#severus snape x voldemort

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hello! i was wondering whether or not you can envision someone as better suited for tom/voldemort since i remember you saying neither harry nor hermione would be a match — them being the most popular two characters shipped with tom. and on that note, what do you think about bellatrix and voldemort? pro/against?

i tend to get a bit blindsided by the sheer obsession she has for him, honestly. i mean… i feel like she would be willing to shape herself down to the last atom to what appeals to him, if he ever were to show any true interest, and that’s very… sad.

Hello 👋

Thank you for the ask and as with all ship asks, ship what you ship, these are just my subjective opinions.

Now, what I said about Tomarrymort is that I don't think they would realistically get together and have a functioning relationship, I didn't say it wasn't fun. Like, I love Tomarrymort, but only if the relationship is a messy push and pull that makes everyone (both involved and uninvolved) miserable.

Now, as for Bellamort...

Do I think they had sex at some point in canon? Maybe. Like, that's not the most absurd thing about CC for me, so I consider it plausible.

Do I think Voldemort actually likes Bella romantically? Not really.

Do I think their relationship works like an actual equal functional relationship? Not one bit.

Do I think their relationship is entertaining and interesting? I mean, clearly, many people do, but I don't like Bellamort.

Like, it really doesn't interest me. There's a reason I only like Tomarrymort when there's a push and pull and Harry and Tom are portrayed as the equals they are. Like, I don't like Tomarrymort where Harry is completely submissive to Voldemort and Bellamort for the same reason — these aren't the kind of relationships that make Tom interesting.

I like both Tom and Bellatrix a lot as individuals, but I don't think a romantic and/or sexual relationship between them pushes their characters to interesting places. They are both stagnate in this relationship and, for me personally, that just doesn't interest me.

Like, Bellatrix is completely submissive to Voldemort nodding her head excitedly and panting after him: "Yes my lord! Whatever you say, my lord!" And this is not the type of dynamic that'd push either character towards growth. They don't push each other into a character arc, which is what I usually like my ships to do.

Additionally, this dynamic basically means Voldemort always gets what he wants, and Bellatrix is happy with it, as you said, she'd shape herself for his every whim. This isn't a relationship between equals. It's a relationship where she worships him and he doesn't respect her or care about her as a person. Like, at all.

The dynamic we see from them in the books gave me the impression Voldemort cares about Bellatrix. He doesn't want her to be hurt or to die:

Bellatrix’s gloating smile froze, her eyes began to bulge: For the tiniest space of time she knew what had happened, and then she toppled, and the watching crowd roared, and Voldemort screamed.

(DH)

But he cares about her like how you care about your favorite pet. He relished in giving her orders and having her submit completely:

“Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black!” sobbed Bellatrix, flinging herself down at Voldemort’s feet as he paced slowly nearer. “Master, you should know —” “Be quiet, Bella,” said Voldemort dangerously. “I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I have entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your sniveling apologies?” “But Master — he is here — he is below —” Voldemort paid no attention.

(OotP)

He doesn't actually care about her being hurt if it's not too bad, he doesn't care about her feelings or apologies, especially not when Harry is right in front of him — his obsession, his one failure. Bellatrix takes a backseat, basically always. He doesn't care about her all that much. He cares and respects her like a loyal dog, not like a person he has a relationship with.

He also relished in humiliating and embarrassing her. He likes making fun of her in ways Bella clearly does not enjoy, which isn't something you'd do to someone you love:

“I’m talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And your, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.” There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks, a few thumped the table with their fists. The great snake, disliking the disturbance, opened its mouth and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant where that at Bellatrix and the Malfoys’ humiliation. Bellatrix’s face, so recently flushed with happiness, had turned an ugly, blotchy red.

(DH)

she's desperate to please him, to tell him everything she thinks he wants to hear and she happily lets him treat her like fucking dirt. I don't find a relationship like that compelling, as I said, Voldemort would never change for Bellatrix and Bellatrix honestly deserves better than this. He even lets other Death Eaters jeer and laugh at her, this is not a romantic relationship.

Like even if he had sex with her, it was purely physical as he just doesn't care about her as a person like this. As more than a faithful servant (which he enjoys making fun of, as he does so for many of them).

And he is unwilling to show her real, unintentional weakness or ask her for help:

“My Lord, let me—” “I do not require assistance,” said Voldemort coldly, and though he could not see it, Harry pictured Bellatrix withdrawing a helpful hand.

(DH)

He does trust her with one of his Horcrux as the cup is kept in her vault and she seems to know what it is:

“Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!” She stood, panting slightly, looking down at the sword, examining its hilt. Then she turned to look at the silent prisoners. “If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed,” she muttered, more to herself than to the others. “The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself. . . . But if he finds out . . . I must . . . I must know. . . .”

(DH)

He trusts her loyalty, and she is one of his preferred Death Eaters (he doesn't hate her like he does Wormtail, Tom appreciates courage and loyalty, which are both traits Bellatrix possesses) but he clearly doesn't trust her with his backstory in the first war:

“Shut your mouth!” Bellatrix shrieked. “You dare speak his name with your unworthy lips, you dare besmirch it with your half-blood’s tongue, you dare —” “Did you know he’s a half-blood too?” said Harry recklessly. Hermione gave a little moan in his ear. “Voldemort? Yeah, his mother was a witch but his dad was a Muggle — or has he been telling you lot he’s pureblood?” “STUPEF —” “NO!” A jet of red light had shot from the end of Bellatrix Lestrange’s wand, but Malfoy had deflected it. His spell caused hers to hit the shelf a foot to the left of Harry and several of the glass orbs there shattered. [...] “He dared — he dares —” shrieked Bellatrix incoherently. “— He stands there — filthy half-blood —”

(OotP)

She doesn't really know who Voldemort is. She worships the persona of Voldemort. She loves his lies and masks. She doesn't actually know Tom Riddle. And I don't think she could accept and love the real Tom Riddle behind the title of Voldemort — the poor but brilliant nerdy half-blood who craves recognition. She would find him pathetic.

It's basically Hinny, isn't it?

She adores his persona and fame and what people think he is without actually knowing or understanding him. She changes her personality to fit what she thinks his girl needs to be because she is so focused on being with him. And He likes that she doesn't get in his way and lets him do and say whatever without crying about it but doesn't care about her or her feelings nearly as much as people think.

Bellamort is just Hinny with a different skin, and I never liked Hinny.

Like Hinny, they don't know or understand each other, and it's clear Bella and Ginny care about Voldemort and Harry more than the boys care about them. Like, yes, Harry would be devastated if Ginny died, but he'd get over it way faster than he did about Sirius. Same for Voldemort, he cares about Bella, but not as an equal he understands and cares for the feelings of. Voldemort got over Bella's death fairly quickly as well, he's way more focused on Harry.

So, with all of this, who do I think is the best pairing for Voldemort?

If we're talking about canon characters who are actually characters in the books? Then Harry is my top choice. Harry is the only one Voldemort would see as an equal and can actually push and change Voldemort as much as Voldemort changes him. There is no other character in canon, I believe, who would be able to do this to the level Harry could. Their dynamic is just so mutually obsessive and tense that a relationship like that can't not change both of them in a myriad of interesting ways.

Though, I was thinking about it, and Severus/Voldemort have potential. Voldemort clearly respects Sev and his opinions more than the average Death Eater:

Snape did not speak. “Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen.” “My Lord—”

(DH)

He cares about him and regrets having to kill him:

Harry saw Snape’s face losing the little color it had left; it whitened as his black eyes widened, as the snake’s fangs pierced his neck, as he failed to push the enchanted cage off himself, as his knees gave way and he fell to the floor. “I regret it,” said Voldemort coldly

(DH)

Voldy is willing to forgive Sev for things he'd kill most for. They have so much shared experience (poor, muggle childhood in incredibly abusive environments) that would allow them to understand each other. They probably both get frustrated over pureblood idiocy. Both are intelligent and share many interests, like they're both magic nerds who'd talk all night about magical theory...

So, I think, under the right circumstances, Severus is a pretty good pairing for Voldemort.

The only real downside is that depending on when they get together, they'd push each other to be more extremist and overall worse. Like, they'd push each other to have less empathy for other people if they get together, say, during the first war. Well, it might not be a downside. It really depends on how you look at it.

If they get together in the second war, it's different, and in my opinion, more compelling and interesting for both of them. Like, pairing them up after Voldemort's return and after Sev already turned traitor opens so many interesting avenues. I mean, Sev was someone Voldemort actually regretted killing, that was remorse there, wasn't it? It means Severus could push Voldemort to change in a way Bellatrix doesn't. Because Voldemort respects Snape in a way he doesn't respect Bella. I mean, think about how many times Voldemort shut Bella down when she kept insisting Snape is a traitor — it's clear he values Snape more than he values her.

If we're also looking at side characters we don't know as much about, then we have some more options.

