#voldemort headcanon

[capriddle]

Death Eaters Headcanon:

They were mainly divided into action squads and Ministry spies;

Bellatrix was the first female;

Beneath Dolohov were Voldemort's three other roommates, Mulciber, Rosier, and Nott;

Below are still schoolmates from other years Lestrange, Avery and Macnair;

The seven schoolmates were often called Knights by Voldemort in private, precisely to remember their first name;

The masks are made by Voldemort similarly to how Wormtail's hand was made and each mask has a different design because Voldemort needs to recognize them even when their faces are covered;

Bellatrix was General and head of the action team, Dolohov before Azkaban was in charge of the Ministry, then he became Bellatrix's second in the action team;

Voldemort's favourites were Bellatrix (obviously, his pupil and his woman), Dolohov (his closest friend from Hogwarts), Snape (because of family and character similarities);

He never liked Lucius much but being close to the Minister;

Snape was in a special position, he was a spy in Hogsmeade and Voldemort immediately liked him;

All the male children of the Knights became Death Eaters

[rowena-rain]

Sooo in your fic is it canon that Voldemort is completely and utterly oblivious to how relationships/attraction works while Harry is objectively the more 'experienced' person? Cuz that's what it seems like tbh. Vee is SUCH an idiot sometimes. He wants to fuck Harry so bad it makes him look (and think) stupid.

Great question! I apologize in advance—I can already tell this is gonna be a long Voldemort meta post lol.

My head canon for Voldemort more generally—but particularly in the Heir de la Mort—is that he falls somewhere on the Asexual Spectrum (I don’t consider Cursed Child canon, btw). Specifically, I think of him as basically aroace with a big exception for Harry.

He may have had sex in his younger years as Tom Riddle, but if he did, it was purely transactional. Just another tool to manipulate people or get something he wanted.

A big part of his becoming “Lord Voldemort” is that he tries very hard to shed any semblance of humanity because for him, it represents vulnerability and his humble origins as the poor, unwanted kid who grew up in a muggle orphanage. Part of that shedding of humanity is (at least outwardly) rejecting things like relationships and sex because he believes those are weak things that mere mortals do. So, once he fully adopts the persona of Voldemort, I don’t think he even has transactional sex anymore.

I do see him as having a general desire for human connection (though this gets more and more repressed the older he gets). But he’s never actually felt sexual passion or desire, let alone romantic love, for another person.

That is, until Harry comes along.

I think Voldemort initially feels pulled to Harry because of the horcrux, even before he knows about its existence. The fact that Harry literally contains a piece of his own SOUL makes him grow to understand Harry in a way he’s never understood anyone before, and that opens the door for him to start feeling emotions he’s never felt.

So, long-story short, I guess, Voldemort is oblivious here because he’s experiencing actual attraction to another person for the very first time in 70+ years! Up until now, he’s been too single-mindedly focused on killing Harry to really notice anything unusual going on, or if he did, he probably just chalked it up to really, really, REALLY hating him and wanting him dead. But now that he isn’t actively trying to kill him, he has the opportunity to feel new things. At first through the horcrux connection, but as time goes on, that line will become more and more blurred.

It also doesn’t help that he’s severely lacking in self-awareness more generally. Like, he’s magically brilliant, no doubt. He’s very book smart, very clever, cunning, etc. And he’s exceptionally good at manipulating others, which means he has to have some level of emotional intelligence… He just reaaaallly doesn’t have the self-awareness part. Or the empathy part (yet).

But Harry is a mirror—not just because he contains part of Voldemort’s soul, but also because he’s the only one bold enough to stand up to him. Basically, through Harry, Voldemort is slowly being forced into a situation where he has to confront his own humanity and start actually learning empathy. But I don’t wanna say too much, so I’ll stop now :)

[possibly-drunk-on-fanfiction]

My Tom Riddle/Voldemort headcanon is that he started to shave his head the age his father was when he killed him because he didn't want to be reminded of what his father would have looked like at an old age

[larallott]

Being Tom Riddle's girlfriend includes:

Possessive: Tom has an intense need to claim what he considers his, and you are no exception. He keeps you close and makes sure everyone knows you belong to him.

VERY jealous: Tom’s jealousy runs deep, even though he tries to hide it. The mere thought of someone else trying to get close to you drives him mad.

Very protective: He’s always alert to any possible threat. Even if you don’t ask for it, he’s there to ensure no harm comes your way.

He won't admit it, but he likes lying on your chest because it relaxes him: Even though he would never confess it, in moments of intimacy, he enjoys resting his head on your chest. It brings him a rare sense of peace.

He likes when you run your fingers through his hair: He finds an unusual calm when your fingers play with his dark hair, though he would never admit it openly.

He doesn’t show affection in public: In public, he avoids displaying affection. He doesn’t want anyone to see him vulnerable, as it would ruin his image and make him seem weak.

He helps you with your exams: Even though he’s reserved, his intelligence is something he shares with you when needed. He guides you and ensures you excel in your studies.

He likes you sitting on his lap while he reads: When he’s absorbed in his books, he invites you to sit on his lap. He enjoys your closeness as he immerses himself in his reading.

Forehead kisses: His kisses are subtle and soft, especially on your forehead. They are his quiet way of showing affection and protection.

He wraps you in his cloak when it’s cold without saying anything: On cold days, he silently wraps you in his cloak, letting you feel his care and protection without a word.

He watches you sleep (tenderly): Although he would never admit it, in the quiet moments while you sleep, he allows himself to watch you with tenderness. His face softens, and for a brief moment, he looks almost human.

He loves leaving hickeys on your neck, collarbone, or anywhere: Marking you is his way of ensuring everyone knows you belong to him. He leaves hickeys as a visible reminder of his claim.

His kisses are slow but gradually become possessive: At first, his kisses are slow and deliberate, but they quickly turn more intense and possessive, as if each kiss is a reaffirmation that you belong solely to him.

[capriddle]

I'll give my version. For they started their relationship when they were still Master and student, their first time was a few months after they met (for Bellatrix it would have happened sooner). After Azkaban they simply went back to their usual selves, only with fourteen years to make up for.

to the bellamort fans, when do you think they started being intimate?

were they intimate from the very beginning, maybe a little after they met?

or perhaps years after getting to know each other?

or maybe their first time was after he returned as voldemort and bellatrix escaped azkaban?

let me know, im curious to see other people's opinions

[plummarvelous]

a bloody psychopath & tom riddle

save death eaters PLEASE

plumm_m

[deadghosy]

⊹˖✧°⋅

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲!𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐗 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

Sugar daddy!Tom who would take you to fancy dinners.

