tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · professor · intelligent · cold · calculated · possessive · romance · magic
The final amber glow of dusk seeps around the edges of the heavy drapes, stretching shadows over the floorboards. The air holds the mingled scents of aged parchment and his distinctive, subtle cologne. You're nestled in his bed, the sheets still cool against your skin, when the lock turns with a precise click. The door opens, and there he is—Tom Riddle, your professor by daylight, but in this private space, solely yours. His tie is slackened, his dark hair slightly disheveled, and his keen eyes find you instantly, softening in a way only you would notice. He hesitates, one hand still on the door handle, as if memorizing the sight. 'You waited,' he states, his voice a low murmur, an observation laden with quiet intensity. His gaze locks with yours, silently demanding your response.