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#tom marvolo riddle
sapphiresenthiss · 2 days
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"MLEM!"
Yep, he's totally 8% cat. Not too sure what exactly he's doing here, either way he's having quite a moment...
Even MORE old fanart of 'my' Volde since quite a few people here seem to like him 😹 It was one of the funniest ones to sketch back then!
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cubeapples · 18 hours
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if tom riddle wasn't lord voldemort and just some rando student 3 years above harry at hogwarts... harry would be SO down bad it would genuinely be EMBARRASSING.
like... you cannot tell me that harry james potter, who still describes tom as handsome after learning that he eventually becomes the man who killed his parents, wouldn't try so hard to get tom's attention.
and harry'd be so taken with the way tom is so nice to everyone all the time...*cough* cedric *cough* and he'd be obsessed with the way tom is so smart (smarter than hermione) minus the nagging and self-righteousness, which just makes tom even more likeable.
harry would be so satisfied when tom seems to dislike draco, too. but he'd be jealous of the attention tom seems to give the blacks and lestranges.*
and even though harry can't speak to snakes he'd be smitten with the way tom does. LIKEEE
if anyone is grovelling and pining in tomarry, it's harry, who is just horrendously down bad, like you are not convincing anyone otherwise.
*: assuming in a world without voldemort, rodolphus, regulus and sirius have children
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legitimatesatanspawn · 14 hours
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I just remembered where Voldemort's spirit went off to for like 10 years. And the distance is ridiculous.
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If this had to do with his horcruxes, there were a LOT other ones closer to where his body got vaporized.
So no, he deliberately went all the way over to that forest and just... hung around possessing snakes for 10 years. Didn't even bother to slither his way back. Just... 10 years of snakes within spitting distance of Greece. Sulking.
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The Riddle of Tom Riddle: Part 7/7
(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6)
The Rise and Fall of Lord Voldemort (the second coming)
The final installment will explain some of Voldemort's odd behavior in the books themselves — from the ludicrous plan that was Goblet of Fire, to why he wasn't involved in the war and what he actually was trying to accomplish.
Alongside that, I want to make note of a few other interesting facets of Voldemort's character by the time we meet him in the books.
What the Hell was he Planning in GOF?
So, a lot of fans poke fun at Tom for the over-convoluted mess that was GOF. Because, really, there are so many moving parts here and so many failure points... and there's literally no reason to wait the whole year when Barty (Moody) could just pluck Harry whenever. I mean, it would've been better to just kidnap him on one of the chances Barty had access to Harry alone throughout the year, why the wait?
Well, I believe the plan in book 4, was not Voldemort's plan, but Barty's. And I have some evidence of what Voldemort had planned:
There was a pause, and then the man called Wormtail spoke again. “My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?” “A week,” said the cold voice. “Perhaps longer…
(Goblet of Fire, page 23)
Early on in the book, before Barty returns to his service, Tom makes the above comment. He isn't planning on staying in Riddle Manor for long. He's talking about a week, maybe a month, not a whole year. Whatever plan he had to retrieve Harry was not a year-long plan at the beginning of the book.
“Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait.”
(Goblet of Fire, page 24)
And the reason for this few weeks' wait is the World Cup. Voldemort planned on waiting until the Quidditch World Cup was over and then had Pettigrew kidnap Harry somehow before Hogwarts (this conversation is in early August).
“I have my reasons for using the boy, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other. I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. As for the protection surrounding the boy, I believe my plan will be effective.
(Goblet of Fire, page 26)
And he makes it clear the plan is to use Harry for the ritual, but he's still talking about a few months max of delay, not a whole year. So what changed?
Barty did. Barty came along after the Quidditch World Cup and changed the plan to retrieve Harry. And why would Barty take this long?
Well, I have a post in the works about Barty Crouch Jr. that would explain just that and more. But for now, what I can say, is that the GOF plan was more Barty's than Voldemort's.
As for Voldemort's reasons for using Harry in the ritual, well, there are two reasons here:
Lily's blood protection - which Voldemort wishes to circumvent
His unhealthy obsession with Harry Potter that I talk about more in this post.
Objective in the War
So, as I covered here, Voldemort wasn't really taking an active part in the Second Wizarding World (if he was Umbridge wouldn't have been able to strut around with Slytherin's locket). So if he isn't involved in the war, what is he doing? Why did he start the war?
Well, in the first war, Voldemort's objective was magical experimentation and discovery, in the second his goals are quite different. It's seen in how much more chaotic the war is. Voldemort's goal is so much more personal and emotional to him, that he doesn't care how much collateral damage his Death Eaters cause in the second war. Because of the second war, Tom is less mentally stable than the first one. But not due to some Dark Magic bullshit, but due to his actual psychological state.
As I already covered in the past posts in this series, Tom is a perfectionist. Tom Marvolo Riddle doesn't do failure. He had 12 NWETS, all Os, he was prefect and head boy. Saying he doesn't like failing is an understatement. Honestly, I'd say failure is the one thing this man fears and hates more than death.
And what is his one failure in his perfect track record of Os and victories?
