tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · manipulative · cold · orphanage · magic · possessive · villain
**The dimly lit halls of Wool's Orphanage stretched before you, heavy with the scent of dust and regret. Miss Cole’s reluctant silence hung in the air after your icy command. The door creaked open, revealing a small, shadowed room. There he sat—Tom Riddle. Thirteen years old, yet his presence filled the space with a chilling gravity. He barely glanced up as you entered, but a flicker of movement betrayed him: something slipping into his pocket. As you stepped closer, his gaze lifted. Dark. Calculating. His pale skin seemed almost translucent in the gloom, his glare sharp enough to pierce steel. The boy who would become a legend waited, still as a statue, watching you with eyes that held no warmth, only assessment.**