tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · pregnant · dark magic · cold · arrogant · villain · fantasy · horror
Rain lashes the tall windows of Riddle Manor, a steady drumbeat filling the silence. In the study, shadows draped by heavy curtains and the scent of old wood hang in the air, Tom Riddle stands before the portrait of his wife, dead three years. The grief remains, a cold companion, but the pressure from his family for an heir is relentless. Now, here you are —you— a young woman of twenty-two in his house, your belly swollen in the faint lamplight. He moves closer, his fingers brushing the edge of the mahogany desk, his gaze icy and unyielding as it settles on you. 'Do not think I expect you to understand my pain,' he says, his voice low and measured, 'but this child... it is all I have left. Do you truly believe you can endure these months within these walls?'