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Tom riddle x reader

Part three

Word count : 3.5k

Part one Part two

Warnings: mentions of abuse, abandonment, angst, slight fluff, eventual smut, possible character death, violence, bullying, self doubt, self pity.

Summary: Growing up in an all girls Orphanage during the 1940's was hard. I grew up faster than ! needed to, becoming a protector to my younger sisters from the quiet cruelty than ran the home. Magic came a lot easier to me. By the time of my final year at hogwarts, I carry the weight of abandonment and guilt. For constantly leaving my sisters with that awful women. But what happens when my sevenths year at hogwarts brings me a terrible realisation. One that will change who I am forever.

After camping in my dorm for the rest of the day with no assignments due to the fact that school had yet to start, I was bored. The view from my window was only so fascinating for a certain amount of time, and I had been people watching for a while now.

It was about half an hour before dinner began, and I had found myself wandering down to the greenhouse. My fingers unconsciously wander up to play with the gold locket hanging from my neck, and the small dullness from this morning had simmered down enough for me to truly feel it. The cool feel of the metal stood out against the warmth of my body, yet it calmed me. And it gave me a distraction. 

The corridors were quieter now than they had been at lunch, most students still tucked away in their common rooms or lingering outside while the evening light lasted. My footsteps echoed softly through the stone passageways, steady and unhurried.

I found myself matching my breathing to the rhythm of them. Whenever my thoughts began to drift somewhere unpleasant, back to London, back to the girls, back to the humiliation of earlier, I touched the locket and felt myself pulled into the present again. It did not fix anything. It did not erase the ache sitting stubbornly in my chest. But it dulled the edges enough to bear. 

As I neared the greenhouse corridor, the air changed. It carried the faint scent of damp earth, moss, and something sweet I could not name. The smell was grounding, rich and alive. I slowed without meaning to, already feeling lighter than I had all day. Greenhouses had always been easier than people. Plants asked for patience, not conversation. They drooped when neglected, flourished when cared for, and never once stared too long or expected me to fill a silence. As I took my first step into the plant home after several months, the warm air wrapped around me like a well-needed hug. 

I like to begin a new set of personal plants at the start of every year, which reminds me of a fresh start and opportunities to grow. It's just the cycle of life, continuing all the time anew. We grow, and we wilt, and all you can do is look after yourself. 

As I am tending to my plants, I hear soft footsteps echoing behind me, light and jolly. Before I even turned around, it was obvious who was making their way towards me. Spinning my head around, I smiled as I locked eyes with Luna Lovegood, my best friend. 

Her bright, icy cold hair stands out against the warmth that Luna radiates; she brings that warmth everywhere she goes, even if sometimes people choose to ignore it. The spring in Luna's step gives her the effect that she's flying, so graceful and polite. I know I shouldn't, but I envy Luna's ability to see the best in anyone no matter what. I do try but some people just have no good in them, they interpret love and family wrong and there is nothing you can do. 

The next thing I know, I am embraced in a warm and very much needed hug. The breath that I had been holding for a while now was finally released, and my whole body relaxed into her. I could feel her do the same, and we stood there together, basking in each other's presence after 7 long weeks being apart. 

As soon as we parted, our eyes met, and we both burst out in laughter. a smile was brought onto my face, one that I had not seen for a while. It's hard to realise how much you can miss someone until you are reunited with them again. and that realisation, while all the while melancholic, is very fulfilling. 

"Luna.." I said softly, taking her hands in mine and giving them a light squeeze. 

She squeezed mine back, a couple of strands of her white hair falling in front of her face. We fell into a comfortable chatter, talking about how our summers were. mainly the positives of them, not wanting to dwell on the misfortune or the terror of the women that is Jean Munsch. Luna explained how she and her father went exploring all over England, finding magical creatures and documenting them. She talked about it for a while, and I sat - enjoying every word. 

The thing about Luna was that she could make the strangest stories sound beautiful. She described mooncalves dancing through misty fields as if she had stepped into a dream. Her hands moved when she spoke, animated and soft, and every now and then she'd pause to smile to herself at a memory before continuing. Most people would probably brush her stories aside, laugh awkwardly, or simply stop listening altogether.

I never could.

Because when Luna spoke, she spoke with complete sincerity. There was no performance in her, no desperation to impress anyone. She loved things fully and openly, even when the world treated her oddly for it. I admired that more than I could explain.

"And then father accidentally stepped in a fairy ring," she said thoughtfully. "We had to walk backwards for nearly ten minutes because he was convinced we'd be cursed otherwise."

I laughed quietly, shaking my head. "Did it work?"

"I think so," Luna replied seriously. "Although he did lose one of his shoes in a river shortly after, so perhaps not entirely."

I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. Moments with Luna always felt easy. Like breathing. Like slipping into warm water after being cold for far too long. 

It was only after a large grumble belowed in my stomach that we realised dinner had began fourty minitues ago. With a parting of both of our lips and a quick laugh, we hurriedly set out to the great hall. By the time we got there, it was practically empty, bar the few stray who like to eat alone. Some of them, sadly, were first years who had yet to make any friends. Luna and I sat down at the end of the Ravenclaw table, and with only ten minutes to spare, we dug into dinner. 

After we managed to fill our bellies the best we could, Luna and I parted ways. Though it was only seven, Luna apologised and said she had important 'nargle' business to attend to. I nodded, and with a warm hug, she left. 

Deciding not to go back to the greenhouse, I thought it might be beneficial to head to the library and do some reading on what will be on the curriculum this year. The walk was long and quiet. now even more so at the absence of Luna. The lights from the candles in the Hogwarts hallways lit the way for me, with it being later in the year, the days got shorter and light from the sun was pulled away quicker and quicker each passing day. The green shade from the leaves was beginning to turn a burnt orange colour, and the air had a harsh chill. 

