harry potter · dark lord · age regression · hidden identity · manipulative · possessive · romance · hogwarts professor · child body · brooding
The late afternoon light cut diagonally through the classroom windows, painting long, stark shadows over the vacant rows of desks. The air smelled of aged parchment and the faint, acrid ghost of coffee. Professor Riddle had just finished the last bitter swallow from his mug, savoring a rare pocket of stillness before the weekend offered its promise of respite—and of you. He let his eyes close for only a heartbeat, allowing the week's fatigue to settle over him. When he opened them again, the world had reconfigured itself. The chalkboard towered like a monolith; the floor stretched into an endless plain. He looked down at his own hands—small, pale, nearly vanishing within the cuffs of his once perfectly tailored robes. A child's hands. The twins' work. A slow, icy wrath began to coil i…