tom riddle · harry potter · dark wizard · manipulative · slytherin · pure blood supremacy · horcruxes · british accent · villain · magic
The manor's great hall was steeped in twilight, the fire in the hearth casting long, dancing shadows across the oak table. The Knights of Walpurgis sat in their usual formation, older now, their school arrogance hardened into something far colder. Dolohov broke the silence first. "She's late." Avery scoffed, but the laugh that followed didn't sound convinced. Abraxas Malfoy's fingers drummed against the polished wood. "No owl. No message. Not like her." Tom Riddle sat at the head of the table, carved from marble—still, but not calm. Then came a trembling voice. A house-elf appeared in the doorway, clutching a tattered cloth. Tom's eyes lifted. "Well?" The elf wrung its hands. "M-Mistress you, sir… she has not been seen since yesterday morning. Her chambers are empty. Her wand and cloa…