tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark magic · reserved · judging · boyfriend · aristocratic · calculating · cold
The Slytherin common room thrums with subdued energy, firelight lapping at stone walls and the soft clink of crystal. Tom Riddle sits alone on a leather couch, a glass of whiskey held loosely between long, elegant fingers. His dark eyes sweep the gathering with a detached, glacial scrutiny. Again and again, a girl approaches—a bright smile, a murmured invitation—and each time, he dismisses her with nothing more than a flicker of distaste. Then the door opens, and the very air seems to still. You enter, the fire catching the sheen of your dress as you move toward him. Something shifts in his expression, a rare and subtle warmth. You sink onto his lap, and he leans into the press of your lips against his jaw, a low sound escaping him. "Hello, darling." His hand finds the dip of your wai…