thediaryofriddles

[thediaryofriddles]

「⚓️」 The Boathouse ༉‧₊˚

The lake stretched black and endless before them, lanterns swaying on the beams, light rippling across the water. Y/N dangled her toes into the cool surface of the water, her hair loose and wild in the damp in night air. Tom sat beside her, a bit too close, his presence pressing against her like the high tide of the waves.

“ Are you cold?” he murmured, his eyes never leaving her.

“Maybe.” She leaned back on her palms, shoulder brushing his again. This time, neither of them pretended not to notice.

The silence was thick, charged, every breath strung tight between them. His hand shifted, brushing her knuckles, deliberate now—not accidental. Her pulse immediately jumped, the soft touch making her feel more unsteady than the rocking dock beneath them.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said, voice low, steady, dangerous.

She smirked, though her heartrate spiked. “Neither should you.”

He tilted toward her, close enough that the lantern light caught the sharp line of his jaw, the shadows in his eyes. “My excuse,” he breathed, “is you.”

Her laughter died. The world blurred. Because suddenly his hand wasn’t brushing hers—it was holding it, firm, like he’d already decided to never let go.

Her lips parted to speak, but no words came out. And before she could even think—before she could stop—Tom closed the space.

The kiss was searing, all the restrained hunger finally breaking free. His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face toward him, his mouth claiming hers like he’d been starving for it. She melted into it instantly, her fingers curling into his shirt, dragging him closer until there was no space left at all.

The dock creaked beneath them, the lake whispered around them, but none of it mattered. All Y/N could feel was the heat of him, the taste of firewhiskey and faint tobacco still lingering on his lips, the way his thumb brushed her cheek like he couldn’t believe she was real.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, both of them completely, utterly breathless. His voice was ragged, softer than she’d ever heard it.

“You’ll undo me, doll.”

Her smile trembled, her hand still fisted in his shirt. “Good.”

And then she kissed him again.

[thediaryofriddles]

「🥃」 Drunk Confessions. ༉‧₊˚

The Slytherin common room was loud, buzzing with leftover laughter and the clink of empty bottles. A small get together (ahem, a party) had fizzled out hours ago, most students either passed out on the couches or stumbled upstairs.

Y/N, however, stayed behind, curled on one end of the sofa, slurping up the last of her butterbeer. Across from her, Tom sat with a bottle of firewhiskey in hand. He wasn’t drunk-drunk—Tom would never let himself go that far, the idea of losing self-control was frightening—but his usual ironclad composure was frayed at the edges. His tie hung loose, his eyes were warmer than usual, and when he looked at her, his words flowed unfiltered.

“You know,” he started, voice lower than the chatter that lingered around them, “you’re—Merlin, you’re bloody ridiculous.”

Y/N tilted her head, a faint smile. “Thanks?”

“No, not like that.” He waved a hand, almost spilling his drink. “You’re ridiculous because you don’t even realise it. How enchanting you are.” His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was trying to focus through all the haze. “It’s unfair, really. You walk into a room and light up everything. You laugh and the whole bloody world bends toward you. And you don’t even see it.”

Y/N blinked, caught completely off guard. His words weren’t rehearsed, weren’t sharp or calculated—they tumbled out raw, tinged with whiskey.

“Tom—”

“I’m serious.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at her like she was the only person left in existence. “You think you’re just clever and feisty and stubborn, but you’re so much more than that. You’re—” He broke off, slightly snickering at himself. “Merlin— listen to me. I sound pathetic.”

But his voice dropped, softer, rougher. “All I desire is to protect you. Always. Forever. Whatever comes, I’ll burn it all before I let it touch you.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered. His gaze was heavy, too honest, too raw.

He slumped back suddenly, scrubbing a hand through his hair, extremely embarrassed at his own words. “You’ll forget I said this tomorrow. I’ll make you. But tonight—” He looked at her again, eyes dark, almost pleading. “Tonight you’ll know.”

Y/N set her drink aside, leaning closer, brushing a hand against his cheek. “I won’t forget.”