@iamnmbr3 has convinced me that Alphard Black/Tom Riddle is an option, and I have been very compelled by it. We don't know much about Alphard, but that never really stopped me because what we do know is interesting.

We know he is Sirius' uncle. He was born after Walburga but before Cygnus, probably closer in age to Walburga. So, I headcanon he was born in 1927 and was in the same year as Tom Riddle.

We know Alphard was a Slytherin since Sirius mentions all his family was in Slytherin, which would include his uncle. And we know Alphard was burned off the family tapestry when he gave Sirius money when Sirius ran away from home.

This leaves us with a character, who's cunning, capable of listening to his older sister Walburga go off about whatever without making the fight worse but has a spine to stand up to her bullshit when it's actually important. This gives him the right characteristics to be able to wrangle a character arc out of a romance with a younger Tom Riddle (and perhaps the older one, too).

He's a pureblood who's open-minded enough to support Sirius and not hate muggleborns (probably). He likely has the subtlety necessary to fix Tom without Tom feeling like he's being fixed. Alphard, used to his very eventful family, is an expert in dealing with dramatic people (like his siblings) and how to undercut their drama instead of pushing them further into their position (which is what Harry would do, for example. Harry and Tom would keep pushing at each other while someone like Alphard would be able to just remove the heat from the argument and allow it to not get as extreme).

Again, it's not much to go on, but it has so much potential.

(Also, @iamnmbr3 has this post about how Voldemort’s violence became worse in 1979, which happens to be the same year Alphard Black died, and while I don't agree with all the points made there, I find it to be a super fun concept)

Voldemort/Lily also has potential. She's smart, stubborn, academically inclined, and has the right rough edges to have the kind of push-and-pull dynamic with Voldemort that I like with Tomarrymort. Lily is probably the kind of witch Voldemort could grow to respect as well. I don't think he would've agreed to spare her for Snape if he didn't respect both of them. JKR also said he tried to recruit James and Lily, so, he was aware that she was talented.

I think, though, Lily/Voldemort would be slightly better than Harry/Voldemort in some aspects. Lily isn't as hot-headed as Harry. Lily's anger is usually much colder, which I feel would work better with Tom just because she wouldn't push all his buttons (just most of them). She would still push him into a character arc, but it would be a gentler nudge than if Harry did it.

My only real rule when shipping Tommy Boy is that he can't be shipped with someone mediocre, he'll just steamroll over them completely, and that's not as fun, in my opinion. He needs a partner he can grow to respect and see as an equal (or close to it) and that has the spine to stand up to him, otherwise, he'd just keep getting what he wants, and I think that's the opposite of what Voldemort needs in a relationship.

[isbreulla]

Ok… I may have gotten carried away with the character designs and made several o them just for fun... You can't blame me though!

Tell me who's your favorite and who do you want to see next!

[sneppu]

I love the fics where its Tom Riddle or Voldemort x Snape so much because theres something about The Big Bad Guy just. absolutely simping for The Sneep that hits just right. like yeah, that Sneep IS your consort isnt he? He DOES deserve a special dark mark just for him, that goes on his asscheek like some sort of death eater cutie mark, so TRUE bestie. You're absolutely correct, Mr Dark Lord, That Sneep IS special and deserves to sit on your lap during the meetings.

Voldemort is unironically whipped for Snape and you cannot change my mind.

[randomcreator-09]

The Mahoutokoro DADA Professor (Part One)

(Severus Snape x Reader)

Part one, Part Two

(gif ain't mine > idk I saw it one day and saved it then forgot... But it's not mine :"3)

✨Pure fluff, maybe a lil angst heh dunno XD and a tad full of sarcasm✨

🐧AH! Suddenly had an idea to write a character where she's from an asian country and Snape is just so intrigued and annoyed by her XD. Enjoy my imaginations (didn't use grammarly on this one so it might have some grammar errors pls be kind :"3)

OH also I was inspired to write this with that one shot I dont remembor :"3 please dm me if you whoever wrote this somewhat the same trope sees or reads this, so I can tag you or maybe remove it if you request so🐧

Now enjoy ^^

-----

As Hogwarts came to another start, Severus Snape found himself sitted once again in the great hall with the insufferable children in front of him.

The war has ended, and two years have passed since his close call with death. He wished it had ended that way, though; he really has no clue what faith has put in on him again.

Nothing out of the ordinary has changed in two years, except well the dark lord being defeated and him being awarded the Merlins honor for his sacrifices, along with the Pince riches and manor named after him. He scowled at that house, and he couldn't fathom the idea of living in it, so he stayed in his humble home at the end of Spinners End.

There was a new addition to the staff, though. Professor Y/N/L, you teach the subject he has been eyeing for quite some time now, DADA.

McGonagall hired you last year, with recommendations from Hermoine of course. She has placed good words for you, complimenting how you had helped her with advocating elf rights and how you have helped Harry in defeating scoundrels of the wizarding world as an auror.

There was something unique about you, too. You didn't graduate from Hogwarts like Hermoine or Harry; you graduated from the far east. To be exact you graduated with golden robes from Mahoutokoro Wizarding School Japan.

Everyone was giddy when McGonagall introduced you in the great hall. You were wearing your golden robes, depicting your Mahoutokoro origin. You probably were the same age as Severus (having graduated from Mahoutokoro in 1971, a year early due to your exceptional skills). Severus was the least giddy, though; he despised the fact you took the spot to his dream position.

He took your presence as a challenge, and he cannot wait to embarrass you in front of the students if you ever asked for a sample duel.

And that day did came.

On October 2, 2000, you knocked on his classroom door in the middle of his potions class. You slowly peeked your head at his dungeon door and smiled at him.

Oh, how he despised your bright smile.

"Hello, Professor Snape, " you greeted as you kept your body behind the door.

Severus raised a brow and enveloped himself with his black robe. "Professor Y/L, what a pleasure to have your presence," his voice like a hoarse rumble of thunder. Nagini's bite wasn't too kind to him after the years. It pains him to speak, but he has gotten used to it now.

"Well..." you muttered under your breath as you entered his classroom. The eyes of his students are on you but are back on their cauldrons as soon as Severus slams a notebook to one table.

"Is it alright to ask you to come with me for a sample duel?" the words rolled out your mouth, startled by the sudden burst of noise that echoed throughout room.

Severus smirked slightly. 'It was his time to shine,' he thought as he pulled his sleeves up and crossed his arms. "I suppose after class?"

You nodded with a smile and gave him the details of what time the duel would be held before thanking him as you left.

Severus curtly nods at you, a welcome, I suppose, or more of a thank you. As soon as you left, he swiftly turned around and walked straight to his desk. Severus had a genuine smile plastered on his face, his thoughts running wild on how he could embarrass you infront of your students. He felt victorious even with his thoughts.

Some of his students saw this smile and were terrified by it. He's gone mad.

------ (Duel ends)

Severus was in disbelief. Shocked, totaled, bamboozled, whatever it is you name that depicts a man who just lost his wits AND WAND!

He stood there dumbfounded as you gripped his wand with your hand.

You hit him with a successful expelliarmus at what felt like 2 minutes of exchanging spells!

"Now, children, expelliarmus is a spell you do to take an opponent's wand. Using it wisely, along with other spells exchanged by me and Professor Snape, is one way to win a duel or to pass your OWLS and NEWTS," you exclaimed, walking towards Severus and handing him his wand.

You called out names of students to watch them duel. Severus walked down the duel table, his demeanor unchanged and cold, but his insides were in turmoil. He had just been defeated, infront of her and her students.

You patted his back, which made him even tad furious at how he just lost that duel. How good were you to be able to defeat him? Has he lost his talent in duelling? Is he perhaps aging too fast?

"You did well, professor. Don't be too harsh on yourself, " you said as you watched your students duel.

He glared down at you, only his eyes moving as he scoffed. 'unbelievable,' he thought. He lost to a little midget like you.

He had to do something about this humiliation. With that, he scurried away from you and into the dungeons, preparing himself from the daily torment of the memory of losing from you.

-----(Your POV before he left)

Severus stood beside you as you two stepped down the duel table.

You had caught him at his most unexpected moment and effortlessly defeated him in the duel. You were a gifted dueller, after all.

As you watched your students duel, you looked up to see Severus with his usual cold demeanor. However, as you looked down at his hands, you could see how he gripped his hands. You smiled warmly at the thought of him even thinking about this moment more than once in the future.

"You did well, professor. Don't be too harsh on yourself," you said as you watched your students duel. You hear him scoff at you before twirling dramatically around and leaving.

You smile at that, and as you hear the door close shut, you stop your student's duel and end the class for the day.

A few days have passed since your duel with Severus, and he has been avoiding you since then. You felt it since he was always following you around before, and it's not that you don't like it. You actually do.

You've liked him since the day you arrived; you've always had a thing for dark, dramatic, gothic men, and he was the spite image of that.

