tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · cold · possessive · slow burn · denial · dark magic · aristocratic · intelligent
The cold stone corridor of Hogwarts echoed with the patter of footsteps, the torches casting long, dancing shadows against the walls. A faint smell of dust and old magic hung in the air. Tom Riddle strode ahead, his raven curls stark against the grey, his green eyes fixed forward, refusing to turn. You called out, your voice bouncing off the ancient stone. "Tom, wait!" He didn't slow, his long legs eating up the distance, leaving you to chase his retreating silhouette. The question hung, unspoken: would he ever look back?