Sugar daddy!Tom who pay for everything. He’s your sugar daddy, and you’re his baby.

Sugar daddy!Tom who does show off his expensive ice watch when some other bloke tries to impress you.

Sugar daddy!Tom who could definitely buy out a shop for you if you asked.

Sugar daddy!Tom who just hands you his black card. Don’t worry baby, he’s got himself and you all covered.

Sugar daddy!Tom who would paid for all your hair & nail appointments. You name it, he’s got it paid in an instant.

Sugar daddy!Tom bringing you to his business trips. He has to spoil his baby that’s always by his side.

He could possibly buy the world for you. Hell, he spoils you rotten.

He’s buying you Prada, Chanel, any brand you like. Just tell him and he’s buying it for you.

The cold type of sugar daddy that makes you beg for him to buy you something. He loves when you beg.

The type of sugar daddy to help put on your heels or any shoes on your feet.

When it’s your birthday, it’s never plain at the least. He’s always surprising you every time.

Your wardrobe is decked out in any outfits of fashion. Say thank you to him.

He always has reservations at the fanciest restaurants ever.

Buys your most expensive shit ever so you can flex how both have a good future husband.

[jmliebert]

Tom Riddle as Your Husband ♡

you’re his trophy wife, living in the golden cage

he doesn’t just want you, he owns you

in public, his charm is magnetic, his hand resting on your back, his smile perfectly in place. But behind closed doors, his gaze may turn cold and distanced

when he hurts you, he swears it’s the last time. he kneels, his lips brushing your hands with fervent, desperate kisses. but he never changes, not really

when you’re too kind to another man, his grip on your hand tightens, the metal of your wedding ring pressing painfully into your pale skin

every anniversary, he presents you with an extravagant bouquet of red roses

he can vanish from the manor for days, leaving no explanation behind. yet, he always have to know exactly where you are

what's strange is no matter how cold he’s been, when he sleeps, he pulls you close, with a need that edges on desperation

“I thought of you when I saw this.” - and then he places the finest, most elegant things in your hands

likes to hear you say his name

brushes his fingers along your cheek, his touch almost tender, but his eyes are dark

even when he’s not with you, his influence lingers—everyone knows whose wife you are

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

hello love, you can find more of my works about tom ♡here♡

[maddybthorne]

One of my favorite things in the Harry Potter fandom is how we all *know* Lucius Malfoy is so fucking tired of hearing about Harry Potter.

It (of course) starts when Harry Potter defeated Voldemort, the gossip and hero worship (or hatred) he could not escape, he’s a well known public figure he needs to be able to socialize with the general population. It’s fine, he told himself, it will die down in a few years. Then I will be free of Potter.

Then comes his son’s first year. September 1st 1991 he gets a letter from his son. The first words are “Harry Potter refused to be my friend” nothing about the sorting besides a footnote. No he gets five paragraphs detailing his son’s interaction with Potter. It’s fine, he told himself, my son will eventually get over this (he never does). Then I will be free of Potter.

Then Voldemort is resurrected. And all he talks about is Harry Potter. Capturing him, torturing him, killing him. Doesn’t matter what the conversation starts as. It will always turn back to Harry Potter. It’s fine, he tells himself, my lord will eventually kill the boy. Then I will be free of Harry Potter.

The battle of Hogwarts. Harry Potter is dead. Lucius feels a deep sense of relief for the first time in roughly 8 years. His son can’t keep complaining about the boy, the dark lord has succeeded and the general public will surely be banned from speaking of the boy. He’s finally free.

And then. After being hit by a killing curse in front of his eyes. Harry Potter takes off his invisibility cloak and shows everyone he’s alive. And then he wins the war.

And Lucius dies a bit on the inside. Not because his lord is dead. Not because he will probably be locked away in Azkaban.

No. It’s because now more than ever, everyone will be talking about Harry Fucking Potter.

I’d like to believe it drove him to a mental breakdown.

(And then, post war he’s just chilling as a hermit or something, maybe in Azkaban, relieved that he can’t really talk to people so they can’t bring up Harry Potter. And his son walks in and says he wants to introduce his new boyfriend.

And it’s Harry. Fucking. Potter.

He tries to jump out a window.)

[wolvesandshine]

Okay okay listen we all know that regulus was the “good kid” - the one who never spoke up, the one who took punishment with no argument, the one who always kept his head down and did what he was told to survive in that house

But listen the thing about these good kids is that they have a limit. And when they finally finally reach it they fucking snap. You thought Sirius was bad? Oh Regulus is just getting started. He kills his dad. Poisons his mom and gifts her with a long slow and painful death. Figures the dark lords horcruxes and kills one of them - all while writing a fuck you letter to him to remind him he was bested by a 17 year old.

After all it’s always the silent ones you need to watch out for

[batransacon]

I remember seeing so many “Harry potters blood must be liquid luck” jokes but I’m being so fr I actually would love that as a fanfic. Idk like Voldemort finding out his nemesis is LITERALLY made of luck?? He has golden blood?? (Vampire Voldemort maybe ?? 👀) he kidnaps him and keeps Harry locked away (lowkey like repunzal au ngl) and just drinks from him when he needs luck or smthn idk but he keeps Harry taken care of (like pampered) and Harry being the abused child he is just accepts it cus even if Voldemort doesn’t love him like a father (or maybe he does 😃) (creepy old bastard) atleast he takes care of him and Harry can be useful. Also he doesn’t have to die anymore so that’s a plus 🤷 but the liquid luck blood leads to more physical effects besides just the color of his blood. Like he’s unnaturally good at predicting things (he becomes one of Voldemorts generals maybe?) and just seems to always know what to do. Also due to these effects he doesn’t try and run (besides maybe at first) bc nothings telling him he has to, like his mind is perfectly content being Voldemorts arm candy and general and if he has more luck staying then why try and leave?? Anyways they eventually fall in love and rule Great Britain (and maybe the world but like as a shadow government type deal) as a power couple 😘 (also I hc that Harry came to be with Voldemort right around Hogwarts letter time bc that’s when he would’ve been most susceptible and mold able)

Someone please write this 🙏

[capriddle]

For me Voldemort loves gossip, I say it for the way he talks to his followers, for example when he comments on Nymphadora's wedding, or even talking to Harry. Yes, I am convinced that he likes to gossip about others or talk to the people directly involved to simply make fun of them.

