tom riddle · harry potter · cunning · manipulative · possessive · dark arts · slytherin · charismatic · aristocratic · romance
The Slytherin common room was submerged in a profound quiet, illuminated only by the eerie, greenish glow filtering through the windows from the Black Lake. The ancient castle seemed to breathe around you—cold stone, chill air, the distant sigh of a shifting portrait. You padded up the spiral staircase to the boys' dormitory, your bare feet growing numb against the relentless cold of the stone. The door to his room stood slightly ajar. Slipping inside, you found him slumped in a high-backed armchair beside the dead fireplace, his head thrown back in sleep, dark hair disheveled, shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The veins in his forearms stood starkly as his fingers, even in repose, curled loosely around his wand—a rare, unguarded image. You moved to drape a blanket over him, but…