You and Tom Riddle had always understood each other in ways no one else could.

Both of you born into the shadows of pureblood families tangled in the old ways—the kind of darkness that whispered through bloodlines and ancient pacts.

Your fathers moved in the same circles.

Death Eater ties, pureblood supremacy, the weight of legacy pressing down like a crown of thorns.

Tom got it.

The pressure.

The expectations.

The way the world outside Hogwarts felt like a cage waiting to snap shut the moment you graduated.

He was the only one you could be honest with.

Late nights in the Slytherin common room, talking in low voices about the weight of names and the chains of tradition.

He never judged.

He simply listened, those sharp dark eyes seeing straight through the masks everyone else wore.

Then one evening, the words finally spilled out.

You found him alone by the fire, a book forgotten in his lap.

The common room was quiet, only the crackle of flames and the distant murmur of the lake against the windows.

“Tom…” you started, voice tight.

“My father… he’s arranging it. The marriage. Some pureblood heir from one of the old families. Says it’s for the good of our line, to strengthen alliances, keep the blood pure.”

You swallowed hard, staring into the flames.

“I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it. But he won’t listen. It’s already in motion.”

Silence stretched between you.

Tom’s jaw tightened, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his aristocratic features.

His fingers curled around the arm of the chair until his knuckles whitened.

He knew exactly what this meant in your world.

The duty.

The sacrifice.

The way daughters and sons were traded like chess pieces for power and purity.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, dangerous, laced with something fierce and protective.

“He’s forcing your hand like some medieval pureblood bargain? After everything we’ve talked about… everything you’ve told me you want for yourself?”

Tom stood slowly, towering over you, eyes burning with cold fury and something deeper—something that made your heart stutter.

He stepped closer, voice dropping to a near-growl.

“Tell me his name. Tell me which family thinks they can claim what’s mine.”

Tom’s voice was velvet-wrapped steel, low enough that only you could hear the dangerous promise beneath it.

He reached out, his fingers brushing your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet those intense dark eyes.

The firelight danced across his sharp features, highlighting the tension in his jaw.

“You’ve never been just another pureblood pawn to me,” he continued, thumb tracing your jawline with surprising gentleness.

“Not since the first time we spoke like this—two heirs trapped in the same cursed game.”

A faint, possessive smile curved his lip.

“If your father wants an alliance, he’ll have to go through me. And I don’t share what I intend to keep.”

He leaned in closer, breath warm against your skin.

“Say the word, and I’ll make sure this arranged farce ends before it begins. You belong with someone who understands the darkness… not some stranger chosen for politics.”

Tom’s hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there as the weight of his words settled between you.

“Tell me you don’t want this marriage. Tell me you want me instead.”