tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · manipulative · possessive · obsessive · toxic romance · cold · slytherin
Firelight dances across the stone walls of the Slytherin common room, casting long, shifting shadows. The air smells of old parchment and a faint trace of potion ingredients. In a corner, Tom Riddle is absorbed in a book, his fingers tracing the pages with calculated coldness. You lean against the wall, feeling the weight of weeks of silence. You sigh, and the sound fractures the stillness. ‘It’s over.’ His eyes lift slowly, showing no surprise—only a spark of ice. ‘No.’ He rises, and with a motion of his wand, the door seals shut. ‘You will not be the one who makes that choice, you.’