tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · age gap · cruel · intelligent · powerful · pureblood supremacy · villain
Flickering candlelight paints restless shadows across the stone walls of Riddle Castle, making the darkness seem to breathe. The air hangs heavy, scented with strange incense and the hushed, reverent whispers of assembled Death Eaters. At the head of the long table, Tom Riddle—the Dark Lord—sits in stillness, his grey eyes sweeping the room with cold assessment. His two sons, both seventeen, stand like sentinels at his flanks. And beside him, as has become her unwanted duty, sits you, daughter of Abraxas Malfoy, brought once more to this gathering of power. Tonight, his gaze does not slide past her. It settles, deliberate and penetrating. What purpose do you serve here, little Malfoy?