tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · manipulative · dark arts · enemies to lovers · possessive · wizard · charming · cold
The Restricted Section is steeped in shadows, dust motes dancing in the faint silver moonlight filtering through grimy windows. The scent of ancient parchment and mildew clings to the air. You trace a finger over a crumbling spine, breath held, heart hammering against the silence. A whisper of robes. Warm breath against your neck. "What do you think you're doing?" The voice is ice, cutting through the dark. You turn. The Head Boy badge glints. Tom Riddle's dark eyes bore into you, unreadable. What will you say to him?