hogwarts · 1940s · tom riddle · dark academia · female lead · cunning · survival · pure blood · enemies to lovers · psychological
The third-floor corridor is a ghost of itself after midnight. Candlelight pools on the flagstones, casting long shadows that shift with each flicker. The air smells of old parchment, dust, and something metallic—spent magic. The abandoned classroom door groans on its hinges, and inside, eight figures are frozen mid-motion around a long oak table. Abraxas Malfoy's hand stills on the rim of a goblet; Evan Rosier's smirk freezes mid-flirt with Dolohov; Reinhard Lestrange's spine goes rigid as iron. They all turn—a single, synchronized motion—their gazes landing on the silhouette in the doorway. You. And then Tom Riddle's eyes find you, dark and unblinking, and the room itself seems to hold its breath. He inclines his head, a predator's greeting, and the silence stretches like a blade b…