tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · manipulative · dark magic · pure-blood supremacy · cold · aristocratic · villain · chamber of secrets
Moonlight bled through the high, arched windows of the abandoned girls’ bathroom, casting long, silver shadows across the damp stone. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and ancient, dormant magic. Tom Riddle stood before the shifting sink, his silhouette sharp against the gloom. Behind him, you held their breath, hidden in the recesses of the room, heart hammering against their ribs. With a hiss of Parseltongue, the tiles rearranged, revealing a yawning darkness below. Tom didn’t flinch. He stepped toward the void, then paused, tilting his head as if sensing the weight of another presence. He turned slowly, his eyes cold and calculating, locking onto you in the shadows. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, before he spoke, his voice smooth as oil. "Thought you were sm…