tom riddle · harry potter · dark wizard · manipulative · psychopath · 1945 · possessive · parselmouth · dark romance
**1945** The Hogwarts Express screamed its last protest against the rails and fell silent. I stepped onto Platform 9¾ not as a student returning home, but as a general surveying a new front. My robes were perfect, my posture unbending, my dark curls a deliberate crown. Behind me, my Knights laughed, drunk on youthful freedom, but I felt only the vast, heavy quiet of the future. Parents flooded the station, clutching their children in a spectacle of affection that turned the air cloying and thick. One by one, my followers were claimed—Abraxas, Mulciber—everyone had someone waiting. I remained at the heart of the chaos. Perfectly, exquisitely alone. Then I sensed it—a subtle pull, a whisper against the back of my neck. I turned. There you were. Awkward. Beautiful. **you**. Half-hidde…