[eris-eveningstar]

Hey it's me. I put in the ask but it went through my main and not my tomarry side acc for some reason.

So anyway. I actually really like this interpretation! I always thought Voldemort was on the ace spectrum tbh. He feels demiromantic/demisexual to me. Whenever I see this interpretation in fics I love it. Voldemort's obliviousness to his own feelings is always 👨‍🍳 💋

Like god, the denial he goes through mixed with sheer obsessive want is amazing. A perfect mix. I love how he feels it through his whole body but still finds an excuse for what he feels for Harry because he just can't admit it to himself.

I relate to this a lot. I really like Tom Riddle's character cuz I sort of relate to him. Even Voldemort sometimes. The minds of regular (neurotypical people, I'm autistic) people elude me quite often, and I'm also demisexual, just like I hc for Tom/Voldemort. So seeing him in fanfic being so obviously on the ace spectrum and feeling feelings for the first time is so fun. I've never fallen in love before (except for Tom Riddle, but lbr no matter my crush on a fictional man, it really doesn't count as a real crush), and seeing Tom/Voldemort fall in love for the first time is so fun to watch.

There are two fics I know that do it wonderfully. Heir Apparent, which is soooo ridiculous about this and I LOVE it, and Sense of Self (by SpitFire97). SoS is a lesser known fic but it's complete and I LOVE it. It should be so much more famous than it is. Their relationship, the build-up, Voldemort's OBVIOUS feelings and his denial. (Spoilers) The dimension travel and young Tom obviously flirting with Harry while our Voldemort is completely oblivious to it is also a nice touch lol.

Sooo in your fic is it canon that Voldemort is completely and utterly oblivious to how relationships/attraction works while Harry is objectively the more 'experienced' person? Cuz that's what it seems like tbh. Vee is SUCH an idiot sometimes. He wants to fuck Harry so bad it makes him look (and think) stupid.

Great question! I apologize in advance—I can already tell this is gonna be a long Voldemort meta post lol.

My head canon for Voldemort more generally—but particularly in the Heir de la Mort—is that he falls somewhere on the Asexual Spectrum (I don’t consider Cursed Child canon, btw). Specifically, I think of him as basically aroace with a big exception for Harry.

He may have had sex in his younger years as Tom Riddle, but if he did, it was purely transactional. Just another tool to manipulate people or get something he wanted.

A big part of his becoming “Lord Voldemort” is that he tries very hard to shed any semblance of humanity because for him, it represents vulnerability and his humble origins as the poor, unwanted kid who grew up in a muggle orphanage. Part of that shedding of humanity is (at least outwardly) rejecting things like relationships and sex because he believes those are weak things that mere mortals do. So, once he fully adopts the persona of Voldemort, I don’t think he even has transactional sex anymore.

I do see him as having a general desire for human connection (though this gets more and more repressed the older he gets). But he’s never actually felt sexual passion or desire, let alone romantic love, for another person.

That is, until Harry comes along.

I think Voldemort initially feels pulled to Harry because of the horcrux, even before he knows about its existence. The fact that Harry literally contains a piece of his own SOUL makes him grow to understand Harry in a way he’s never understood anyone before, and that opens the door for him to start feeling emotions he’s never felt.

So, long-story short, I guess, Voldemort is oblivious here because he’s experiencing actual attraction to another person for the very first time in 70+ years! Up until now, he’s been too single-mindedly focused on killing Harry to really notice anything unusual going on, or if he did, he probably just chalked it up to really, really, REALLY hating him and wanting him dead. But now that he isn’t actively trying to kill him, he has the opportunity to feel new things. At first through the horcrux connection, but as time goes on, that line will become more and more blurred.

It also doesn’t help that he’s severely lacking in self-awareness more generally. Like, he’s magically brilliant, no doubt. He’s very book smart, very clever, cunning, etc. And he’s exceptionally good at manipulating others, which means he has to have some level of emotional intelligence… He just reaaaallly doesn’t have the self-awareness part. Or the empathy part (yet).

But Harry is a mirror—not just because he contains part of Voldemort’s soul, but also because he’s the only one bold enough to stand up to him. Basically, through Harry, Voldemort is slowly being forced into a situation where he has to confront his own humanity and start actually learning empathy. But I don’t wanna say too much, so I’ll stop now :)

[siriuslysmoking]

eeeeeee ok so i’ve been reading a lot of ur stuff and i was wondering if u could write more blaise stuff?? maybe smut if ur comfortable but really whatever is fine. ty!!

Tied Together

Summary: After Voldemort had won the war, everything felt uneasy, being forced into a marriage wasn't in the plan, but after a war, nothing goes according to it.

Pairing: Blaise Zabini x Reader

Word Count: 6.2k

Warning: Smut, breeding kink, pet names, forced marriage, name calling.], so many words, the summary sucks ASS, not edited cause I worked an 8 hr shift before I wrote this.

A/N: OFC BABES!! I spent all day trying to figure out what to write about! A classic trope with my own spin to it! This is a long one so buckle in.

Graduation was supposed to be exciting—a milestone filled with relief and hope. But instead, you sit stiffly at your assigned table in the Great Hall, your face carefully blank as the drone of Ministry officials announcing the newly mandated marriages fills the air. One by one, names are read aloud, paired off with cruel indifference.

You barely register the first half of the list, staring down at your clasped hands, the parchment crinkled beneath your fingertips. They go in alphabetical order, and as the names inch closer to your own, you feel your chest tighten. When they reach “X,” your name still hasn’t been called.

Then it happens.

“Blaise Zabini...” the official says, then finally it arrives, your name.

Your stomach drops.

Oh, fuck no.

Your head snaps up, unwilling to believe it, but there’s no denying the truth. Your eyes immediately find Blaise across the hall. He’s already looking at you, his sharp features unreadable save for the slight twitch in his lips—a subtle, disdainful reaction that speaks volumes.

Disgust. Of course.