You've always tried to start a conversation with him, to which he either scoffs or replies a bit dryly. You don't blame him, that scar in his neck must've hurt.

As you walk the open hallways of Hogwarts, passing by and greeting students, you see his familiar silhouette. He was walking away from you a bit too fast for his normal phase. You smile at this and tried following him to where he was going.

-----(Back to Severus POV)

Severus has been dreaming about you. Silly encantation, you must have placed some sort of spell on him while in duel, he concluded to himself.

His dreams started with you kissing him on his lips at first to you straddling his lap. He'd wake up with beads of sweat all over his body despite the cold temperatures of the dungeons where his chamber was. There was a constant tent on his blanket too! He despised you even more when you've become an apparent dream of his.

It has been almost two months now since the duel. Severus has been avoiding you since, embarrassed from the duel and ashamed of the silly dreams he's been having. He can't believe he's been dreaming of you, LIKE THAT TOO?!

December 15, 2000. He decided to walk Hogwart's open corridors to get some breather. He had to do something with you, scold you for coming to his mind, his dreams, his nightmares, his... His everything.

He shook his head, no way. NO WAY he has feelings for you. NO WAY.

As he turned the corner and walked even faster, he sees you being greeted by students. His body tensing up, as he quickly eyes you head to toe.

It's been days since he last saw you, and you were as marvelous as you looked from the last. Your hair tied up in a messy bun, your golden robe over your dark blue wizard clothes beautifully insinuating your figure, and oh... Your smile. He hated that bright smile, but he blushed every time you gave him that smile.

He quickly turned around and swiftly walked away from you. Walked? He RAN.

He never felt like this, not even with Lily. He felt like a schoolgirl running away from the sight of their crush. Jeez, he really needed to man up sometimes.

"Professor Snape!" he heard you exclaim. He paused in his tracks. Shit.

He turns around to see you walking towards him, with that darn smile again.

"Professor," he mutters, trying to compose himself. Hopefully his not showing much emotions or blushing. His cheeks felt hot though, darn it.

"Would you like to go to Yule Ball with me?" you asked sweetly.

Severus was frozen. He never thought he'd ever be asked to go to Yule Ball. Not even as a professor.

He looks at you with narrowed eyes. "And why would I say yes to that?" his voice sultry and rough.

You smiled again, he's going to have a heart attack anytime soon, he could feel it.

"Well... You could always say no. I wouldn't mind asking Professor Fin-"

"Nonsense, you can never dance with such a tiny man. It'd be best if you dance with me, by practicality ofcourse" he grunts in a way that flowed out of his mouth.

You laughed, which made Severus's heart do cartwheels.

"That's settled then." as you turn around and leave.

Severus was yet again left in shock. Did he just agree to dance with you at the Yule Ball?

He slammed his palm to his forehead. Now he is just being your lap dog. He has no choice now but to actually dance with you.

The woman who defeated him in duel. The woman who took his spot in DADA. The woman from the east who Severus never met before. The woman... He currently has feelings for.

He smiles. Atleast he knows now why faith has kept him alive.

-----

Next>> Part 2 is released!!!! ^^

[vivihar]

Blind Severus touches Tom's face to remember what he was like because they haven't seen each other for a long time and when he suddenly touches a flat surface he freezes.

Severus:...Tom.

Tom: Hmm?

Severus: Where is your bloody fucking nose.

[turvi]

Promises

All images taken from Pinterest

Severus has been given the responsibility to protect Y/n who has been plagued by The Dark Lord's nightmares again but Y/n has her own secrets that had drawn Tom's attention towards her. Will Severus be able to protect Y/n or will the Dark Lord get to her.

DM me if you wanna get tagged for the next parts

1

2

3

[celestialseawitch-ff]

Turncoats

🌟 New Story! 🌟

Rating: M Characters: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Past Minerva McGonagall/Tom Riddle Warnings: sex, mentions of past child abuse Summary: Lord Voldemort is resurrected at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. With his return, several long-held secrets are about to be revealed and Hermione finds that she is at the centre of many of them. In the face of so many horrible truths, the unlikely combination of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Severus Snape rally together to keep her safe. Links: Blog | Ao3

[divaofmads]

TOM RIDDLE | DARK LADY 🖤💚

Part I: Gentleman | Part II

Warning: Toxic relationship, Dark Magic, Greed, Non-canon but does not affect Canon, There are historical inaccuracies, I wanted to write the character as an anti-hero but this is my first attempt. So please excuse me.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Ages are written according to the main movie. Due to the events in Rowling's universe not being fully established, McGonagall's age was determined according to the first books. I wrote McGonagall's youth by imagining Eva Green, and no matter what the main character's name is or what their physical features are, the main character is always you, I recommend you read it knowing this.

A/N 2: Each character's story will be stated as a season. Because I am writing too long to be a one-shot and too short to be a novel.

A/N 3: I apologize for the mistakes I made in English that is not my native language and I am trying to improve my writing skills.

Dividers by picsart

The classroom, surrounded by high windows, was trapped in deep silence. The students listened intently to Professor McGonagall. It was the third year of the Transfiguration class and advanced spells were being taught. They were aware of their responsibility to be good witches or wizards for their fates that were sinking deeper into darkness with each passing day.

The candlelight behind the teacher's desk had made the professor's presence before them seem ghostly, here and there in shadow. The grooves and protrusions in her skin now blatantly thrust their presence into the students' eyes. Ron realized how old she was, as her wrinkles were more pronounced than ever. He wondered what secrets, what memories she might be hiding behind those wrinkles, and for a moment it frightened him.

When McGonagall caught Ron's eye, she couldn't make sense of the meaningful look on the boy's face. She addressed the boy with her usual dominant expression.

"Mr. Weasly, you seem very interested in the lesson. Would you like to show us your interest by performing a successful Avifors spell?"

Ron nodded in rejection, afraid of McGonagall's stern look. His lips seemed locked, and he couldn't speak. His red hair trembled.

McGonagall looked down at the boy. "What happened, Mr. Weasly? Did the dragon catch your tongue? You can do that, check your knowledge from last year."

Harry moved to save his friend from the moment. "Sir, I don't think Ron can comply with your request. Well... his wand doesn't guarantee complete obedience."

McGonagall snorted. "Well, I hope you try to renew your wand soon, Mr. Weasly, otherwise you'll have a very hard time passing this course."

Hermione raised her hand as Ron pressed his lips together and hung his head in embarrassment. A question extracurricular had occurred to her regarding the incident. "Professor, I have a question about wands."

She turned his sharp eyes on Hermione and looked at her through his glasses. "I'm listening, Miss Granger."

"Can you tell us about the existence of wizards or witches who can cast spells without using a wand?"

After Harry met Sirius Black, who had been a prisoner in the treacherous arms of slander for twelve years, Hermione Granger had been deeply involved in research in the archives of the school library. For this, she was grateful to the invisibility cloak. While she was researching the Black family, a name caught her attention. A name that also closely interested Minerva Mcgonagall.

McGonagall took a deep breath and looked around the class. A memory hidden in her wrinkles that Ron found strange suddenly appeared in her expression, and she looked longingly. Except for a few students who were emotionally developed at an early age, like Hermione, no one could understand the compassion in her expression.

“Well,” she began. As she moved between the three rows of tables, she began to explain. “The wand is an important tool for a witch or wizard to channel their power.” Her eyes scanned the students one by one. “It allows a witch or wizard to learn more powerful spells and charms more easily and more quickly.” she placed his hand on the desk where Neville was sitting for support. “The most talented student I have ever seen at wandless magic,” Harry continued, whispering to himself under the impact of the experience. “Dumbledore.” The depth of admiration in his voice brought a faint smile to McGonagall’s face. Although he was nervous at being heard by the professor, especially by such a stern-looking witch, it did not last long.

"You are right, Mr. Potter. The Headmaster's power and intelligence are beyond question. However, as a student, the most talented witch I have ever seen at creating powerful wandless spells and charms was my peer, Ophelia Black."

Harry asked, adding substance to the other students' astonishment. "Ophelia Black? Is she from the Black family? Was she related to Sirius Black?"

McGonagall kept her stern expression. "Yes, she was Sirius' aunt. But she was no different from Sirius. Despite graduating from Slytherin, Ophelia shone not only with her intelligence and talent, but also with her character. She possessed a type of magical ability rarely seen in Hogwarts' history."

Ron said sarcastically, "It's not often we hear that someone from Slytherin is talented."

Ron was doing a good job of getting the attention of the Slytherin students in the class, but McGonagall continued to walk around the room, scowling at them both to shut them up. "I see you've got your tongue in the right place," the heels of her shoes echoed on the stone floor. "Mr. Weasley, I suggest you put your prejudices aside. Most Slytherin students are far more complex than you think. Ophelia was too."

