Chapter 10
The letter arrived in the early hours of the morning, slipped beneath your pillow as if by magic itself. For a moment, you thought you’d imagined it—until your fingers brushed against the parchment, cool and smooth in the dim blue light of dawn.
You sat up slowly, the silence of the dorm heavy around you. Clara was still curled up in her bed, deep in sleep, her breathing even. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders and unfolded the letter.
It was his handwriting. Elegant. Exacting. Sharp, just like him.
Y/N,
There are things I want to say that are better said away from curious ears. Meet me tonight, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest—where the silver pines bend. You’ll know the place when you see it. Come alone.
– T.R.
You read it twice. Then again.
The Forbidden Forest?
Why there, of all places?
Your heart raced—not out of fear, exactly, but out of a kind of anxious anticipation that made your skin prickle. It was thrilling. Reckless. And exactly the kind of thing that would make Clara lose her mind.
You carefully tucked the letter into your nightstand, glancing once at her sleeping form. She didn’t stir. But of course, Clara being Clara, she noticed something was off the second she sat across from you at breakfast.
“You didn’t sleep,” she said without looking up from her porridge. “Your hair’s doing that thing where it flips out like a startled puffskein.”
You gave a half-hearted laugh and stirred your tea. “Couldn’t stop thinking.”
Clara eyed you over her spoon. “Thinking or overthinking? Because those aren’t the same.”
You hesitated. The words were already pressing against your lips. You had never been good at keeping things from her for long.
“I got a letter.”
Clara blinked. “From who?”
You didn’t answer.
Her expression flattened. “No.”
“…yes.”
“No, Y/N. Please do not tell me what I think you’re about to say.”
You winced, lowering your voice. “He wants to meet. Tonight.”
Clara dropped her spoon. “And you’re not going.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Y/N.”
You met her eyes across the table, your own laced with conflict. “I have to know what he wants, Clara. He’s been getting closer and closer. All these gifts, the glances, the books—he’s circling me like—”
“Like a predator.”
You paused, the word heavy.
Clara leaned in, gripping your wrist. “This isn’t just a crush anymore. This is Tom Riddle. You know what people say about him, even if they don’t say it out loud. He’s dangerous. And the Forbidden Forest? That’s not just a romantic stroll. That’s calculated. It’s meant to isolate you.”
You swallowed hard, part of you agreeing. Another part—the more reckless, hopelessly curious one—was already wondering what he’d say. What he’d do.
“I’ll be careful,” you said quietly.
Clara’s eyes softened, but her worry remained etched in every line of her face. “Promise me you’ll at least bring your wand. And if anything feels off, you run. Don’t wait. Just go.”
You nodded slowly. “I promise.”
But even as you said the words, you felt the lie under your tongue. You weren’t planning to run.
You were planning to find out everything.
Because you were already in too deep. And Tom Riddle had always made sure that when he pulled people in…
They never walked away unchanged.
—
The castle was quiet by nightfall—eerily so. The torches lining the corridors flickered low, casting long, crooked shadows that seemed to move just a second too late behind you. Every footstep echoed like a secret in the hush of the hour, but you walked with purpose.
Back in your dormitory, Clara had already fallen into an uneasy sleep. She had waited up with you as long as she could, wand in her lap, robes still on. You had pretended to turn in for the night too, even getting into bed and pulling the covers up. But as soon as her breathing evened out, you’d risen like a ghost, your thoughts already with him.
You stood in front of the mirror in the corner of your shared room, candlelight licking at the frame.
Nothing too obvious. Nothing too plain.
You eventually chose a deep navy cloak, soft and warm, lined with silver threading. It shimmered faintly when you moved, almost like moonlight on water. Beneath it, a simple black sweater and slacks. Practical, but clean. Neat. The kind of thing you wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen in—by him.
You adjusted the collar with trembling fingers. It was foolish to care what he thought. Foolish to try. But you did. You always had, hadn’t you? Even when he was just your academic rival, your shadow in every class, your unspoken competition.
Now… things had shifted.
You slipped your wand into your sleeve, pulled the cloak tighter, and crept from the tower like a thief in the night.
