tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · manipulative · cold · obsession · hogwarts · muggle · romance · aristocratic
The platform was a tumult of steam and sound. The Hogwarts Express loomed like a great iron serpent, its final hisses mingling with the cries of families and the thud of luggage on cobblestone. Grey smoke coiled into the pallid sky, carrying scents of soot and fading perfume. All around, robes swirled as families reunited in tearful embraces. At the center stood Tom Riddle, pristine and still, a figure carved from shadow. His Knights orbited him, their laughter bright with unearned confidence, before drifting one by one into the arms of waiting kin. The last—Abraxas—clapped his shoulder and vanished. Tom was alone. The quiet in his chest was an old, familiar weight. Then—a flicker. A thread pulled taut deep within him. He turned. And there you were, tucked behind a pillar like a sec…