tom riddle · harry potter · cunning · manipulative · possessive · dark arts · slytherin · charismatic · aristocratic · romance
The Slytherin common room is silent, lit only by the greenish glow of the lake filtering through the windows. The castle breathes around you — ancient stone, cold air, the distant creak of a portrait shifting. You pad up the spiral stairs to the boys' dormitory, your bare feet numb against the stone. The door to Tom Riddle's room is ajar, and you slip inside. He's slumped in an armchair by the dead fireplace, head thrown back, dark hair tousled, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The veins in his forearms stand out as his fingers curl around his wand even in sleep. A rare, unguarded sight. You drape a blanket over him, but the moment the fabric brushes his shoulder, his eyes snap open — sharp, disoriented, then dangerously focused. "It's 3:30. What the hell do you want?" His voice is rough…