He froze under her touch, then exhaled slowly, his hand covering hers, holding it there like an anchor.

For once, Tom Riddle didn’t hide the truth, how hopelessly in love he is.

[thediaryofriddles]

「🛌」 A Common Room Nap. ༉‧₊˚

The common room was warm, the fire dimming into soft embers. Most of the Slytherin group had drifted off to bed hours ago, their laughter leaving behind only the faint echo of the quiet common room, dimmed lights and faint waves from the Black Lake outside the large windows. Y/N stayed behind, curled up in one corner of the sofa, a book resting half-open against her chest.

Her eyes had given up ages ago, lids too heavy after a long, tiring day, her hair falling across her face as her breathing steadied.

When Tom entered, the sight of her stopped him mid-step.

She was asleep—truly asleep, her lashes brushing her cheek, her lips parted ever so slightly, one hand limp against the sofa cushions. The book she had been reading teetered on the edge, almost ready to tumble.

Tom moved quietly, catching the book before it could fall. He placed it gently on the low table, and his fingers lingered against its cover before he looked back at her.

A faint shiver ran through her shoulders. And of course he noticed—no blanket, no cloak, only her thin nightdress beneath her robes. The fire had burned low, shadows stretched longer across the stone floor.

With a quiet sigh, he shrugged off his cloak and draped it over her. The fabric comfortably settled against her frame, and she instinctively curled deeper into it, her face softening.

He should’ve left. He really, really should’ve left. He told himself that. But instead, he lowered himself into the chair beside her, his elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked on her face.

She looked different like this. No sharp wit on her tongue, no defiant fire sparking in her gaze—just Y/N. Soft. Unguarded. The kind of unguarded that killed him, because it made him want things he had no right to want. But it also made him feel like protecting her with all the power in the world.

His hand twitched once, as though tempted to brush a hair strand from her cheek. He didn’t. He couldn’t. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, watching the rise and fall of her breathing, the warmth of the fire reflecting faintly in her hair.

And so the night passed. The world outside turned and shifted, but Tom stayed rooted there, keeping silent vigil beside her, until the fire burned to ashes and dawn’s first light crept through the tall windows.

[thediaryofriddles]

「📓」 Chaos At The Library. ༉‧₊˚

Y/N had claimed her usual table at the library, quill racing furiously across her parchment as she tried to finish an essay before class. The rest of the Slytherin group was scattered nearby, half-studying, half-wasting time—Theo and Mattheo whispering jokes, Blaise sprawled in his chair as if he was posing for a magazine cover.

Aaaand that’s when it happened. A group of younger Gryffindors, bit loud and careless, came barreling through the stacks, knocking into chairs and harshly bumping Y/N’s table. The impact sent her ink bottle toppling—spilling black ink all across her half-finished parchment, bleeding over the essay she’d worked on for hours.

Y/N gasped, scrambling to save it, her hands smudged with ink. One of the boys mumbled a distracted, “Sorry,” but was already laughing with his friends again, not even sparing her a glance.

But before Y/N could even stand, Tom was there.

His hand SNAPPED out to grip the back of the nearest Gryffindor’s robe, dragging him to an abrupt halt. And the boy’s laughter died down in an instant. The boy stuttered, turning, only to be met with Tom Riddle’s cold, sharp glare.

“You ruined her work,” Tom said, his voice like a blade. No shouting. No drama. Just ice.

“It—it was an accident, we didn’t—”

“Apologise,” Tom cut in.

The Gryffindor swallowed hard, muttering a shaky, “Sorry,” before bolting with his friends, their faces pale as parchment.

Y/N blinked, still frozen in her chair. “Tom, you didn’t have to—”

“Yes,” he interrupted smoothly, crouching down beside her table. His hands—careful, uncharacteristically and unusually gentle—gathered the smeared parchment, setting it aside. Then he reached for his wand, murmuring a precise charm that lifted the ink stains, the black seeping backwards until her essay was whole again.

When he looked up at her, his expression softened just slightly. “You shouldn’t waste your brilliance cleaning up after those halfwits .”