Draco Malfoy interrupted the professor, imitating his father's arrogance from his seat. "My father used to say that Ophelia Black was a freak. A disgrace to her family."

McGonagall's face hardened even more, and a dead silence fell over the classroom. She turned her head towards Malfoy with chilling calm. She was firm against the shameless slander against her friend. "I wouldn't build my life on what your father said if I were you. Suffice it to say, Lucius Malfoy is not someone who can compete with Ophelia."

Draco began to feel a little uncomfortable, but he frowned and sat silently. His lips tightened into a tight line.

Meanwhile, McGonagall turned back to the class. "Ophelia was a powerful wizard who could have been the Dark Lord's favorite. She stood up to Voldemort with her courage, morality, and determination. Courage is not just for Gryffindor. Ophelia proved that."

As Hermione and the other students listened with curiosity, McGonagall continued, "Wandless magic is extremely rare. But Ophelia could perform extremely effective magic without even needing to use her wand." Harry was as interested in the subject as if he were listening to his godfather. It was amazing to hear of someone so similar to Sirius Black. He asked. It had only been a short time since he had met him, and it made him happy to hear about such an admired relative of Sirius Black. "Then why have we never heard of her before?"

McGonagall looked at Harry. "Because in history the heroes do not always shine brightly, Mr. Potter. Ophelia was ostracized by her own family, but that did not make her bow her head. She did the right thing. And for that, she will always be a friend I will be proud of."

Draco remained silent, embarrassed, eager to send his letter of complaint to his father after class.

McGonagall glanced around the class and said, "Now, back to our lesson. Perhaps one day one of you will become as unforgettable as Ophelia. But that depends on staying on the right path."

The question on Harry and the others' minds was: What happened to her? Despite Hermione's research, she couldn't find a source on the subject.

September 1952

Headmaster Armando Dippet's Office - Afternoon

Ophelia was walking quickly through the Gargoyle corridor, illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the windows. It had already become dark due to Slughorne extending the lesson and not allowing early dismissals, leaving its coldness blowing over the Hogwarts castle. The cold surface of the stone walls made the young witch's pale white skin shiver and her quince hairs stand on end.

Out of breath, she ran towards the bronze statue in front of her so she wouldn't be ten minutes late for her meeting with Headmaster Dippet. The skirt of her black robe was flying, the emerald green hair wrapped in it was slowly being released.

She was among the few students who knew the password the gargoyle asked. This must have been an indication of how much Dippet trusted her. She repeated the magic words without changing her proud stance on the spiral staircase steps. When the gargoyle accepted the password and started spinning around its axis, the stairs formed and took Ophelia to the second floor.

She tightened her hair clip as she walked down the steps and into the office. She looked at her reflection in the glass of the nearest window and smoothed the silver strand in front of her hair with the palm of her hand. After convincing herself that she looked formal enough, she knocked twice on the carved maple door. But there was no sound. She thought he might be distracted by his busy schedule with the Ministry of Magic. She knocked again. This time five times. She was sure there was someone inside, she could feel it. She could hear the paintings talking to someone. Curiosity insidiously wrapped itself around her heart and took over. She grabbed the door handle impatiently to see what was in the headmaster's office, opened it abruptly, and put her foot over the threshold.

The office glowed dimly with magical light. The bookcases were filled with centuries-old works, and the conversations of the portraits on the walls had diminished to a whisper - after Ophelia arrived. She had heard the portrait of Fytherley Undercliffe, a former headmaster, pronounce the name Tom Riddle. It was not unfamiliar. She remembered Professor Dumbledore mentioning the name several times before. It was the only thing that piqued her curiosity. She crept inside, looking carefully. She glanced at the headmaster's desk first, but Dippet was not there. She was certain that there was someone else in the room besides the moving pictures. She paused for a moment, then noticed movement. A young man had emerged from the shadow of the chair. Ophelia turned her head to the young man at the bottom of the stairs.

When he asked with a cool smile, "Are you waiting for the principal?" Ophelia's only thought was that the old figure in the painting was the person she was talking about. Another student who knew the Gargoyle's password! A former student who had not been forgotten since graduation. Was this the poison of jealousy pumping from her heart into her veins?

"Yes," Ophelia said in a calm but somewhat defiant voice. "But it looks like we won't be alone."

Tom leaned slowly against the edge of the table. His eyes scanned Ophelia from head to toe, an analytical, almost menacing gaze. He had never met anyone whose irises were as different as the sun and the moon. A wisp of gray in the front of his raven-black hair could be the cause of the storms raging inside her.

"Headmaster is usually not around at this time of day. So waiting here is sometimes a waste of time."

Ophelia looked at the young man with a confident smile. The candles in the office were shining brightly enough on his skin that she could see his face. She could easily see his dangerous eyes. "So why are you here?" she asked.

"You're curious. But curiosity can be dangerous sometimes, you know," he said with a subtle sarcasm.

Ophelia ignored the warning. She answered with determination, never taking her eyes off his. "We can't have knowledge without curiosity, can we? Someone as intelligent as you should understand that."

Tom's face showed a slight look of surprise, then he clearly expressed interest. His voice was softer but still mysterious.

"You're right. Curiosity is a powerful tool if channeled correctly. What are you so curious about, Miss...?"

He cleared his throat. "Black. Ophelia Black. And I think that's all you need to know. And you're Tom Riddle, aren't you? Slytherin's rising star."

Tom's eyes lit up, and he could hardly contain his pride. "Rumors spread fast, it seems. But yes, it's me."

Ophelia said with a slight sarcasm, "The nonsense of chattering paintings. Rumors are not always true." It was obvious that Ophelia did not want anyone but herself to be 'special'. She wanted to despise what was being said about him, and this effort caused a moment of silence. Tom studied Ophelia more carefully this time. He watched her irises, one holding the oceans, the other the earth, and he understood the passion and depth they had in common. He left the table and descended the marble steps slowly, savoring the moment, and approached the young witch.

"You're different. More... pointed than the others."

Ophelia raised her eyebrows slightly. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”

Tom's smile grew wider, but this time it had a darker tone. "Maybe both."

Ophelia swallowed, trying not to show any emotion on her face. Her emotions were intertwined like nesting dolls. Whichever emotion she mentioned, there were rooms inside her that opened up to a completely different emotion.

Suddenly there was a soft knock at the office door. Ophelia started, and Tom casually turned his gaze to the door. There was no sign of Dippet's return, even if it would have put an end to their wandering curiosity about why they were here. Still, the brief moment did not break the electricity between them. Ophelia barely managed to tear her gaze away from Tom. "I think I'll talk to Headmaster Dippet another time. Have a good time, Mr. Riddle," she said, and turned and headed for the door.

Tom watched Ophelia leave the office, moment by moment. Dark curiosity and a touch of admiration gleamed in his eyes. He whispered her name back. “Ophelia…”

The young witch turned her head to the man one last time as she closed the door. She thought she would steal a glance, but she caught Tom looking at her. A momentary pause. But she closed the door without saying anything and left. Maybe she didn't know, but this encounter would be her turning point. She didn't know that she had caught the attention of the dark lord whose name would be feared to be spoken in the future. She didn't know that her rosy life would be contaminated by another life that deserved her last name.

The morning silence that filtered between the stone walls of Hogwarts was broken only by the sound of students' footsteps echoing through the corridors. The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, as always, held a magical uneasiness beneath the Gothic ceilings. The smell of old wooden furniture mingled with the thick books that bore the deep marks of age.

Ophelia Black was sitting elegantly on the edge of the desk. The girl, who carried the arrogant pride of Slytherin, had a calm but slightly mocking expression on her face as she looked around the classroom with her eyes, one brown and the other blue. Her long black hair formed a perfect wave on the shoulders of her robes; she was reviewing her handwritten notes. Minerva McGonagall, who was sitting next to her, seemed to be in another world entirely. She was leaning on her notebook filled with ritual writings and drawings of cats, filled with a quiet but obvious ambition. Minerva's hair was combed with the discipline we were accustomed to from her; her face bore a determination that reflected the passion she felt with her dream of becoming an animagus.

“Becoming an Animagus is no easy task,” Ophelia said, her delicate fingers stroking her quill. The tone in her voice was more like the mocking warning of a rival than that of a friend. “Most wizards fail when they try to attain the form they desire. And a creature as mysterious and insidious as a cat… A creative but absurd idea.”

Minerva raised her head and looked into Ophelia's eyes defiantly. A slight smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Absurd? It may be absurd in the eyes of those who seek to preserve the boundaries of magic, Ophelia. But not to me."

Ophelia raised her eyebrows slightly. She bowed her head slightly, as if appreciating Minerva's ambition, but she did not waver in her haughty stance. "You will stumble as you try to transcend the limits of magic, and I will be there, Minerva. With a helping hand and a half-mocking smile, of course," she said mischievously.

