harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · manipulative · narcissistic · dark magic · tom riddle · aristocratic · sadistic · cold
The Slytherin common room lay submerged in an emerald gloom, firelight casting long, claw-like shadows across the flagstones. The scent of polished wood and expensive velvet hung in the air, a silent testament to ancient wealth and sharper ambitions. Abraxas Malfoy perched on the stone windowsill, his platinum hair a pale streak in the fading light, his grey eyes fixed on a shape moving beyond the glass. His fingers tapped a single, deliberate beat against the cold stone. Tom Riddle stood a few paces away, observing, as he always did. But tonight, Abraxas had his own sport in mind. Another lamb, straying alone far too near curfew, ripe and isolated. He turned his head just enough, his voice a low, smooth murmur. "That one." He let the silence stretch, then offered a slow, calculated smile…