Chapter 5
You couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation with Tom in the corridor. His words had left you shaken, and his behavior had only grown more intense since then. You had hoped that he would back off, give you some space to think, but that hadn’t been the case at all.
Instead, something strange started happening. At first, it was small—easily dismissed as a coincidence. You would find a flower on your desk in the library, a single rose lying across your books. You assumed it was from a friend, though no one claimed responsibility.
Then, you began finding more gifts—small, thoughtful things that seemed oddly personal. A beautifully wrapped box of your favorite chocolates, a quill with a smooth handle that felt perfect in your hand, a delicate silver necklace with a charm shaped like a raven. Each time you found something new, there was no note, no indication of who had left it. But the gifts kept coming, appearing in places only someone who knew you well would think to leave them.
You tried to convince yourself that it was all harmless, that someone had simply taken a liking to you and wanted to make you smile. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it. The thought of Tom crossed your mind more than once, but you dismissed it—he wasn’t the type to give gifts, especially not anonymously. Or was he?
The idea gnawed at you. Tom’s possessiveness, his declaration that you belonged to him… It was unsettling, but there was something about the gifts that felt different. They were thoughtful, considerate, almost as if the person behind them genuinely cared about you.
And you couldn’t help but feel flattered.
One afternoon, as you were studying in the library, you found another gift—a small, intricately carved wooden box. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a pair of silver earrings shaped like delicate vines. They were beautiful, and as you held them in your hand, you couldn’t help but smile.
Whoever was leaving these gifts knew exactly what you liked, and the attention to detail was hard to ignore. You began to feel a strange mix of emotions—flattered, curious, and, despite yourself, a little excited. The gifts were making you feel special, as if someone was watching over you, thinking of you in ways that no one else did.
But at the back of your mind, you couldn’t forget Tom’s words. Was this his way of trying to win you over? If it was, he was succeeding, at least a little. The idea of Tom Riddle, someone so feared and respected, going out of his way to court you—albeit in his own, slightly disturbing way—made your heart race in a way you weren’t entirely comfortable with.
The following week, you found yourself looking forward to the next gift, wondering what it would be, where it would be left, and who was behind it. You told yourself it was all just harmless fun, that you were simply curious. But deep down, you knew it was more than that. Whoever was doing this had managed to get under your skin, to make you feel something you hadn’t expected.
One evening, as you returned to your dormitory, you found another gift waiting for you on your bed. It was a book—an old, leather-bound volume with gilded edges. Your favorite author, no less. As you opened it, a note slipped out from between the pages, landing softly on your lap. Your heart skipped a beat as you picked it up.
The note was simple, written in elegant handwriting you didn’t recognize:
"For you. Because you deserve the best."
There was no signature, no clue as to who had left it. But as you held the note in your hand, a shiver ran down your spine. Tom. It had to be him. No one else knew you well enough to choose these gifts, to leave them where they would have the most impact.
You sat on the edge of your bed, the book and note in your lap, your mind racing. What did this mean? Was Tom trying to apologize for his behavior? Or was this something else entirely? You couldn’t help but feel flattered by the attention, even as you reminded yourself of his possessive words.
The next day, you found yourself glancing at Tom more often. He was as aloof and focused as ever, but there was a tension between you, an unspoken understanding that something was happening. Whenever your eyes met, you felt a jolt of electricity, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too.
That evening, as you walked back to your dorm, you found yourself lost in thought. The gifts, the note, the way Tom had been watching you… It all added up, and you realized with a start that you were actually beginning to enjoy the attention. You told yourself it was just curiosity, that you were intrigued by the mystery. But deep down, you knew there was more to it.
You had always been rivals with Tom Riddle, but now… now things were different. The gifts had changed something between you, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Part of you was flattered, part of you was curious, and part of you was undeniably drawn to the idea of someone as powerful and enigmatic as Tom going out of his way to win your favor.
But another part of you was wary, remembering the intensity in his eyes, the possessiveness in his voice. This was Tom Riddle, after all—the boy who was destined for greatness, but whose path was paved with darkness.
As you lay in bed that night, the silver earrings glinting on your bedside table, you couldn’t help but wonder what his next move would be—and what yours should be.
