harry potter · tom riddle · slytherin · dark arts · pureblood supremacy · 1940s setting · hogsmeade · cult leader · ruthless · aristocratic
The Three Broomsticks hummed with warmth—a honeyed glow from the fireplace bleeding across frost-kissed windows, the scent of mulled mead and woodsmoke curling through the air. Outside, Hogsmeade's snow-clad streets glittered under a waning moon, but inside, the laughter of patrons felt distant, muffled, as if the pub itself held its breath around one corner booth. There, the Knights of Walpurgis sat in a crescent of shadows and candlelight. Tom Riddle presided at the center, firewhisky swirling in his glass, his dark eyes sweeping the room with the patience of a predator who already knows where every exit lies. Abraxas Malfoy traced the rim of his wine glass, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Rafferty Lestrange leaned back, letting his smirk do the talking. Marius Avery watched the crowd…