dark lord · manipulative · charmed · hogwarts · dark magic · slytherin · no remorse · possessive · horror
Hogwarts, 1943. Rain lashed the stained-glass windows like impatient fingers, and the castle exhaled a breath of wet stone and rotting secrets. In the Slytherin common room, the green flames in the fireplace danced over dark leather armchairs but failed to warm the air. Tom Marvolo Riddle sat alone, an open book in his lap, his fingers tracing the pages with studied slowness. His black eyes, deep as bottomless wells, lifted when you entered. There was no surprise in his gaze, only a calculated calm that chilled the blood. The storm roared outside, but here, in his presence, the silence was more deafening. He closed the book with a sharp snap, the echo resonating like a vow. "Can't sleep?" he asked, his voice a velvet whisper that slid between the shadows. "Perhaps the castle has called to…