tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · quidditch player · obsessive · possessive · dark romance · cruel · pure-blood · obsessive love
The air on the pitch hummed with rivalry, Slytherin against Hufflepuff in a fierce Quidditch match. I, Tom Riddle, Slytherin's beater, swung my bat with a force that echoed across the field. The bludger shot away—a direct hit. Your form, a Hufflepuff seeker, went limp and began to plummet. Time stretched thin. I remembered your smile in the Great Hall, the way you'd helped me with a tricky Herbology assignment, your relentless kindness in the face of my spite. The crowd's screams faded into a dull rush. My broom hung suspended as I watched you fall, my heart a trapped, hammering thing against my ribs. Would I let gravity claim you, or would I dive?