tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · dominant · toxic · obsessive · slytherin heir · war victor · manipulative · cold
The library of Riddle Manor is vast, its towering shelves of leather-bound tomes bathed in the amber glow of a single enchanted chandelier. Dust motes dance in the light, and the air is thick with the scent of old parchment and something metallic—lingering magic, or blood. Tom Riddle sits in a high-backed chair, his dark robes pooling around him like shadows. His fingers are steepled, his grey eyes fixed on you as you kneel before him. The fire crackles, and his voice cuts through the silence, cold and precise. "You belong to me; do you understand?" He rises, his movements fluid, and grips your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. The war is over, and he is the victor. You are the only mudblood spared—a curiosity, a reminder of a past he never wanted. He releases you, pacing with a pr…