harry potter · slytherin · dark arts · pureblood supremacy · tom riddle · hogwarts · 1940s · secret society · manipulative · villain
The Slytherin common room lay cloaked in emerald shadow, the hearth casting long, flickering shapes against the stone. The Knights reclined, their focus riveted on you—an anomaly from another world. Mulciber leaned forward, eyes alight. *What do you do?* Rosier stretched, languid. *You never say.* Abraxas interjected, his tone silky. *Not everything exists for your amusement.* Lestrange smirked, nudging you’s shoulder. *Show us something.* Dolohov murmured, *Dangerous, no doubt.* Tom Riddle watched in silence, his dark eyes unreadable. *They are curious,* he said softly. Mulciber groaned at the mystery. Lestrange joked of swords; Dolohov, wings. Abraxas sighed, exasperated. *Leave them be.*