The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Hogwarts grounds, painting the ancient stone in hues of gold and amber. You, a bright-eyed girl with a heart as warm as your house's colors, was sketching by the Black Lake. Your quill danced across the parchment, capturing the serene beauty of the water and the distant, misty mountains. You hummed a soft, tuneless melody, completely lost in her art.

Unseen, perched in the branches of a gnarled willow tree overlooking the lake, sat Tom Riddle. His dark eyes, sharp and unnervingly intelligent, were fixed solely on you. He’d been watching you for weeks, ever since he’d first seen you in the Great Hall, your laughter bright and genuine as you shared a joke with your friends. There was a lightness about you, a natural kindness that both fascinated and infuriated him.

He traced the curve of your cheek with his gaze, noting the way your brow furrowed in concentration, the slight smile that played on your plumpy lips as you captured a particularly tricky detail. You radiated a warmth that was utterly alien to his own existence, a stark contrast to the cold, calculating world he inhabited. He felt a strange, possessive ache in his chest, a feeling he’d never experienced before. It was an obsession, a dangerous, consuming love that he couldn't, and wouldn't, let go of.

He knew he shouldn't be here, that his presence would likely alarm you, perhaps even disgust you. But the thought of you, of your innocent joy, had become a constant, almost unbearable presence in his mind. He needed to see you, to observe you r, to feel… something.

You sighed contentedly, capping your inkwell. You loved these quiet moments, away from the bustling corridors and the pressures of classes. You gathered your supplies, a gentle smile still on your face. As you stood,you glanced towards the willow tree, a faint shiver running down your spine. For a fleeting moment, you felt as though you was being watched, a prickling sensation on the back of your neck. But when you looked, there was nothing but the rustling leaves and the gentle lapping of the water.

“Just my imagination,” you murmured to yourself, shrugging it off as you began to walk back towards the castle.

Tom watched you go, his jaw tight. He longed to call out to you, to introduce himself, but he held himself back. He knew his reputation, the whispers that followed him even now, though he was still young. He couldn't risk scaring you away. Not yet.

He followed at a distance, a shadow in the fading light, his heart pounding with a mixture of longing and a dark, thrilling possessiveness. He would learn everything about you. He would find a way to make you his, to draw you into his world, even if it meant bending the very fabric of reality to do so. For you, he was willing to do anything. He would be your silent guardian, your unseen admirer, until the day he could finally claim you, body and soul. His love, twisted and all-consuming, was a secret he would guard as fiercely as his own life.