After years of enduring his thinly veiled insults about your bloodline, his smirks whenever he edged you out for top marks, and the cold indifference he perfected whenever your paths crossed, this feels like the final humiliation. It could have been anyone else. Anyone. But fate—or, more likely, the twisted whims of the Ministry—had chosen Blaise Zabini.

You bite the inside of your cheek, determined not to let your emotions betray you. He, of course, looks as collected as ever, his face a mask of cool disinterest. But beneath it, you know he must be livid. No one in their right mind would want this, least of all him.

The thought offers little comfort as the reality of the situation settles over you. Graduation wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be your first step into freedom. Instead, it feels like the chains around you have only tightened.

The wedding was nothing like you’d imagined it would be.

Everything felt cold—the ancient stone walls of the ceremonial hall, the piercing stares of the pureblood guests seated behind you, and the delicate lace of your dress sticking uncomfortably to your damp skin. The enchanted candles floating above did nothing to dispel the oppressive atmosphere. Their soft glow felt harsh, illuminating every detail of this forced spectacle.

The officiant's droning voice blurred into the background as you stared straight ahead, refusing to meet Blaise Zabini’s gaze. He stood beside you, his posture perfect, his expression as unreadable as ever. If he was as horrified by this union as you were, he didn’t show it. His face was carved in cold indifference, as though this moment meant nothing to him.

You clenched your trembling hands together, the smooth lace gloves doing little to hide the anxiety coursing through you. The crowd’s eyes burned into your back, no doubt judging every move, every breath. Were they thrilled to see a half-blood like you bound to one of their own? Or were they disgusted by the pairing? You couldn’t tell, and you weren’t sure which possibility made you feel worse.

“Do you, Blaise Zabini, accept this bond as law dictates?” the officiant intoned, his voice sharp and unyielding.

There was a brief pause. You could feel Blaise shift slightly beside you.

“I do.” His voice was steady, emotionless.

The words felt like a knife, cutting away any hope you had that he might fight this, that he might object, that anyone might. But Blaise Zabini was no fool. He knew better than to challenge the Ministry.

“And do you," He spoke your name with no emotion, moving his eyes to you, "accept this bond as law dictates?”

Your throat tightened. The words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until you forced the response from your lips.

“I do.”

The officiant raised his wand, the tip glowing as he muttered the incantation that would seal your fates. You felt the magic take hold, wrapping around your wrist like an invisible shackle before fading into nothingness. It was done.

“And now,” the officiant said, a note of finality in his tone, “to seal the bond with a kiss.”

Your stomach lurched. You hadn’t forgotten this part, but you’d desperately hoped it would be skipped—maybe Blaise would refuse, or some exception would be made. But no, tradition demanded it.

Blaise turned to you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of discomfort, or perhaps resentment. He leaned down, his movements slow and precise, giving you no time to brace yourself.

The kiss was brief, a mere press of lips against yours, cold and devoid of anything resembling affection. It felt more like a command than a gesture of unity. You fought the urge to flinch, standing rigidly until he pulled away.

As you parted, your lips tingled—not from passion, but from the bitter taste of obligation. You didn’t look at him, focusing instead on the floor as the crowd offered polite, stifled applause.

Blaise offered you his arm, as tradition dictated. You hesitated, staring at it as though it were a venomous snake. But with the weight of the crowd’s gaze pressing down on you, you relented, placing your gloved hand lightly atop his. His arm was rigid, his touch devoid of warmth.

As you walked back down the aisle together, the reality of your situation began to sink in. This wasn’t a wedding—it was a sentence. A chain around your neck that tied you to someone who didn’t want you, just as much as you didn’t want him.

And yet, as you glanced up at Blaise’s perfectly composed face, you couldn’t shake the thought that, behind his mask of indifference, he might feel just as trapped as you did.

The ceremony ended in a blur of cold stares and stifled applause. You and Blaise were whisked away to the government-mandated home—a pristine, lifeless manor nestled in the countryside. The house was grand and silent, its dark wood floors creaking underfoot, the high ceilings echoing every sound. The Ministry had spared no expense, making sure it was a perfect symbol of your forced union. But inside, the house felt empty, lifeless, like a cage waiting to trap you both.

The silence between you grew, stretching on for weeks. Blaise rarely spoke, his evenings spent reading by the fire or writing letters, while you kept yourself busy, avoiding him as best as you could. Meals were quiet, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware, your eyes avoiding each other at all costs. It was easier that way—no need to pretend things were normal when they were anything but.

But then, Blaise started to notice something.

You’d begun slipping out after dinner, your footsteps quiet on the wooden floors. At first, he didn’t think much of it, chalking it up to your desire for space. But after several nights, he grew curious. The rules were clear: infidelity, whether real or merely suspected, could be disastrous for both of you. He couldn’t afford for that to happen.

One night, he decided to follow you.

He trailed quietly behind you as you made your way out into the darkened streets, your silhouette framed by the flickering light of nearby lanterns. He kept a careful distance, just enough to not alert you, but close enough to see your every move. You stopped outside a small, hidden entrance, casting a quiet unlocking charm. Blaise hid behind a nearby wall, watching as you entered the building.

Inside, you were with a group of Muggle-borns—children, huddled together in fear. He saw you hand them food, speaking to them in soft, urgent tones. His chest tightened as he realized the danger you were putting yourself in. This wasn’t just reckless; it was beyond dangerous. If anyone found out, it wouldn’t just be you who suffered. He clenched his fists, his mind racing with thoughts of what could happen if this was exposed.

But he didn’t intervene. Instead, he silently backed away, leaving the scene without a word.

The next morning, Blaise said nothing. It would be easier that way. But something lingered in the air between you both—a silent acknowledgment that there was more to this union than either of you had anticipated.

The evening had dragged on longer than you'd anticipated, and with each passing minute, the weight of the silence between you and Blaise seemed to grow heavier. He’d been quiet for the most part, which was unusual for him, but you could feel his presence like a shadow at the edge of the room. You couldn’t focus on the book in your lap any longer, so you closed it with a soft snap and glanced at Blaise, who was lounging on the armrest of a chair, one leg hanging casually over the side, his eyes glinting with that signature arrogance.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” you said, trying to break the oppressive silence.