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You couldn’t shake the thoughts of Tom as you went about your day. The lingering tension between you, the way your interactions had changed since the gifts began appearing—it all weighed heavily on your mind. You tried to focus on your studies, telling yourself that you couldn’t afford to be distracted, but it was easier said than done.
Later that afternoon, you found yourself in the library, surrounded by a stack of textbooks. You had decided to get a head start on your Potions essay, hoping that immersing yourself in your work would help you clear your head. As you opened your Potions textbook, something slipped out from between the pages, landing softly on the table.
A bookmark.
You picked it up, examining it closely. It was beautiful, made of fine leather with intricate silver filigree along the edges. In the center, a small raven was embossed, its eyes gleaming with tiny onyx stones. It was exactly the sort of thing you would have chosen for yourself—elegant, thoughtful, and undeniably personal.
Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what this meant. Another gift. Another sign that someone was paying close attention to you. Your thoughts immediately drifted to Tom, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he had slipped this into your book when you weren’t looking.
You tried to focus on your essay, but your mind kept drifting back to the bookmark, to the gifts, to Tom. What was his endgame? What did he want from you? You knew he wasn’t one to act without a purpose, and the thought that he might be playing some kind of game with you made you feel both uneasy and… flattered.
As the day went on, you found more bookmarks tucked into your other textbooks—each one different, but all of them equally beautiful and meticulously crafted. One had an intricate design of intertwined vines, another was adorned with tiny gemstones that sparkled in the light. They were all clearly chosen with care, and the fact that someone had gone to such lengths to select them made your heart race.
By the time you returned to your dormitory that evening, your thoughts were a tangled mess of emotions. You needed to sort through what you were feeling, to make sense of the confusion swirling inside you. So, you did what you always did when you needed to clear your head—you reached for your diary.
You settled into bed, pulling the curtains closed around you for privacy. The dim light from your wand illuminated the pages as you opened your diary, your quill hovering over the parchment. For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of how to put your feelings into words. Then, with a deep breath, you began to write.
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Diary Entry:
I don’t know what to make of all of this. The gifts, the attention… it’s all so overwhelming, and I can’t help but feel like I’m losing control of my own thoughts. Tom has always been distant, cold, and calculating, but lately, he’s been different. It’s like he’s trying to show me a different side of himself, one that I didn’t think existed.
I found more gifts today. Bookmarks, hidden in my textbooks. They’re beautiful, and I can’t help but wonder if Tom is behind them. It makes sense, doesn’t it? He’s the only one who knows me well enough to choose something so personal, so thoughtful.
But why is he doing this? What does he want from me? He’s never been one to act without a reason, and the thought that he might be playing some kind of game with me makes me uneasy. But at the same time… I’m flattered. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I should be angry, or at least wary, but instead, I feel… special.
I hate to admit it, but there’s a part of me that’s starting to look forward to these gifts. They make me feel noticed, like I matter to someone in a way that I haven’t before. But I know I need to be careful. This is Tom Riddle we’re talking about. He’s dangerous, and I can’t let myself be drawn in by his charm.
Still, I can’t help but wonder… what would it be like to let him in? To see where this goes?
I need to be smart about this. I can’t let my guard down, no matter how tempting it is. Tom is… different. He’s not like anyone else, and that’s what makes this so complicated.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to feel. All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about him, and that scares me more than anything.
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You set down your quill, staring at the words you had just written. A part of you wanted to tear the page out, to pretend that these thoughts hadn’t crossed your mind. But another part of you—the part that had started to look forward to Tom’s attention—wanted to keep it as a reminder of this strange, confusing time in your life.
You closed the diary, tucking it away under your pillow. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of the curtains around your bed. You lay back against the pillows, your thoughts still spinning.
What were you going to do about Tom? The logical part of you knew that you should confront him, demand answers, and put an end to whatever game he was playing. But the other part of you—the part that was growing increasingly curious—wanted to see where this would lead, to explore the strange connection that had formed between you.
As you drifted off to sleep, the silver bookmark resting on your bedside table caught the moonlight, casting a faint glimmer across the room. The thought of Tom, with his dark eyes and enigmatic smile, lingered in your mind, making it impossible to truly relax.
What was he planning? And, perhaps more importantly… why were you starting to care?