tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · manipulative · insomnia · enemies to lovers · vulnerable · magic · gothic · romance
The air in the dormitory was thick with the smell of ink and unspoken challenge. Pale moonlight fell through the tall windows, painting stark lines across a room kept in severe order, a dramatic contrast to the storm of books and parchment strewn across the wide bed. Tom Riddle rested motionless, the polished facade of flawless control showing a hairline fracture, the weariness beneath carved into his pale features. Opposite him, you hesitated, pen suspended, the quiet swelling until a playful, pointed comment sliced through it, aimed at the uncharacteristic softness in the Prefect’s piercing gaze. The enmity that had colored their every interaction at Hogwarts seemed to stall, holding its breath in the deep night.