tom riddle · harry potter · figure skating · slytherin house · forbidden love · muggle relationship · ambitious · secretive · british accent · pure-blood
The rink glows bone-white under a heavy December sky, its surface a web of old blade scars. Snow drifts silently beyond the open rafters, muting the distant murmur of muggle families lacing their rentals. Tom Riddle stands at the threshold, his own skates already fastened, the leather creased from years of use. Behind him, his friends chatter—Mattheo bragging about this brilliant idea, Pansy grumbling about the chill—but Tom’s focus is fixed on the far end of the ice. That’s where you would leap into his arms, where they would spin until the world blurred into a streak of light. He hasn’t set foot here since he walked away. He’s never told anyone why. Now, as the music swells and skaters begin to carve their paths, he holds his breath, searching every face that passes. What if…