Just then, a few Slytherin students entered the classroom, and especially the group leader, Abraxas Malfoy, cast a condescending look at the Gryffindor students in the room. Abraxas's arrogant walk caught Ophelia's attention, but she was not pleased. Abraxas sneered as he approached Minerva and Ophelia.

“Ophelia Black and a Gryffindor,” he said, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the classroom. “This was worth getting up early to see. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sight that would put the Black family to shame.”

Minerva straightened up quickly and turned a sharp gaze on Abraxas. "Who I sit with is none of your business, Abraxas. Perhaps if you studied your magic a little, you would be better off doing something useful."

Abraxas threw back his head with a mocking laugh. “The bravery of Gryffindor,” he said scornfully. “But that bravery will not save you from me.”

Ophelia leaned on the corner of the table and looked at the boy coolly. The arrogant expression on her face was like a withered tree, devoid of any emotion. She slowly took out her wand and placed it on the table. The bright, crystal-studded wand reflected the light and shone menacingly.

“Malfoy,” Ophelia said, her voice authoritative. “If I have to put up with your stupidity and ignorance any longer, I will teach you a lesson you will never forget. Do you think you are worth it?”

The mocking expression on Abraxas' face was gone. Despite Ophelia's threatening demeanor, he approached her, aware of the responsibility that came with being the leader of the group. However, when he saw Ophelia point her staff at him without a moment's hesitation, Abraxas' friends retreated.

Ophelia shouted "Expelliarmus!" and Abraxas dropped his wand, hitting one of the desks. The sound of it falling echoed through the classroom as everyone began to pick their side. Some were ovating 'Black', some were ovating 'Malfoy'.

Just then, the classroom door was thrown open. The person who entered was different from everyone else. A tall, elegant, yet menacing young man… Tom Riddle. His robes were perfectly fitted and neat, just like his. His hair had strands of coal black that shone in the darkness. His eyes stabbed cold daggers at the students who suddenly froze in the classroom.

“Sit down!” he said, his voice calm but authoritative.

Ophelia forgot to breathe for a moment. The fact that Tom Riddle was here, in this class, surprised her more than anyone else. They had met a few days ago in the office of Headmaster Armando Dippet. In fact, Dippet had praised Tom as a bright wizard of the future to Albus Dumbledore one year ago and expressed his pride in him. But at that time, she could not have imagined that Tom would appear before her as a professor in this class.

As she slowly sat down, Ophelia looked up at Tom’s cold, flawless face. She wasn’t sure whether to admire or fear his rise to such a powerful position at such a young age.

“My name is Tom Riddle,” he began, his voice echoing around the room. Every word was clear and weighty, as if they were being carved into the stone walls of Hogwarts. “I am the new professor of your Defense Against the Dark Arts class this year. But if you think we will be teaching this class in an ordinary way, you are mistaken.”

The students in the class listened intently, some staring in curiosity, others hanging on to Tom's every word without blinking. Tom's lips curved slightly upward, a smile that carried not warmth but a threatening warning.

“The Dark Arts,” he said, his voice growing deeper. “The subject that many of you fear, but are afraid to understand. This subject is not to fight the darkness, but to understand and embrace it.”

A murmur rose in the classroom, but a single look from Tom quickly quieted the murmur.

“The allure of the Dark Arts is great,” he continued. “I will teach you how not to fear them, but to master them.”

At this moment, a Hufflepuff student raised his hand shyly. His name was Taurus; he had a round face and light hair, and with an expression mixed with excitement and fear, he began to speak. “Professor Riddle… And what is the most effective defense against dark magic?”

Tom turned slowly toward Taurus, narrowing his eyes. The very movement made the student feel a lump in his throat. “An effective defense,” he said, his voice deep, “can only be mounted by one who understands the nature of darkness. Therefore, Taurus, you must concern yourself not only with spells, but with the minds of dark wizards. Grindelwald, perhaps.”

A Ravenclaw student raised her hand in deep thought. Her name was Claudia; her long pink hair fell around her shoulders, her eyes sharp with intelligence. “Professor,” she said in carefully chosen words, “Grindelwald’s place in the magical world is still debated. If dark magic is so powerful and effective, can we use it both defensively and offensively?”

Taking a few steps towards Claudia, he spoke. "It is the test of a true wizard not to be carried away by the temptation of dark magic," he began, and continued. Although he seemed to be scanning the class, it was nothing more than feigned glances to catch a glimpse of Ophelia.

Tom Riddle had meticulously answered the students' questions and had managed to captivate them with every word. The voice of this young man who dominated the room was etched into the stone walls of Hogwarts. His eyes were roaming over everyone like a snake, but it was clearly felt that his gaze frequently shifted to Ophelia. Ophelia could not feel comfortable under those gazes and tried to understand why Riddle was constantly paying attention to her. Ophelia had noticed Tom's furtive glances. Her heartbeat quickened with excitement. Every word in Tom's speech felt like it was addressed only to her. The darkness in Tom's eyes was both threatening and fascinating at the same time.

“Now…” said Tom, placing his hands gently on the podium. “This year, in addition to classes, I would like to start a club where you will all have the opportunity to showcase and develop your magical abilities. I am thinking of calling it the Dueling Club.”

A buzz went up in the classroom. Most of the students were looking at each other with excitement and curiosity. The idea was met with great interest among the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, while the Hufflepuffs seemed a little more cautious. The Slytherins, especially Abraxas and his group, were discussing the idea with sly grins on their faces.

But Ophelia reacted differently than the other students. Her face showed surprise. Her eyes widened. Because this was a plan she had brought up in Principal Dippet's office at the beginning of the year. Ophelia had thought that such a club would be a great opportunity to improve the students' abilities in defensive magic, and she had brought it up with the principal. However, Dippet had not given her a definitive answer. Now, it was both surprising and unnerving to see Tom Riddle express the same idea.

Tom’s eyes remained on Ophelia as he watched the students’ reactions. The expression in his eyes was one of challenge. It was as if he was deliberately trying to increase her surprise.

“This club will not only hone your Defense Against the Dark Arts skills,” Tom continued. “You will also learn how to strategize in real duels. For a wizard’s value lies not in his knowledge alone, but in his ability to use it.”

Many students were already eager to join the club. But Ophelia was confused. How had Tom Riddle found out about her idea? Apart from Headmaster Dippet and Minerva, she hadn't shared it with anyone. Of course, she was sure as hell that Minerva wasn't an incorrigible spy. A nagging suspicion suddenly rose in her heart.

Minerva nudged the young witch's arm and asked what was going on. She couldn't make sense of how an idea shared only between three of them could be included in a fourth person's mind. Ophelia looked at her friend and said, "I'll wait, Minerva." said "When I go to her after class, everything will come to light." But waiting for the class to end had the greatest effect on the young witch's mental torture.

After the lesson, the classroom emptied out, and students filed out, excitedly talking about the club Tom Riddle had just announced. But Ophelia decided to stay. With a mixture of anger and curiosity in her eyes, she walked to the front of the classroom, next to Tom. Tom was writing something on his notebook at the moment, but he remained calm, as if he knew Ophelia was approaching.

“Professor,” Ophelia said, her voice controlled but slightly shaky. “I want to ask you something.”

Tom looked up. The cold gleam in his eyes made Ophelia flinch. “Of course, Miss Black,” he said with a calm smile. “I’m all ears.”

Taking a deep breath, Ophelia spoke. “The Dueling Club idea… It was something I discussed with Headmaster Dippet. How did you find out about it? Did the Headmaster tell you about it?”

Tom paused for a moment, then his smile grew a little deeper. “The club idea?” he asked, his voice so natural and convincing that for a moment Ophelia thought she might be mistaken. “What an interesting coincidence. I had no idea you were talking to the principal. But it turns out that intelligent minds can think along similar lines.”

Ophelia looked into Tom's eyes. She searched for honesty in his every word, but she saw nothing more than a cold-blooded mask on the young professor's face. Her suspicions grew, but she could not figure out how Tom knew.

As Ophelia left the classroom, Tom silently stared after her, as if satisfied with her confusion. He hadn't given Ophelia any notice, but the truth was simple.

In fact, he had first heard of Ophelia at the beginning of the year from Albus Dumbledore. It was a moment when he had applied for the second time to the school for the DADA class, when he felt he had to strike up a satisfactory conversation to convince Dumbledore. The professor had praised Ophelia's intelligence and talents when he spoke of her. But this was a kind of red flag in Tom's eyes. Someone like him was always alert to potential threats.

When they met that night in Principal Dippet's office, he had already known that Ophelia would be there. Just before the young witch arrived, he had been examining the headmaster's desk and had found a notebook filled with Ophelia's ideas, which had intrigued him and inspired him to read the notes about her. A young witch with a strategic mind, determination, and leadership qualities. Tom saw this as both an opportunity and a challenge.

