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Tom Riddle was absolutely besotted with you. It was a depth of feeling no one had thought him capable of. He, himself, had always believed a feeling like this was not destined for him. Even in childhood, he had been sure he would never be weak enough for such frivolous emotions, that he would never notice the fairer sex the way some of his older peers did. But on that Hogsmeade trip in third year, with you in that lovely dress, he had noticed you. Not only noticed you, but felt you deep in his chest, where he’d never felt anything, as you had playfully reminded him that you’d bested him in the recent charms exam. He had wanted to find you annoying, but all he could do was feel almost dizzy. Nothing had been the same since.
These feelings were something you had never been privy to. You had long thought you meant fairly little to him. Sure, the two of you had slept together a few times throughout sixth and seventh year, but it had never been obvious to you how serious it was. You assumed he had been sleeping with other girls at the same time, or at the very least that you were only a means to an end to him. A stress relief to allow him to focus on his studies more completely, a little fun between his endless Head Boy patrols. He had never said he loved you, never taken you on a date, you’d be forgiven for not knowing what he’d been feeling all along.
After graduation, he felt your absence like a black hole. He had managed to keep his dalliances with you at Hogwarts to a minimum, in an attempt to prevent exactly this. The endless ache for your presence. He had only managed this by constantly staring at you, fantasising, reminiscing. But now you weren’t there and he was beginning to forget the details of your face, the routine of your sex. Yet he had a reputation to upkeep, a strength and lack of indulgence he was known for. He was disciplined, above the needs of the heart or the flesh. The moment he came up with an excuse to send for you, he did.
Him and his Knights had now moved into a large manor, taken over by disposing of the old muggle man who used to call the place home. Riddle had never grown up in decadence. The large master suite he had to himself, the house elves at his disposal, it was all odd. Intoxicating. In the spirit of ruthlessly taking whatever he wanted, he had sent for you. As far as his Knights knew, he merely wanted you there to be at his ‘disposal’, a plaything. They seemed amused by the idea, thinking how in his position they would do the same. He resented some of their comments, but played along, unwilling to reveal the excitement gathering in his chest at the thought of seeing you once more.
Although the invite was a little odd, you packed up your things and moved into the manor. Riddle set you up in the room beside his, having an adjoining door quickly installed for ease of access. He seemed very pleased to have you there, but tried his best to seem aloof. Each evening after he finished his various strategising tasks, hearing the progress his Knights had made in recruitment, he would rush to his room to have you. Often you would let yourself into his room, laying on his bed in a little negligee set he had gotten for you to wait for him. He wasn’t able to hide the adoration in his eyes when he would find you there.
Now with access to the means, Riddle took pleasure in offering you the finer things in life. Pretty things like clothes or jewellery. Perhaps perfume, books or whatever else you fancied. Whenever you commented that you wanted something, he would roll his eyes, saying you were greedy, spoiled, that you ought to be grateful for what you had. Yet the next day, you would find a box wrapped in a ribbon at the end of your bed without fail. The label would always read ‘for the princess, TMR’. You knew he was trying to sound mocking, but it never landed when he gave in to your every whim. You always thanked him of course (mostly with your mouth), very grateful to be kept in the manner you were.
At first, you had assumed you would be kept like a glorified house pet. This was alright with you, you likely wouldn’t be any better off in an arranged marriage, which would be expected of you otherwise. Yet life with Riddle was far freer than you expected. He gave you free run of the manor, authority over the house elves and even some of his Knights. Anyone who dared insult you was made an example of swiftly, so you were begrudgingly respected wherever you went. You had access to his library, to all his notes on his plans, access which was granted to no one else. He encouraged you to read and pursue your interests, saying it was much more interesting to converse with you each evening when you actually had something of substance to tell him, but really he just admired your drive. It was what he had always liked, what had drawn him in, that thirst for knowledge. Many times he’d even consulted you on his next best course of action, sometimes blatantly ignoring his other followers in favour of trying whatever you suggested. Most importantly, you were free to leave. He had presented you with a bag of galleons and the keys to the main gate on the day of your arrival, telling you to hide them somewhere only you knew. They were for if you ever needed to leave, he explained. At first, this gesture had confused you, but you soon realised that by offering you simple means to leave, it was more meaningful each time he woke up to you still beside him. Especially when he’d been a little difficult the previous night, which he could quite often be. You were making the choice to be there with him, which is what he wanted more than he could possibly admit to anyone.
Though it was impossible to hide his obvious affection for you, he still tried. He told his followers that he was merely indulging in you, and that you had some good ideas from time to time. Everyone in the manor knew he was soft on you, but didn’t dare to say anything, as he was not soft on anything else. His affections were an open secret.
Even alone with you, Riddle was still trying to cling to a pointless air of indifference. After sleeping together, he would usually roll over and begin to read, pretending to ignore you. You knew the truth. In his en suite was a warm bath emitting your favourite scents, a few candles nearby ever since you’d mentioned you liked the ambience. Perched nearby was a platter of your favourite fruits, the pieces cut into fancy shapes by the house elves, mostly hearts. Riddle would say this was unintentional, that he would tell the elves to stop doing the hearts, but they were always there. Once you had soaked in the bath for a little while, Riddle would enter, pretending to be merely there to wash his hands. It was a silly pretense, you weren’t sure why he still bothered with it. It was oddly endearing, this little routine he put on. He would sit by you while you bathed, having some fruit and feeding you a few pieces too. You’d learned fast not to mention it. Wrapped in your plush monogrammed robe that always hung in his en suite, you would come out to find a pyjama set laid out for you. Usually something silky and attractive, a little nightgown or a short set, whatever he was in the mood to see you in that day. Changing into them often led to a little show, which he appreciated, watching you with blatant tenderness.
Finally, you would crawl into his bed beside him and he would ‘begrudgingly’ allow it, making a show of grumbling and rolling his eyes, mentioning that you had your own room. Yet in moments, his arms would be around you, rubbing your back or stroking your hair as you discuss your days, him taking note of anything you mention wanting, even in passing. It was addicting to him to be able to offer you whatever you wanted, considering the way he had grown up, and in many ways he was perhaps overcompensating, but you hardly minded. If you were peckish, he would send for the finest foods for you, steak, caviar, whatever you craved. He watched keenly as you enjoyed your meal, allowing you to feed him a few bites if he was in a good mood. He would kiss drops of sauce off of your lips, tutting at you for being a messy eater, yet having a hint of a smile. Despite never hearing the words, you would feel in that moment the depth of feeling you had missed for all those years. And you loved him too.