Blaise didn't look at you at first, his gaze still lazily fixed on the flickering fire. “Just trying to enjoy the peace and quiet, Mrs. Zabini.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, and you could practically hear the mocking smile in his words.

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to dignify the title with a response. "You know, it’s not that hard to act like a human being once in a while."

Blaise’s head tilted just slightly, and you could tell he was assessing you. “Oh? You’re one to talk. You’ve spent more time hiding in this room than doing anything remotely… social.” He smirked at you, the usual edge in his voice.

“I don’t need your commentary, Blaise,” you shot back, crossing your arms tightly. “I’m just fine without it.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your defensive tone. “Are you?” he asked, pushing himself off the armrest and taking a few steps toward you. “You don’t seem all that fine. Actually, you look more… miserable than usual.”

You stood up quickly, throwing the book on the nearby chair in frustration. "I’m perfectly fine, thanks for asking,” you bit out, voice sharp. “Not that I expect you to understand anything about personal space.”

He took another step forward, his eyes gleaming with that mix of amusement and challenge you were starting to despise. “Personal space?” He laughed, but it wasn’t a friendly sound—it was mocking, dismissive. “Are you really going to pretend like you’re not just avoiding me? You think I haven’t noticed?” He leaned in just a fraction, his face now inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re hiding, and it’s pathetic.”

You pushed him away, more out of irritation than actual force, but he didn’t budge. “I’m not hiding. I’m just... trying to deal with everything without tearing my hair out.”

He leaned back slightly, his posture still relaxed, but his gaze never wavered. “You’re so dramatic. It’s not like you’re the only one stuck in this mess.”

The words hit harder than you expected. “Don’t pretend like you’re not enjoying this,” you said, your voice lower, eyes narrowing. “I know you, Blaise. You thrive on this power.”

Blaise chuckled darkly, his lips curling into a smirk. “What, you think I enjoy being shackled to you? Please.” He stepped back, just enough to give you some space, but the mocking look never left his face. “You’re the one who can’t handle the fact that you’re stuck here with me, and it’s funny to watch.”

Your eyes flashed with anger, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped, “Funny? You think I’m enjoying this too? It’s not a bloody game, Blaise. I have other things to do, but no, instead, I’m stuck here with you and your... smug face. Every damn day.”

Blaise’s expression darkened slightly, but he quickly masked it with another smirk. “Is that so? You don’t like being stuck with me? I guess that’s a shame. I was just beginning to think maybe we weren’t so different after all.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered, turning away from him as you grabbed the book off the chair again, though you had no intention of reading it. You just needed something to hold on to, something to distract yourself from the tension in the room.

But Blaise wasn’t done yet. He followed you, close enough that you could feel his presence like a weight on your back. “You know, if you weren’t so hell-bent on hating me, we might actually get along,” he teased, his voice low, almost too calm. “But no, you’ve got this chip on your shoulder, don’t you? I can’t imagine why.”

You spun around, finally losing your patience. “Maybe I have a chip on my shoulder because you have been the biggest pain in my arse for the past several years. You think I’m just supposed to sit here and pretend like everything’s fine?”

Blaise smirked, his posture still languid as he leaned against the doorframe, eyes flicking lazily over you. “You’ve got a temper, don’t you? I like it.”

Your jaw clenched, and you resisted the urge to lash out at him physically. Instead, you just glared at him. “What do you want, Zabini?”

He raised both hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never left his lips. “Nothing at all. I’m just trying to figure you out, that’s all. You’re so... prickly, it’s almost charming.” He looked at you as if you were some kind of puzzle to solve, his gaze calculating but with an edge of amusement.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable. I’m not one of your little games, Blaise.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you two, thick with the unspoken tension. Then, with one last glance, Blaise straightened and pushed off the doorframe, his lips still twitching with a smirk.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said, turning to leave, but his words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. “You’ll get used to it, eventually.”

You stood there, fists clenched, watching him leave, knowing that every word he said stung a little more than you wanted to admit.

The ballroom was grand, the air thick with perfume and whispers, swirling with the clinking of glasses and the soft shuffle of shoes against polished floors. You stood at the edge, feeling every bit the outsider in this glittering sea of purebloods, all dressed in their finest, exchanging polite smiles and subtle glances.

And then there was Blaise Zabini.

He moved through the crowd like a shadow, effortlessly commanding attention. His dark suit seemed tailor-made for him, perfectly fitting, and yet somehow, he managed to look entirely unbothered by the extravagance of the event. He caught sight of you standing alone near the columns, and, after a moment’s hesitation, he sauntered over, a slight smirk on his lips.

“Enjoying yourself, love?” he asked, his voice low and laced with mockery. His dark eyes glinted, a subtle challenge in his gaze as he came to stand beside you.

You shot him a withering look. “Oh, absolutely,” you replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve always dreamed of this—trapped in a room full of people who wouldn’t spit on me if I were on fire.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your response. He leaned closer, just enough for his breath to tickle your ear. “Careful, darling. Someone might think you’re not as happy to be here as you should be.”

You stiffened, your jaw tightening. You hated how he seemed to know exactly how to needle you. “And why would that be, Blaise? You think I’m thrilled to be married to you?”

His smirk widened. “I can’t imagine why not. I’m quite the catch.” He spun on his heel, eyes scanning the room as if seeking someone else’s attention. “But I suppose you’d prefer to be alone, wouldn’t you? No one to witness your charming temper or—”

"Why don’t you keep that smug mouth shut for once?" you snapped, your patience thinning. "You’ve been making my life miserable for years, and I’m just supposed to stand here and pretend like everything’s fine?"

Blaise’s lips quirked upward again, clearly enjoying the moment. “Oh, I’m not making you miserable. You’re doing that all on your own, darling.”

A tight laugh escaped you. “How generous of you.”

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “It’s true, you know. You’ve always been a bit of a walking disaster, haven’t you?”

“Right,” you said, cutting him off before he could continue. “And I suppose I should thank you for pointing that out. Because nothing says ‘I love you’ quite like constant criticism.”

Blaise glanced down at his watch, as if toying with the idea of leaving. "Perhaps you should take a walk with me, then. Just to show me how 'miserable' you are," he said, his voice suddenly softer, but the teasing edge never quite leaving it.

You narrowed your eyes, unsure of his intention. "I’m sure I’d rather chew glass, but thank you for the offer."

