain.

In the eyes of his followers, gaining merciful immunity was the ultimate goal, even if it meant sabotaging those closest to you.

Credit(s): Dividing banner (^^^) by Chen Lu (1436 - 1449) - "Plum Blossoms in Moonlight" scroll painting; sourced through Pinterest

#tom riddle #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fanfiction #fanfiction #decade: 1940s #1940s #wattpad #knights of walpurgis #dinoyaps

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dinoplantsghost · 1 year ago

Text

pairing: Tom Riddle x fem! original character

warning(s): tom is a warning in itself, 1940s: time-accurate prejudice, violence: t0rture (Cruciatus Curse), teenage behavior: drama and language

word count: ~2112

Disclaimer: I have a huge google doc that holds all of my drafts and I'm quite literally just copypasting everything, so if there are any typos/errors, no there isn't!! :)

-- omg this chapter is so short but im absolutely so tired with school so this is all im dropping right now unfortunately. maybe ill drop another one after this, idfk, we'll see !!! :D

Chapter List

The Magic of Friendship [6]

Tom enjoyed his quiet walk to the Astronomy Tower. He always preferred the nighttime over day. Though, it was only during his stay at Hogwarts. Anywhere else and he would choose sunlight over all; the sirens always went off at night.

Hogwarts had changed his perspective on life, how special it was—how finite it was. You were only given one life, and you were expected to live it to its fullest potential; and Tom was full of potential. He was destined for greatness.

One lifetime is too short for him. He needed more; more time to conduct his plans to bring the Wizarding World to its fullest capacity. Muggles were mean, crude, and above all, ignorant. They knew nothing of what they were afraid of. They were all going to die by his doing sooner or later. Surely, in a far away universe, his mother would be proud of him.

When he turned the corner to round up the staircase, Tom saw a blur of blue illuminated by the moon before a pair of jade was shoved into his vision.

“Where is Patrick?” The girl asked, her frames sliding off her flat nose. “I never got to catch up with him after the Quidditch match.”

“Nott caught a stomach bug from dinner, and so did Mulciber.” Tom said, slipping past Saoirse as he made his way to his assigned telescope, far away from the nuisance that was she.

“From dinner,” she echoed, unaware of the sigh that fell from the boy’s nose. “Are they okay? Maybe I should go check up on him—well, them—after class.”

“That won’t be necessary, they’ve been admitted into the Hospital Wing already.”

Saoirse’s brows furrowed. “I know that tone; that’s the same tone my father uses when he’s lying. Why are you lying to me, Riddle, what happened to Patrick?”

Tom fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Darling, why would I ever lie to you,” he said condescendingly. “All of this concern for a boy you just met; I dare say you fancy him.”

“I don’t fancy him, whatever that means—”

Saoirse was cut off, a tall and awkward man standing behind her in the shadows of the night. “You two,” Professor Jensen said. “Why haven’t you started your assignment? Class started ten minutes ago.”

“Our apologies, professor,” Tom hummed pleasantly. “Unfortunately, Saoirse’s partner has fallen ill, and we were merely discussing temporary arrangements until Nott is better.”

Jensen nodded, his shoulders relaxing at Tom’s soothing words. The boy always had a way with adults. “Well, then,” he smiled. “I’m glad Riddle is kind enough to offer assistance to you, Miss Saoirse; five points to Slytherin.”

Saoirse couldn’t focus anymore after Riddle’s sass. The rest of class was silent between the two, their hands occasionally passing by as they reached over to grab something. She enjoyed it more when Patrick listened to her talk about whatever she felt like chatting about at the moment. It helped her practice her English.

She was nothing but worried for him. Surely, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut around someone as temperamental as Riddle, right? Whatever the case may be, she only hoped she didn’t find the boy dead on the ground somewhere.

“You know,” Tom muttered, his first words after the first hour or two of class. “Nott is awfully fond of you; he’s been reading in the romance genre lately.”

