Tempting fate||Tom Riddle

The shadows in the Slytherin common room danced across the stone walls, flickering with the low fire crackling in the hearth. Bella sat curled on the emerald velvet couch, staring blankly at the flames, a blanket draped around her shoulders like armor.

She hadn't said a word since Tom hexed Caspian.

She hadn't cried either.

But her silence was louder than any scream.

Across from her, Tom leaned forward in a high-backed chair, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. Watching her.

Always watching her.

She could feel the heat of his gaze like hands across her skin.

"You should sleep," he said finally, voice low and sharp-edged. "Your mind won't calm down if you just sit there reliving it."

"I'm not," Bella whispered.

He arched a brow.

"I'm not reliving it," she repeated. "I'm thinking about what would've happened if you hadn't been there."

A beat passed.

Tom's jaw clenched.

He stood in one fluid motion and crossed the room toward her. The blanket slid off her shoulder when he pulled it aside and sat next to her, too close.

She could smell the faint trace of magic on his skin, sharp and metallic, like ozone after lightning.

"He wouldn't have gotten far," Tom murmured.

"But he still touched me."

"I should've killed him," he said, deadpan.

"No," Bella replied quickly, placing a hand on his chest as if to stop him from rising again. "No... what you did was enough."

Tom looked down at her hand.

Then, very slowly, he placed his own over it. His fingers were longer, cooler, but they wrapped around hers with surprising care.

"You're shaking."

"I know."

He didn't move.

"Come with me," he said.

"Where?"

"My room."

Bella blinked. "What?"

"You need sleep," he said. "And you're not staying here by yourself."

"I have a dorm."

"With three other girls who'll ask questions. Who'll make noise. Who'll touch you."

His voice was so sharp on that last word that it made her flinch.

"I'm not sleeping in your bed," she said.

Tom tilted his head, his lips curving slightly. "Then I'll sleep on the floor. But you're not leaving my sight tonight."

The stubbornness in his voice told her arguing would be useless.

So she nodded.

Tom's room was colder than she expected.

It was hidden in the far reaches of the dungeons—more private than any Head Boy's quarters, accessible only by a password that she didn't dare ask for. His walls were lined with books in multiple languages, some titles etched in silver and some in runes she couldn't read. A serpent-shaped candleholder burned green wax on the desk. There was no clutter. Nothing warm.

Except him.

He conjured a fire in the corner and brought a blanket from his wardrobe, laying it across the foot of the bed.