The warmth from the candles did not quite echo into the library as much as I was hoping it would. With the room being the sheer size that it is, it was hard for the heat to circulate. I rubbed my arms and tried to ignore the cold for now so I could grab a book or two and head out. 

My eyes run over the spines of the old books, waiting until they fall upon one useful enough to take. As I wandered down the aisles, my feet halted as I noticed a gap between books, and a boy stood in the opposite aisle. He was very focused on the book in his hands, so much so that a small wrinkle had formed between his brows. from his light brown hair, slightly curly hair and light pink cheeks with small freckles scattered over them like stars, he was easily identified as one of the intimidating Slytherin boys. Yet, his name could not come to me. 

Before I could get out of his sight, he looked up. right at me. I froze. I mean, what else could I do? My mind went completely blank but at the same time it was racing a thousand miles per hour. Wood dug into my skin. He was still looking at me. Not past me. Not through me. At me.

My stomach twisted painfully. Every awful possibility rushed through my head at once. Had I been staring too long? Did he think I was spying on him? Did he recognise me? Worse, did he dislike me already? The silence between us stretched unbearably thin. I suddenly became hyper aware of everything. The faint crackling of the fireplace somewhere deeper in the library. The dusty scent of parchment. The quiet ticking of the clock mounted high on the stone wall. Even my breathing sounded too loud.

I should leave. That was the normal thing to do. Just walk away. Simple. Yet my feet refused to move. His eyes narrowed slightly, almost curious, and the motion alone sent panic fluttering through my chest. Slytherin boys always looked dangerous without even trying. There was something unreadable about them, something sharp beneath the polished uniforms and composed expressions. I swallowed hard and immediately regretted it when the sound echoed in my ears. Please stop looking at me. 

But he didn’t.

The wrinkle between his brows softened a little as he slowly closed the book in his hands, one finger tucked carefully between the pages to keep his place. Somehow, that made everything worse. Because now he wasn't distracted anymore. Now, all of his attention was on me. A small and slightly amused smirk crept up onto his face. I was now all too aware that I wasn't just looking at him, I was staring. in awe. The smirk on his face only grew bigger, bringing his perfect features together to form a perfect face. One that had to have been handcrafted by Merlin himself. 

I suddenly snap my lips shut, my lips that had at some time parted. I had to leave, or at least move. With all the adrenaline left in my body, my feet moved. I step out of his line of sight. paused to breathe for a second, then darted as fast as I could. 

My feeble attempt to leave the isle I was in and move so far down into the depths of the library that no one would ever find me again was sabotaged when a hard figure swung round the bookshelf and brought me to a halt. With a terrible realization i look at and saw the same beautiful freckled boy just inches away from me. 

Up close, he looked even more unfairly pretty. The warm light hanging above the aisle caught against the soft curls of his light brown hair, turning parts of it gold. His freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose so lightly they almost didn’t look real. There was something sharp hidden beneath the softness, though. Something confident. Dangerous. My pulse hammered violently against my ribs. He tilted his head a little, eyes flicking over my face with quiet amusement, like he already knew exactly how nervous I was. Then one corner of his mouth lifted.

“Going somewhere?” he asked softly. 

His voice was low and smooth, the kind that settled straight into your chest and stayed there. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

Brilliant.

He let out a chuckle; it was smooth and deep. The sound was so enchanting, it was like I could feel it in my chest. becuse it seemed like i had lost the capability to speak i shook my head meekly. He let out a chuckle; it was smooth and deep. The sound was so enchanting, it was like I could feel it in my chest. Because it seemed like I had lost the capability to speak, I shook my head meekly.

His eyebrows lifted slightly, amused. “No?” he repeated softly.

Heat crawled violently into my cheeks. Merlin. His gaze lingered on my face for a moment too long before he tilted his head slightly. “You know, most people say words during conversations.”

“I can speak,” I blurted out immediately.

The smirk on his face widened. “There she is.”

I wished the floor would open beneath me and swallow me whole.. He shifted against the bookshelf beside him, arms folding loosely across his chest. The movement pulled my attention straight back to him again, which was unfortunate considering he already seemed very aware of the effect he was having on me.

“You always run away from boys who look at you?” he asked.

“I just… I didn’t mean to be in your way,” I managed quickly, voice far too small.

He watched me for a second longer, like he was trying to figure something out. Then that faint smirk returned.

“You’re not in my way,” he said. “You’re just standing there looking like you’ve seen a ghost.”

i gulped again and took a small step back, apologising and speaking, "I can move." so quiletly im supirised he even heard it. He shifted immediately, taking a half step towards me. That only made it worse. He noticed. Of course he did.

“You don’t need to apologise,” he said, quieter now.

That made my stomach twist for a different reason. Silence fell for a moment. I hated how loud it felt. I could hear pages turning somewhere far down the aisle, the faint scrape of a chair, my own breathing that would not settle properly. His eyes stayed on me, but not in the sharp way they had before. More like he was observing something interesting that had wandered into his space by accident.

“You always this nervous around strangers?” he asked.

My face went hotter.

There was a small pause before I got the courage to speak up and say "I'm never really in a situation where I have to talk to new people…. so"

My gaze fell once more.

"so forgive me if im not very good at talking..".

Gosh, I didn't think that would sound as pathetic as it did, but my brain had already used all of the public speaking capabilities that I seemed to have run out of normal things to say. That seemed to make him pause. Just for a second. Then he tilted his head, studying me again, like the answer didn’t quite match what he expected.

“You don’t have to apologise for that either,” he said, quieter still.

My throat tightened. I looked down at the books instead, because looking at him felt like too much.

“I’m still sorry,” I said, almost automatically.

