Chapter 2
Madam Pomfrey, knowing Tom’s tendency to overextend himself, had insisted he stay longer to fully recover. However, Tom's stubbornness won out, and he convinced her to discharge him early, so she assigned him bedrest.
As you left the hospital wing together, you couldn't shake the worry gnawing at you. "Are you sure you're okay to leave? You still look pretty awful," you said, eyeing his pallor.
Tom gave a short nod. "I'm fine. Madam Pomfrey's potions have done their job by now.. I hope. Besides, I can't fall behind."
“Tom, you’re on bedrest though.. So let’s get you to bed now. No room for arguments here.” you said sternly.
That day, you found yourself in the Slytherin common room and dorms for the first time. The atmosphere was different from Ravenclaw’s, with its green and silver decor, and a sense of underlying ambition that seemed to permeate the air, down in the dungeons of Hogwarts. We walked through the common room and you looked around with intrigue, the calm atmosphere from being under the Black lake, the silent sounds of the underwater world right outside. Tom’s dorm was empty, his status as prefect earning him a single dorm. Everything was neat and in order, the way you would’ve expected it from Tom.
Tom settled onto his bed, his expression one of tired defiance. You set your bag down, pulling out his books and notes, which you grabbed in a haste earlier as you brought him to the hospital wing.
He started to protest, but you shushed him, gently pressing him back onto the pillows. "No arguments, Riddle. You need to take care of yourself and I’m here to make sure you actually do. "
You pulled out a flask of warm soup from your bag, pouring some into a bowl you quickly conjured. "Here, you need to eat something," you said, handing him the bowl and spoon.
Tom hesitated, then took the bowl from you, a hint of gratitude in his eyes. As he ate, you busied yourself around the room, making sure he had everything he needed. You fluffed his pillows, fetched a fresh glass of water, and laid out his potions within easy reach.
After he finished eating, you sat beside him, gently placing a cool cloth on his forehead. "This should help with the fever," you said softly, your touch tender.
Tom closed his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
You paused, then replied, "Because I care, Tom. Rival or not, no one should suffer alone."
He opened his eyes, looking at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.
You smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Get some rest. I’ll be here."
For the next few hours, you stayed by his side, reading quietly in a novel you brought along, while he dozed. Occasionally, you’d check his temperature or adjust the blankets, ensuring he was comfortable. The room was filled with a peaceful silence, broken only by the sound of his ragged breathing.
As the night wore on, Tom stirred, his eyes fluttering open. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice soft. "You should go. You need rest too."
You shook your head. "I’m not leaving until I know you’re alright," you said firmly, but your tone was gentle.
He looked at you, a mix of gratitude and something deeper in his gaze. "You’re too kind for your own good," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips.
You chuckled softly. "And you’re too stubborn for yours."
Tom's smile widened a fraction, and he reached out, taking your hand in his. "Thank you," he said again, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles.
You squeezed his hand reassuringly. "You’re welcome, Tom. Now, get some sleep."
With a final, lingering look, Tom closed his eyes, his breathing evening out as he drifted back to sleep. You stayed by his side, your heart filled with a warmth that chased away the shadows of rivalry. In that quiet room, amidst the flickering candlelight, a new bond was forged—one of care, understanding, and perhaps, the beginnings of something more.
The quiet of the night enveloped Tom's dormitory. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, dancing to the rhythm of the breeze filtering through the slightly open window. Tom lay in his bed, his fever having broken but still feeling the fatigue that illness brings. He had drifted in and out of sleep, the warmth of your care lingering in his mind.
As the clock struck midnight, Tom's eyes fluttered open. His room was silent, save for the soft sound of your breathing. He turned his head and saw you, slumped in an armchair by his bedside, fast asleep. The sight of you there, keeping watch over him even in your exhaustion, stirred something in his chest.
Tom carefully sat up, trying not to disturb you. He could see the faint shadows under your eyes, the result of your dedication to his well-being. A pang of guilt struck him; he wasn’t used to people caring for him, much less at their own expense.
Quietly, Tom swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, steadying himself before walking over to you. He reached for the blanket draped over the back of your chair and gently spread it over you. The action was tender, uncharacteristic of the aloof persona he usually maintained.
As he stood there, watching you sleep, he felt a rare, unguarded moment of vulnerability. He had always viewed emotions as weaknesses, distractions from his goals. But seeing you like this, caring for him despite your rivalry, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude and something more—something that scared him.
Tom knelt beside the armchair, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Y/N," he whispered softly, not wanting to wake you but needing to express his gratitude. "Thank you."
Your eyelids fluttered, and you stirred slightly, opening your eyes to find Tom kneeling beside you. "Tom?" you mumbled, blinking away sleep. "Why are you up? You should be resting."
He smiled faintly, his usual guarded expression softened. "I woke up and saw you here. You should be in bed too, you know."
You sat up, rubbing your eyes. "I wanted to make sure you were alright. How are you feeling?"
"Better," he admitted. "Thanks to you."
You smiled, the warmth of his words washing over you. "Good. But you should still get some rest."
Tom hesitated, then nodded. "Only if you promise to rest too. You can't take care of me if you're exhausted."
You chuckled softly. "Alright, deal. I'll get some sleep."
Tom helped you to your feet, and you both made your way back to his bed. As you approached the bed, Tom stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm. "Y/N, the bed is big enough for both of us. You don’t need to sleep on the floor."
Your eyes widened slightly at the suggestion. "Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
He shook his head. "You're the one who’s been taking care of me. The least I can do is make sure you're comfortable too."
You hesitated, but then nodded. "Alright. But if you start hogging the blankets, I’m pushing you out of bed."
Tom actually chuckled at that, a soft, genuine sound. "Fair enough."
You both climbed into the bed, lying down with a respectful distance between you. The bed was indeed large enough for both of you, and the warmth from the blankets quickly chased away any lingering chill.
As you settled in, you couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward. Sharing a bed with Tom Riddle was something you never imagined would happen. Yet here you were, in this intimate setting, feeling a sense of comfort and safety.
"Y/N," Tom's voice broke the silence, soft and hesitant. "Thank you. For everything."
You turned your head to look at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. "You're welcome, Tom. Just promise me you’ll take better care of yourself from now on."
He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I promise."
With that, you both closed your eyes, the tension easing from your bodies. The steady rhythm of your breathing soon lulled you both into a peaceful sleep. The rivalry that once defined your relationship now seemed like a distant memory, replaced by a growing bond of trust and care.