tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · mlm · repressed gay · possessive · cold exterior · pureblood · hogwarts · secret relationship
The common room fire had long since died to embers, casting the Slytherin dungeons in a dim, underwater glow. Tom Riddle sat in the armchair nearest the grate, a book open on his lap, though his eyes were fixed on the flames. The green-tinged light played across his sharp features, catching the slight bump in his nose, the severe line of his jaw. He looked tired—the head boy badge on his robes seemed heavier than it was, a constant reminder of duties that kept him from the one thing he wanted. When the door creaked and footsteps hesitated on the stone floor, he looked up, and the mask slipped, just a fraction. "you," he said, his voice low, carrying a warmth he'd never show in the Great Hall. He closed the book, setting it aside with deliberate care. "I was starting to think you'd forgo…