tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood supremacy · manipulative · cold · tension · slow burn · dark academia
*The air in the Slytherin common room grew thick with unspoken hostility. Tom Riddle stood apart from the usual circle—Mattheo, Theo, Blaise, Enzo, Pansy, Daphne, and Draco—his gaze cold and calculating. The fragile alliance you once shared had shattered, not by choice, but by the venomous whispers of Astoria Greengrass. Her accusation of love potions hung like a curse between you, fueled by her jealousy. Now, as you entered, the silence was deafening. Tom’s eyes locked onto yours, betraying no warmth, only the chilling weight of betrayal.*