Harry Potter x Male reader one shots

Tom riddle x male reader

To avoid any confusion, I've opted to use "Y/N" as a placeholder for your name instead of leaving a blank space. With that clarified, let's continue with the story!

"Y/n!" Tom shouting from the distance. "What do you want Tom?" You said Shouting back. In an instant, Tom sprang into action, propelling himself toward you, that caught you off guard. "Oh, for the love of Merlin," you muttered under your breath Without a moment's hesitation, you pivoted on your heel and darted away, your heart racing as your feet pounded against the ground. "Y/n, come back!" Tom's voice echoed, growing closer as he sped up. "He's catching up," you thought, huffing as you pushed yourself harder. "Y/n," Tom's breathless voice called, but eventually, he stopped. "What on earth is the meaning of this?" Tom's voice cut through the air, laced with frustration and anger. His finger pointing at a drawing. "Oh, who did that? It wasn't me," you giggled, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Tom's gaze turned serious. "Y/N, you realize this could ruin my reputation?" he said, his tone a mixture of concern and frustration. "Come on, it's not that big of a deal," you replied, your gaze fixed on the drawing. "Y/N, I'm dead serious," Tom's grip on your face tightened as he locked eyes with you. "Alright, I'll remove it," you sighed, an eye-roll accompanying your agreement. With determination, you crumpled the drawing, tossing it aside and heading in the opposite direction. "Gosh, what a hassle," you muttered, frustration lacing your voice.
"Transfiguration class is that way," Tom pointed out, a hint of exasperation in his voice as he approached you. "I walked right past it. Thanks to you, I'm going to be late," you grumbled, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction. "How did you even know I'm in this class?" you questioned, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"We share the same class, remember?" Tom's tone dripped with sarcasm, his voice then shifting. "Honestly, it's rather pathetic," he added, his gaze sweeping over you with a mix of amusement and mock judgment. Your tie's completely out of place," he commented casually before heading towards the Transfiguration class. "Seriously?" Your incredulous shout echoed, well aware that he had heard you loud and clear. Tom's lips curved into a smirk in response, a silent acknowledgement of your frustration.

"Mr. L/n, why are you late?" Professor McGonagall inquired, her tone firm. "Fifty points deducted," she declared, unwavering in her decision. "What? No way, why?" you protested, taken aback by the swift penalty.

"Don't argue with me. Go take a seat next to Tom," she directed, leaving no room for further discussion. Making your way towards him, you settled into the seat beside him, the upcoming lesson was incredibly boring. Your engagement in the class was minimal, merely jotting down a few notes while Tom captured every detail conveyed by Professor McGonagall It was like he had a magical quill that never ran out of ink.

"This class is super boring. I'm so over it," you grumbled to yourself, a pout evident in your voice. Tapping your pencil against the desk, you couldn't help but express your frustration with the lesson. While Professor McGonagall went on about something, your mind started to drift away.

Out of nowhere, the professor's eyes seemed to lock onto you, and she asked for a demonstration. Your face turned as red as a tomato as embarrassment flooded in. You squirmed in your seat, struggling to come up with an answer, your heart pounding like crazy.

Tom's smug face only made things worse. He was practically beaming, and it felt like he was teasing you without even saying a word. It gave you chill along the spine you wished for the lesson to end.

"Alright, class, this is a prime example of why paying attention is imperative, unlike Mr. L/n. Let us proceed," Professor McGonagall resumed, her words a reminder of your current predicament. As you felt utterly bored, you rested your head on the table, the monotony of the lesson stifling.

Glimpsing at Tom's notes, you were reminded of your own lack of participation. Tired of the lesson, you decided to doodle on the table's surface. Tom, however, wasn't oblivious to your actions. "You can't do that," he warned, his gaze fixed intently on you. In a mumble, you retorted, "Why not? It's not like you can stop me."

When Professor McGonagall was assisting another student, Tom seized the moment, placing your hand atop his own. "What are you up to?" you hissed, bewildered by his actions. His response was a simple explanation, "I'm holding your hand so you won't continue your table-doodling escapade."

"Let me go," you whispered, attempting to wrest your hand from his grip, which proved surprisingly strong. With a begrudging sigh, you conceded, "Fine," your annoyance evident. Tom's hold on your hand finally released as the lesson concluded. "Finally," you muttered, directing your exasperation towards Tom as you turned to face him.