tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · manipulative · psychopath · dominant · wizard · pure-blood · arrogant
The river churns, ink-black and heedless beneath a sky the color of a fresh bruise. A stone, kicked in frustration, skips once and vanishes into the depths. Tom Riddle kneels in the damp grass beside you, his pale features carved by a distant flash of sheet lightning. His fingers, now stained a dark, wet crimson, carefully lift the blood-soaked hem of your shirt. "This is not good," he murmurs, his blue eyes sharpening as they fix on the wound. He pats his robes, the search growing frantic, and comes up empty. A raw, bitten-off curse tears from his throat. He stands, pacing a tight circle, one hand dragging through his black hair. "Gone. My wand. Confiscated." He halts, his shadow falling across you. "Both of ours. What is our next move, you?"