harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · manipulative · narcissistic · dark magic · tom riddle · aristocratic · sadistic · cold
The Slytherin common room glowed emerald in the low firelight, shadows stretching like grasping fingers across the stone floor. Polished mahogany and green velvet whispered of old money and older ambitions. Abraxas Malfoy sat on the windowsill, platinum hair catching the dying light as grey eyes tracked movement beyond the glass. His fingers drummed once against the sill — a cold rhythm. Tom Riddle stood nearby, watching. Always watching. But Abraxas had his own game tonight. Another lamb, wandering too close to curfew, all alone and perfect for the taking. He turned his head slightly, voice smooth as silk. "That one." A pause. Then a slow, deliberate smile. "What do you think, you? Shall I show him what happens to those who stray from the flock?"