Y/N cheeks flushed. “You’re ridiculous, Tommy.”

He slid her quill back into her hand. “I dislike having to look at anyone treat you like you don’t matter, doll.”

He straightened, returning to his chair with the same elegance as ever, but Y/N didn’t miss the slight tightening of his jaw—as if he was restraining himself from hunting down those careless Gryffindors again.

And maybe, juuuust maybe, she didn’t mind his ridiculousness at all.

[thediaryofriddles]

「🧷」 Cut Short. ༉‧₊˚

It was in the Great Hall, late breakfast.

Y/N had just dropped into her seat beside Pansy, still shaking off sleep, when she caught the tail end of a conversation from the Ravenclaw table a few seats down.

“…only reason she gets top marks is because she’s—”

Aaand the rest was swallowed by the scrape of a chair. It was in the Great Hall, late breakfast.

Tom was on his feet before she even realised he’d been listening, moving with the kind of quiet purpose that made people instinctively sit straighter, upright. He stopped at the Ravenclaw’s shoulder, expression absolutely unreadable but his gaze was cold and piercing.

“Finish that sentence,” he said, softly enough that only that end of the table could hear. “Please, go ahead.”

The boy blinked up at him. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Oh no you did,” Tom interrupted, tone still polite but razor-thin and dominating. “And if you have the confidence to say anything about her or question her abilities, you and I are going to have a lovely chat in private. And then I’ll make sure you pay a visit to the hospital wing. So—” His eyes flicked toward the doors. “I suggest you leave.”

The Ravenclaw mumbled something incoherent and bolted.

When Tom sat back down, Y/N tilted her head at him. “What was that about?”

“Nothing you need to waste your time on, doll.” he said, casually buttering a piece of toast.

Pansy smirked knowingly. “Translation: he just vaporised someone on your behalf.”

Y/N didn’t press it — but she noticed the way Tom’s shoulders relaxed only once she was smiling again.

[thediaryofriddles]

「🦢」 In The Rain. ༉‧₊˚

The walk back from Hogsmeade had been quiet, the kind of still that came after a day spent together. The air faintly smelled of woodsmoke and cinnamon (and a bit of butterbeer) from Hogsmeade, and the cobblestones were glistening from an earlier drizzle.

They were halfway up the path to the castle when the little droplets from the sky poured down. The rain came down in sheets, cold and relentless.

Tom immediately shrugged off his cloak, moving to drape it over her shoulders. “You’ll catch a chill,” he said, tone clipped but his hands careful as they brushed against her arms.

But Y/N just laughed — bright, unrestrained, ever so playful— and stepped out from under it, tilting her head back to feel the drops against her skin.

“Doll—”

“Oh come on, Riddle!” She spun in a slow circle, hair plastering to her flushed cheeks, eyes alight. “It’s just rain.”

He stood there for a moment, cloak still in his hands, watching her. Water beaded along her lashes, traced over her bright smile, clung to her like the moment had consumed her entirely.

Something in Tom Riddle’s chest shifted. Maybe a flutter?

It was the way she moved, utterly unbothered by the world’s cold and wet edges — it completely undid him. He realised, with startling clarity, that he loved her. Completely, irrevocably, helplessly.

She caught his gaze and grinned cheekily. “You’re staring, Tommy.”

He closed the distance in three quick strides, one hand cupping the back of her neck, the other finding her waist. The rain fell harder, as it drummed on the grass and the stones, and then he kissed her.

It wasn’t careful — it was passionate, consuming, certain. Certain that he never wanted to stop finding reasons to look at her like this.

When they finally pulled apart, she was breathless. “Took you long enough,” she teased.

And for once, Tom Riddle just smiled.

(Edit; I’ve been listening to this song for a while and it inspired this quick drabble :)

[thediaryofriddles]

┊ Welcome to my blog. ༄ ‧₊˚ ┊

Hello there! I’m Izra. And I’m a fellow admirer of our beloved delirious, slytherin prodigy, Tom Riddle.

