Where the Black Roses Appear Pt.2
Summary: You were determined to uncover the identity of your secret admirer. You tried countless spells, even attempted to contact him directly, and somehow ended up kissing Adrian Pucey along the way. In the end, though, it wasn't magic that gave him away-it was his cologne.
Warnings: Cuss words. Reader is a little bitch, but we like it. Tom Riddle (Cause he's a warning himself). Fluffy ending.
A/N: I finally wrote Part 2!! Hope ya'll like it! Here is Part 1
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You were going to catch him.
You were going to catch the creep who'd been leaving roses for you.
He'd been leaving them for weeks.
You'd found them in your robes, your books, and even in your dorm.
You'd tried hundreds of spells, hoping at least one would lead you back to the culprit.
Whoever it was, he definitely didn't want to reveal himself until he decided to.
But you weren't going to sit around and wait until the next time he felt like sending you a note.
Nuh-uh.
If anything was going to happen, it was going to happen your way.
It was time for Plan A-
You grabbed a piece of parchment and started scribbling.
Hiding behind flowers and notes? Or are you just scared, kitty cat?
You folded it and dropped it outside your dorm before leaving for class.
This time, you were going to be the one playing games.
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Later, when you returned to your dorm, you opened the door to find a single black rose resting on your desk with a note attached.
You unfolded it.
"Kitty cat," darling? Interesting choice of words.
Your eyebrows furrowed.
That's it? That's all you've got?
You huffed before tossing the note aside. Picking up the flower, you examined it.
Who could it be?
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Well... Plan A didn't work.
Onto Plan B.
If he wasn't going to show himself, you were just going to have to flush him out.
You were walking through the hallways when you spotted your target-Adrian Pucey-surrounded by a group of students.
Perfect.
You walked up to him confidently.
You were by no means unattractive. Plenty of students had tried asking you out.
You just hadn't valued any of them enough to say yes.
"Hi," you said, stepping forward. "Adrian, right?"
You gave your flirtiest look.
He turned to you with a charming smile.
"That's right, sweetheart. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"You know, Adrian..."
You smoothly sat beside him.
"I never realized how good you looked out there on the Quidditch pitch."
You internally snorted.
You couldn't have cared less.
But judging by the grin spreading across his face, your words were definitely working.
You tuned out whatever he said next before suddenly pulling him into a kiss.
He froze for only a moment before resting his hands on your hips, one of them slowly sliding lower to your ass.
You forced yourself not to recoil.
As the kiss continued, you ignored the whistles and hollering around you, your eyes scanning the crowd for your secret admirer.
Ugh. Pucey's using his tongue. That's enough.
You pulled away, flashing Adrian a fake smile before walking off, your eyes searching every face.
You hoped the spectacle you'd just caused would finally force your admirer to reveal himself.
"Where are you...?" you muttered.
Your gaze swept across the sea of students until it landed on a tall, dark figure standing in the corner.
Who is that?
You shoved your way through the crowd, trying to reach him.
By the time you got there...
He was gone.
A crushed black rose lay on the floor where he'd been standing.
It was him.
You'd just made eye contact with your secret admirer.
And you'd let him get away.
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When you returned to your dorm, there were no roses this time.
Just a note.
Trying to make me jealous, darling? Careful. That's a dangerous game you're playing. No one touches what's mine.
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Two weeks had passed since that incident.
Apparently, Adrian had suffered a little "accident" during Quidditch practice and broken his arm.
No one suspected anything.
Except you.
You had a feeling your admirer had something to do with it.
The same admirer who had gone completely silent for the past two weeks.
You sat through Potions, only half-listening to the professor drone on before the words "project" and "partner" caught your attention.
You groaned internally.
You hated group projects.
People either didn't contribute or were too incompetent to contribute.
In the end, you always ended up doing all the work and everyone got an Outstanding.
Partners were assigned randomly, as usual.
This time...
You were paired with Riddle.
Tom Riddle.
Tom Riddle with his perfect hair and perfect robes and perfect grades.
Ugh.
He walked over to your desk.
"Today. Library. Six o'clock. Don't be late."
He paused.
"Or I'll start without you."
Without waiting for a response, he walked away.
What a dick.
You sighed.
At least this time you wouldn't have to do all the work.
