Lost | Tom Riddle ✔

The vast, echoing silence of the Hogwarts library was usually a sanctuary for Tom Riddle. Not today. Frustration gnawed at him as he raked a hand through his dark hair, his eyes scanning rows of dusty tomes. Thirty minutes wasted on a futile search for a Divination textbook, a subject he despised but needed for an assignment.

His gaze fell upon a copy of the very book he sought, resting innocently on a table. It was occupied, however, by a girl whose back was to him, her midnight bangs obscuring her face as she furiously scribbled on parchment. Annoyance flickered in his dark eyes; he was Tom Riddle, a fifth-year Prefect of Slytherin, and accustomed to deference.

He circled the table, stopping directly in front of her. Her head remained bowed, oblivious, or perhaps, deliberately ignoring him. He cleared his throat. No response. His patience, already thin, snapped. Was she truly so engrossed, or was this a deliberate slight? A dangerous glint entered his eyes. He reached for the book.

Before his fingers could close around it, a pale hand landed firmly on his. "I am sorry, but I am using this book," a soft, hushed voice said, small as she was. She still didn't look up, her posture unwavering. Tom’s jaw tightened. She knew he was there. She had ignored him. His dark chocolate eyes narrowed, a challenge silently issued. Who dared to ignore Tom Riddle?