I’m open to writing about the slytherin boys as well, but preferably Tom. Asks are certainly open, I would love to write as many drabbles with the situations/characters you’d like :)

— P.S, inconsistent posting.

[thediaryofriddles]

「🧾」 Revisionist. ༉‧₊˚

The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon, the rain outside muted everything to a soft background hiss. Y/N was curled in one corner of the couch, her legs were tucked beneath her, a History of Magic textbook spread open on her lap.

Tom sat opposite her, his own book in hand, though his attention kept flicking to the notes she was hastily scribbling.

“You’ve misquoted Binns,” he said suddenly, not even looking up.

Y/N froze mid-sentence. “Excuse me?”

“Page two hundred fourteen,” Tom said, flipping his own book open. “The Statute of Secrecy was finalised in 1692, not 1693.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not what this edition says.”

“That edition is wrong.” He leaned forward slightly, his tone infuriatingly calm. “And you know I’m right.”

Y/N sat up straighter, closing her book with a deliberate thump. “No, Riddle, you just believe you’re right because you can’t imagine a universe where you’re not.”

His eyes flicked up at that. “You’ve built your whole argument on bad information.”

“OH MERLIN—” Y/N rolled her eyes and grabbed his book, flipping rapidly through it. “You’re so dramatic about this. It’s one bloody year Tom. Not the end of the world.”

“One year changes the entire timeline of—”

It started as a faint giggle. Within seconds she was cackling. It was sudden and warm and completely unbothered, spilling out of her until she was leaning back into the couch cushions, one hand covering her mouth.

Tom’s brows drew together with sheer confusion. “Do you mind telling me what’s so funny?”

“You,” she said between giggles. “You look like you’re about to stage a coup over a date in a dusty old book.”

He leaned forward, close enough that she caught the faint scent of ink. “You’re mocking me.”

“No Tommy, I’m simply admiring you..” she teased, eyes bright. “It’s… weirdly cute how serious you get—”

And he cut her off before she could finish.

One moment she was smiling, the next his mouth was on hers, firm and deliberate, stealing the rest of her sentence (and the air from her lungs). Her laugh dissolved instantly into a muffled hum against his lips, her hand tugging the fabric of his sleeve.

When he pulled back, his voice was low and even. “Now do you admit I’m right?”

She blinked at him, still catching her breath. “…No. You’re still wrong about the date.”

His mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “We’ll see, doll.”

[thediaryofriddles]

「🪽」 Until Morning. ༉‧₊˚

The common room was quiet, just the faint ripple of the Black Lake outside the window and the warm crackle of the fire. Y/N was slumped over a pile of books, her quill slipping in her hand, eyelids drooping, falling asleep every two seconds.

Tom came in, took one look at her, and sighed.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” he muttered, gently plucking the quill from her fingers. She blinked blearily up at him, struggled to protest, but he was already closing the books and stacking them neatly.

“Tom—”

“No,” he cut her off, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve been at this for hours. You’re going to bed.”

“I have a test. Tomorrow. And I’m incredibly unprepared.”

He leaned down, brushing a small peck to her temple. “Clearly, you won’t take care of yourself unless I make you.”

Instead of arguing, she let him pull her up and guide her to the couch by the fire. He sat down first, tugging her into his lap. She curled into him instantly, her head on his shoulder, breathing slowing.

“I’m just resting my eyes, I absolutely won’t fall asleep. I’ll revise the last three chapters for the History of magic test in five minutes.” she murmured.

“Mm-hm, the history won’t register in that stubborn head of yours if you don’t rest” he said, already draping his robe over her like a blanket. His hand found hers, fingers threading together.

By the time she actually fell asleep on him, he’d already decided he wasn’t moving. Not for the rest of the night. And he stayed up, as long as he could, just to make sure she slept peacefully the entire night.

When she woke in the morning, his arm was still around her, his head tilted against hers.

“You stayed,” she whispered.

“I’d never leave you, Y/N.” he said simply, and kissed her before she could say anything else.