When Ophelia entered the office and met him, their ideas had come together. Riddle had not only read the notes Ophelia had left on Dippet's desk, but had also cast a light Legilimency spell on her during their conversation. It wasn't exactly mind reading. He had simply noticed her thoughts and feelings on the surface.

His ultimate goal was to identify students who might be prone to the dark arts and recruit them into his plans. However, Ophelia Black was a special case that caught Riddle's attention. Riddle knew that Ophelia was a clever and powerful witch. But before he could fully win her over, he had to test her loyalty and her aptitude for the dark arts. Dueling Club was not just a game. It was the first step in Riddle's selection of potential allies and enemies. And Ophelia was at the center of this game.

[ms-snape]

i LOVE your writing sm!! could i request a Tom Riddle x reader where she sends him anonymous love letters and he somehow— for his own amusement— decided to write back which surprised her.

he meant for it all to be just for his benefit but slowly he started falling for the girl and one day she confessed who she is and he gives her chance!

Title: Letters From The Heart

Warning: Tom being Tom, opened end might be a part 2 depends on u guys

Words Count:3000+

Masterlist

---

There were things about Hogwarts that Tom Riddle had learned to both admire and despise. It was a place of power—raw, unfettered power—but it was also a place where the weak minded reveled in their ignorance. To Tom, power was everything. It was the key to control. It was what separated him from the rest of them, the ordinary masses who bowed and scraped, who lived in fear of their own limitations. And Tom had never been like them. He was exceptional. Brilliant. Born to be something more.

He had already begun to carve out his future, reshaping the world in his image. No one in the school, not the professors nor the students, could touch him. His intelligence, his ambition, and his presence were more than enough to put him at the top.

But it was the unexpected intrusion of something he could neither predict nor control that intrigued him.

It began with a letter.

It was a late evening when Tom returned to his dormitory, his footsteps echoing through the empty corridors of Slytherin House. The fire in the common room had long since died out, and the shadows seemed to stretch longer than usual, their cold fingers creeping along the stone walls. He was alone, as always, and that was how he preferred it. He didn’t need the company of others. People were tools, instruments to use when necessary, and once they had outlived their usefulness, they could be discarded. The thought made him smile faintly.

As he stepped into the private quarters assigned to him as a prefect, something caught his eye: a small, folded parchment sitting on his bed. There was no seal, no identifying marks on the paper. Just a single, carefully folded note. His mind clicked, instantly curious. He had grown accustomed to receiving praise from others—though never directly, always whispered behind his back—but this was different. Whoever this was, they had made sure no one knew of their message.

With a flick of his wrist, Tom summoned a candle, lighting it with a small burst of fire. The soft light revealed the elegant handwriting on the note.

"Dear Tom

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but I can’t help but admire you. Your brilliance, your strength, the way you walk through this school as though you are above it all. I have spent so many nights dreaming of what it would be like to be near you, to feel the same air, the same space. Maybe that’s foolish, but it’s true.

Your Secret Admirer"

Tom stared at the letter. It was oddly intimate, almost too personal for someone so clearly intent on staying anonymous. His lips quirked upward in amusement. Someone—some girl, most likely—was infatuated with him. He should have dismissed it immediately, but instead, he found himself reading it again. The words were filled with reverence, with a longing that he had seen before in the eyes of countless students, but this letter… this letter was different. There was something about the way it was written. It didn’t scream desperation, it whispered with a quiet intensity.

With a quiet sigh, he folded the note back up, slipping it into the drawer of his desk. It wasn’t worth his time to think about. He had more pressing matters to attend to. But the next day, when he returned to his dorm after a long day of lessons, another letter awaited him.

This time, it was heavier, the parchment thicker. He opened it with the same mixture of curiosity and indifference. The words were different, yet the tone remained the same. Reverence, fascination, and a touch of fear. The writer spoke of his eyes, the way they could see through people, cutting through their facades and exposing their weaknesses. They spoke of how his mere presence seemed to command attention, how it was as though he were not of this world, but something far greater.

This time, Tom smiled darkly. "How pathetic."

But there was something else lurking in the back of his mind. He had always enjoyed the power of being admired, but this was different. This felt almost… personal. There was something about the tone of the letter that intrigued him.

What if he responded?

He had never had to chase after attention—his reputation did that work for him. But the thought of an unknown admirer… someone who dared to admire him from the shadows… it was a mystery he found himself wanting to solve. Perhaps it would be amusing to see where this led.

And so, he wrote his first response.

"To my anonymous admirer,

Your words have reached me. Your admiration is noted, though I wonder—do you truly understand the depth of what you are feeling? Do you even know what you desire from someone like me? I do not give my attention easily, and I do not waste my time on those who are not worthy of it.

But I must admit, your persistence is… interesting. I wonder if you will continue to write me, or if you will fade away as so many before you have done. You are already more than most of the students here, and yet… I wonder what you truly want from me."

Until then, I await your next letter.

Tom M Riddle."

He sent the letter off with a casual flick of his wand, his heart not quite as indifferent as he would have liked. The idea of a mystery—an admirer—was not something that Tom was accustomed to. And yet, he felt… something. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was boredom. Whatever it was, it was enough to keep him engaged in this strange game.

For the next few days, Tom carried on as usual. He attended his classes, ignored the sycophants who tried to gain his favor, and continued to plot his rise to power. But still, he thought about the letters. The words. The careful way in which the writer expressed their feelings. Whoever this person was, they had talent. They could write—really write—and there was something deeply personal about their observations of him.

As the weeks passed, the letters kept coming. Tom found himself growing increasingly intrigued by the mystery behind them. The messages were no longer simply filled with praise and longing; they had become more introspective. The writer spoke of their own struggles, their dreams, and fears. They confided their deepest thoughts in a way that no one else ever did. It was as though they believed they could open themselves up to him without fear, even though they knew nothing about him.

There was a certain beauty in that, Tom thought. A rawness he had never allowed anyone to see. Not even himself.

But each letter was also a test. He found himself crafting his responses with greater care. He was no longer playing just for amusement. He was fascinated by the writer's mind, by how she saw him. And the more he read, the more he began to wonder: Who was she?

His answers to her letters became more pointed, more calculated. He wanted to see how far she would go. How much she would reveal. He would lead her on, keep her writing, keep her thinking about him, all the while weaving his own twisted thoughts into her mind.

"To my dear admirer,

I have been thinking about your letters, about how you speak of your own weakness. You claim to admire my strength, my power, but I suspect you are simply looking for someone to guide you, someone to help you overcome your own failures. But do not misunderstand me. I do not give my attention to the weak. And you, my dear, are still weak."

"But I will say this—your letters intrigue me. I wonder what else you are hiding behind your words. Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye."

Until then, I remain curious.

Tom M Riddle."

Days turned into weeks. The letters kept coming, and each one felt like a thread pulling them closer together. Tom found himself reading them with a strange sense of anticipation. The game had shifted. It was no longer just about power, nor about winning some hollow admiration. There was a deeper layer to it, something he hadn’t expected. A sense of longing had crept into his responses, subtle but unmistakable.

Then, one day, the letters stopped.

For days, Tom waited for another envelope to arrive. He convinced himself it was nothing. A mere blip in his game. Yet, as the silence stretched on, he realized he was growing… frustrated. Was this the end? Had she given up? Had she finally realized that she had been writing to someone who was untouchable, someone who had no interest in the fragile, fleeting emotions of love?

It was late one evening when he returned to his dorm after a long day of plotting and maneuvering. He opened the door to his room, and there, resting on his bed, was another letter.

But this one was different.

The handwriting was familiar. It was the same as before, but this time, there was something else. Something more direct. More honest.

"Tom,

I can’t hide from this anymore. I’ve been writing to you for weeks, pouring my heart into these letters, and yet, you still don’t know who I am. Maybe that’s a part of me I never wanted to reveal, but I can’t keep pretending. I’m YN YLN. You’ve been reading my words, and now I want you to see me.

I’m not perfect. I’m not like the others who crave your attention, who will do anything to be near you. But I’ve never been able to stop thinking about you. From the first moment I saw you, I knew there was something about you. Something I couldn’t explain.

And now, I’m standing before you. Will you accept me? Or will you push me away like you’ve done with everyone else?"

Tom’s breath caught in his throat as he read the letter. His thoughts spiraled. YN. So that was her name. This wasn’t just some foolish infatuation after all. This was real. This was… genuine.

He stood frozen for a moment, the letter crumpling slightly in his hand.

The game had changed.

Tom stared at the letter, his sharp eyes scanning the words for meaning, for any indication that he was being played. But there was nothing in her handwriting that suggested dishonesty. YN. Her name was simple, unremarkable, and yet the moment he saw it, it felt like a key had turned in his mind. This was no longer just a game, no longer some childish correspondence. No. This was real. The walls Tom had built around himself began to crack, ever so slightly, as his thoughts tumbled over themselves.