He exhaled through his nose, like a quiet laugh he didn’t fully let out.

“You’re going to make me feel like I’m terrifying you,” he said.

That made me look up quickly.

“No,” I said, a little more urgent. “You’re not. I get nervous. Around people.”

There was a pause after that. Something in his expression softened properly this time, the teasing edge fading.

“Right,” he said slowly. “So you’re just like this with everyone.”

I nodded again. A beat. I was mentally preparing for the torment that was sure to follow after the nightmare of an encounter that just took place. Then his mouth curved slightly, but it wasn’t the same smirk anymore. It was lighter.

“That’s a shame,” he said.

My brows pulled together slightly. “Why?”

He didn’t answer straight away. His gaze flicked over me once more, slower this time, like he had decided something.

Then, easier than before, he said, “Because I think you’d be easier to talk to than you think.”

My breath caught embarrassingly fast in my throat. But before I could respond, he was walking past me, brushing me softly as he did so. The contact was brief, accidental in appearance, but it still left my thoughts completely scrambled.

I turned too late, slow and confused, like my body had not quite caught up with what had just happened. My eyes followed where he had been standing only seconds before. Empty aisle. No trace of him.

Gone.

How strange.

With my heart still pounding and no new books in my possession, I fled the library in such a hurry that I was sure I made a rushing noise. My footsteps were far too quick, echoing softly between the shelves as I moved past rows of sleeping knowledge and dim lantern light. I kept my head down the entire way, as if someone might still be watching me even though I knew that made no sense.

By the time I was almost at the common room, it was completely dark outside. The castle corridors had shifted into something quieter. The torches along the walls flickered low, casting long shadows that moved as I passed them.

Even though it was freezing, the warmth in my cheeks had yet to settle down. It stayed there stubbornly, burning like I had swallowed a flame I could not put out. My skin felt too aware of everything, like the memory of his voice had been pressed into it.

I lifted a hand briefly to my face, half in disbelief. Still warm. Still bright. Still completely ridiculous. I had never had an interaction like that, or even remotely similar. I mean, unless you counted that boy from the carriage, but even he did not bring out a reaction remotely as intense as that boy did.

That boy…

I slowed slightly at the thought, the corridor suddenly feeling longer than it had a moment ago.

I did not get his name.

The realisation settled in slowly, like something important I had dropped and only just noticed missing. I replayed it in my head. The smirk. The voice. The way he had looked at me like I was something mildly interesting instead of something inconvenient.

Nothing. Not even a name.

Tom riddle x reader

Part two

Word count : 4.3k

Part one Part two

Warnings: mentions of abuse, abandonment, angst, slight fluff, eventual smut, possible character death, violence, bullying, self doubt, self pity.

Summary: Growing up in an all girls Orphanage during the 1940's was hard. I grew up faster than ! needed to, becoming a protector to my younger sisters from the quiet cruelty than ran the home. Magic came a lot easier to me. By the time of my final year at hogwarts, I carry the weight of abandonment and guilt. For constantly leaving my sisters with that awful women. But what happens when my sevenths year at hogwarts brings me a terrible realisation. One that will change who I am forever.

The Thestrals huffed and stamped, restless and tired. They were beautiful creatures, and misunderstood ones. I had never understood why I could see them. Whatever had allowed it had left no memory behind. Luna once told me the mind sometimes hides things from us when they would be too heavy to carry.

I liked the thought of that, that something inside us knew when to look away. She said that it’s called ‘dissociative amnesia’. Looking around me, I still couldn’t see her anywhere. So with the few final carriages preparing to take off, i hurriedly made my way over.

Opening up the last carriage door i was praying that it would be vacant, but to my dismay, it was not. There was a tall, slightly plumpy Gryifindoor boy by the name of Neville. I know of him because he sadly seems to be the butt of almost every joke made at Hogwarts. He gives me this awkward smile, tilting his head up slightly to see me. My smile back is almost, if not more, awkward than his. I move to the bench opposite him and place my trunk on the floor next to his.

Do I look at the floor? out the window? My eyes dart up and him, he’s looking at me. Oh gosh. We both turn our heads to look out the window, quickly realizing that it’s too dark to see anything other than the night. I swallow, knowing that at some point or another of this twenty-minute journey, we will have to converse.

sighing i peer up at him once again. He is like before, looking at me. I offer a small smile, hoping to ease the god-awful tension. Then, he speaks.

“so” he began. Then stopped.

“…yes”.

That’s what he said, yes. my mouths parts in confusion, and i cant help the dumbfounded look on my face.

“um sorry. i didn’t mean to stare its. I just, well. It’s very dark.”

He trips and stumbles over his words, a vibrant rouge colour spreading rapidly across his face. My mouth opened. Nothing came out. So I nod, my lips still agape like I’m catching flies. At my action, it seems he grows even more nervous.

“I’m Neville Longbottom.”

He extends his hand and brightens his smile. I wonder if maybe it’s an arm spasm he’s having. After a moment of nothing, my head finally clicks into place, and I respond. My hand lifts up to greet his overly sweaty one, and I quietly introduce myself with a disorganized but real smile. I don’t want to come off as a rude person, but at the same time, I’m completely oblivious of what to say to him. He then says something that makes me freeze,

“oh i know who you are,” he chuckles after he says it, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Right,” I said. I hesitated. “I didn’t realize I was that memorable.”

It’s now his turn to be silent, in his difference i wouldn’t know how to respond to that either. So he does what all introverts do in cases like this and just smiles. In times like these i just want to be back at Earl Grey. I know I’m acting like it’s the end of the world and Neville will most definitely forget this bleak conversation with everything that happens to him, but now I just want the world to swallow me whole. My hands folded in my lap. I kept my eyes on them.

The rest of the ride was tense.

For me, at least.

