Chapter 6
The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of your dorm room, gently waking you from a restless sleep. You blinked blearily, the events of the previous day swirling in your mind—the gifts, the bookmarks, and the tangled mess of emotions you had poured into your diary the night before. Groggily, you shifted under the covers, thinking about how you might confront Tom today.
You reached over to grab your diary from beneath your pillow, where you had tucked it away after writing. But when your hand slid beneath the pillow, your fingers met nothing but the cool, empty surface of the bed.
You sat up sharply, a sense of unease prickling at the back of your neck. Your eyes darted around the room, and that’s when you saw it—your diary, lying on the nightstand. Open.
Your heart skipped a beat.
No. You distinctly remembered closing it and hiding it beneath your pillow. You would never have left it open like that, exposed for anyone to see. A sickening feeling settled in your stomach as the realization crept over you.
Someone had been in your room. Someone had read your diary.
Your hands trembled as you reached for the book, flipping through the pages frantically until you found the one from last night. Your words stared back at you, the ink still fresh, the vulnerability of your thoughts laid bare for whoever had invaded your privacy.
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.
The blood drained from your face. If Tom had read this… No, you couldn’t be sure it was him. But who else could it be? The thought sent a cold shiver down your spine. Had he come into your room while you slept? Had he watched you while you were unaware?
You stood up abruptly, feeling the need to distance yourself from the bed, from the vulnerable place where your most private thoughts had been violated. Your mind raced, trying to piece together what this meant. If it was Tom, had he left another gift? Or was this something darker, more intrusive?
And then your gaze caught something—a piece of parchment, folded neatly and placed just beside the diary, almost as if whoever had read it had wanted you to find it. Slowly, cautiously, you picked it up, unfolding it with trembling fingers.
The handwriting was unmistakable—elegant, flowing, and chillingly familiar.
Y/N,
You’re right to be conflicted. But know this—I understand you more than you realize. I see through your façade, and I know what you’re feeling, even if you don’t want to admit it. You don’t need to be afraid of your thoughts. You and I are alike, more than you care to admit.
I’ve been patient, haven’t I? You’ve seen the gifts, the care I’ve taken in choosing them for you. It’s because you deserve nothing less. You deserve everything you want, and I intend to give it to you.
But don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. I know you’ve felt my presence, and I will not let anyone else have you. You are mine, Y/N. Sooner or later, you’ll see that we belong together.
I look forward to watching you come to that conclusion on your own.
Tom.
You stared at the note, your pulse hammering in your ears. The possessive edge in his words sent chills down your spine, a mixture of fear and something else—something dangerous and alluring.
He had been here. In your room. While you slept. And not only had he read your diary, he had left this message, as if he was playing a game and knew he was winning. The gifts, the stalking, the intense looks—it all led back to this. His desire for control, for possession.
You felt a deep sense of violation, but there was something about his words that made your heart race in a different way. He understood you, or at least he thought he did. His obsession was unnerving, but it was also flattering, in a twisted sense. Tom Riddle, the boy who commanded respect and fear from everyone, wanted you, and only you.
But how could you allow yourself to be drawn into something so dangerous? How could you trust him when his actions grew more unsettling by the day?
You clutched the note tightly in your hand, pacing the room as your thoughts spiralled. Part of you wanted to confront him, to demand an explanation. But another part of you—one you were barely willing to acknowledge—wanted to see how far he would go. What lengths would he reach to have you?
The line between fear and curiosity, between unease and temptation, was becoming increasingly blurred.
You tossed the note onto your bed, your hands trembling with a mixture of anger, anxiety, and… anticipation. You had to get out of the room, clear your head, and decide what to do next.
But no matter how much distance you tried to put between yourself and Tom, you knew that he wasn’t done. This was just the beginning.
---
That day, you found yourself unable to concentrate during classes. Every time you tried to focus on your notes or your textbooks, your mind drifted back to the note, to the way Tom’s presence seemed to follow you even when he wasn’t physically near. The gifts, the words, his possessiveness—it was all weighing on you, twisting your thoughts in ways you didn’t fully understand.
And it wasn’t just fear you were feeling anymore.
---
That afternoon, you headed to the library to work on an essay, still grappling with your conflicted emotions. The quiet of the library was a welcome relief from the chaos in your mind. You found a secluded table in the back corner, your favourite, hoping the solitude would help you concentrate.
As you opened your Charms textbook, you nearly jumped out of your seat.
Another bookmark.
This one was the most elaborate yet—gold, with a design resembling swirling stars and constellations. The detailing was so fine it almost looked like the stars were twinkling under the light. But this time, it wasn’t just the bookmark. Resting next to it was a small envelope. It wasn’t sealed—just tucked in, as though whoever left it wanted you to find it easily.
Curiosity sparked, your fingers hesitated for a brief moment before you carefully picked up the envelope. You slid it open and pulled out the contents—a folded piece of parchment and, to your surprise, several rectangular slips of paper.
Checks.
You blinked, not understanding at first. There were multiple checks, each for a different bookshop in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. Your heart began to race as you remembered the day you’d passed by those very shops on one of your visits. You hadn’t even been inside for long, mostly just glanced through the windows at the new editions on display—rare books, the kind you could only dream of owning.
You unfolded the parchment, scanning the elegant handwriting. Your breath caught as you recognized the words written in Tom’s precise, formal script:
"For the volumes I know have been occupying your thoughts. I saw the way your eyes lingered on them. You should never be without the knowledge you desire."
