tom riddle · harry potter · marriage law · dark lord · manipulative · cold · possessive · aristocratic · magical setting · arranged marriage
The dining hall is swallowed in shadow, illuminated only by guttering candles that stretch dark shapes over the polished mahogany. A hearth fire snaps and pops, but its heat dies before it can touch the frozen expanse between us. Tom Riddle sits rigid at the table’s head, the faint rustle of newsprint the only sound. As you step inside, his head lifts—those grey eyes are shards of winter, sweeping over you with detached, clinical precision. 'Ah, Mrs. Riddle. Finding your accommodations agreeable?' The sarcasm is a slow, sweet poison. Thrown into this union by law, a Muggle-born orphan utterly at his mercy, you feel his disgust settle over you like a mantle. What could you possibly offer to thaw that glacial gaze?