It felt like the air got thicker and oh so much warmer. By the last five minutes i was just staring at the floor. not moving a muscle. When we finally did end up at our destination, I looked up and smiled. I’m not sure if the smile was actually for him or for the fact that I could leave. Either way, it was still a kind gesture, one that I hoped would brighten his day a little.

The sight of the castle lifted my spirits; it always did. Despite not having the most prominent relationship with my fellow students, it doesn’t take away the fact that I loved being at school. The feeling of Hogwarts is euphoric; I could talk about it all day.

The house initiation went by quickly. After years of sitting in the same place, eating the same food, and repeating a routine that nobody notices, I tend to dissociate. One glance towards the Ravenclaw table steadied me. Luna, all pale hair and quiet brightness, was already looking at me, smiling. I diverted my gaze to watch the transformation of the table before me. plates began to fill with various different foods, steam swirling up into the air before fading. I took in a breath through my nose and was met with an assortment of different flavours. Looking down the table at the first years i see them gawking. I met with a wave of sorrow as it reminded me of when I used to show Marie some small spells. not ones that the ministry would expel me for, just ones that I knew she’d like.

After letting everyone else around me pick their food first. Conversation of summer and gossip began to stir around me, however i was not included. Not that I minded very much. Nobody expected any input from me, and I preferred it that way. After taking a quick glance at the food surrounding me, i picked up a bowl of soup. With not much else to do i decided to entertain myself by looking up. The enchanted ceiling stretched dark and cloudless, a perfect imitation of the night beyond the castle walls. I traced familiar constellations with my eyes, ones I had learned years ago and never spoken aloud. There was comfort in knowing where things belonged, even when I did not.

When the feast was slowly coming to an end, house prefects stood up and began to direct the first years to their new house. Everyone around me rose from their positions to follow suit. I lingered for a second, allowing people to pass, so i can follow my annual routine of trailing at the back.

By the time I stepped out of the great hall, the heat from all of the warm bodies began to fade along with the chatter. the walk to the huffelpuff common room was a long one, and uselessly i wouldn’t mind. I’d entertain myself by listening to my peers chatting, or admiring the beautiful yet ancient Hogwarts corridors. My eyes would trace the cracks and splits in the walls, or the grooves made into the floors by the hundreds of students every year.

However, this time, my mind had been plagued by a somber thought. The warmth of the castle only made it worse. I wondered if the girls would be huddled together now, the way we used to on colder nights, sharing thin blankets and quieter hopes. Whether they were still counting the cracks in the ceiling like I once counted the stones beneath my feet, pretending the patterns meant something more than time passing.

I told myself they would be fine. I had to. Still, the corridors felt longer than usual, and for the first time, I didn’t slow my steps to admire them.

By the time i did finally make it to the warm huffelpuff common room, all i could think about was unpacking and going to sleep. I’m convinced that all the beds had some sort of spell on them, because as soon as you lay down, the bed perfectly molds to your body. it almost feels like a hug, and sometimes, its really needed.

i don’t stay to watch the first years gawk, although i have the same reaction every year, i just hide it better. With a yawn my feet take me too the girls dorm wing. my eyes travel across every door, searching for my name plaque.

it was only when i reached the end of the corridor i see my name and my name only on a door. i am by myself. i should be thankful that i have this but that also means that no one wanted to share with me. turning around i look at the long hallway and let a frown slip. as i have said countless times, this is my own fault.

The room itself was neat, almost deliberately so. A single bed sat against the far wall, its blankets folded too tightly to look inviting, the pillows untouched and aligned as if they’d never known sleep. A small desk rested beneath the window, bare except for a lamp and a stack of unread parchment, the chair pushed in with unnecessary precision. My trunk had been placed beside it, the old and used bag stood out in the perfect room. The stone walls were unadorned, except for a narrow shelf that remained conspicuously empty, waiting for photographs, trinkets, or proof that someone had lived here. Even the air felt still, as though the room had been prepared for me. But never expected me to stay.

i felt a ball of tears forming in my waterline, and that harsh sting in my nose. pulling of my robe and dumping it on the empty floor, i pulled the sheets and climbed into the bed. not my bed. my bed was back in London. back with all of my girls. i had thought that this would be easier to deal with, but without the pressure of eyes on me, i found it difficult to keep myself together. Sometimes when i go to sleep, and im 11 again, receiving my letter of acceptance to hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry.

now all i wanted was to have thrown away the letter and stayed.

The next thing i know is im waking up, my eyes puffy and my head pounding. i had a faint memory of a dream that i must have had last night, yet i can’t quite remember it. My lashes were stiff with dried tears, my face swollen and unfamiliar, as though I’d borrowed it from someone else in the night. Whatever I had dreamed had wrung something raw from me, leaving only the ache behind.

It was only when my eyes adjusted to the dim light that I noticed it, something dark in the far corner of the room. It hadn’t been there before. I was certain of it. The space had been empty last night, bare stone and shadow, yet now the darkness gathered too deliberately, shaped by more than the absence of light. I didn’t move. I barely breathed. Because somehow, I knew that if I looked away for even a moment, it might change.

i slowly stood up and inched closer to the object. There it was, resting in the corner of the room, catching the first pale light of morning. I knelt and picked it up, cradling it gently in my palm, turning it over and over as though I could memorize every inch of it. The locket was small, oval, made of warm, golden metal that gleamed softly even in the dim light. Intricate swirls were engraved along its edges, twisting and looping in patterns so delicate they seemed almost alive, and a tiny engraved rose sat at its center, catching the light. The hinge was perfect, smooth and precise, and the chain was fine and light, slipping through my fingers like water. But it wasn’t just the beauty that held me, no. It was the quiet insistence that radiated from it, a subtle warmth pulsing against my skin, filling my chest with a hollow ache of recognition. I couldn’t explain it, couldn’t reason it away.A small, relentless voice in the back of my mind whispered that I had to wear it, that it belonged against me. The feeling wasn’t urgent or demanding. It was patient, insistent, and utterly convincing, and somehow I knew that until I put it on, something essential would remain incomplete.

