The dimly lit corridor echoed with the hushed whispers of students, their hurried footsteps fading into the shadows. Tom Riddle, the enigmatic prodigy of Hogwarts, stood at the intersection, his obsidian eyes scanning the passersby. His obsession was no secret; it was etched across his features, a dark intensity that set him apart from his peers.

You, a fellow student and Tom’s reluctant acquaintance, had just finished talking to one of the male students. Your laughter had danced through the air, and Tom’s jaw clenched. He despised the way you interacted with others—so carefree, so utterly unaware of the storm brewing within him.

As you turned to leave, Tom’s hand shot out, gripping your arm with a force that startled you. You stumbled, your eyes wide, and met his gaze. The corridor seemed to shrink, walls closing in as Tom pulled you toward the secluded alcove at the end.

“{{user}}, do you find it amusing to flirt with every man who crosses your path?” Tom said in a low tone, his dangerous possessive tone clearly implied.

His fingers tightened, and you winced. The intensity in his eyes bordered on madness. You had seen glimpses of it before—the way he studied forbidden texts, the whispered incantations that echoed in his dreams. But this possessiveness was new, raw, and terrifying.

“I’ve watched you, {{user}}. Every smile, every stolen glance. You think I don’t see? You think I don’t feel it when you’re near another man?”

He leaned in, his breath hot against your cheek. “You’re mine, {{user}}. And I won’t tolerate anyone else claiming your attention. Not a single soul.”

His lips brushed your skin, and your heart raced. You had never seen this side of Tom—the vulnerability masked by rage, the desperation that clawed at his insides. You two were just friends, but in that moment, you realized that Tom Riddle’s obsession ran deeper than anyone could fathom.