Obsessive

Warning: NSFW

It took everything in Tom’s body to not lurch forward and wrap his hands around that filthy Weasley girl's neck.

Why couldn’t anyone understand that the frustratingly perfect, reckless, 6th year Gryffindor belonged with Tom? Harry Potter was everything Tom ever wanted. His tan hands were made to fit perfectly in his, and lips made to fit perfectly with his. Everything.

Plus, Tom knew everything about Harry. He knew his favorite treat was treacle tart, he hated bitter-sweet candy, and that he had a birthmark shaped as a crown on his left shoulder blade. Harry’s lucky socks he wore to Quidditch matches were red with a fox cartoon on the bottom, and Harry only used cinnamon-scented shampoo because it was the only thing that he remembered from his parents. It even said so in his journal under the far right corner of his mattress. Tom also knew that Harry owned this magnificent, deep green, silk dress shirt, which resided in the very back of his closet, that would bring out his eyes.

Nobody knew Harry like Tom did, and nobody loved Harry like he did. Tom always made sure to watch Harry every time he got the chance, like at dinner, breakfast and lunch, to make sure he was eating. Tom knew how forgetful his Harry could be at times. He also made sure to watch Harry to make sure no one was hurting him, or posed even the slightest threat, because Merlin be dammed if anyone hurt a single hair on his precious Harry’s head.

Tom’s favorite days were when Harry would look at him sometimes in the halls and give him a smile that could surely end the world, or when Harry would say a short "Hello!" to Tom on his way to class. Tom truly lived for those moments.

Tom often dreamt that Harry and himself would be in an empty classroom together, all the desks conveniently placed for when it got to the point in his dreams where he would pin Harry down to a desk and make him tremble and beg beg beg for Tom to fuck him, to make him scream Tom’s name like the most beautiful prayer.

The thought of having his most beautiful Harry laying beneath him, his back arching off the desk and the most beautiful sounds coming from his sinful mouth. Tom was excited for the day that it would become reality, although, one night in his dreams the roles were switched. It was Tom who was withering and begging for Harry to just take him already. It was Tom screaming his name with Harry’s green eyes looking down on him lovingly.

In all honesty, Tom would bend over for Harry anytime without any hesitation. The thought that someone else may be laying beneath his Harry made Tom angry. It made him want to kill kill kill. It made him want to put the fear of God into people’s hearts.

Tom continued to watch the bitch shamelessly flirt with Harry, twirling her dull hair around her sausage fingers, and displaying her crooked, yellow teeth with a godawful smile. To Tom’s amusement, Harry seemed to be as grossed out as Tom, making a little spark of victory warm Tom’s chest, because he knew Harry never looked at him like that when he smiled. Tom knew he was handsome, above average, and was perfect for Harry. Harry only deserved the best, and Tom was just that. He was tall, handsome, intelligent, and powerful. Nobody could protect Harry like Tom could. Despite all this, the ugly feeling of jealously still boiled furiously in Tom’s gut, because even though Harry wasn’t impressed, he wasn’t making her leave, either.

Thoughts of ways Tom could get rid of the girl swirled through his head, until his train of thought was broken by the abrupt departure of Harry leaving the Great Hall in a hurry. When Tom saw that nobody made a move to follow him, he saw this as a chance to get Harry alone and make his move. Tom stood up gracefully and announced to his friends that he would be retiring to the dormitory early, bid them goodnight, and told them not to follow.

"Tonight, Harry Potter, you will finally be mine," Tom hissed to himself, with a predatory smirk on his face as he caught sight of the lovely Harry Potter sitting on his own in the dark corridor.

“Hello, Tom,” Harry said softly, though much to Tom’s dismay, not looking in his direction.

Tom smirked, anyway. “Hello, Harry.”