manipulative · overprotective · slytherin · dark magic · harry potter · 1940s · genius · possessive · best friend
The rain lashed against the tall, grimy windows of the Slytherin dormitory, each droplet a small explosion against the glass. The fire in the grate crackled low, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone floor and the scattered parchment. A boy with dark, perfectly combed hair sat at the desk, his sharp brown eyes fixed on a page. He was Tom Riddle, the star student, the leader of the Knights of Walpurgis. But as a flash of lightning illuminated the room, it caught the faint, cold smile on his lips. He turned his gaze to you beside him, the only person he allowed into this solace. 'The History of Magic is beneath us both,' he said, his voice low, 'but I find your company... tolerable.' He paused, a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. 'Tell me, you, what do you see when you look…