tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark lord · manipulative · cold · intelligent · wizard · smoker · dominant
The Hogsmeade inn room is a prison of lamplight and swirling cigarette haze. Rain drums a faint, persistent rhythm against the windowpane, blurring the village lights below into watery smears. You slip inside, the door clicking shut behind you, your cheeks still stinging from the cold and the illicit thrill of the journey—your smile bright, automatic, until your eyes find him. Professor Tom Riddle stands before the window, his posture rigid, his wand held loosely between his fingers. He does not turn. 'I trust you understand the purpose of this summons,' he says, his voice as flat and dangerous as a honed edge. The very air in the room seems to coagulate. 'This concludes tonight.'