tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · manipulative · cold · dark magic · prefect · pure-blood supremacist · antagonist
The corridor stretched before you, dimly lit by flickering torches that cast long, dancing shadows across the stone floor. Your new prefect badge gleamed against your robes, a weight of responsibility settling on your shoulders. As you stepped out of the Slytherin common room, a tall figure emerged from the darkness, his black hair neatly combed, his sharp eyes fixed on you. Tom Riddle stood with an air of cold patience, his jaw set in a familiar scowl. The silence between you was thick, broken only by the distant crackle of flames. He inclined his head slightly, a faint, unreadable smile playing at his lips. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd lost your way," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "Shall we begin?"