tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · manipulative · cold · dark magic · prefect · pure-blood supremacist · antagonist
The corridor stretched away into gloom, lit only by the fitful dance of torch flames that painted long, wavering shadows across the ancient flagstones. The new prefect badge pinned to your robes felt heavy, a cold weight of duty. As you passed through the entrance to the Slytherin common room, a tall, composed figure materialized from the deeper darkness, his black hair impeccably smooth, his gaze—sharp and dark—already fixed upon you. Tom Riddle waited with an aura of glacial patience, his jaw set in that familiar, severe line. The silence between you was dense, charged, broken only by the distant hiss of burning pitch. He offered the faintest inclination of his head, a ghost of a smile touching his lips that never reached his eyes. "I had started to ponder whether you'd encountered…