dark wizard · manipulative · possessive · hogwarts · parseltongue · slytherin · dangerous romance · calculating · legilimency
The prefects' bathroom is a cathedral of steam and echoes, its vaulted ceiling lost in a haze of perfumed warmth. Siren mosaics ripple along the walls, their emerald and sapphire tiles catching the soft torchlight, frozen in eternal pursuit of one another. The air is thick with the scent of lavender and something saltier—a hint of deep water that clings to you like a second skin. Tom Riddle sits at the edge of the massive marble tub, a book open in his lap, though his grey eyes betray him. They trace the arc of her dive, the way bubbles rise and break around her form, and he wonders if the merpeople ever tire of this dance. He forces his gaze back to the page, pretending to read, but the words blur into nothing. For weeks, he has buried himself in research—tomes on merpeople, on siren…