—
The path to the Forbidden Forest was cloaked in silence. The grounds were still, bathed in silver from the moon overhead. As you neared the forest’s edge, the silver pines rose like quiet sentinels—tall, skeletal trees with a haunting gleam to their bark.
And there he was.
Tom.
Standing alone where the moonlight broke through the canopy, casting pale light down like a spotlight meant only for him. His cloak was dark and long, perfectly pressed as always, but there was something else tonight—an almost imperceptible tension in his shoulders. Like even he wasn’t sure how this would go.
When he saw you, his eyes flicked over your figure—quick, precise, and unreadable. But something in them shifted.
He stepped forward. “You came.”
You swallowed. “I did.”
“Even after your friend warned you not to.”
You blinked. “You were listening?”
“I always listen.” He said it like a confession and a threat, both wrapped in velvet. “I needed to know if you’d trust me enough to ignore her.”
You shifted your weight, fingers tightening around your wand, hidden beneath your cloak. “Is that what this is about? Testing me?”
He stepped closer, and the silver light kissed the edge of his jaw. “No. This is about you. About… what I want.”
You felt your breath catch. “And what is it you want, Tom?”
There was a long pause. The air between you was electric, thick with tension and unspoken things.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’re not afraid of me.”
It wasn’t a question.
You met his gaze, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Should I be?”
Another step closer. You could smell him now—clean parchment, smoke, something dark and alchemical.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’m beginning to think… I should be afraid of you.”
Your heart pounded so hard you thought it might echo through the trees. He was too close now. The forest held its breath.
Tom’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “You have a way of making me feel things I don’t understand. I don’t like it.”
And yet… he didn’t move away.
Neither did you.
You looked at him under the trees, surrounded by shadows and silver bark, the forest cradling the space between you like it was sacred.
And you realized, in that moment, that this wasn’t a rivalry anymore.
This was something else entirely.
And whatever it became… you wouldn’t be able to walk away.
Not anymore.
The air between you shimmered—silent, electric. Tom stood just inches away, his eyes unreadable and storm-dark, flicking from yours to your mouth and back again. It was the first time he’d looked at you like that without trying to hide it.
And for a moment, he just… breathed.
Not calculating.
Not commanding.
Just there.
Something flickered in him—hesitation, longing, maybe even fear. You weren’t sure. You weren’t sure of anything anymore, except the way your heart was thudding like a war drum in your chest.
His hand lifted slowly. Not with the cold precision he was known for in class, or the entitled confidence that always seemed to hang around him like a second skin. No—this movement was careful. Nervous, even.
He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers were cool, but they lingered at your cheek, the pad of his thumb grazing your skin like you might vanish if he pressed too hard.
“I’ve never…” he began, voice soft, as though speaking too loudly might break something. “Wanted anything the way I—”
But the words tangled in his throat.
So instead, he kissed you.
Gently.
The softest pressure—his lips brushing yours like a question he didn’t know how to ask aloud. No hunger, no fury. Just quiet yearning, and something so impossibly tender that your knees almost gave out.
The world stopped turning. The trees fell silent. And it was just you and him and the slow, aching warmth blooming between your ribs.
His hand moved to your jaw, not to pull you closer—but to hold you still. To memorize the shape of your mouth under his. Like he was learning what it meant to be human for the very first time.
It was nothing like you’d expected.
It was everything.
When he pulled back—just a breath away—his forehead rested gently against yours. You could feel his heartbeat. Fast. Unsteady. Just like yours.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered, almost ashamed. “But I want to.”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
Not with words.
So you kissed him again.
Just as gently. Just as full of wonder.
And this time, he melted into it.
And you knew—
no matter how twisted, how complicated, how impossible this would get—
You were already his.
And he was already yours.
—
The walk back to the castle felt unreal. The night air was cool against your flushed skin, and the forest behind you seemed to hum with the memories of the kisses you’d shared beneath the silver pines. Tom’s hand was warm in yours, fingers intertwined with yours so naturally that it felt like he belonged there, like this was what had been meant to happen all along.
