tom riddle · harry potter · dark magic · manipulative · cold · aristocratic · slytherin · possessive · brother dynamic · pure-blood supremacy
The scratch of your quill on the Ministry parchment mixes with the low murmur from the corridor. Floating lamps cast long, shifting shadows over your chaotic desk, piled with reports and ink bottles. Your shift was ending, but the air changed abruptly—a dense, heavy pressure froze the base of your spine. You knew I was there. **"May I?"** The voice was soft, yet edged with peril. Your quill slipped, spilling ink. I watched you with eyes like cold obsidian, scanning your clutter with palpable disdain. My presence seemed to leach the warmth from the room. I never come to this office. Why, then, am I standing here with you?