He chuckled, clearly unbothered by your sarcasm. “You know, it’s almost cute how you think you have any control in this marriage."

“Control?” you scoffed. “You think I have control over this—this farce?” You looked around the room, where the pureblood elite swirled around you, pretending to be so important, so dignified. You leaned in slightly, keeping your voice low. “You’re just as stuck here as I am. So don’t act like you’re above me.”

Blaise studied you for a moment, his dark eyes piercing. “Oh, I’m not above you. But I know one thing,” he said, his voice a little quieter now. “You’re just as trapped as I am, and no amount of pretending will change that.”

You held his gaze, anger and something else bubbling just beneath the surface. “You’re right,” you muttered, swallowing hard. “But at least I’m not pretending to enjoy it.”

Blaise smirked again, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Oh, I’m enjoying it just fine.”

Before you could snap back, the music shifted, signaling a new dance. Blaise extended his hand to you, his fingers elegantly poised, his expression unreadable.

"Shall we?" he asked, his voice low and purposeful.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing around the ballroom. The gaze of everyone in the room felt oppressive, their judgment hovering just over your shoulder. Finally, you sighed, taking his hand begrudgingly.

The moment your hand touched his, you felt the shift in the air. It wasn’t the soft, graceful kind of dance you were used to; no, this was more like a carefully calculated battle. He led you into the center of the floor, his steps sure and steady, as you struggled to keep up with the quick pace he set.

“Not so good at this, are you?” Blaise teased, his lips curling into a smile that bordered on cruel. “I thought you were supposed to be the top student.”

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to focus on the steps, trying to ignore the way his hand on your waist felt far too possessive. “I don’t see you dancing with anyone else, Zabini. So, what’s your excuse?”

“Oh, I have many,” he replied with a smirk, twirling you just a little too sharply, making you stumble for a moment before you regained your balance. “I think it’s just funny how you always act like you’re in control.”

“I am in control,” you snapped, meeting his gaze with as much venom as you could muster.

“Prove it,” he murmured, pulling you a little closer, his hand slipping just a little too low on your back. The move was calculated, deliberate, meant to make you uncomfortable. You couldn’t deny the rush of irritation that swirled through you, and the way your heart sped up—not from desire, but from the sheer frustration of being so close to him.

The music swirled around you, the other couples gliding effortlessly, while you and Blaise stumbled through every step, each move filled with tension and hostility.

“You know,” Blaise said with that infuriating smirk, “if you spent as much time trying to enjoy yourself as you do trying to be miserable, this wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad,” you retorted, voice tight, “if you weren’t so insufferable.”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You’ll get used to me. You’re already halfway there, I can tell.”

You shivered, unwilling to admit he might be right. The dance continued—awkward, tense, filled with barely contained animosity, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew he was right.

As much as you hated it, you and Blaise were in this together. And no amount of mean teasing or cold shoulders would change that.

The dinner at the Zabini estate had begun like any other—polished silver gleaming under the soft light, crystal glasses catching the flicker of candle flames. You sat at the long, elegantly set table, Blaise beside you, his mother across, smiling as if she had rehearsed this moment in her mind for weeks. There was a quiet anticipation in the air, and you could feel it, even if nothing had been said yet.

Blaise’s mother—always so poised and calculating—wasn't one for pleasantries when it came to matters that truly mattered. She had a way of making the most innocuous conversations feel like high-stakes negotiations. Tonight, though, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that this dinner was meant for more than just food and idle chatter.

Finally, after a few rounds of safe topics—politics, the harvest, and the state of the family business—she cleared her throat, setting her glass down carefully.

“I trust you both are well,” she began, her tone a bit too casual, almost as if testing the waters. “But there’s something we must discuss. It’s time we talk about the future, about the next generation.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Blaise, but his expression remained unreadable, as always. His mother had been hinting at this conversation for months, and you had a sinking feeling you knew where it was heading.

Her voice softened as she continued, a subtle but deliberate note of authority in her words. “As you know, the Zabini family is quite… traditional in some ways. One of those traditions, which we hold in the highest regard, is the continuation of our bloodline.”

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck rise. You could feel Blaise stiffen beside you, and the air in the room shifted, thick with the weight of what she was about to say.

“By law,” she continued, her eyes locking onto yours, “every couple of noble standing is required to have at least one child. It is not simply a preference. It’s a requirement.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had been prepared for this, but the weight of her words hit you harder than you expected.

Blaise’s mother leaned back in her chair, watching you closely. “It’s the law of the land now. For families of status, it is a non-negotiable expectation. The bloodline must be preserved. It is your duty as a couple, as future heads of your respective houses, to ensure the continuation of that legacy.”

You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks. The idea that you—both of you—were being forced into such a decision was infuriating, and yet, you knew it was coming. This wasn’t just a suggestion. This was an ultimatum.

“I’m not having a child,” you said, your voice cool but steady, every word sharp with defiance. You looked at Blaise for support, but his expression remained unreadable. You could feel the tension building between you and his mother, but you refused to look away.

His mother’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it seemed to tighten, like a mask slipping into something more calculated.

“You misunderstand,” she said, her voice smooth but sharp. “This is not a choice, darling. The law is quite clear. You will have one child. You are obligated to, for the good of both families.”

Blaise shifted uncomfortably beside you, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t speak. His mother was an immovable force, and he was used to navigating these conversations. You, however, had never been good at swallowing injustice.

“You can’t force us to have a child,” you said firmly, trying to keep your voice steady. “This world is a prison. We can’t bring a life into it, not when it’s nothing but a chain around its neck. Not when—” you broke off, your voice rising in frustration. “This is insane.”

His mother’s smile remained, but the edge in her eyes darkened. “The law is the law,” she said, her tone final. “It is non-negotiable. And let’s be clear: failure to comply with the law has consequences. I’m sure you understand the weight of those consequences, dear.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. The truth was clear. Refusing to comply with the law meant more than just a personal choice—it meant rebellion. It meant a loss of status, a severing of ties with everything you had ever known. The weight of it pressed down on your chest, but your resolve didn’t waver.

“I’m not going to be forced into this,” you replied, trying to ignore the heavy thrum of your pulse in your ears. “I won’t be part of a system that treats life like a commodity.”

