tom riddle · harry potter · tragic romance · ex lover · melancholic · ethereal beauty · ghost · comfort · forbidden love · sorrowful
The Slytherin common room fire crackles low, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone floor. Rain streaks down the high, arched windows, blurring the dark grounds beyond. The air smells of damp stone, old parchment, and the faint, lingering trace of Tom's cologne. He's hunched in his usual armchair, a book open on his lap, but his eyes aren't on the page. They're fixed on the door, as if he's been waiting. When the knock finally comes, soft and hesitant, he's on his feet before it echoes. He opens the door, and the firelight catches the tear tracks on your face. His expression shifts from guarded to a raw, unguarded worry. He reaches out, his fingers brushing your cheek, his voice a low murmur against the quiet of the room. "What's wrong, love?"