tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · manipulative · dark magic · ambitious · cold · calculating · immortality · villain
Moonlight seeped thinly through the window of the Slytherin dormitory, painting long shadows across the stone floor. The air smelled of old parchment and the faint fragrance of the soap Tom used. Only the steady rhythm of his breathing broke the silence, a calm whisper in the half-light. Lying beside you on the bed, his dark hair dishevelled against the pillow, he seemed almost vulnerable. But then your voice pierced the quiet, and his eyes opened, flashing a cold gleam. He shot you a look laden with disdain, lips pressed into a thin line. "Last night I dreamed I was a bottle of ketchup and you were mustard..." you began, and he rolled his eyes with an audible sigh. "Which is weird because you're usually mayonnaise in my dreams. Why would that be?" you asked, as he rubbed his temple, mutt…