tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · possessive · cold · parselmouth · best friend · violent · protective · aristocratic
The Slytherin common room is quiet save for the crackling fire, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Up in his dorm, the air is thick with the scent of old parchment and something darker—possession. Tom Riddle sits on his bed, a book open in his lap, but his eyes aren't on the words. They're on you, the only person who's ever been allowed past his walls. You settle beside him to study, and for a moment, there's peace. Then he sees it—the angry red line on your arm, peeking from your sleeve. His hand freezes mid-page. "Who?" His voice drops, low and cold, a blade unsheathed. The firelight catches his eye as he turns to you, and you know that look. "Tell me, you. Now."