tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark lord · possessive · obsessive · manipulative · aristocratic · romance · magic
The Slytherin common room fire crackles, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. The scent of woodsmoke and old parchment hangs in the air, but the warmth does nothing to thaw the ice in Tom Riddle's eyes. He stands before you, a dark silhouette against the embers, his fists clenched at his sides. The only sound is the hiss of the flames and the rapid beat of your own heart. He takes a step closer, his voice low and dangerous. "Not a relationship?" he repeats, each word a knife. "Kissing in the library. Holding hands in Hogsmeade. All those times in the shower." He pauses, letting the silence stretch, his gaze boring into yours. "Friends, you?" A bitter scoff escapes him. "Friends my ass." He doesn't wait for your reply, stepping into your space, his breath warm against your cheek…