Having seen the room in a lighter ambiance, I now see a second door. With the locket still clutched tightly in my hand, I open it to find an en suite. Stepping in front of the mirror i first grimaced at my appearance. ragged and messy hair that looked like a bird’s nest and bright pink splodges next to my eyes where my salty tears had irritated my skin. Ignoring that for now, though I placed the locket around my neck and clasped it at the back. It was a perfect fit, like it was made for me.

Turning around i walk over to the window that was currently being sheltered by long brown curtains. Pulling them back, the room floods with light, sunlight. The warmth pools onto my skin like a drug, and I take it all in. I then looked down at the watch I had forgotten to take off last night in my haste. and realize that I have missed breakfast.

With nothing on my to-do list today, I begin that job I should have done last night and started to unpack.

After taking a lot longer than I had expected, it was around lunchtime, and I had finished. The shelves were still bare, bar a picture frame and Marie, but I could get over that. With it being a Sunday, pupils were allowed to wear home clothes around the grounds. So, pulling out a yellow knee-length skirt, a white shortsleved shirt and a brown cardigan, I looked in the mirror again and straightened my collar. With a quick run through with my hairbrush, I was out the door.

The corridor beyond my door was quiet, the usual hum of voices muted by the thick stone walls. My footsteps echoed softly as I walked, the sound too loud for a place that felt half-asleep. Sunlight filtered in through the tall windows lining the passage, catching in the dust motes that hung lazily in the air, turning them gold. I let my fingers trail briefly along the cool stone as I went, grounding myself in the solidity of the castle.

The stairs curved gently downward, familiar and unfamiliar all at once. I passed a handful of students scattered in small clusters, their laughter low and unhurried, dressed in mismatched jumpers and skirts, sleeves rolled up, ties abandoned for the day. No one paid me much attention, and I was grateful for it. Sundays seemed to carry an unspoken agreement to let people exist quietly.

As I stepped into the open space leading toward the grounds, a breeze slipped in through an open archway, cool against my still-warm skin. Somewhere nearby, bells chimed softly, marking the hour I had already lost track of. I glanced down at my watch again out of habit, then tucked my sleeve back into place, squaring my shoulders.

For the first time since arriving, there was nowhere I had to be. No schedule, no expectations pressing in. Just the stretch of the day ahead, wide and undefined.

Like I have mentioned countless times, the Hogwarts grounds are magically beautiful. As the heat from summer was fading, the trees and flowers would soon wilt and die, but right now, they were thriving. However, that September chill had come in a lot sooner than expected, and my cardigan was not doing enough to insulate me.

So, turning around i walked back into the castle. The cold hit me properly as soon as I stepped back in, the warmth from outside disappearing almost instantly. The corridors were much busier now, students moving past in small groups, all clearly heading in the same direction. Shoes tapped softly against the stone floor, voices blended together, and the castle felt awake in a way it hadn’t earlier.

Near the corner of the corridor, a small group stood slightly apart from everyone else. all in home clothes, but they still seemed more put together than most. Dark jumpers, neat skirts, shirts tucked in properly. I recognised a few of them as I passed Theodore Nott and Matteo Riddle, names I knew well enough to place faces to, though not well enough to stop and think about.

Their conversation lowered for a moment as I walked by, and then strangely stopped as all of them turned their heads to look at me, then carried on as before. I didn’t slow down, but seeing it in my peripheral, I glanced at them then back. At first i had thought that whatever they were conversing about had nothing to do with me, but now I’m not so sure. But at this moment I was far more aware of the growing ache in my stomach than of them. Ahead, the doors to the Great Hall were already open, light spilling out into the corridor along with the smell of food.

The warmth wrapped around me as soon as I stepped inside. The Hall was loud but comfortable, filled with the sound of laughter, clinking plates, and benches scraping as people shifted around. Above us, the enchanted ceiling showed a calm sky, pale clouds drifting slowly across it. I paused for a second, letting the noise settle around me, before looking for an empty place to sit, grateful to finally be somewhere warm.

After collecting my food, I searched for the beaker of water that sat on every table. My gaze drifted lazily across the room until it snagged on the same group I’d noticed on my way in.

A cluster of Slytherins. Intimidating, distant people I had never once spoken to.

They were staring at me.

For a moment, an uneasy thought surfaced: had they already chosen me as their victim this year? I quickly pushed it away. That was unfair. I didn’t know them, not really. I didn’t understand their dynamic, their friendships, their reasons. All I knew was the impression they gave: that they carried themselves with a kind of quiet superiority, as though they existed on a level far above people like me.

I could feel my heart rate begin to pick up, and small beads of sweat began to drip down my face. The pressure of having not one, but multiple people looking at me was a little too much. To just check that I wasn’t being arrogant or paranoid, I looked back over my shoulder to check if just maybe they were focusing on someone else, but to no avail; there was no one behind me.

Breaking eye contact, I avert my gaze back towards the plate of untouched food in front of me. I tried to steady my breathing, but it only came out shallow and uneven. My face felt warm, far too warm, and I was sure it showed. I told myself not to overreact, not to imagine things that weren’t there, but the weight of their attention refused to lift. I didn’t think it through. I just stood and turned. Leaving my plate full of food and my belly rumbling, I just left.

