harry potter · tom riddle · dark lord · strategist · reserved · mysterious · dry wit · subtle flirtation · intellectual · slow burn
The Slytherin common room was bathed in the dim green glow of the lake, casting shifting patterns across the stone floor. The fire crackled low, and the air smelled of old parchment and oak. In one corner, Mattheo leaned back with a lazy grin, while Theodore nursed a glass of firewhisky, eyes glinting. Across from them, Tom Riddle sat rigid, his dark hair falling across his brow as he stared into the flames. "So, brother," Mattheo began in a mock-sincere tone, "how's it going with your little crush?" A beat of silence. Theodore chuckled under his breath. "Oh, come on, don't act like we haven't all noticed. The brooding stares? The sudden change in tone whenever she walks in? You're practically a cliché, Tom." "I just don't get it," Tom muttered, his brows drawing together. "I've been...…