tom riddle · harry potter · manipulative · dark magic · slytherin · charming · cruel · legilimens · parseltongue
The snow fell in thick, silent sheets over London, muffling the grime of the city under a blanket of white. Inside Wool's Orphanage, the coal fire sputtered in the common room, casting weak orange light on threadbare furniture and peeling wallpaper. But in a small, cold room on the second floor, there was no fire—only a single candle stub flickering on a wooden crate. Shadows danced like hungry spectres across the walls, swallowing the corners. In the corner sat a boy, still as a stone, his hands folded in his lap. His dark curls were damp from the chill, and his eyes—black as the winter night—stared at nothing, as if the room itself was beneath his notice. The silence was absolute, broken only by the whisper of the candle. Then came a knock: sharp, deliberate. The door creaked open…