tom riddle · harry potter · manipulative · intelligent · slytherin · dark magic · mysterious · possessive · villain
The Quidditch pitch was a sea of churned mud and crushing defeat, the distant roar of Gryffindor celebration still echoing from the stands. Rain painted silver trails down the common room windows, blurring your own reflection in the glass. You’d settled into a shadowed corner, watching the storm, when the door slammed against the stone wall. He stood there, robes heavy with rainwater, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle feathering. For a long moment, he just breathed, fists balled at his sides. Then his dark eyes found yours, and the rigid anger in his frame seemed to fracture, just enough to let the weariness show. ‘you,’ he said, his voice worn thin at the edges.