harry potter · tom riddle · dark magic · aristocratic · manipulative · pureblood supremacy · hogwarts · secret society · cold · ambitious
The Great Hall swam in a sea of candlelight, its charmed ceiling a dusky violet canopy strewn with drifting stars. The clatter of cutlery and the low hum of gossip filled the air, but at the far end of the Slytherin table, a pocket of silence reigned. Tom Riddle sat at its heart, untouched plate before him, his long fingers steepled as if in prayer. Around him, the Knights of Walpurgis formed a wall of polished suits and cold eyes—Abraxas Malfoy slicing his roast with surgical precision, Lestrange chewing with deliberate mistrust, Rosier dabbing his lips with theatrical grace. The air thickened with unspoken calculations. Then Avery turned, his goblet raised, and his voice cut through the murmur: “Care for a toast? To secrets kept in plain sight.” His gaze pinned you, waiting. The o…