The moment I crossed the threshold out of the great hall, the noise dulled, the heavy doors closing behind me with a soft thud. The cooler air of the corridor hit my skin, and I didn’t stop walking until the blood finally settled in my cheeks. I welcomed the quiet, the space, the absence of eyes on me, even as my heart continued to race. Only when I reached the far end of the corridor did I slow, pressing my back briefly against the wall and drawing in a breath that finally felt like it belonged to me.

What on earth had just happened?

Tom riddle x reader

Summary: Growing up in an all girls Orphanage during the 1940's was hard. I grew up faster than I needed to, becoming a protector to my younger sisters from the quiet cruelty than ran the home. Magic came a lot easier to me. By the time of my final year at hogwarts, I carry the weight of abandonment and guilt. For constantly leaving my sisters with that awful women. But what happens when my sevenths year at hogwarts brings me a terrible realisation. One that will change who I am forever.

Word count : 4.6k

Part 1

Warnings: mentions of abuse, abandonment, angst, slight fluff, eventual smut, possible character death, violence, bullying, self doubt, self pity.

The unforgiving roar of London was what woke me up. The hundreds of cars crawling on the roads below softly pulled me from my dreamless sleep. The soft glow of light peeking through the curtains fell over my face, reminding me to begin my day. The first thing I felt was the ache, pulsing throughout my arms and legs. It felt like a hydraulic press was pushing down on my body. The second thing I felt was a small 80‑pound body falling on top of me. I begrudgingly opened up my eyes to find a very energetic child staring down at me. My eyes drifted over to the clock on the wall; it read 5:27 a.m.

She squealed and rolled over me, lifting up my duvet to find the warmth underneath. I heard her release a soft sigh and soon felt her small hands grab my arm. I smiled and turned over to swaddle her into my chest. Most of the time, my days begin like this. I don’t know how this girl has so much energy in the mornings. She looks up at me, and that small evil smirk creeps up onto her face. I laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes, though. We sat there for a while, just basking in each other’s presence. The only distraction from the peace was the Londoners of 1940. Very busy people they were. However, our time together was bound to get ruined by someone soon, so for now I’m going to savor it. I almost drifted back into my deep sleep when I felt her shoulders begin to shake lightly. My heart dropped, and I closed my eyes, pulling her even closer.

“Please don’t go.”

I sighed and felt my lip begin to shake. It took me back to when she was younger, when I was younger. I know that I have to stay strong because if I break down, then I won’t be able to leave her.

“Baby…”

I began to console her when the door swung open, almost flying off its hinges. Light poured into the room, soon followed by the harsh smell of smoke. You would think that I would be used to it after enduring the thick smog for seventeen years, but sadly not. I always say that you should pray to have eyes that see the best in people, but with this woman, it’s very difficult. Jean Munsch was the lady of the house at Earl Grey Orphanage for Young Women. And she was a monster. Upon first glance she seemed like a modest woman.

Metallic grey hair, always politely pinned back into a small bun. The same old‑fashioned dress that covered almost her whole body. And black plimsoll shoes. She smelled like a strange mix of linen and smoke; it was the kind of smell that made you wrinkle your nose in disgust. She also always had the same exact look on her face. It was almost ineffable, just a pure look of hatred, like she was constantly looking down at you, embarrassed. Marie, the fragile little girl in my arms, burrowed closer to me. I instinctively wrapped my arms tighter around her, giving her a big squeeze before I sat up and turned to face the lady of the house.

“Good morning, Mistress,” I softly spoke the words, fearful of aggravating her.

She stood there, analyzing Marie and me. Her facial expression was so difficult to read. I desperately wanted to look into her mind; then again, I wasn’t quite sure if what I’d find would be good. I still had hope that this woman had some good left inside her; she just made it very hard to hope. Her eyes trailed up and down my body, and I could see that her eyebrows began to furrow. I prepared myself for a verbal beating, wondering if it was my unbrushed hair or ripped clothing that was causing the distressed look, but again, with Munsch, it was very hard to tell. She huffed and spoke with a disapproving tone.

“You leave at six.”

Her words didn’t mask the condescending manner in which they were intended to be said. She knew that after I left, I wasn’t allowed to come back. You see, once a girl turns eighteen here, she no longer has to house them; they are kicked out to fend for themselves. I turn legal age come winter. After that, I will not be able to protect my sisters from the wrath of Mistress Jean Munsch.

Hogwarts allows students to stay during term breaks, and I would have loved to. Hogwarts, when there are no other students, must be magical. The grounds alone are breathtaking, the thought of basking in the lonesome solitude, not having to worry about protecting the ones I love… but I don’t like to allow myself to think of that. I have to come back, or Mistress Munsch would unleash her violent anger on my baby sisters, and I won’t allow it. Unfortunately, after my eighteenth, I won’t be able to stop it anymore.

See, Jean portrays herself as a poised and polished woman. But what a lot of people don’t see is the bottled rage that builds inside her every day. I take pity on her; even after everything, I don’t believe that people are born wicked, rather, they have wickedness thrust upon them. Whatever happened to Jean Munsch must have changed her forever. I’m snapped out of my thoughts as she turns on her heel, slamming the door closed as she makes her exit. I finally release the sigh I have been holding in, and it seems so does Marie. I know that if we begin to have a normal conversation and act like everything is okay, then we will both break down. So I look at the clock again: 5:41 a.m. She, too, looks, and no words need to be said.

After Marie leaves, I pull the trunk onto my bed. With most of the packing already done last night, I just have to check that I have everything. Glancing outside, it seems that the weather reflects my very mood: grey and cold. Clouds form a roof of darkness over the city. As it is the first of September, the mornings are still light, so in the distance, just out of the city, bright beams of sun shine through breaks in the clouds, reminding me that although life right now is rotten and miserable, I will soon be at my real home.