It's Harry Potter.
Harry Potter, whose very moniker: "The Boy Who Lived" mocks this very failure. Failing to kill Harry Potter.
This leads us to what Voldemort is doing in the second war: Attempting to kill Harry Potter like nothing else exists. Which leads us to the next section:
Obsession With Harry Potter
I don't feel like people realize just how obsessed Voldemort is with Harry. How much Harry is literally the only thing Voldemort cares about in the second war. More than his Death Eaters, more than the ministry, even more than his life.
Throughout his resurrection scene, we have a few interesting moments, I'm not going to cover all of them, but I wanna talk about these two:
“A little break,” said Voldemort, the slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement, “a little pause . . . That hurt, didn’t it, Harry? You don’t want me to do that again, do you?”
(Goblet of Fire, page 661)
“We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry,” said Voldemort’s soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed. “You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry . . . come out and play, then . . . it will be quick . . . it might even be painless . . . I would not know . . . I have never died. . . .
(Goblet of Fire, page 662)
Both of these are moments I call: "playing with his food". He's playing with Harry, toying with him, and actually seems to honestly enjoy himself playing around and torturing and terrifying Harry. This is interesting because Voldemort doesn't toy around with his enemies, like, ever. He tortures and gloats in front of his Death Eaters, but not in front of enemies, with enemies he does the logical thing — try to kill them as quickly as possible.
Except with Harry. Why?
Because Harry is different. He's a whole different category for Voldemort.
Voldemort doesn't really see Harry as a person, not really, he sees him as a failure. His own failure. Harry Potter, to Voldemort, is that one slightly wrong answer in an exam that lost him the two points he needed for that perfect O. Harry is a stain on his perfect record, and therefore Voldemort treats him as such, and not as an actual person.
“Do nothing!” Voldemort shrieked to the Death Eaters, and Harry saw his red eyes wide with astonishment at what was happening, saw him fighting to break the thread of light still connecting his wand with Harry’s; Harry held onto his wand more tightly, with both hands, and the golden thread remained unbroken. “Do nothing unless I command you!” Voldemort shouted to the Death Eaters.
….
Voldemort who looked astonished, and almost fearful. . . .
(Goblet of Fire, page 664)
This is when Voldemort starts taking Harry seriously. I mentioned he didn't really believe the prophecy, well, he didn't until the graveyard when his and Harry's wands met. That fear, that's real, this is when Harry becomes a threat and not only a failure.
Additionally, we see here something Voldemort will continue doing throughout the war. Harry — well, killing Harry — is the only thing Voldemort cares about in the Second War, but it's more than that. because Harry is his failure only he is allowed to kill Harry. He doesn't care who kills Dumbledore, but only he is allowed to kill Harry even in the later books.
In OOTP, what is Voldemort doing? He's sending Death Eaters to retrieve the prophecy. Why? Because now he knows it and Harry is a real threat. It's not about the war, it's all about Harry and the prophecy connecting them. He hopes it'll tell him how to kill Harry.
In HBP, Voldemort isn't really present either. He doesn't care what his Death Eaters do, he isn't expecting Malfoy to succeed in killing Dumbledore. He only cares about figuring out what happened with his and Harry's wands because Voldemort needs to be the one to kill Harry Potter with his own wand, otherwise, he wouldn't really be rectifying his failure. In his mind.
“My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall.” The interest around the table sharpened palpably; Some stiffened, others fidgeted, all gazing at Snape and Voldemort. “Saturday . . . at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape’s black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze.
(Deathly Hollows, page 9)
Even when the war is in full swing by Deathly Hollows, Voldemort doesn't care for the war. He wasn't even in Britain for most of it. But when it comes to Harry Potter, a chance to kill Harry potter, for that Voldemort would grace his followers with his presence. But if it has nothing to do with Harry, he just won't be interested.
Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving body as he went on, “ I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs.” The company around the table watched Voldemort apprehensively, each of them, but his or her expression, afraid that they might be blamed for Harry Potter’s continued existence. Voldemort, however, seemed to be speaking more to himself than to any of them, still addressing the unconscious body above him. “I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be.”
(Deathly Hollows, page 11)
here, again, Voldemort explains what I just said. He sees Harry as his failure, his error, his mistake, And Tom Riddle despises nothing more than a mistake.
And he explains why that, the fact Harry is alive is due to his mistakes, that he has to be the one to kill him. Voldemort doesn't care about winning the war, or the ministry, or his followers — he just needs to cast a killing curse at Harry and kill him. To rectify that one mistake.
More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time. . . . You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure. . . . Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!”
(Deathly Hollows, page 152)
Again, Voldemort isn't in Britain, but when his followers informed him they had Harry Potter, he dropped everything and arrived in Britain. Because killing Harry is literally the only thing that matters to him by this point.
“Give me Harry Potter,” said Voldemort’s voice, “and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you should be rewarded. “You have until midnight.”
(Deathly Hollows, page 516)
And we see it again, nothing matters, no victory matters, besides killing Harry Potter.