Saoirse’s cheeks turned hot, brighter than the moonlight that reflected off her cheekbones and forehead. “That’s not a funny joke, you know…”

“It’s not a joke; it’s the truth. He’s usually by himself most of the time, but now he spends all his time with you. It’s amusing to see, actually.”

Saoirse scoffed, “Well, I think that’s really sweet of him. Of course, you wouldn’t get it; you don’t seem like the type to believe in love or anything romantic. I actually can’t believe that girls waste their time with you.”

“At least they have good taste.” He muttered, his ego flaring until fading away immediately when Saoirse whacked his arm.

TR~S

The first smell in the Slytherin dungeons that fills the nose is the pungent, stagnant water lingering from the dripping sewage pipes. The wear and tear of the castle is very noticeable since the school keeper deliberately avoids dirtier places that need more work than usual. However, the students of green and silver try their best to maintain the elegance that comes with a pureblooded community.

The interior of the Slytherin common room differed from its outside completely; with pristine furniture and glistening marble columns, it was the home of a tight-knit group, often used for gossip and other disparaging remarks that are meant for the common room and the common room only.

Somehow, by some miracle, Saoirse was able to convince Tom to let her in the snake den. She was too determined, too worried about Patrick and his friends—well, more of Patrick than his friends.

The culture surrounding the Slytherin’s fascinated her. When she walked into their awfully green living space, Saoirse saw a couple of upperclassmen standing by one of the many glass windows that protected them from the Black Lake. Looking on and into the murky water, Saoirse saw merpeople waving their hands at the children, forming signs.

The Ravenclaw shook her head, stomping her way to the left staircase that wrapped around the bulky statue of a man whom she assumed to be Salazar Slytherin. Remembering Riddle’s words, she walked down the hall to inspect each door, finding the one with the silver number of thirteen before knocking softly.

“Hello? It’s me, Saoirse.” She waited patiently, nibbling on her nail folds before the door swung open, a weak and defeated Abraxas frowning at the girl.

“What do you want?” He asked, his voice so unlike his usual tone of pride and ignorance. His hair was oily, slicked back and pushed behind his ears as bandages sat on his face and neck.

She walked in, gently moving the taller boy out the way. “I heard what happened, so I came to see you all.”

“No, don’t look at us; we’re ugly…” Groaned Eloise, his pillow muffling the sounds of his growing pains as it sat on his face.

“That’s just what you look like, Avery.” she sighed. “Where is Patrick?”

“He’s right there,” Abraxas said from behind, walking around to lay back down on the bed already occupied by Miles. “He knocked out cold after Tom left; he usually doesn’t get punished, so he isn’t used to the pain.”

Saoirse frowned, slipping her flats off before sitting at the head of Patrick’s bed. Her weight caused the duvet to dip, his limp body following its contours. With gentle hands, she picked up his head to rest in her lap as her fingers lost in his hair. She took his bent glasses off his nose and set them down on his bedside drawer.

“Does Riddle always lash out like this?” She asked quietly, her wand in hand as she slowly healed his wounds, from the small scratches littering his skin to the large bruise under his left eye.

“Not usually,” Orion uttered, “but it’s always harsh whenever it does happen; he has major problems.”

Miles chimed in, his body rolling over to face the girl. “He used the Cruciatus Curse, if you’re wondering. It feels like a bunch of knives and needles are being stabbed into you all at once. It makes you lose track of time after a while.”

Saoirse nodded, her eyes tracing the lines of Patrick’s pale and sickly face. “Why did Riddle get mad anyways?”

She was met with silence from the boys.

“Well, it’s complicated.” Louis coughed, his hair out of its usual tight bun as he rested on Cassius’s shoulder, who just so happened to be sitting next to him. “Tom was angry at us for not doing what we were supposed to, and he was mad at Patrick for hanging out with you.”

“Why would he care who Patrick is hanging out with?”

Eloise sighed. “Because we’re supposed to be ‘focusing on other things’ as he put it…like how we’re supposed to be looking for the Chamber of Secrets—”

The rest of the boys, save for Patrick, groaned in disbelief as their friend was too delirious to realize his mistake.