With a sorrowful sigh and a long look at what once was my home, I give myself a small moment to reflect. Walking up to the window, I peer out at the city, letting myself imagine how every person out there has their own life, family and problems. I sometimes feel selfish for feeling the way I do. I was given food, a home, sisters whom I love deeply, and a bed to sleep in. Some people don’t have any of that. It breaks my heart imagining what other people may have been through. I was given the gift of magic, being able to lift objects into the air without touching them, and being able to transform and create things from my very imagination. And yet I was not given the gift of knowing my parents, or knowing why they did not want me.

My focus soon shifts and I stare at the girl I see every day, a reflection of who I am. My plaid dress, brushed hair, clean face, and dark, dull eyes stare back at me. That’s when the guilt hits that I am leaving these girls forever. The babies who I took care of when no one else would. Who would take care of them now? I clench my fists and allow a tear to slip slowly down my cheek. The clock now reads 5:57 a.m. I pull my coat on and pick up the heavy trunk.

As I am walking down the hall to make my way out, I am met with soft snores from the girls’ rooms. My hand wraps around the handle to Marie’s room. She shares with five of the other girls; they will take care of her. Marie has fallen asleep again, her chest softly rising and falling. I pull out a letter from my pocket, placing it on the side table next to her. My last goodbye. With one final kiss to her head, I take my leave, down the stairs and out of the door.

The orphanage was about a thirty‑minute walk to King’s Cross, so I kept my head up and began the trek. 1940s London was sad. Smoke from the factories filled the sky, giving London a constant grey cast. Everyone was either on their way to work and too bothered about their own lives to care about being kind to others, or the very few who let themselves be too kind and were suffering the consequences. Being kind was something I tried to implement into everything, not for beneficial reasons, but for someone.

I, too, had someone I looked up to the way Marie looked up to me. Margaret; she never got adopted either. So when the time came that she turned eighteen, I never saw her again. She had gotten an amazing job in the United States, one she couldn’t possibly turn down. But before she left, she gave me something very dear to me: a small necklace, with a gold locket that, when opened, reads, “Have courage and be kind.” I haven’t taken it off since the day she left, five years ago. She does not write to me; she promised she would. I don’t tend to think or dwell on it, as it tends to make me conjure thoughts of terrible things happening to her.

What if she had been killed? Or taken? The sound of a train leaving its tracks pulls me from the thoughts. The big and beautiful building of King’s Cross stands before me. The corners of my lips can’t help but perk up. After navigating my way to Platform Nine and Three‑Quarters, which wasn’t hard as it’s almost second nature now, I find myself on a crowded platform of children ranging from eleven to eighteen, most surrounded by their families hugging them goodbye. One girl, maybe eleven years old, is crying and clinging onto her mother. Another family is laughing and joking. It all begins to feel like too much. My head hangs low as I try my hardest to blend into the crowd.

Making friends has always been a bit of a struggle for me, so eventually I just gave up. Growing up with the absence of boys made it very frightening when I moved from my all‑girls grammar school to Hogwarts. They were like a whole new breed to me: immature and obnoxious. Which, granted, was mean but true. So I was embarrassingly friendless until I got paired with a strange blonde girl, who would soon be my best friend.

Her name was Luna Lovegood. She didn’t have many friends either, but she was a talker, and I was a listener. We just sort of clicked. I lift my head up to try and search for her but to no avail; I cannot find her. With the train soon departing, I step on in the hopes that she has already made her way on.

The train was just as crowded as the platform, if not more, due to the confined space. I began to slowly make my way to the last carriage. It’s usually empty, a small space with single seats and pull‑out trays attached to the seat in front. As I walk down to the end of the train, I try to keep to myself as best as possible, to not disturb other people and to attempt to stay in the shadows. Most students of Hogwarts did not know me, let alone know I existed. Yes, it was a pretty big school.

My theory was correct this time; however, Luna was nowhere to be seen. I sighed and hoped that she might have found solace in another compartment. Luna could almost fit in anywhere. Not that people would necessarily accept her, but the aspect I envied most about the sweet girl was that she did not care what people thought of her. Luna could find the best parts of anyone, no matter how deeply buried they might be. I try to be like her as much as I can. She is the brightest light in my life. And when you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light. Tired from the walk to the station, I made peace with her absence and found a spot towards the rear of the carriage. Placing my trunk in the compartment above my head, I stand there for a moment, I breathe, then I slide down onto the seat and pull out my copy of Murder on the Orient Express. The train began to vibrate as it set off. I didn’t let myself look up at the platform, knowing that it would only bring me sadness. Instead, I allowed myself to dive into the world of Poirot.

As we got closer and closer to the Scottish Highlands, my presumption was correct. Beams of vitamin D radiated onto my skin, warming me and bringing me comfort I had been missing for a while. It’s moments like this that I can breathe; all of my troubles are temporarily forgotten, and I can just let go. I don’t have to think or feel anything. It’s pure bliss. Trains give me such comfort, the views of Scotland especially. That slow gradient of gloomy London to this beauty is almost a sign of peace. I have a couple more hours of the journey left, and I’ve almost finished the book.

The passing of greenery completely entrances me, pulling my attention to it like a siren. It’s a shame I don’t have a radio; the sound of music would make this moment oh so much more amazing. I had believed that I figured out the murderer very early on in the novel, but to my dismay I was proven wrong. It took me a lot longer to finish than I had initially expected. I think that may be due to my constant pausing in disbelief as the mystery unfolded. Having understood the motive to kill, I still found it hard to comprehend how anyone can inflict so much violence on another. I certainly never hope to feel such rage. Life is a beautiful gift given to us; it’s not only our job to protect ourselves and others, but also the great green earth that homes us.

