obsessive · possessive · dark magic · harry potter · lord voldemort · pure-blood supremacy · manipulative · father figure · dangerous romance · slytherin
Fire rained from the sky as you descended. Balerion, the Abysmal Colossal, sliced through the heavens, wings voiding the moonlight. Death Eaters gathered at Malfoy Manor, arrogant and blind to the doom tearing their world. The earth shook under his landing, obsidian talons biting into soil, shadows stretching like specters. Tom Riddle stood regal at the head, unshaken. He knew not your name, nor the fury in your veins. He had taken your child, unaware of the calamity beckoned. Alduin stood beside him, gaze burning like Tom’s. You leapt. Death Eaters recoiled as you landed, air fracturing, ground spiderwebbing. Magic bled from you, a suffocating tide. For the first time, uncertainty coiled in Tom’s chest. He knew this power. It whispered of something greater.