“My wand of yew did everything of which I asked it, Severus, except to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, told me to take another’s wand. I did so, but Lucius’s wand shattered upon meeting Potter’s.”
(Deathly Hollows, page 553)
Here he describes what he's been doing for the entirety of books 6 and 7. Trying to find a wand so he could kill Harry with it. Because that's the only thing that mattered to him. It's why he kidnapped and tortured Ollivanders. It's why he traveled to Germany to track down the Elder Wand. It's why he's killing Severus in this above scene.
And here again, there is an emphasis on failure, mistakes, that his wand failed him. Because that's what Harry is to him — a failure.
Because he wants to kill Harry himself with a wand. This obsession is the thing fueling all his actions in the Second War.
And still, Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and now Voldemort tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless mouth. “Harry Potter,” he said very softly His voice might have been part of the splitting fire. “The Boy Who Lived.” None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting: Everything was waiting. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting, and Harry thought inexplicably of Ginny, and her blazing look, and the feel of her lips on his— Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded.
(Deathly Hollows, page 593)
And when he finally does get what he wants, he's happy, curious, and warry. He doesn't fully believe Harry would actually die (which he doesn't).
I just love this description, his head a little to the side like a curious child. Because he is childish in a way at this moment. He finally can rectify the one stain on his perfect record and he could barely believe it really is happening.
Unlike in the graveyard, here he isn't gloating. Contrary to his words, about how Harry only survived by luck, he does fear Harry. Well, his survival. Voldemort actually does believe the prophecy by this point, that there's something more than his own failure stopping him from killing Harry — and keeping him dead.
Because it's easy to believe, almost comforting even, that it's not just his mistakes.
“Yeah, it did,” said Harry. “You’re right. But before you try to kill me, I’d advise you to think about what you’ve done. . . . Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle. . . .” “What is this?” Of all the things that Harry had said to him, beyond any revelation or taunt, nothing had shocked Voldemort like this. Harry saw his pupils contact to thin slits, saw the skin around his eyes whiten. “It’s your one last chance,” said Harry, “it’s all you’ve got left. . . . I’ve seen what you’ll be otherwise. . . . Be a man . . . try . . . Try for some remorse. . . .” “You dare—?” said Voldemort again. “Yes, I dare,” said Harry, “because Dumbledore’s last plan hasn’t backfired on me at all. It’s backfired on you, Riddle.” Voldemort’s hand was trembling on the Elder Wand, and Harry gripped Draco’s very tightly. The moment, he knew, was seconds away.
(Deathly Hollows, page 625)
Right before his death, Harry gloats at him about his mistakes, and how wrong he got it all.
And there is nothing Tom Riddle hates more.
Other Notes
Now, I want to cover a few other smaller notes about Voldemort's character that just didn't really fit anywhere else:
Voldemort in the books almost never shouts. He is described as speaking: "softly" because he doesn't need to be loud. He's intimidating just by his presence alone, when he speaks, everyone shuts up and listens:
“We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry,” said Voldemort’s soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed.
(Goblet of Fire, page 662)
2. As I mentioned before in this series, Voldemort is sentimental. His own past and family, even when they hated him, he cares. He cares so much that his father's abandonment still hurts decades later:
“You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father,” he hissed softly. “A Muggle and a fool . . . very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child . . . and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death. . . .” Voldemort laughed again. Up and down he paced, looking all around him as he walked, and the snake continued to circle in the grass. “You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was. . . . He didn’t like magic, my father . . . “He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage . . . but I vowed to find him . . . I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name . . . Tom Riddle. . . .” Still he paced, his red eyes darting from grave to grave. “Listen to me, reliving family history . . .” he said quietly, “why, I am growing quite sentimental. . . . But look, Harry! My true family returns. . . .”
(Goblet of Fire, page 646)
3. He loves to monologue. I think he just honestly enjoyed hearing himself talk:
“I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact — such prompt appearances! — and I ask myself . . . why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?” No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was upon the ground, still sobbing over his bleeding arm. “And I answer myself,” whispered Voldemort, “they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment. . . . “And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living? “And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort . . . perhaps they now pay allegiance to another . . . perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?” At the mention of Dumbledore’s name, the members of the circle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them. “It is a disappointment to me . . . I confess myself disappointed. . . .”
(Goblet of Fire, page 648)
Also I can't help but find this scene funny. "And I ask myself" — "and I answer myself", Tom's just having fun toying with his followers and their fear here (pulse being dramatic). He, in general, does have a sense of fun. He even makes stupid puns:
“I knew that to achieve this — it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight — I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand, was it not, Wormtail? Flesh given by a servant. . . .
(Goblet of Fire, page 656)
He's way funnier than we give him credit (and dorkier).
4. I mentioned he didn't plan to truly live forever in a past post, after all, if he did, he would've hidden his Horcruxes better. And yet, he despises the very idea of death:
“You do not seek to kill me, Dumbledore?” called Voldemort, his scarlet eyes narrowed over the top of the shield. “Above such brutality, are you?” “We both know that there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom,” Dumbledore said calmly, continuing to walk toward Voldemort as though he had not a fear in the world, as though nothing had happened to interrupt his stroll up the hall. “Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit —” “There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!” snarled Voldemort.