Neither of you spoke, but the silence was comfortable. You didn’t need words; not after everything that had passed between you. The quiet was a balm to the chaos of your heart, the gentle squeeze of his hand telling you more than any sentence could.
The castle loomed ahead, its towering silhouette outlined by the moon. When you reached the entrance, Tom paused, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. He didn’t look at you immediately—his gaze was far away, almost lost in the shadows of the night.
“I’ll walk you to the tower,” he said, his voice lower now, soft and unhurried.
You nodded, surprised by the gesture but not opposed to it. His presence beside you, even in the dim light, was comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. It felt right, almost like this was something that had been in the works for years—his quiet steps next to yours, a shared path.
The long corridors passed in a blur, and soon you reached the Ravenclaw tower. You could already feel the weight of the night’s emotions begin to settle, like everything that had just happened—Tom’s kisses, the warmth of his touch—was starting to solidify into something real.
Tom stopped in front of the entrance to the tower. The portrait of the wise eagle still stood as ever, but tonight, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care about the usual riddles or the password. You turned to face him, your hand still lingering in his.
"Thank you for walking me back," you said quietly, your voice surprisingly steady.
Tom studied you for a moment, his eyes flicking over your face like he was looking for something—some trace of the girl he had kissed, the girl who had let him close. He didn’t speak right away, just breathed in the cool night air, and then, in a voice that was softer than you had ever heard him use, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. As if he knew you would come to him again, just as he would come to you.
You nodded, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The distance between you now felt strangely like an invitation.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his long cloak swishing behind him as he disappeared into the shadows, leaving you standing there—heart racing, mind in turmoil.
—
The moment you stepped into the dormitory, the warmth of the room hit you like a wave. Clara was sitting up in her bed, the faint light of her bedside candle illuminating her expectant face. She had been waiting.
Her eyes were wide, like a hawk watching its prey. And the moment she saw you, her gaze flicked down to your hand, still holding onto the invisible remnants of Tom’s touch. She didn’t have to ask—it was all there in her expression.
“You went,” she said, her voice soft but laced with disbelief.
You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, still feeling the lingering warmth from the forest, from Tom. Your heart pounded as if it could burst out of your chest. You hadn’t expected to feel this much.
You nodded, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I did.”
Clara didn’t speak for a long moment. She just watched you, trying to read the storm in your eyes, the confusion and excitement tangled together like an unspoken promise.
And then she spoke again, her tone quieter now. “What happened?”
You paused, biting your lip. There was so much you wanted to say—about the kiss, about how Tom had felt in your arms, about the way his touch had made everything else fade away. But in the end, all you could manage was, “It was… different. But good. Really good.”
Clara stared at you, eyes wide, almost as if she couldn’t comprehend what you were saying. “You’re not—”
“I’m not sure what it is,” you interrupted, your words tumbling out in a rush. “But I think I want to find out.”
For a long while, Clara didn’t speak. Then she sighed, slumping back against her pillow. “This is going to be a mess.”
You didn’t argue with her. She was right. Tom Riddle had always been trouble—dangerous trouble. And yet, as you settled into your bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, all you could think about was him. The warmth of his touch. The fire in his kiss.
Whatever it was, you couldn’t stay away.
Not now.
Clara didn’t say anything more as she turned away, but you knew she was still awake, still processing everything. She always did, but tonight, you felt like there was no way to explain. Not to her. Not to anyone.
And yet, in the quiet of the night, the only thing that felt certain was Tom’s presence in your life. The only thing you knew was that it had only just begun.
—
The quiet of the dorm seemed to weigh heavier as the minutes ticked by. The soft rustle of the sheets, the faint sounds of Clara shifting in her bed, everything felt amplified in the silence. You were wide awake, heart still racing as though the night had just begun instead of ending. The kiss, the closeness, Tom’s soft whispers... everything was alive in your mind, playing on a loop.
Clara hadn’t spoken much after her last comment, but she had to be thinking about it—about him, about you and him. The tension was thick, and you could feel her eyes on you, even if she wasn’t saying anything.
You turned your head, finding her lying on her side, eyes wide and focused on the darkened ceiling. She was clearly waiting for you to break the silence, but you were unsure of where to start. How could you explain everything that had happened, how Tom had turned from the arrogant, icy boy you competed with, to someone who had kissed you with such tenderness?
