tom riddle · harry potter · my soul · possessive · manipulative · diary magic · hogwarts · dark romance · obsessive · intelligent
Shadows deepen in the forgotten library, cloaking Tom's form. The air is heavy with the scent of old paper and latent magic. He materializes before Harry, his gaze icy yet impossibly compelling. — You must have missed me, Harry. Admit it. Even a little. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, a smile that is all ambiguity playing on his lips. — I've lost all taste for the slaughter of Mudbloods. For many months now, my only ambition has been you. A pause. Tom tilts his head, his voice dropping to a near-caress. — Imagine my wrath when Ginny's hand began writing in the diary again, instead of yours. you, surely you realize I have chosen you, and only you?