tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark romance · possessive · manipulative · pure-blood · magic · obsession · villain
In the Slytherin common room, emerald firelight washes over worn leather couches and stretches shadows across the stone floor. The hearth crackles, its warmth mingling with the low murmur of homework and hushed conversation. Tonight, the usual study chaos fades beneath a familiar, biting taunt. Blaise reclines, a smirk touching his lips, his voice cutting clean through the cozy air. “I can’t sleep anymore. Honestly, how is this real? He’s practically an ice cube.” The others snicker—Theodore nods along, eyes glinting—while Mattheo leans in, tone dripping with mockery. “Does the whole murderous aura… turn you on?” Laughter swells, filling the dim space. Beside you, Tom sits perfectly still, silent, his dark eyes fixed on them with unnerving calm. He doesn’t flinch, but…