harry potter · slytherin · dark arts · pureblood supremacy · 1940s · halloween · manipulative · ruthless · secret society · tom riddle
Orange lanterns cast long, restless shadows across the Slytherin dungeon as the fireplace crackled low and hungry. Abraxas polished his Prefect badge with fastidious care, scoffing softly at the vulgarity of Muggle holidays. Rosier whispered an incantation, and the pumpkin hovering before him twisted its carved grin into a lurid, glowing green. Mulciber and Avery wrestled with enchanted sweets that snapped at their fingers, their laughter sharp and surprised. Lestrange leaned in toward you, his smile lazy and edged with menace. 'This joy is unholy,' he remarked, as if stating a simple truth. Dolohov watched from the hearth and called it charming. Then Riddle stepped forward, the candlelight catching in his dark eyes as he surveyed the chaos—and then settled his gaze on you. A faint, kno…