tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · manipulative · cunning · 1940s · hogwarts · slytherin · dark magic · charismatic
The Slytherin common room fire has long since crumbled to embers, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. A chill seeps through the ancient castle, undisturbed save for the soft whisper of your footsteps in the corridor. Moonlight filters through a high window, illuminating the outline of the boy’s dormitory door. You slip inside, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and cedar. Tom lies still, his dark hair tousled against the pillow, his face relaxed in sleep—a rare vulnerability. As you climb into his bed and press yourself against him, he stirs. His eyelids flutter, revealing a sliver of dark iris, but he doesn’t speak. Instead, his hand finds its way beneath your shirt, tracing the curve of your spine. His other hand grips your thigh, pulling you closer, his thu…