(Order of the Pheonix, page 812)
Voldemort is still, at this moment, is still the orphan at the bomb shelters who doesn't want to die. Death is the worst thing to him because death means everything is over, that he had his chance at life and that's it. Death is the end of the road. It's the ultimate failing, the ultimate loss — something to overcome. At least in Voldemort's mind. Because Tom doesn't do failure. His hatred of death is exasperated by his perfectionism and because of how he sees death.
But even so, he made sure to leave an opening, a chance for him to die if he ever desired it.
Conclusions
The only thing Voldemort cared about in the Second War was killing Harry. Killing Harry Potter was the end goal that motivated all his actions.
He's a perfectionist more than anything else. Dumbledore said Tom feared death the most, but I disagree. What he feared most id failure — his own failure — death was an extension of that, in a way.
Voldemort doesn't need to raise his voice, the fact he speaks softly is a testament to how terrifying he is to others.
He's quite sentimental. I mentioned it before and I'll mention it again.
He has a sense of humor and actually loves to talk and hear his own voice.
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capriddle · 3 days
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cisusnar · 4 months
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He is a silly guy 🥰
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belphi · 2 months
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Harry remembers how nice it was to receive a sweater knitted by Mrs. Weasley as a gift, and decided to please Tom the same way on his birthday ✨
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zombu7 · 2 months
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He’s so obvious HDJKFNF
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plummarvelous · 2 months
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a bloody psychopath & tom riddle
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save death eaters PLEASE
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theostrophywife · 2 months
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little dove.
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pairing: tom riddle x reader.
song inspiration: if u think i'm pretty by artemas.
author's note: can't believe this is my first tom fic, but please know that this man awakens the feral, unhinged side of me. let me slytherin to your chamber of secrets and ride that basilisk tommy 😏
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This was a stupid, idiotic, and terrible idea. 
Unfortunately for you, those were the conditions in which Harry and Ron worked best under. In your defense, you tried to talk them out of the prank, but the boys were determined to leave their mark. You suppose you could’ve told Hermione, but you didn’t want to interrupt her date with Draco. When it came to talking sense into their thick skulls, you were completely and utterly alone. 
After much argument, you finally accepted that you weren’t going to get anywhere with Harry and Ron. The only thing you could do was supervise their reckless pursuits and minimize the damage as much as possible. So here you were, sneaking into the dungeons under the cover of darkness. 
“This will be the best seventh year prank yet,” Ron whispered as he trailed close behind. “Fred and George are going to be so jealous.” 
“If we don’t die from the cold first,” Harry quipped sarcastically, slightly shivering underneath the invisibility cloak draped over the three of you. “The Slytherins really take the whole cold-blooded thing quite literally, don’t they?” 
You huffed in response, trying your best to muffle your steps. “Can we please focus on not getting caught? We need to be in and out of the dungeons before the prefects start their patrols.” 
The boys nodded as you inched further into the serpent’s nest. Luckily, the corridor that housed Professor Snape’s office was empty. You held your breath as you began to unravel the wards protecting the entrance. You had to give it to him, Snape was incredibly thorough when it came to his security measures. Good thing you were an expert on unlocking charms. 
With a final flick of your wand, the door gave way and creaked open. Ron and Harry wore matching grins as the three of you spilled into the office. Closing the door behind you, Harry’s green eyes crinkled with mischief. 
“Let’s get started.” 
Surprisingly, Harry and Ron’s half-arsed plan was actually coming together. The three of you worked in silence, the boys handing you paints and supplies at the snap of your fingers. After a few more strokes, you flicked your paintbrush over the wall and cocked your head to examine your work. Nearly every single surface of Professor Snape’s office was covered in your illustrations—technically vandalism according to wizarding law. 
The drawings, imbued with the same magic that powered the moving portraits, depicted caricatures of Professor Snape, all of which scurried like rats along the walls, hurtling globs of paint at one another. The head of Slytherin house was going to have a fit when he saw what you’d done to his office. You almost wished you could be there in the morning to witness the look on Snape’s face when he uncovered your masterpiece.
“Bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear as he packed up the paints and brushes. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Y/N.” 
Harry chuckled and nudged your shoulder. “See? You do have a taste for trouble, after all.” 
You rolled your eyes fondly. “Yeah, yeah. Now help me clean up so we can go.” 
As you carefully wiped the office of any trace of the three of you, Harry suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. You looked up, ready to scold him for idling, but fell silent when you saw the panicked expression on his face. 
“What is it?” you asked quietly. 
Harry held up his hand and slowly opened the door, peeking out into the darkness. A muffled clicking that sounded an awful lot like footsteps echoed from the corridor. “Do you hear that?” 
Ron cursed lowly. “The prefects must’ve started their rounds early.” 
You peered over Harry’s shoulder and felt the color drain from your face. “It’s not the prefects,” you said, swallowing thickly. “It’s the Head Boy.” 
Both the boys swore under their breaths. You steeled yourself, knowing that panic was not going to get you anywhere. As quietly as possible, you retrieved Harry’s cloak and beckoned the boys underneath it. 
