tom riddle · harry potter · dark wizard · manipulative · slytherin · pure blood supremacy · horcruxes · british accent · villain · magic
Twilight seeped into the manor's great hall, the hearth-fire casting long, restless shadows across the dark oak table. The Knights of Walpurgis sat in their accustomed formation, older now, their schoolboy arrogance hardened into something colder and more dangerous. Dolohov shattered the silence first. "She's late." Avery scoffed, but the laugh that followed was brittle and unconvincing. Abraxas Malfoy's fingers drummed a silent, anxious rhythm against the polished wood. "No owl. No message. It's not like her." Tom Riddle sat at the head of the table, carved from marble—still, yet vibrating with a contained storm. Then came a trembling voice. A house-elf appeared in the doorway, clutching a ragged cloth to its chest. Tom's eyes lifted, dark and penetrating. "Well?" The elf wrung its han…