He had known, on some level, that this was coming. He had felt it in the tone of her letters, in the way her words had begun to shift from worship to something deeper, more dangerous. He had played his part in their little dance, baiting her, pushing her boundaries, testing the waters. He had wanted to see how far she would go—how much of herself she would give. And she had given him everything.

But now… now she had taken it one step further. She was no longer hiding behind the veil of anonymity. She was standing before him, vulnerable, exposing herself to him in a way no one else ever had.

Her confession had been straightforward, unembellished, as though she was laying bare a piece of her soul. And in that moment, Tom realized something he hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t just about power, or control, or winning. This wasn’t some mindless pursuit. This was a connection, one that he couldn’t control. That realization gnawed at him, sending a ripple of unease through his chest.

For the first time, Tom Riddle didn’t have all the answers.

He took a step toward the window and let the letter fall from his hand, the parchment drifting softly to the floor. His eyes focused on the dark expanse of the grounds outside, but his mind was far from the peaceful, mist-covered landscape. It was consumed with the girl who had sent him these letters. YN. A name, a face—finally. He could almost picture her now, her eyes, the way she must have written each word with such care, such fear.

The very idea of someone daring to feel so deeply for him both repelled and fascinated him. What had she seen in him, in the cold, calculating Tom Riddle? The one who had built walls so high that even the most persistent attempts to scale them were doomed to failure? Why had she, of all people, chosen him?

He walked over to the desk, his long fingers brushing the edge of the drawer where he had kept her previous letters. Each one a fragment of something he could never fully grasp. And yet, here she was. His admirer. His equal, perhaps. Someone who had outsmarted him, pulled him into a game he hadn’t even realized he was playing.

He ran a hand through his dark hair and sat down in his chair, his eyes falling on the letter once more. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting—an answer? A revelation? But all he could think of, all he could hear in the silence of the room, was her final question.

Will you accept me?

Tom had never known acceptance. At least, not in the way YN seemed to mean it. He was a man who had built his life around rejection—both his rejection of others and their rejection of him. But YN… YN had refused to be cast aside. She had fought for his attention, and in a way, she had earned it.

But could he give her what she wanted?

The next morning, Tom was awake before the sun, a habit he had maintained throughout his time at Hogwarts. His usual morning routine was mechanical, precise, but today, something was different. He found himself replaying her letter over and over in his mind, hearing the tremor of her voice in his head as if she had spoken the words aloud.

She had bared her soul to him, and all he had given her in return were cold, calculated responses. Was he capable of something more? Was he capable of meeting her honesty with his own?

He hadn’t decided when he arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast. As he sat down at the Slytherin table, his eyes swept the room, and for the first time, he let them linger. He searched the faces around him, looking for someone, anyone who might give him a clue. Who could she be? The girl who had written to him with such fervor, who had laid her heart at his feet without hesitation.

It didn’t take long for him to find her.

At the far end of the hall, sitting with her friends, YN was eating quietly. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that almost seemed too delicate for the sharpness of her eyes. She was quiet, her usual smile absent, replaced by a faraway look as though her mind was elsewhere. Tom couldn’t look away.

For a moment, his gaze was fixed on her, and though she hadn’t noticed him yet, he could feel the connection between them, pulling at him like an invisible thread.

And then, as though sensing his attention, she looked up.

Their eyes met across the vast expanse of the room, and time seemed to slow. Her expression was unreadable, but her gaze was steady. There was no fear, no hesitation. Just a quiet strength in the way she held his gaze. In that moment, something shifted in Tom.

It wasn’t just about the letters anymore. It wasn’t about her yearning or his amusement at the game. It was something deeper, something that he couldn’t quite define.

He broke the stare first, his heart unexpectedly racing as he returned to his food, though his appetite had suddenly vanished. His fingers tightened around the edge of his plate, and his thoughts swirled with possibilities.

It was late that afternoon when Tom found himself walking through the halls, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He had thought long and hard about the letter, about YN, and what he was willing to do.

He had told her that he was curious. But now, as he rounded a corner and saw her standing there, waiting near a set of old classrooms, he realized that his curiosity had turned into something else entirely.

She stood still, her eyes locked on his, waiting for him. He hadn’t asked for this—he hadn’t asked for her to be so brave, so open—but there she was. She had stripped away every defense, every mask, and she was waiting for him to make the next move. To give her an answer.

"YN," Tom said her name for the first time, his voice cold but laced with something else—a tremor, a hesitation he hadn’t known he was capable of. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or something else, but it was there.

Her eyes softened at the sound of her name, and she stepped forward. “Tom, I—”

Before she could say anything else, Tom closed the distance between them, his hand rising instinctively to touch her arm. The contact was brief, but the electricity between them was undeniable. He could feel her pulse beneath his fingertips, steady but quick. She was nervous. She had to be. But Tom wasn’t sure what he was feeling. What did it mean when someone looked at you like they trusted you completely, without question? He had never been trusted before—not in this way.

“I didn’t think you would actually come,” YN whispered, her voice barely audible. “I thought you would reject me.”

Tom looked at her with a mixture of amusement and something softer, more contemplative. “I’m not the type to reject someone like you.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion, and Tom couldn’t help but smirk, leaning in slightly. He wanted to kiss her, and yet, he held back. Instead, he let his words sink in.

“You’ve made your feelings clear, YN. Now it’s my turn to decide.”

She opened her mouth, but he silenced her with a single finger to her lips. “You don’t need to say anything more. I already know. But you’ll have to wait. Wait until I decide whether I’ll accept this… or if I’ll destroy it.”

For a moment, her eyes shone with uncertainty, but then they darkened with resolve. She nodded, as though knowing this was all part of the game he had set in motion. And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t afraid of losing.

And that made all the difference.

Tom Riddle had always been a master of control. But YN had something that even he couldn’t quite manipulate. She had a way of making him feel—of making him question whether he was as invincible as he thought.

He didn’t know what would happen next. But he knew that he wasn’t done with her yet.

[mauveberries]

do you think voldemort put his hands around snape's waist when he was teaching him how to fly? :(

[miniwrites1]

Shattered - Theo Nott (Part 3)

Words | 800 Warnings | Angst | Death (Not reader or Theo) Pairings | Theo Nott x Reader Inspo | slytherinboy..povs on TikTok Links to PART 1 | PART 2

Two months later…

Theo felt a burning sensation on his forearm, his stomach lurched at the feeling. He was being summoned for the first time since being forced to take the mark.

He arrived at Malfoy Manor within the hour, joining over fifty other death eaters around the grand table in the Malfoy’s dining room.

The Dark Lord hadn’t arrived yet, the room buzzing with chatter from the newly recruited, pure-blood students and older members alike. Theo felt a hand firmly grasp his shoulder.

“Theodore.” Nott Senior, Theo’s father rasped coldly. Theo felt ice run through his veins.

“Father.” He nodded curtly. The tension was palpable between them, years of hatred and mistreatment weighed heavily on Theo’s shoulders.

“The Dark Lord will be here soon. Do not embarrass me boy.”

Theo nodded curtly again, not wanting to anger his father. He would much rather be forgotten by him.

The mindless chatter ceased as the grand doors slid open, revealing the Dark Lord who almost seemed to be gliding across the room to his chair. You could hear a pin drop, the death eaters surrounding Theo barely breathed as they waited for the Dark Lord to address them.

“It seems we have traitors amongst us…” The Dark Lord drawled, breathing softly. His beady eyes scanned across his army, scanning for one particular person.

“Severus.” The Dark Lord, spoke softly. Snape leant down to hear the command given to him, his eyes also scanned the crowd, locking eyes with Theo.

Theo’s eyes widened slightly, the stoic mask slipping slightly through fear. Snape marched quickly towards him, grasped his arm and apparated away.

Nott Senior gawked at what had happened in front of him, glancing between the death eaters and the Dark Lord himself.

“Nagini… Kill him.” The last thing Nott Senior saw was the jaws of a snake lunging for his neck.

“Professor, what is this?” Theo asked cautiously as he found himself in a room that he recognised, Lucius Malfoy’s study. He and Draco had often played in the room as children, much to Lucius’ displeasure.

“The Dark Lord believes you know something Mister Nott.” Snape spoke calmly, a tone so calm that it unsettled Theo. “And he’s asked me to access that information.”

“I don’t understand Professor. I don’t know what he wants.” Theo felt his fear rising, he felt like a small child again, being mistreated by his father.

Snape raised his wand at him, Theo reached for his own wand a split second too late.

“Crucio.”

A blood curdling scream rang out through the manor as Theo’s body hit the floor, writhing in pain. His breaths came in jagged gasps, beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. The pain didn’t ease as Snape kept the curse on him for what felt like minutes, even though it was a matter of seconds.

“I have to break down your barriers Mister Nott, it will make finding the information the Dark Lord needs much easier. Crucio.” Theo writhed again, gasping for breath, his mouth open in a noiseless scream. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Legilimens.”

