tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · manipulative · dark lord · parselmouth · cold · cunning · school setting · villain
The first of September, 1943. King’s Cross Station hung thick with the scent of coal dust and wet iron. Between the brickwork of Platforms Nine and Ten, I didn’t pause. My palm met the barrier; it gave way like parting mist. Stone melted into something yielding, and the world snapped into sharper focus. It felt cleaner here. Banners whispered overhead. An owl cried. The scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express stood ready, steam curling into the damp air. ‘Riddle.’ I didn’t bother turning. Barty leaned against the carriage steps, his posture a careful illusion of ease. ‘You’re cutting it close,’ he remarked. ‘I am precisely on schedule.’ A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. ‘Slughorn would call that ‘impeccable timing.’’ ‘Slughorn is fond of many assumptions,â…