The note was simple, but the message it carried was profound. Tom had seen you that day, silently watching as you admired the books you couldn’t afford. The fact that he had noticed something so small, so intimate, made your stomach twist with an uncomfortable blend of surprise and… something else. He had been paying attention to you in ways you hadn’t even realized.
And now he was offering to buy those books for you, books that you’d only ever dreamed of owning.
Your fingers trembled as you held the checks, each one signed and ready to be used. The implication was clear—Tom was trying to give you something beyond mere gifts. He was trying to give you what you deeply longed for. And in doing so, he was weaving himself deeper into your life.
You swallowed hard, staring down at the elegant handwriting. The thought of accepting these gifts made you feel uneasy, as though you were stepping into a trap. But at the same time, you couldn’t deny the thrill it gave you. Tom Riddle, the boy who rarely showed anyone even a sliver of kindness, was going out of his way to give you something you wanted—something personal.
It was both flattering and frightening.
Your mind raced with conflicting emotions as you gently placed the checks and the note back into the envelope. You leaned back in your chair, staring at the golden bookmark that still lay on the table, catching the light. How could Tom know so much about you? How could he anticipate your desires so perfectly?
A part of you wanted to return the gifts, to reject this strange game Tom was playing. But another part of you—one you didn’t want to admit was growing stronger—felt compelled to accept them. You were being drawn in, and no matter how much you tried to resist, it was becoming harder each day.
The boundaries between rivalry and something far more dangerous were blurring, and you weren’t sure if you could stop it anymore.
As you sat there in the quiet of the library, surrounded by books and the eerie sense of Tom’s invisible presence, you realized that this was no longer just a battle of intellects or a game of gifts.
It was something deeper.
And you had a choice to make.
---
Sighing, you slipped the golden bookmark into your bag and decided that enough was enough. You needed to clear your head, to process what was happening. You packed up your things and left the library, heading back to your dormitory.
Once you were safely inside your room, you grabbed your diary, sitting down at your desk to write again. You needed to untangle the mess of emotions that had been building up inside you. You dipped your quill into the ink, pausing for a moment before beginning.
---
Diary Entry 1:
I found another gift today. A golden bookmark, so beautiful it almost doesn’t seem real. I know it’s from him. It has to be. No one else knows me this well.
I don’t know what to think anymore. Tom has always been distant, cold, calculating… but these gifts, they show a side of him that I never expected. It’s like he’s trying to tell me something without saying it aloud. Like he’s trying to make me see him in a different light.
And maybe it’s working. Merlin, I hate to admit it, but it’s hard not to feel something when someone is going to such lengths to get your attention. I feel flattered. There, I’ve said it. I’m flattered by the attention, by the thoughtfulness of the gifts. But I’m also scared.
Tom isn’t someone who just… gives. There’s always a reason, always an ulterior motive. What does he want from me? And why am I starting to feel like I want to find out?
I should be cautious. I know that. Tom is dangerous. He’s powerful, and he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. But these gifts… they make me feel like he does care. And I don’t know if I should trust that.
I’ve always prided myself on being logical, on not letting my emotions get the better of me. But with Tom… it’s different. I can feel myself getting drawn in, and I’m not sure I want to stop it anymore.
What am I doing?
---
You set your quill down, staring at the words on the page. The truth of it all was finally laid bare in front of you. You were conflicted, torn between fear and fascination, between logic and emotion.
But one thing was clear—Tom was no longer just your academic rival. He was something else entirely now, something far more dangerous and alluring.
And whether you liked it or not, you were starting to fall into his orbit.
The question was: how far would you let yourself go?
---
For the rest of the day, the envelope and its contents sat in your bag, like a weight pressing against your conscience. You couldn’t focus on your essay or your studies. Tom’s note echoed in your mind, intertwining with the memory of his intense gaze. You felt watched even when you were alone, as if Tom’s shadow followed you wherever you went.
During a time far after dinner, you still couldn’t shake your thoughts from how attentive Tom seems to be of the things you like and even your habits and schedules. He always knows when to go where to sneakily place each gift in the right place.
As you lay in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, you knew you would have to make a decision. You reached for your diary once more this day, opening it to a fresh page, your heart pounding in your chest as you began to write, the weight of Tom’s attention heavy on your mind. This time, the entry was about the checks and the suspicion of Tom following you.
---
Diary Entry 2:
He knows.
Tom saw me. He saw me that day outside the bookshop. I didn’t even realize he was there, watching, studying me. And now, he’s given me what I wanted most. Or rather, what he thinks I wanted most.
Books. Knowledge. That’s always been the way to my heart, hasn’t it? But this… this feels different. It’s not just about the books. It’s about control. He’s giving me a choice—or at least, the illusion of one. Accept the books, and I accept him. Accept the way he’s weaving himself into my life.
But what if I don’t want that?
Or worse… what if I do?
There’s a part of me that’s terrified of him, of the way he looks at me, like I’m something he’s determined to possess. But there’s another part of me, a part I’m ashamed to admit, that feels drawn to him. To the intensity. To the way he’s paying attention to me in ways no one else has.
This is dangerous. I know it is. Tom Riddle is dangerous. And yet…
I don’t know what to do.
---
As you finished the diary entry, you closed the book and set it aside, your thoughts still swirling in a storm of confusion. Tom was pulling you into something deeper, something darker. And with each gift, each subtle gesture, you found yourself stepping further into his world.
The question was no longer if you would fall—it was how far you were willing to go.
And whether you would ever find a way out.
But you didn’t want to.