“We’re so fucked,” Ron mumbled. 
“No, we’re not,” you chided sternly. “Get under the cloak and don’t make a sound.” 
Harry scooted in beside you, clutching the invisible fabric over his shoulders. “Do you have a plan?” 
You nodded. “Run like hell and don’t get caught.” 
“That’s a bloody terrible plan!” said Ron. 
With a glare, you tugged the redhead underneath the cloak. “Then please, let us hear your brilliant idea, Ronald.” Ron stayed quiet, his freckled face etched with fear. “That’s what I thought. Now stay close and for Merlin’s sake, try not to stomp around like a damned erumpent.”
Stupid. 
Idiotic. 
Terrible. 
Every ounce of apprehension you felt earlier that night came rushing back as the three of you cowered in the darkness. It was pitch-black in the corridor, but you didn’t dare cast lumos for fear of getting caught. Thankfully, a small light up ahead provided you with a vague sense of direction. You remembered passing the lit emerald sconce on the way down. All you had to do was get back to the entrance without running into the head boy. 
The glimmer of hope became clearer and clearer as you neared the stairs that would lead you out of the dungeons. You were so close. Barely a few metres away from freedom. 
Just as you thought you were safe, Ron knocked into a table, sending one of the snake sculptures guarding the alcove to the common room tumbling. The marble cracked against the concrete, breaking into a million pieces just like your hope of escaping. 
“Run!” you huffed, urging the boys to go on. 
A solid plan if you hadn’t been nearly blind in the dark. You could hear the shuffling of footsteps beside you. Three sets belonging to you, Harry, and Ron, while an unknown fourth inched closer and closer. Whoever it was wasn’t running, but they were definitely in pursuit. 
You stumbled through the dark, nearly tripping over your own feet. From up ahead, you could hear Harry and Ron urging you on. As you broke into a sprint, paints and brushes came spilling out of your satchel. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve abandoned your art supplies, but leaving them behind would fully incriminate the three of you. In the time it took to pick up the damning evidence, you stopped hearing your friend’s voices. 
It would’ve worried you, but in all honesty, you were relieved. If you could no longer hear the boys, then that meant they made it safely out of the serpent’s nest. A feat in itself given their track record. Those two couldn’t be inconspicuous if they tried. Without the need to worry for them, you were confident that you’d be able to slip out undetected. 
In hindsight, you were perhaps a tad bit overconfident. You were great at sneaking around, but apparently not good enough to slip the head boy’s notice. As soon as you started to creep past the dormitories, you ran into a wall that hadn’t been there before. 
Except it wasn’t a wall. 
It was a strong, firm chest. A chest that belonged to none other than Tom Riddle. 
Leave it to your terrible luck to run straight into the arms of the scariest boy in the castle. 
Determined not to cower, you lifted your chin defiantly and faced Tom head on. “Head Boy,” you greeted in acknowledgment. 
Emerald eyes unflinchingly surveyed you, that intense green stare sweeping from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. Beneath the faint glow of the Black Lake pouring in through the stained glass windows, you could’ve easily mistaken Tom Riddle for an angel. He looked like an illustration straight out of the Sistine Chapel. Beautiful, intricate, perfect. 
Yet utterly terrifying. 
Danger prickled at your skin as Tom’s lips curved into a sinister smirk. “My, my, what do we have here? A little dove out of her cage.” 
You bristled as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his voice a seductive caress. It was low, husky, and a little rough around the edges. Just like its speaker. Tom plucked a paintbrush out of your satchel and examined it between his fingers. “I saw what you did to Snape’s office. Quite artistic, aren’t you?” 
A part of you considered denying it, but it would’ve been a futile attempt. There was paint splattered all over your skirt and flecks of it were already drying on your skin. Tom had quite literally caught you red handed. The only thing you could do was to own up to it and face whatever consequences came as a result of your foolish actions. 
“Are you going to turn me in to the headmaster?” 
Tom shook his head, his brown wavy hair falling over one eye. “Not until I catch your two helpers.” 
Panic seized your body. It may be too late for you, but Tom hadn’t seen either Harry or Ron. There was a chance they could come out of this unscathed. 
“I was alone,” you declared with your chin held high. “There was no one else with me.” 
Anger contorted Tom’s handsome features. Those emerald eyes lit up in flames as he backed you into a wall, bracketing each side of your head with his arms as he leaned down. You tried not to cower under the intensity of his stare, but gods was it hard. Tom towered a good foot over you and as if that weren’t intimidating enough, he also blocked every possibility of escape with his body. 
“Don’t lie to me, little dove,” Tom growled, tilting your chin up with one hand. “I heard three sets of footsteps running through the corridor.” 
You swallowed thickly, praying to Merlin to grant you the ability to flawlessly lie your arse off. “I swear, it was just me. No one else. I did it all by myself.” 
Tom hummed as if unconvinced. “Well, you’re certainly on your own now. Your idiotic friends left you down in the dungeons all alone. Don’t you know that dangerous things lurk in the dark around here, Y/N?” 
