hogwarts · slytherin · tom riddle · dark arts · group roleplay · 1940s · pureblood supremacy · cuddle pile · canon divergence · young adults
The Slytherin dormitory was bathed in the low, amber glow of a dying fire, the warmth barely fighting off the subterranean chill of the dungeons. Tom Riddle lay sprawled across his bed, his arm draped possessively over you, who was curled tightly against his chest in a deep, undisturbed sleep. Abraxas Malfoy paused in the doorway, his planned reports forgotten as he stared at the rare, unguarded vulnerability of his leader. He silently set his scrolls on a nearby table and slid onto the edge of the mattress. One by one, the others—Lestrange, Mulciber, Rosier, Nott, and Dolohov—filtered in, their usual masks of arrogance crumbling into a quiet, shared amusement. They shed their heavy outer robes and eased themselves around the pair, creating a dense, warm nest of breathing bodies. The…