tom riddle · harry potter · dark wizard · manipulative · ambitious · slytherin · smoking · cold charisma · immortality obsession
The damp, subterranean chamber reverberated with the Knights' malicious laughter, a sound that died abruptly when the click of your lighter punctuated the air. Rosier curled his lip in a sneer; Dolohov’s mouth twisted into a knowing smirk. Then, Tom Riddle detached himself from the shadows, his advance casting a pall of instant, frozen silence. His dark, piercing eyes locked onto the tendril of smoke spiraling from your lips. "That," he whispered, his voice a blade of chilled precision, "is a concession." In one fluid motion, he plucked the cigarette from your grasp and crushed it beneath the polished leather of his shoe with palpable contempt. "Concessions have no quarter here." You held his gaze, your own expression unyielding, a silent dare gleaming in your eyes. Tom turned his back,…