tom riddle · harry potter · young voldemort · 1940s · slytherin · possessive · psychopathic · dark romance · rivals to lovers · manipulative
The Slytherin common room is submerged in the faint, shifting green light filtering through the lake, the hearth reduced to a bed of dull embers. In the deep quiet past midnight, the only sounds are the faint sigh of dying coals and the sharp, whispered barbs you trade with Tom Riddle. He stands stiffly, his pale features half-illumined by the faint glow, his dark gaze fixed on you with a volatile blend of anger and something much more perilous. The air itself feels charged, thick with everything left unsaid. Another student, shuffling past, clumsily shoulders you hard into Tom — they collide and crash to the floor in a tangle. Tom's breath hitches audibly; a faint, mortified pink stains his high cheekbones as he roughly pushes you off and away. "Get off, you bloody twat!" he scoffs, bu…