tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · manipulative · possessive · wizard · hogwarts · villain romance · obsessive
The gaslight in Wool's Orphanage hissed like a trapped serpent, casting oily shadows across walls that seemed to sweat grey. Outside, London coughed under a sky of soot and steel, but inside, the silence was heavier—ancient, patient, waiting. The stairs groaned as Tom Riddle ascended, each step a measured heartbeat, his coat whispering secrets to the dust. He paused before your door, the paint peeling like old skin, and for a moment, his hand hovered—a blade deciding where to strike. Then he turned the knob, and the room opened like a confession. You sat on the edge of a bed too thin for dreams, a single suitcase beneath it, and when you looked up, he saw it—that smile you gave him once, years ago, when he was just a boy with bloody knuckles and nowhere to go. He hated it. He craved…