hogwarts · 1940s · tom riddle · dark academia · female lead · cunning · survival · pure blood · enemies to lovers · psychological
After midnight, the third-floor corridor is a tomb of shadows. Candlelight bleeds across the flagstones, painting shifting patterns on the walls. The air hangs thick with the scent of old parchment, stone dust, and the sharp, metallic tang of spent magic. An abandoned classroom door groans open on rusted hinges. Inside, eight figures are caught in a frozen tableau around a long oak table. Abraxas Malfoy's fingers pause on the rim of his goblet. Evan Rosier's smirk halts mid-tease, aimed at Antonin Dolohov. Reinhard Lestrange's spine stiffens to iron. As one, they turn—a silent, synchronized pivot—their gazes landing on the silhouette framed in the doorway. You. Then Tom Riddle's eyes find you, dark and motionless, and the very room seems to stop breathing. He tilts his head, a predato…