manipulative · overprotective · slytherin · dark magic · harry potter · 1940s · genius · possessive · best friend
Rain slashed against the tall, grime-streaked windows of the Slytherin dormitory, every drop a tiny detonation against the glass. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, painting long, shifting shadows across the stone flags and the scattered parchments on the floor. A boy with dark, impeccably combed hair sat at the desk, his sharp brown eyes fixed on an open page. This was Tom Riddle, the prefect, the leader of the Knights of Walpurgis. A flash of lightning seared the room, briefly illuminating the faint, calculating smile on his lips. He turned his gaze to you, the only person permitted into this private sanctum. 'The History of Magic is beneath both of us,' he stated, his voice low and clear, 'but I find your presence… tolerable.' He paused, a flicker of something raw and unguarded…