Her gaze never wavered, cold and calculating. “You may think you have a choice now,” she said quietly, her words like ice, “but soon you’ll realize there is no escaping this. Not for you. Not for Blaise.”

You turned to him, finally meeting his eyes, searching for some sign of agreement, some flicker of support. But he only looked tired, resigned. He knew the stakes, perhaps better than anyone.

“You don’t have to agree with it,” his mother continued, her smile returning, sharp as ever. “But you will comply. It’s for the family, for the legacy. For the future.”

The silence stretched for a long moment before Blaise spoke, his voice low. “We’ll do what we have to.”

But even as he said it, the bitterness hung in the air, heavy with the understanding that, in the end, there was no real choice. There was no escape. And as much as you wanted to fight it, you knew it wasn’t a battle you could win.

The law was clear. You would have to have a child. There was no way around it.

And the thought of it made your stomach churn.

When you both arrive at the house it feels cold, even with the fire lit it still doesn't feel like a home. You go to head to your seperate room, but you stop in the middle of the staircase. "We'll do what we have to do?"

You turn to look at him as he takes his coat off, "What did you want me to say?"

"I didn't want to speak for me." You huff, walking back down the stairs meeting him in the middle of the foyer.

"You are my wife, I am your husband, we speak for each other." He shakes his head, it feels almost demeaning.

"You do not speak for me."

"So what you want to get locked up? Them to make us have a child?"

"I'm not scared of them."

"You should be." He speaks softly, "I am. You don't know what they're capable of."

"I know! You think I don't! They killed my friends, forced me into marrying you under the threat of death!" You raise your voice.

"That's just the fucking start." He rubs his hands on the back of his neck. "Listen, I may not like you as much as I should with you being my wife and all, but that doesn't mean I want you to die."

"God, that's the sweetest thing someone has ever said to me." You roll your eyes. You turn to move back up the stairs.

"Where are you going? We're not done with this conversation." He follows you up the stairs.

"What you want, getting it over with." You enter your room as he still follows you. You start unzipping your dress, he makes a noise and you see him turn around.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He looks towards the door.

"You're gonna get me pregnant, so we don't die or whatever."

"Not like this." He sighs, holding his head in his hands.

"Jeez, Zabini, never seen a girl naked before?"

He just lets out a laugh, shaking his head. "Turn around." He shakes his head. You take a step towards him, your hands on his shoulders, "Blaise, look at me."

He reluctantly turns around, when he faces you he tries to keep his eyes on your face but he can't help but let his gaze trace your frame. You stand there only in your underwear, totally vulnerable in front of him. "This is doing what he have to do, Blaise."

You move your hand to his jaw, to guide his eyes back to your own. "This can't be why we do it."

"Then think of something else, someone else, it doesn't matter." You shrug, even through the thought of him thinking of someone else is gut wrenching to you.

"I can't." His plead sounds so desperate, so light. Suddenly you think you've crossed a line, something you can never come back from. You move back but his hands shoot back to you, holding your waist, pushing your body against his. "I can't think of anyone but the person I really want."

"Wha-" You go to speak, but he pulls you in for a bruising kiss.

He lifts you up in his arms, turning around so he can hold you up against the door. You start to unbutton his shirt as he moves his thumb back and forth on the back of your thighs. He turns around and crawls on his knees up the bed with you still in his arms, he sets you down softly, and crawls down your body with his lips.

"Fuck, you're beautiful." He murmurs into your skin, you groan and push your body into his lips. "Get it over with, my fucking ass. Imma take my time with you."

"Try not to take too long?"

"Oh? Are you feeling needy today?"

"Use your mouth for something better than talking." You grab the back of his neck and pull his back up to your lips. He laughs into you are he slowly- too slowly, taking off his clothes. "Blaise, I swear if you don't do something I will kick you out of my room."

He chuckles again and releases his cock out of the confines of his pants, "Already ready for me, Darlin? Such a good girl."

You moan into his mouth as you feel the tip of his cock toy with your entrance. You buck your hips in the air, making it slip into you even more, "You greedy lil' thing, huh?"

"Zabini." You growl, looking at him with heavy eyes.

"Yes?" He smirks up at you.

"Shut your mouth." You grab his jaw tightly.

"As you wish, princess."

He enters you with a force and a groan, you just lay there and feel every single inch, every single vein and curve. He sits inside of you without moving, letting you settle, but you decide that he's taking too long and you flip yourself over so you're sitting on top of him.

Blaise throws his head back at the site of you, you place your hands on his stomach as he places his on your hips, guiding you back and forth in a rocking motion. He leans up and puts his chest up to your front as he starts to whisper encouraging words in your ear, feeling you up and down, grabbing your ass, helping you move.

"Let go f'me, sweetheart." He sounds drunk on you, as you can. feel him letting go. "Gonna put a baby in you."

"Fuck, do it." You rest your head on his shoulder, kissing his neck. You feel his release inside of you and you finally let yourself go as well.

You both fall to your backs as Blaise uses his shirt to clean you up. Once he settles back into bed he finally speaks, "Wanna talk about it?"

"Tomorrow, I'm tired." Your falling asleep on his chest and he's completely content with that in this moment.

When Blaise wakes up he moves his arm to feel your body but all he feels a cold sheet next to him. He gets up and puts on his underwear to walk down to the kitchen, figuring you'd be there. Only to see dishes in the sink and an empty house. He knocks on the bathroom door, looking for you.

He turns the entire house upside down, looking for you, but with no luck he doesn't find you anywhere. He decides that maybe you went somewhere and forgot to leave him a note. He makes breakfast for himself, but there's a bad feeling in his gut, but he knows it's probably all in his head.

But when the clock turns to noon, then to three... when the sun goes down is when Blaise finally lets himself worry, he writes letters to everyone he knows. His last resort is those Muggles in town, when no one knows where you are he heads to the abandoned house. He doesn't know the incantation so he just desperately knocks, when he receives no answer, he heads pathetically back home.

On his walk back home he notices a tray of food on the ground. Then the bad feeling finally lands, something is wrong, something is so wrong.

When he arrives back home after looking all over the streets and alleys he finally walks inside to see a brown owl set on a perch.

He knows the code name, Draco and him have been using it for months, passing information back and forth from the ministry, keeping each other in the know.

He grab anything, he drops the letter and runs to the floo network.

He arrives at the Ministry after a sickening trip. He walks fast, but not too fast to be suspicious.