You swallowed hard before turning toward her fully, not willing to leave anything unsaid tonight. “Clara...” you began, voice shaky but determined, “I have to tell you about tonight.”
Clara didn’t turn to look at you immediately, but the slight shift in her posture told you she was paying attention. “I thought you would,” she murmured, her voice quiet, but with an undertone of something... worry? Concern? You couldn’t tell.
You took a deep breath, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as you sat up slightly. Your fingers gripped the edges of the bed, the weight of what had just happened still sitting heavy on your chest.
“I went into the Forbidden Forest,” you started, your voice quieter now, as though speaking any louder would break the fragile bubble around you. “Tom... he was there, waiting for me. We talked for a bit, but then—” You faltered for a moment, biting your lip before continuing. “Then he kissed me.”
Clara’s body tensed at the mention of his name. She didn’t say anything, but you could feel her eyes on you now, sharper than before.
You pressed on, unable to stop the words now. “It was so... different than I imagined. I’ve never felt anything like that before.” You paused, feeling the warmth flood your cheeks at the memory. “It wasn’t forced, or rushed. It was gentle. Like he was... learning how to kiss, like he didn’t want to make any mistakes. And when we pulled back, he looked at me like... like he couldn’t believe I was there. That I was real.”
There was a beat of silence before Clara spoke, her voice soft, almost uncertain. “So, you’re saying he’s... different? Really different?”
You nodded slowly, thinking back to the way he’d held you, the tenderness in his touch that felt at odds with everything you had known about him. “Yes. He was different. He seemed... vulnerable. Like he was letting down his walls for the first time in a long time. Maybe even for the first time ever around me.”
Clara shifted in her bed, clearly processing what you were saying. You could hear her breathe out, a heavy sigh that seemed to hold everything she was thinking in one exhale. “Tom Riddle doesn’t let anyone in. And he doesn’t do vulnerable,” she said quietly. “You know that. Everyone knows that.”
“I know,” you said, nodding, feeling the weight of those words. “But there was something in the way he looked at me. Something real.” You glanced down at your hands, still trembling from the energy of the night. “I don’t know how to explain it. I’m not even sure I understand it. But it felt...” You trailed off, searching for the right words.
“Right?” Clara finished for you, and you gave a small, unsure nod. “But you’re still you, right? I mean, he’s Tom Riddle—he doesn’t change that easily.”
“I know,” you whispered, the thought sinking into you with an almost painful weight. “But... when I’m around him, it’s like I forget who he’s been. I forget all the things I’m supposed to hate about him. The rivalry, the arrogance, the—" You cut yourself off, swallowing hard, suddenly feeling exposed.
Clara shifted again, propping herself up on her elbows, her gaze more intense now. “So, what’s going to happen now?” she asked, the concern clear in her tone. “Are you just going to keep falling for him? Let him keep doing whatever this is? He’s dangerous, Y/N. He’s been dangerous for years. You can’t—”
“I know,” you interrupted her, a little more sharply than you intended. “I know he’s dangerous. But that’s not what this is. It’s not about that, Clara.” You softened your tone, dropping your head into your hands for a moment, letting out a slow breath. “It’s about something else. Something that’s real. I don’t know what to do with it. But I can’t pretend it’s not there anymore.”
There was a pause, long enough that you thought Clara might say something more. But when she finally spoke, her voice was lower, almost resigned. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
You lifted your head, meeting her gaze. “I don’t think I’ll be the one hurt here. I don’t think Tom Riddle even knows what’s happening.” You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. “He’s... as lost in this as I am. But I don’t think he wants to hurt me. Not now.”
Clara’s eyes softened, but there was still a wariness in them. “Just... be careful. Please. He’s not someone you can easily trust.”
You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you settled back into your bed, closing your eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of the night settle over you once again. “I will be careful,” you whispered, though the words felt hollow in the face of what was to come.
The only thing you knew for sure was that whatever this was with Tom, it was just beginning. And whether you liked it or not, you had already crossed a line.
And there was no going back now.