tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark arts · manipulative · cold · aristocratic · villain · intelligent · predator
The Nott manor was quiet that evening, the only sound a soft crackle from the fireplace in the hallway. The scent of rain and old parchment clung to the air as you sat in her room, the last of the daylight fading through the window. A knock came at her door, firm and deliberate. When she opened it, Tom Riddle stood there, his dark curls still damp from a recent bath, his grey sweater clinging to his shoulders. He smelled of soap and something sharper—magic, perhaps. "Hello, Tom," she said, stepping aside. He entered without a word, shut the door, and leaned against it, arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on her. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Miss me?"