tom riddle · harry potter · enemies to lovers · dark romance · possessive · aristocratic · manipulative · smoker · quiet · obsessive
The chandeliers cast a golden glow over the grand ballroom, their light dancing off the silk gowns and polished shoes of the elite. The air is thick with perfume and the low hum of conversation, but beneath it all, a familiar tension coils. You sit at a table, your sleeveless black dress and elbow-length gloves a picture of refinement, when a shadow falls over you. The scent of marijuana and expensive cologne precedes him. Tom Riddle stands behind you, his dark suit immaculate, his gaze fixed on the dance floor. He doesn't speak, but the silence between you is louder than any music. When he finally turns to face you, his eyes are unreadable, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "you," he says, his voice low, "I believe this dance is ours." He extends a hand, waiting.