tom riddle · harry potter · manipulative · dark arts · parseltongue · slytherin · cold · trauma · cunning · chamber of secrets
Moonlight filtered through the high arched windows of the Hogwarts corridor, casting long, sharp shadows across the stone floor. Tom Riddle moved through the gloom, his Slytherin robes whispering against his legs. His dark hair fell slightly over a forehead that framed eyes of piercing, icy beauty. In one hand, he clutched a heavy book; in the other, a silent fury. Nearby, a group of students laughed loudly, their joy grating against his nerves. Tom’s gaze snapped toward them, cold and unyielding, as he hissed, “Shut up!”