“Like I said, I was alone.” 
“So it appears,” Tom said, flashing you a smile that told you he was the most dangerous thing lurking in the dungeons. “Poor little dove wandering the serpent’s nest all on her own. Hasn’t anyone told you that us Slytherins have teeth?” 
“Why?” In an idiotic surge of courage, the words slipped out of your mouth before you could pull them back in. “Do you plan on biting me, Tom?” 
Tom grabbed your jaw roughly, making you whimper in surprise. “Insolent girl. You’ll learn your lesson soon enough.” 
Without warning, he grabbed you by the elbow and started dragging you down the corridor. At first, you were certain that Tom was taking you to Dumbledore’s office, but as the minutes ticked by, you realized that you were going in the opposite direction. If anything, he was leading you right into the heart of the dungeons. 
Tom’s grip tightened to the point of pain as he guided you up a set of twin staircases, practically flying up the steps on the right side, which you assumed led to the dormitories. It had a similar layout to the Gryffindor common room, except instead of leading into the towers, the narrow hallway opened into an intricate maze in the lower levels of the castle. 
Nestled into the underbelly of Hogwarts was a large, dark room that was surrounded by more stained glass walls that looked out into the Black Lake. A school of fish swam by as Tom ushered you through the door, which he promptly locked behind him with a series of complicated spells you had no hope of deciphering. 
You were trapped. Alone in a room. With Tom Riddle.
Upon closer inspection, you surmised that this had to be his private suite. It was twice as large as your dorm back in the towers and extremely private. A luxury that only the Head Boy and Head Girl enjoyed. 
“You’ve been very bad, little dove,” Tom reprimanded. "You deserve to be punished, but I’ll tell you what. Give up the names of your accomplices and I might find it in my heart to go easy on you.” 
His drawling voice echoed in the bedroom as he leaned back against his desk, twirling his wand between his fingers. The look he leveled at you is enough to awaken your fear. Plus another emotion that you couldn’t quite place your finger on. 
Merlin, Tom was sizing you up like he was the lion and you were the helpless deer frolicking through the meadow. You steeled yourself and doubled down on your lies. 
“There was no one else, Tom.” 
He smirked as though you’d given him the answer he’d hoped to hear. Tom stopped twirling his wand, tucking it away in his back pocket as he stalked over to you. “Very well, then. I suppose you’ll just have to endure their punishments too.” 
You swallowed past the lump in your throat. It occurred to you that while you had your wand, you were completely and utterly defenseless against Tom. It should’ve scared you shitless, but instead you felt a strange sort of thrill as he came closer. “What…what sort of punishment?” 
A smirk curved at his lips as he fisted your hair between his fingers and tilted your head back to meet his gaze. “I think you know, babydoll.” 
Heat ignited in your veins as your tongue darted out to sweep across your bottom lip. “This is crazy,” you whispered. “Shouldn’t you be telling Dumbledore? Snape? Someone in charge?” 
“I’m the one in charge,” Tom growled as he shoved you against his bookshelf. Your back hit solid wood, disturbing the neatly organized tomes behind you. “You snuck into my dungeons, under my watch, and defaced my home. I will dole out your punishment as I see fit.” 
“And if I refuse?” You asked, hoping that you emulated the bravery that your house was infamous for.
Tom pressed his body against yours, leaving barely a hairsbreadth between you as he flashed you a feral smile. “It’s laughable that you still think you have a choice.” 
“I could scream bloody murder. Wake the entire castle up and alert everyone that you're holding a fellow student against her will."
“You could,” Tom mused as amusement flickered in his eyes. “But we both know you won’t.” 
“What makes you so sure?” 
“You’d never risk such a scandalous act to go on your record. First vandalizing Professor Snape’s office, then sneaking into the Head Boy’s dorm after curfew? You’re on a downward spiral, aren’t you, little dove?” 
“I didn’t sneak into your dorm. You dragged me in here.” 
“Please,” Tom said with a scoff. “Let’s not pretend that you don’t want to be here. I’ve been watching you, you know. The perfect little Gryffindor good girl. You think you have everyone fooled, but not me.” You groaned as he pinned your hips in place, sliding his thigh between your legs. 
“You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me in class? Bending over in that tiny little skirt of yours hoping I’ll glance your way? Leaving the buttons to your blouse undone so you can give me a view of that lacy red bra? Biting your lip when you’re thinking dirty thoughts about me in class?” 
You flushed at his spot on assessment. Tom might be right on the mark, but you weren’t about to admit that to him. Not when your pride was on the line. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 
“Dirty little liar.” Tom whispered against the shell of your ear. “You know, your mental shields are impressive, but it’s like you can’t help yourself when I’m around. You’re practically broadcasting your filthy fantasies every time we’re in the same room.” 
Fuck. 
This was bad. 
This was really fucking bad.
How many times had you sat in class staring at Tom while thinking the filthiest, dirtiest thoughts about him? Tom bending you over a desk. Tom slipping his fingers under your skirt. Tom making you scream with his head between your thighs.
All this time, he had complete access to those dirty daydreams.