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You arrived at the library exactly at six.
He was already waiting.
"Good," he said without looking up from his book. "You can comprehend simple instructions. Sit."
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
As you sat beside him, the scent of his cologne drifted over.
Huh.
That smells familiar.
Before you could place it, Tom began speaking.
"The assignment covers advanced antidotes."
He slid a sheet of parchment toward you.
"I'll handle the theoretical principles, historical development, and magical properties."
His quill continued moving across the page.
"You'll cover ingredient interactions, brewing techniques, and practical applications."
He neatly divided the parchment into two columns.
"We each draft our own sections. I'll compile the final report. You'll proofread it."
Finally, he looked up.
"We meet here again in three days."
A beat of silence.
"Questions?"
You raised an eyebrow.
"You really enjoy ordering people around, don't you?"
"I enjoy efficiency."
You simply opened your textbook.
Twenty minutes passed.
He never looked up.
Not once.
Your eyes drifted to the stubborn curl that rested against his forehead.
Not a single strand of hair was out of place.
An overwhelming urge to mess it up suddenly crossed your mind.
"You're staring."
His voice snapped you back to reality.
"Are you actually going to do some work," he asked dryly, "or are you going to continue staring at me as though I'm some prize-winning Hippogriff?"
"Shut up, Riddle. Your arrogance is staggering."
One corner of his mouth lifted.
He leaned closer.
His cologne surrounded you.
You knew that scent.
"You still haven't answered my question, darling."
Then it hit you.
The cologne.
The way he said darling.
Your eyes darted to the parchment he was writing on.
The handwriting.
It was identical.
"It's you..." you whispered, shock filling your voice.
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.
"Took you long enough."
"You're my secret admirer?!"
You shot to your feet.
"You've been leaving me roses! Notes! And you broke Adrian's arm!"
He looked entirely unapologetic.
"I told you."
His expression remained calm.
"No one touches what's mine."
You stared at him.
"Why hide it?"
One eyebrow rose.
"It made the chase more interesting."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Watching you exhaust yourself trying to discover who'd been leaving those roses..."
He tilted his head.
"I'll admit, it was rather entertaining."
"You couldn't have just asked me out like a normal person?"
He smiled.
A calculating, dangerous smile.
"Ask you out?"
He sounded almost amused.
"I don't ask."
"I take."
"You were already mine."
"I was simply waiting for you to realize it."
He looked you up and down.
"It took longer than I anticipated."
You look slightly taken aback.
"Are you calling me slow?"
"I'm merely making an observation."
You sat back down, a mischievous glint in your eyes.
"So..."
"You like me?"
He sighed as though the word physically pained him.
"I do not like."
"It is an embarrassingly juvenile term."
"I find your intellect considerably less disappointing than everyone else's."
A pause.
"And your face is... acceptable."
You blinked.
"'Acceptable?'"
"Wow."
"You really know how to make a girl's heart race, Riddle."
He shut his book with a quiet snap.
"Fine."
"I find you..."
A tiny pause.
"...attractive."
"There."
"Happy?"
You leaned back in your chair.
"No."
"No?"
"No."
He gave you an exasperated look.
"Would you prefer I sing your praises?"
"No."
"I want you to ask me out properly."
For the first time all evening...
Tom Riddle genuinely looked confused.
"You want me to ask you?"
"Yes."
"I already told you—"
"I don't care."
"You want me to be yours?"
"Ask me."
He muttered something under his breath about stubborn women.
Then he looked back at you.
"Fine."
"Will you allow me to take you to Hogsmeade and feed you something other than those dreadful Muggle noodles you insist on eating late at night?"
You chose not to ask how he knew about the noodles.
Instead, you smiled.
"Interesting choice of words."
"But I suppose, since you're asking so nicely..."
"I do not beg." He hissed.
"Since you're asking so nicely..."
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I suppose..."
"I'll accept your invitation."
He stood, gathering his books.
A smug smile spread across his face.
"I knew you would."
You rolled your eyes.
"God, you're insufferable."
"So I've been told," he replied smoothly. "Fortunately for you, you seem to like impossible men."
He walked toward the library exit without another glance back.
"...You're buying the butterbeer," you called after him.
Without turning around, he simply raised a hand.
"Naturally. I expect my future wife to have standards."
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