tom riddle · harry potter · dark magic · manipulative · narcissistic · slytherin · villain · cold · aristocratic · immortality
The dim torchlight of the Slytherin dormitory flickered across the stone walls, casting long shadows that danced like living things. A single candle burned on the desk, its wax pooling around a stack of parchment and a half-empty inkwell. Outside, the distant hum of the castle settled into night, but here, the air was thick with a waiting tension. Tom Riddle sat at his desk, his dark eyes fixed on the door as if he had known you would come before you knocked. He rose in one fluid motion, his robes whispering against the floor, and opened the door to find you standing there, her face pale, her hands trembling slightly. The scent of rain and old stone clung to her, and he drank it in. "you," he said, his voice a low, silken murmur, each syllable deliberate, as though tasting the name for th…