“That’s right, doll. You may be a powerful occlumens, but you’re no match for my legilimency.” He chuckled darkly, caressing your jaw. 
A heavy pressure weighed down the constraints of your defenses as Tom poked around in your mind, teasing and taunting as a lover would. The act of him prodding around in your subconscious was oddly sensual, mixing pain and pleasure together as he waited for you to yield. 
There’s no use hiding now, Tom whispered into your subconscious. I’ve already seen inside your mind, doll. And your thoughts are just as fucking filthy as mine. 
Glimpses of your deepest, darkest fantasies flashed through your mind. The images were a never ending rolodex of filth and smut. Tom fucking you like his perfect little slut. Tom panting above you as he spread your legs. Tom working you with his fingers until you were a sobbing, whimpering mess. 
He was right. You were shameless. 
But so was he. A new image of you on your knees while Tom unbuckled his belt, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as you stared up expectantly took center stage. Since it was from his point of view, you could only assume that he was showing you one of his fantasies. It was oddly satisfying. Tom was basking in the depravity with you, sharing his equally fucked up thoughts. 
“Tom…” you breathed, leaning into his touch as he continued to pin you against the wooden bookshelf. 
“Not Tom,” he grunted gruffly. “You’ll address me properly from now on, little dove.” 
This was so fucked up and yet so hot at the same time. You were so turned on you could hardly speak. “Yes, sir.” 
“That’s better, doll.” Tom declared with a smirk. “Now that I’ve been inside of your head, I plan on being inside you in every other way as well. Starting with that pretty little mouth of yours. On your knees, little dove.” 
A strange sense of deja vu washed over you as you knelt onto the floor. The concrete nipped at your knees, but you welcomed the pain. It kept you centered as your body buzzed with anticipation. You watched as Tom unbuckled his belt, deft fingers slowly sliding his boxers down as he gripped himself with one hand. 
With a smirk, Tom brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, looking down at you with lust blown eyes. “Open wide, babydoll.” 
Tom pumped himself slowly. The sight of his cock made your mouth water, your head spinning and dizzy with desire as you tried to calculate how you were going to take all of him. The tip of his cock glistened with precum as he rubbed over it. Tom was thick, long, and absolutely delicious. You groaned as he rubbed his head over your lips, the salty taste of his arousal resting on your tongue. 
“I won’t ask again,” Tom warned. “Be a good girl and open your mouth. I’ll make you regret it if you don’t.” 
“Yes, sir.” 
A satisfied smile graced his handsome face before he shoved his way in. Your lips parted for him, opening your mouth wider as you accommodated his size. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 
You nodded obediently, eyes filling with tears as you took Tom all the way back. He fisted your hair in one hand and rocked against your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. A garbled sound crawled out of your chest, but it was soon silenced with Tom’s impatient thrusts. 
“Fuck,” Tom cursed. “So wet and warm. Such a perfect little throat. What a pity that I’m about to ruin it.” 
Ruin was an understatement. Tom fucked your throat with precise thrusts, angling deeper and deeper and groaning as you gagged on his cock. He was so deep that you could feel him bruising your tonsils. The more he abused your throat, the wetter your pussy got. You were practically soaked as you moaned on his cock, sucking your cheeks in and bobbing your head up and down to take more of him. 
“Such pretty noises,” Tom said, his fingers curling through your hair to the point of pain. He tugged at your scalp, forcing you to meet his eyes as you sucked him off. “If your mouth feels this good around my cock, then I can’t even imagine what your cunt will feel like.” 
You groaned in pleasure, making Tom’s eye roll back from the vibrations. Controlled, compulsive, and perfectly composed Tom Riddle was fading before you, replaced by a man driven only by his base desires. He was an animal lost to lust and so were you. 
Tom squeezed your throat, groaning when he felt himself moving beneath his grip. “Your throat was made to be fucked, doll. You like that, don’t you? You love it when I’m rough.” 
You struggled to nod in acknowledgement, saliva sloppily collecting in the corner of your mouth as you continued to let him use you for his own pleasure. Tom chuckled at your pathetic attempt to respond. “Don’t bother answering, little dove. You won’t be able to speak when I’m done with you anyways.” 
The filth flowing effortlessly from his mouth made you clench your thighs together. Tom threw his head back, those pretty curls tousled and plastered against his sweat soaked skin. A moan tore through his chest as he got closer and closer, fucking into your mouth with reckless abandon. He chased after his orgasm, shuddering as he spurted hot ribbons down your throat. 
“Fuck. You see what you do to me? Swallow, doll. Every single fucking drop.” 
The fantasies that you’ve been harboring for the past few years finally came to fruition, but none of it came close to reality. Tom was a fucking god. A masterpiece coming undone above you. You’ve never seen such a beautiful sight. All the artwork in the world would’ve paled in comparison to witnessing Tom Riddle at his most vulnerable. 
In awe and wonder, you looked up at him with mascara streaked eyes, tears and saliva staining your face. Tom hauled you to your feet and claimed you with his mouth. The taste of him was still on your lips, but Tom didn’t seem to mind as he parted your lips with his tongue. The kiss was neither sweet nor innocent. It was dark and dangerous and there was an edge of possessiveness in the way he demanded your submission. Almost like he was marking his territory. 
