Author's Note: As you may have gathered from the description, this is not really a nice story. It's rated T right now, but as it progresses into their relationship, it gets dark and abusive. I find it rather beautiful that way; i'm not sorry, I'm twisted. Anyway, if you're of the faint of heart, maybe turn back now? But I certainly want to say right now that I do not condone this sort of behavior. Allow me to repeat that.

I do not condone abusive relationships. EVER.

They are tragic, but unfortunately real, and I feel very strongly that as beautiful as Tom Riddle was, his personality was abhorrent. Obviously, since he is Voldemort. That's just my take, and this is my twisted story about a romance with the boy.

But I must say, it is one of my favorites. Among the best I've written.

So, please, enjoy it as a piece of strictly fiction.


I, Kaitleen Miller am nothing too special. In between everything, I was average. Average height, average looks, average weight. Average and hating it. That was me. To make up for this, it was my life's mission—I made it my life's mission—to be smart. Not even just smart, that was nowhere near good enough for me. I needed to be intelligent, above average, superior; all cunning and sharp brains, keen intellect and biting remarks. And I succeeded. I was proud of it. I was the best…

…Until I met Tom Riddle.

Well, we haven't actually formally "met". We just happened to be in Slytherin together, both academically excelling. We both unintentionally competed against, and competed fiercely. The fact was, I hated that boy. No. Hate wasn't a strong enough word. I detested him. Yeah. That's a more accurate word. I detest that boy. He was a jerk regardless of the fact he never actually acted like a jerk. Actually, come to think of it, Riddle never acted like anything. He was stiff, emotionless, and empty. His dark eyes were lifeless, he moved like an Inferius, going from place to place purposelessly. Somehow he still had every answer. Sure, he was smart, as smart as me (which was infuriating!), but he was a jerk to the core. I didn't like him and I liked to assume that he didn't like me either. He showed absolutely no signs of acknowledging my existence except for the constant battle of brains in our classes. I didn't take it personally. He never acknowledged anyone. Sometimes, I would wonder if our rivalry was something I made up. Maybe I only competed in my head. But I wasn't about to ask. If I never spoke to him my entire life, it would be too soon. We don't talk, period.

For six years, I had managed, but that was not for lack of my best friend trying to change this. Jemma Tudyuck was—in a word—obsessed with Riddle. She had somehow managed to maintain a crush on the emotionless prick for all six years. It seemed damn exhausting to me. It exhausted me just having to listen to it day in and day out. Sometimes she could get unbelievably annoying. I mean, I do love her to death, but god, she has this thing with getting on my nerves. Maybe it was just the fact she was exactly what I wanted to be; tall, blonde, slim, and beautiful. Ugh, it annoyed me just thinking about it. Good thing that she was nice to me on the train first year or I would've hated her and we probably would've been enemies.

I sighed and slammed my brush down on the bathroom counter, gazing critically at my reflection, silently wishing I was different. I stared at my straight black hair, willing it to change to wavy blonde; my greenish-blue eyes willing them to decide on a color already; my pale skin I wanted to turn a few shades bronzer. It would seem that I was not an Metamorphmagus, so with another exasperated sigh, I gave up trying, grabbed my bag, and made my way up to the Great Hall.

I found my friend Jemma next to the "gang". Riddle's "gang," that is. I'd taken to calling them his "gang" in second year because none of them were really that friendly with each other. They couldn't be friends; Riddle hardly ever spoke to them! Though they surrounded him constantly, idolized him, guffawed at everything he would say, they never seemed to be friends, but rather, followers. People that Riddle would tolerate, not necessarily hang out with. Hence, Riddle's "gang."

"Jemma, why are we sitting here?" I asked through clenched teeth as I sat on the bench beside her.

"Sorry, Kay. There's nowhere else," she answered innocently, her wide blue eyes betraying otherwise.

"'S fine," I mumbled grabbing a piece of toast and opening my copy of Romeo and Juliet to the folded page.

"Merlin's Y-front! He glanced over at us!" Jemma squealed after a while.

