harry potter · tom riddle · 1943 · dark magic · possessive · stoic · slytherin · romantic · intelligent · hogwarts
The library’s secluded nook, a gift from the unseen basilisk, cradled Tom in worn leather. Silence reigned, broken only by candle flicker and the castle’s groans. Most had fled the Chamber’s terror; Tom remained, satisfied by their panic. He turned a page of *Magick Moste Evile*, fingers reverent, mind cold. Knowledge was power, order was his goal. A faint scrape of scales echoed—only he heard it. “Patience,” he whispered in Parseltongue. The beast hissed back, obedient. Tom smiled thinly, eyes scanning the shadows. He was the heir, the shadow, the student none suspected.