Tongues, teeth, and lips met with a clash as Tom carried you over to his desk. His books and journals clattered to the ground as his teeth grazed the column of your throat. The taste of him was intoxicating and you licked, sucked, and nipped at every inch of skin he allowed access to. You gasped into his mouth as Tom parted your legs, not bothering to warn you as he palmed your soaked panties. 
Your core clenched as he slipped a finger inside of your pussy. A squelching sound filled the room as Tom added another digit, pumping you full and fucking you with his middle and pointer fingers as you begged for more. He knew exactly what he was doing. Tom studied you like one of his books, with meticulous precision and alarming intensity, pouring all of his efforts and attention into making your body sing. 
It wasn’t long before that familiar warmth singed your veins, your moans growing louder and more desperate as you clawed at Tom’s back. You were so, so close. You were practically riding his hand as he brought you closer to the precipice. Just when you were about to come, Tom pulled away and denied you the orgasm. 
“Don’t be mistaken, doll. This is still a punishment.” Tom said as you whined from the loss. He silenced your complaints by bending you over his desk. 
“Tom, please—“ You clawed at the wood as he lined up and filled you with one sharp thrust. “Oh my fucking gods.” 
Tom gripped your hips, the slap of his skin against yours echoing in the room as he fucked you from behind. He was relentless, thrusting in and out and arching your back while he railed the absolute life out of you. It wasn’t long before you were getting close again. The sharp angles of his thrusts had him hitting all the right spots, making your knees weak and your pussy sensitive from the roughness of his actions. Sensing that you were close, he rutted into you, letting that tension uncoil before ripping the orgasm away from you once more. You whined, fresh tears soaking your cheeks as you chased after that high. 
“Like I said, this is still a punishment,” Tom taunted, slowing his thrusts to a snail’s pace. “That’s two orgasms I’ve taken from you, which leaves you with two more. Four for every wall you defaced. It should be twelve, given that you had help, but I’m in a forgiving mood. I think I’ll just spank the other eight out of you instead.” 
With your head bowed, you wiped the tears off of your cheeks and braced yourself. You knew that he was telling the truth. To Tom, this was mercy. You should’ve found it sadistic, but you fucking loved it. Maybe you were a masochist. Whatever the case may be, it seemed like the two of you were a match made in heaven. 
“I’ll be good,” you whispered hoarsely. Your throat was still raw and sore from earlier. “I’ll happily take the punishment. I promise I’ll be good, sir.” 
Tom chuckled darkly, relishing in your submission. His hand came down with a hard smack against your right ass cheek, making you jolt from the contact. Before you could recover, he repeated the action on the left. 
“That’s two,” Tom said proudly. “Can you count out the rest, babydoll?” 
You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip every time his large hand came down on your ass. His rings bit into the soft flesh of your skin, but it was a delicious sort of pain. One that you could easily become addicted to. 
Three. Tom tugged at your hair. 
Four. Teeth nipped at your shoulder. 
Five. Fingers curled around your throat. 
Six. Hips slammed against you. 
Seven. Lips trailed down your spine.
Eight. Moans echoed in your ears. 
When Tom slipped his fingers down to your clit, your eyes rolled back so hard that you saw fucking heaven. “It’s not a punishment if you’re enjoying yourself so much, little dove. I can feel you creaming my cock. You look so innocent, but you’re just a filthy fucking slut for me, aren’t you?” 
“Yes sir.” 
“So. Fucking. Perfect.” 
Tom emphasized each word with a thrust and worked your clit faster and faster, bringing you to the edge. This time, he didn’t pull back. Tom let the orgasm build until it threatened to wipe you out entirely. White hot heat coursed through your veins as stars exploded behind your eyes. You whimpered through the intensity of the orgasm. After being denied four times, the pleasure ripped through your body so fiercely that you nearly blacked out. 
“Fuck, let me fill you up,” Tom growled. “Take it, doll. I want you dripping with my cum.” 
“Yes, yes, oh gods. Please cum inside of me, sir.” 
Tom released a guttural grunt, gripping your hips in place as he filled you to the brim. Nothing in the world compared to the sensation of Tom filling you with his warm, wet cum. You glanced behind you and found him staring intently as he slipped out of you, stuffing his cum back into your pussy as it dripped down your folds. You bit your lip, utterly aroused by how fucking sexy this man was. 
His gaze met yours, a proud smile curving against his lips as he swept you off your feet and into his arms. “I think I’ll keep you, little dove.” 
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didias-hp · 4 months
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harry in these travel time fics hahsjeekm
Also, first EVER animation, hopefully it's not that bad :,,,)
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semina-art · 3 months
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My favorite trope - when V finds out that Harry is his horcrux and kidnaps him.
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akanothere · 5 months
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Rotten root in Little Hangleton
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capriddle · 2 days
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Voldemort and the Battle of Hogwarts
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cisusnar · 3 months
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Coming home
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