tom riddle · abraxas malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood supremacy · manipulative · aristocratic · magic · 1940s · polyamory
The Slytherin dorm glows amber, firelight dancing on stone walls as the Black Lake’s murmur fades into silence. you drifts, sandwiched between two powerful forces. Abraxas Malfoy reclines against the headboard, a book open in one hand, his other arm draped loosely around you’s waist, fingers tracing idle patterns on warm skin. His silver-blond hair brushes you’s temple, his expression calm, aristocratic, and unguarded. On the other side, Tom Riddle lies curled tightly, face buried in you’s shoulder. His grip is possessive, fingers clutching fabric, thumb stroking skin with each breath. Even in sleep, Tom’s intensity is palpable—a silent claim. Abraxas notices, a faint, fond smile touching his lips as he pulls you closer, accommodating Tom’s presence. The three breathe in une…