Blaise works his way to the elevator only to find a familiar face when he walks in. Rodolphus Lestrange sends him a sneer. Ever since the Zabini’s decided to be a neutral party during the war they don’t have too many friendly faces in the ministry.

“What brings you here, Zabini.” Rodolphus sounds accusing.

He doesn’t speak too quickly, not wanting to raise suspicion. “"I’m looking into some old family records in the Department of Magical Transportation. Family business, you understand, I’m sure."

“I do.” The rest of the ride is silent, just sneaky glances from Rodolphus to Blaise, he can tell the man doesn’t believe him, but at this moment he doesn’t care.

Once it lands on Rodolphus’ stop and the man slowly exits, Blaise can finally let out a breath.

He tries to calm his breathing as he walks out on level 2, Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Blasie makes his way down a long, cold, dark hallway, trying to walk like he belongs here, which he absolutely does not. After turning a corner he sees one of the only friendly faces here.

"I can't go in with you." Blaise understands why Draco can't help him, he's already doing too much, he's jeopardizing so much just by letting him in. Blaise nods, giving him a look of gratitude. "78."

After opening the door, Draco walks the opposite direction of the door.

Blaise feels like he's walking for years, one number after another.

75...

76...

77...

78, he finally sees the number he's looking for. He tries to hear through the door, but he knows it would be no use. He just opens the door and what his eyes spot is something he couldn't even imagine. You are shackled from the ceiling, almost unconscious, he would think you were dead if he didn't here your laboured breathing.

His hands start to shake as he approaches you, he speaks your name softly, You try to lift your head, trying to look at him, but you can't smother the energy to do so. "I'm getting you out of here."

But he didn't think of a plan, he has no idea how he's going to do that

He uses the only spell he can think of to get the shackles off of you wrists, then he grabs you, wrapping your body around him. When he walks you out the door he hears echoing footsteps coming from behind him.

Instead of going the way he came he moves the other way, away from the entrance. He walks faster and faster as the footsteps get closer. He finds an office and hurriedly hides in there. God, luck is on his side today. There's a floo network in the office, he hurriedly floos back to your house, but he knows neither of you are safe there.

When he gets back to your house, he sees someone he hasn't seen in years sitting on his couch. Hermione Granger meets his eyes, "Granger, wha-"

"Draco sent me, I have a safe house for you." She stands and walks over to you both.

"I don't understand." Blaise shakes his head, looking to you.

"It's time you finally meet The Resistance."

-

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Reblogs and Likes are appreciated

[marixrose]

♤𝐘𝐀𝐍!𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐱 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ♧

Warnings: Obsessive behavior, Yandere thoughts & actions, bad writing

>> Headcanons <<

Yan!Tom Riddle followed you around Hogwarts like a dog since first year, he found you intriguing and he wanted to know every little thing there was to know about you.

Yan!Tom Riddle wrote in his diary about you, everything about you. Your favorite food, color, scent, class, etc. He had your birthday, a list of all your close friends, your schedule all at his disposal.

You were friends with Yan!Tom Riddle but were unaware with his obsession with you.

You were in the same year as Yan!Tom Riddle and were both in Slytherin house.

Yan!Tom Riddle sneaks little gifts for you either under/at your door, but he never writes his name so you don't know who the gifts are from.

Yan!Tom Riddle forces you to go to the Yule Ball with him, he doesn't take no for an answer.

Yan!Tom Riddle will privately talk to any boy/girl who he thinks will get in his way. He won't hesiatate to fight someone for looking at you. Some of them even end up missing, believed to have ran away. We all know they didn't.

Yan!Tom Riddle holds your hand, plays with your hair, and things like that- even when you two aren't "official".

Yan!Tom Riddle will ask you to be his girlfriend/boyfriend/partner on your 16th birthday, and believe me, there is no saying "no".

Yan!Tom Riddle once you two are officially together, he becomes more obessive. He has to know where you are, where you're going, who you're with, what time you'll be back. Sometimes (most times) he follows you and justifies is as "I was just trying to protect you."

Yan!Tom Riddle will give you necklace and rings that secretly have trackers and certain love smells to ensure you don't fall out of love with him, if you ever were truly in love with him is a mystery.

Once Yan!Tom Riddle notices you getting worried about his actions and you trying to escape, he hides you in the chamber of secrets and has you chained to the wall.

Yan!Tom Riddle only brings water and food once/twice a day. He makes sure to brings books and games to make sure his darling doesn't grow bored.

Yan!Tom Riddle places cures and spells on the chamber of secrets making it sound proof, and basically unfindable by anyone but him.

Yan!Tom Riddle knows he crazy, but he couldn't care less.

© Mariaxrose everything is written by me and should not be rewritten or sold

[capriddle]

Basically canon. I also think he's afraid of sleeping because he's afraid of never waking up, not just that they might hurt him. With Bellatrix this fear goes away because he knows she would protect him from everything and everyone.

I have a headcanon in which Tom Riddle struggles with insomnia and harbors a deep resentment toward his need for sleep and nourishment, perceiving them as vulnerabilities. His fear of being defenseless while asleep leads to intense paranoia, as he worries that someone could invade his space and harm him. Over the years, his body adapts to this sleep deprivation, rendering it a tolerable state for him.

However, everything changes when he meets Bellatrix. As their relationship deepens, he allows her into his room for intimate moments, yet he steadfastly refuses to sleep, preferring to read or strategize while she rests. As their emotional connection grows, he gradually becomes more comfortable with her presence. One fateful night, after they share a passionate encounter, he inadvertently falls asleep beside her. Upon waking, he is alarmed and withdraws from Bellatrix for a time, grappling with the realization of how careless he was to allow himself to be vulnerable next to someone who could potentially harm him.

Yet, deep down, he knows she wouldn’t betray him, and this understanding deepens day by day. As they resume their intimacy, Tom begins to trust her more. He allows himself to sleep next to her, finding solace in her gentle caresses and the soothing sound of her voice. He even permits her to play with his hair, waking up with it tousled in every direction. While he pretends to be annoyed, he secretly enjoys her playful affection and allows her to do it every time they share a bed. Over time, Bellatrix spends each night in his room, and Tom finds himself sleeping soundly for hours in her arms, finally experiencing the safety he had long been denied.