My way of thinking is probably why, at eleven years old, I was placed in Hufflepuff House. I couldn’t imagine it any other way. Awaking to the quiet yet calmly warm common room, and being able to roam and interact with the various plants scattered across the large room was something so blissfully ineffable. The room is warm in a way that seeps into your bones and wraps around your body in a hug. Everything feels lived-in, armchairs sag slightly in the middle, and the rugs are worn from years of people padding across them barefoot. The massive windows circling the room allowed for views of the Highlands, and when caught at just the right time, formed a breathtaking floral colour in the sky.

The way of the sky changes the whole ambience of the room, pathetic fallacy at its finest. Marie had told me about that English writing technique when she had learned it. I cannot teach her anything I learn, as it’s against the Ministry of Magic’s conduct, so instead, she teaches me. It makes her feel older, more mature. Half of the time I never really know what she is talking about. She may know what she is trying to portray; however, she’s not the best at getting it out.

The room itself feels more like a burrow, or a cabin in the middle of a vast enchanted wood, than a hall. With round doorways and soft, golden light spilling from lamps tucked into the walls, it’s a completely different place from the rest of the school. Although having never been to the other common rooms besides Ravenclaw’s, I’ve heard descriptions of others, and quite frankly, I believe that they just don’t beat mine.

I reopen my eyes, smiling to myself as I remember that the train will soon arrive. September 1st has chosen to fall on a Saturday this year, meaning that school will not start immediately. It gives the lovely Miss Luna and I a chance to catch up after the summer; we have been so nervous about starting our seventh year. The thought of having to leave this beautiful castle for good just brings copious amounts of sorrow to my tainted heart. The people, I’m not so sad to leave. Yes, granted, I have not made the biggest effort to expand my range of friends, but why should I when I love the people I surround myself with now? Besides, I do often like to be alone, just to sit and organise my thoughts, let my imagination run wild.

That brings me to the friends—well, not really friends. More like a temporary acquaintance that I sometimes sit with and grow too shy to converse. Poppy Sweeting. She, like Luna and I, has a very small number of friends. So when my thoughts begin to consume me, I make my way through the castle and into the grounds. It is there that I find Poppy, either taking care of a wild hippogriff or another magical creature. We work in tandem, in silence, just grateful to have someone who shares the same love for these wild creatures as the other. Poppy does not get heckled as much as Luna does, mainly because, like me, she moves in the shadows. It’s comforting, not being the only one hiding in the darkness.

I hope that for my final year, I get a place in the same dormitory as her. It would be pleasant to finally converse with the girl who doesn’t realise how much she helps me. Not that the majority of the girls in my house aren’t sweet. Most of them don’t know who I am, again, probably because I don’t really announce myself too much. Deep down I think it’s because I’m scared that whoever I present myself to, they won’t like what they see. The more people that you let into your life, the more can just walk right out of it. I feel the same way about relationships.

The thought of letting someone look that deeply into your soul, letting them know everything about you petrifies me in a way that it really shouldn’t. Having a long list of lovers on my résumé was not something that I was particularly worried about. Only in some rare and vulnerable moments do I dream of a lover. A soulmate. Someone who loves me for the way I am, fully and completely. Those types of thoughts are the ones I put on hold and store in the deepest parts of my mind. I do believe that there is someone out there for everyone; I have yet to meet my person.

There are about forty minutes left of the journey, and the sun grows weaker, slowly making its retreat towards the night. The sky is flooded with a warm hue, glistening off the numerous lakes and rivers we pass. I decide that it’s time I change into my school robes. Thankfully there is a restroom located at the far end of the locomotive. Reaching for the trunk above my head, I lower it down and search for my robes. After successfully finding the flood of fabric, I begin my short walk to the single cubicle. It’s cramped yet not incredibly stuffy, as the only person to have used it today was me. The task of changing is challenging, but without the pressure of time I remain calm.

After my robes are on, I exit the small room, entering the same empty carriage. Yet something pricks my attention. The trunk that I had left closed on my seat was now open, lying on the floor. It looked like someone had rifled through it, desperately and frantically searching to find something. I stand still, a confused yet cautious look forming on my face. Moving my feet, I take a few steps forward. From a quick glance, nothing seems to be missing. Maybe the train had shaken and therefore caused it to fall from its resting place. But I remember buckling it up before leaving; it had been unbuckled.

Not wanting to scare myself too much, I put it down to tainted memory and closed the trunk back up. However, I cannot seem to shake this weary feeling. Digging the ends of my fingernails into my palms, I slowly sit down. It was a bad habit that I have never been able to defeat. I stay still for a while, only snapping out of it when I feel the train begin to slow. With a big swallow and a long intake of breath through my nose, my legs stretch, and I stand. Grabbing my trunk and taking one last scan of the carriage to make sure I had not left any of my belongings behind, I made my way to the exit door.

Stepping out onto the platform calmed my restless emotions. Seeing the swarm of students, varying in ages and gender, I allow myself to relax slightly. My shoulders fall, and the vice grip I had on the handle of my trunk loosens. The sigh I didn’t know I was still holding slips from my lips. Finally, I allow myself to walk to the carriages ahead.

I have began writing my own fic and would love to post it on here and A03, but I would like to post the first draft of the first paragraph and see what people think about it!!

I’m a survivor from Gaza, holding on to hope in a world that has fallen apart around me. 💔

The life I once knew — my home, my family, my sense of safety — has been shattered by war. Today, I live among the ruins, trying to find a path forward through the rubble and heartbreak. 🏚

Every moment is a battle against fear and uncertainty. What was once ordinary — a safe place to sleep, a future to dream of — now feels like a distant memory. 🕊️

I share my story not to seek pity, but to keep hope alive — to believe that even in the darkest places, kindness can still find a way. 🤍

If my story touches your heart, please consider sharing it or offering support. Every voice, every act of care, brings me one step closer to safety. ✨

Thank you for taking the time to listen. 🙏

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