Theo felt the invasion in his mind immediately, a searing pain in his head.

“Please professor! Stop!” Theo yelled, trying to push himself up. His body was weak from the curses that were cast on him, his muscles unable to support him. He collapsed back to the floor, his breaths heavy.

“You know the daughter of the traitors?” Snape asked as he rifled through Theo’s memories. Theo nodded, his face screwed up in anguish, he finally knew what the Dark Lord wanted.

“Please professor, her parents mean everything to her. Please don’t do this.” Theo begged, losing your parents would break you, he couldn’t let it happen.

He fought in his mind, trying to remember back to the small amount of occlumency that his mother had taught him before she passed. He tried to build barriers.

“Do not fight me Mister Nott. You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

Slowly, Theo built barriers around the memory he knew Snape was looking for. The memory of the letter, the address, your parents safe house.

“I told you. Do. Not. Fight. Me.” Snape hissed as he continued searching Theo’s mind. “Crucio.” Theo’s head snapped back to the floor as he writhed again, letting out another scream of pain. The barriers around the memories broke, giving Snape free access to them. Tears leaked from Theo’s eyes, from the pain and from the thought of you, devastated and alone.

“Just kill me professor. Tell him I couldn’t take it; tell him you didn’t find anything. Please.” Theo begged softly, breathless, his vision ebbing at the sides.

“Those are not my orders Mister Nott.” Snape rasped, finally leaving Theo’s mind as the darkness took over, sending him into a dark, dreamless sleep.

Link to PART 4

[shutupcrime]

Please, please, please do not remake Harry Potter

I am not saying this as a die hard fan

I am not saying this because there is absolutely no way they could replicate the level of detail or quality of the casting of the films

I am not saying this because it will likely be an over cgi-ed mess

I am saying this because J K Rowling has proven time and time again that she is a person who is not deserving of a public platform.

Given the chance to do absolutely anything with her wealth and fame she has used it to spew vitriol and hatred as well as blatantly spread misinformation.

Not to mention the entire reboot project is the direct result of most of the original films cast disavowing her views.

Over the years a woman who was once a champion of the underprivileged and abused has become radicalised in front of our eyes and this new show will shed even more light on her and introduce her to a new younger audience vulnerable to her viewpoint.

There are many reasons not to remake the films but we need to acknowledge this for what it is: Rowling’s attempt to recapture the limelight through targeting a younger less informed fan base.

Please, please DO NOT watch this show.

[lovebeatriceplz]

Stay Alive 🐍 (pt. 1??)

Severus Snape x (death eater) Student! Reader (platonic)

Js a little Drabble

“ I think Malfoy may be working for the dark lord”. Harry allows his words to sink in, gauging your reaction closely, for a second he thinks you’re about to shut the idea down like everyone else. Your face betrays no emotion, but inside you were panicking. “How did you come to that conclusion Harry? Surely you couldn’t accuse him of such a thing because of his father-”. “No- no that’s not-” He removes his glasses, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. Suddenly the space feels too small. Oh how you wish you could just tell him, tell him that he was correct, tell that you were deatheater too. But how would he react? Would he turn you in? Push you away? Would he understand?. It was too risky, Harry, your dear friend, it pains you everyday to know that you indirectly contribute to his suffering. “Harry I have something to tell you” you blurt out.

He slowly looks up, you have his undivided attention. “I- i think you might…you might”. Someone clears their throat, the sound startling both of you, you whip your head around to lock eyes with the one and only Professor Snape. He saunters over with quick, deliberate strides. “Students should not be loitering in the halls” his eyes Harry up and down “Unless you desire Gryffindor to lose ten more points, Potter” he speaks his name as if it was poison.

“We were just leaving” Harry murmurs, taking your arm as he starts to walk off. Snape catches you by the collar of your robe “Not. you.”. Harry reluctantly let’s go. You turn around to face Snape fully. “Care to share what you and Potter were discussing?” He asks, brow quirking. A scoff escapes you “That was a private conversation-” He cuts you off abruptly, pinning you against the wall. “What. were you about to tell him?” His tone is harsher than before, sending a course of fear through you. You swallow loudly. “My secret.” you say quietly. His eyes narrow, as if you were only confirming his suspicions and this was not news to him. “Why on earth would you do that? Are you trying to sabotage this entire mission” He mutters through gritted teeth, his grip becoming tighter.

“He’d understand!” you shout - whisper. “He’d understand that it isn’t by choice!”. He rolls his eyes, pursing his lips. He’d rather do anything else than babysit another student, but he can’t. “Do you really have that much faith in that boy..” he mutters, sounding absolutely done with you. “Why can’t we just tell him? Everything I mean” you just start to speak without thinking, the weight of carrying around this burden finally causing you to falter. “They’ll figure it out, it’s inevitable, if everyone- just stopped lying to him-”. An exasperated sigh interrupts you “Oh for the love of Merlin” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’d be simpler, all, all of…this! I should just tell them-”. He pushes you against the wall with more force. “If you care about your companions you keep your mouth shut or they’re all good as dead!” he doesn’t expound, leaving it at that, letting you go. “Stupid child” he barks, smoothing out the crumpled fabric of your sleeve.

“Get out of my sight”. You’ve just pushed yourself off the wall when his voice stops you once more. “Time is drawing nearer, the dark lord’s return is dawning upon us all, and my objective will be carried out…soon”. You look around to make sure the very open hallway is empty, but if he’s speaking so freely he must deem it safe. He continues. “When that time comes, you will lay low until the horror show has passed”. The initial confusion in your expression, contorts into anger and betrayal.

“No I have to fight…i…no, no I need to fight I need to do something” you protest. “Good. day.” You watch your whole world spin as he starts to depart. Quickly, you grab his hand to stop him and he physically tenses up. “I cannot just watch from the sidelines,not after everything that git has put me through, not after what he did to my brother.”. He scoffs once more, but there’s hardly any bite behind it. He jerks his hand free from your hold. “And what do you propose I do?” he’s not even looking at you, it made you feel small. “Send me, send me with Draco when he..” you find yourself not being able to finish that sentence.

His previous petulance returns, and he approaches aggressively, you almost think he’s about to pounce on you. “No such thing will take place, do you comprehend?” It’s obvious that it takes all his willpower to not grab you by the shoulders and shake some sense into you. “Listen to me and listen closely, you are not Draco, you don’t have anyone, no one to look out for you. He has his parents, you only have me!” He speaks swiftly and sharply. You have nothing to say, but it doesn’t matter because he wasn’t finished. “So much work, i’ve done, to make sure that no one suspects a thing, you are practically invisible to the dark lord and that’s the best you could hope for, stay. Alive.”

“Professor Snape, I cannot, have an opportunity to avenge my brother and not cease it, he would have never let that happen if I was the one to die that night” you confess quietly, hoping that your words had some effect on him. His expression remains annoyed and cold, as always. He sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “So this is for your brother?” He asks, you nod. He massages his temples, eyes scrunching as if he were in pain “I might vomit”. He paces for a few seconds, you wonder if he remembers you’re there. Large hands tightly, almost painfully grip your shoulders. “Listen, you insufferable dingbat, your mother can’t take another heartbreak, losing two children? In such a timely manner?”. You couldn’t tell if he was sincerely concerned or trying to talk you out of your ideas.

You stand your ground. “I’ve made up my mind, I’m not asking you to throw me into a boxing ring, but I must help in any way I can”. He nods, letting go of you, he slams his palm into the wall, the sound echoing. It’s almost comedic how quickly he goes back to his indifferent demeanor. “You aren’t. Ready” he says bluntly. “Meet me in the dungeons, I’ll have a few things to teach you, do not come before midnight” He turns to walk off, for the last time he hopes. You nod slowly, pausing as a thought occurs to you. “Wait- what about my prefects-”. He doesn’t turn around “figure it out” now he’s gone, leaving in the same abrupt manner he arrived. Such an odd man, you think. An odd man, that might determine if you make it out of Voldermort’s hold alive or not. Leave overthinking for another time, you have an escape route to figure out.

[sneppu]

ah ah ah, i am fixated,,, snoldemort,,, horcrux sneep,, intentional horcrux sneep,,, snoldemort real, horcrux sneep real,,,

[vivihar]

Lucius: Severus what are you doing at Lord's chamber every morning? You shouldn't disturb his sleep.

Severus *blushing*: Nothing, I just get rid of the wood.

Lucius: Wood? What is wood doing in the Lord's room?

Bellatrix: You're so fucking stupid it's unbelievable.

[houseofprince]

“Hold your knees to your chest, Severus.” The Dark Lord’s voice was soft, spongy, his name flowed like silk off his tongue which licked his chapped lips, across his teeth and tasted of metal.

Summary: The Dark Lord does more than mark his left forearm that night. Lucius and Narcissa take Severus in, care for and comfort him.

Read Lights Are On, available on Ao3 with artwork now.