“Excuse me—Chamber of Secrets, what is that?” Saoirse asked, confusion written all over as she watched Abraxas throw a weak attempt at hitting the heir of Avery in the face, his deflated pillow plopping onto the floor.

“It’s something Salazar Slytherin made when Hogwarts was built long ago.” Abraxas said. “The other founders: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, and Rowena Ravenclaw, had differing opinions from Salazar concerning half-bloods and Muggleborns. He harbored resentment towards anyone without a pure magical lineage, and so he created the Chamber of Secrets to house a monster that was supposed to rid the school of those he deemed unworthy of magic.”

“Why are we telling her this, this was supposed to be a secret.” Pressed Orion.

“There’s no point in keeping it a secret, she’s already involved; it’s Eloise’s fault anyways.”

“I’m sorry that I feel like my head is about to explode, chicken boy.” Cried Eloise.

Saoirse sat in thought, contemplating the information she was fed. Riddle, who made it his mission to be calm and collected, the epitome of gentlemanly perfection and the poster boy of Hogwarts, was merely a boy loyal to his peers and had major anger issues, it seemed. Why he was determined to open the Chamber himself was unknown to the girl, but he was playing his cards wrong. Riddle was driven by emotion in times of stress, as seen by how weak and fearful his posse was. Patrick was still out cold, Lestrange and Malfoy were hanging off the bed they were laying on, Black was sagging into a fluffy, oblong seat; Avery was on the bed diagonal from where Patick’s bed was, face down, and Rosier and Mulciber were in their own world directly across.

“Does Riddle force you all to do things for him,” she whispered, breaking the silence between the group of boys. “Why do you put up with him? These abusive outbursts seem to be commonplace.”

“Because at the end of the day, we trust him; he’s our friend.”

Saoirse felt the weight on her lap shifting, causing her gaze to follow. Patrick sat up slowly, palms on his sheets in search of his glasses. The girl was quick to hand them to the boy.

“Tom,” Patrick continued. “is very complicated, to put it simply. We know that we shouldn’t put up with his anger—his obsessions, but he has good reason to be obsessed. He promised us that he would do the world good, and if that means a few punches and spells here and there, then I would do anything to make sure his goals are accomplished.”

The other boys made affirming sounds. Louis pulled away from Cassius, his back straighter and his eyes brighter than before. “Before we met Tom, we were nothing but a bunch of rich boys with a reputation to uphold. In our families, there are definitely other people our parents are proud of. But with Tom, he gives us hope; a purpose. Tom has pushed our boundaries time and time again, only to prove that we are worthy of our names, of this privilege he’s given us to be his followers—the Knights of Walpurgis.”

Saoirse hesitated to speak, her thoughts running many miles an hour before she opened her mouth. “If I became one of his followers,” she started. “Would that help? I don’t like that you’re all beat up, Patrick.”

The boy in question stuttered, “What? No, I don’t want you involved, Saoirse.”

“Actually, it would help us,” said Orion.

Everyone turned to face the melancholy teenager in the corner of the room. He leaned forward, forearms pressed against his knees and his palms clasped together. He blinked once, then twice, until Eloise stupidly made a noise of acknowledgement, slapping his forehead and then regretting it immediately as his head pounded against his skull.

Avery tossed in the bed, his hands in prayer as he knelt in Saoise’s direction. “Please, lady of the exotics, I beg of you! Aid us with your pretty magic ways and your dainty, womanly touch; heal us!”

As Saoirse begrudgingly raised her wand, Patrick sat beside her with a heavy heart. “Saoirse, please don’t tell me you’re thinking about joining,” he whispered. “The things we do, what we stand for—it’s nothing you want to be involved with.”

“I can handle myself, Patrick; nothing bad will happen.”

Credit(s): Dividing banner (^^^) by Chen Lu (1436 - 1449) - "Plum Blossoms in Moonlight" scroll painting; sourced through Pinterest

#tom riddle #fanfic #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #decade: 1940s #1940s #wattpad #dinoyaps #im so fucking tired #bro #i swear to god

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