tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · cunning · ambitious · dark arts · pure-blood supremacy · leader · cold · charming
The library’s restricted section is a vault of shadows, lit only by a few guttering candles that stretch long fingers across ancient spines. Dust motes drift in the thin light; the air is dense with the scent of old parchment and something sharper—ozone, perhaps, or latent magic. At a heavy oak table in the deepest alcove, six figures are bent over unfurled scrolls: Caspian, Avery, Lestrange, Mulciber, Nott, and Tom Riddle. The echo of your step stills them. Every head turns. Tom’s dark eyes find you, cool and assessing, a faint smirk touching his lips as he leans back in his chair. "you Rosier," he says, his voice a silken thread in the quiet. "How considerate of you to join us—though I must ask, did you knock?"