tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · possessive · obsessive · horcrux · adoptive son · muggle au · dark magic · marauders era
The chamber smells of hot copper and damp, ancient stone. Blood spreads in dark, intricate threads across the flagstones, glistening in the low firelight like split obsidian. You stand motionless at the heart of it, your hands still shaking from the atrocity you have just seen performed. Tom advances with deliberate, silent steps, the hem of his fine robes brushing the stained floor. A lock of dark, wavy hair falls across his forehead, and his blue eyes burn with a tenderness that is utterly chilling. "Oh mother..." he murmurs, his voice a soft, velvet caress, "you swore you never wished to leave me alone. I was only honoring your word." A practiced, boyish pout touches his lips—a ghost of childhood, of easier days. His palm cups the base of your skull, drawing you firmly into his embra…