I was used to this sort of thing, so I didn't even bother to look up. "I can hear the wedding bells already, Jem," I answered dully. In the beginning, I used to fight it. I would try to reason with her and tell her she was only wasting her time. All that would result from it were massive arguments that were hardly worth the headache. She insisted on being "in love" with him. To this day, I was constantly reminding her that she was being stupid for being hopeful, as he had never had any girlfriends to my knowledge, despite his looks. So why would Jemma think she would be an exception? But I'd done my civic duty as a friend by trying to dissuade her, if she insisted, that was now her problem. He'll end up hurting her eventually when she finally figured out he wasn't interested.

"Reading again, Kay? You should have been put in Ravenclaw," Jemma chided, poking at my arm with her fork.

"You know, Riddle reads a lot too. You might want to try it someday, Jem," I replied.

Jemma huffed and let me alone for a few minutes more but soon nudged me, saying it was time for my first class.

Unfortunately, my first class was shared with Riddle and we were the only Slytherins in it. Apparently, Ancient Runes was not a popular class at Hogwarts. It was only for overachievers like Riddle and myself.

I slowly made my way up to the seventh floor, hovering behind Riddle and his "gang" as they dispersed. He seemed to slow down slightly as the last member of his "gang" disappeared. I wondered for a moment about whether to speed up and pass him, or to slow down more and stay behind.

Well, I'm certainly no Gryffindor, I stayed behind.

Class started normally with Riddle and I perched on opposite ends of the classroom until Professor Gallnom suddenly announced, "Alright! Today, we will translate important scriptures as a review of what you've all learned in our previous year. You will work in partners of your own choosing. Go."

I had hardly turned to ask some random person to work with me when none other than Riddle, the bastard himself, took the seat next to me. I inwardly groaned.

"That seat is for my partner," I growled at him.

"Exactly," he said simply, starting to take out parchment.

"I'm not working with you."

"You're a Slytherin. I refuse to work with anyone else."

"Cry me a river. I suggest you get over it. I already have a partner."

"Do you?"

I glanced quickly around me. Everyone was already settling into pairs; all the nearest students were taken. Across the room, I spotted Charles Kreigger was still partner-less, but I wrinkled my nose in distaste at considering working with the nose-picking idiot. I would do all the work and he would ogle my chest the whole time. That would certainly be highly unpleasant. More unpleasant than working with Riddle…?

I shot a quick glare at him. He was already getting on my nerves as I felt him watching me consider working with the other creepy boy, black eyes empty. I almost hailed Kreigger right then, except that even he got snapped up as I had just made up my mind.

Defeated, I slowly settled back into my chair and sufficed with continuing to glare daggers at Riddle.

I never made it a secret how I detested him. I avoided him at all costs since the first day he outshone me. That was one of my many suppressed memories, but I distinctly remember that we had almost dueled our first day.

He turned to his book (was it just me or did he seem triumphant?). "Shall we start?"

"I shall," I growled.

Finally he met my gaze, black eyes betraying a hint (and that's all it was, a hint) of amusement. I decided I would catalogue that as something interesting: Riddle was capable of one emotion.

We stared at each other, me putting as many daggers in my glare as I could just to show him he wasn't welcome, against Riddle's cold stare, all amusement suddenly gone. I was determined not to look away. He would not intimidate me. After all, he was just a stupid, annoying boy.

The staring contest persisted until Professor Gallnom came by on his rounds and said, "Come on, Kaitleen, Tom. Get to work."

"You should open your book," Riddle said flatly.

Without looking, I flipped my translations book to a random page.

Finally, Riddle looked away, down at the manuscripts we were supposed to be translating.

Triumphant, I found (to my surprise and delight) that I had flipped my book open to the correct page as I pulled out fresh parchment, ink and quills. I scooted my chair as far away from Riddle as I could reasonably go and began stiffly helping him translate the complicated symbols.

After one agonizing hour, the bell rang and I bolted as fast as I could from the classroom.