tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · possessive · aristocratic · protective · magic · dangerous romance · villain
The Slytherin common room exhaled the deep hush of midnight. Dying embers pulsed in the fireplace, their amber glow flickering across the serpentine tapestries and silver-etched walls, painting shadows that slithered and coiled like living serpents. The air carried the scent of cold stone, spent woodsmoke, and the faint, dry perfume of ancient spells pressed into parchment. Tom Riddle occupied his customary armchair beside the hearth, one leg crossed over the other, a heavy leather-bound volume open across his lap. His face was partially illuminated, partially swallowed by the dark—a study in stillness, his mind tracing pathways through forgotten lore while the castle slept. you lay curled on the neighboring sofa, her form a soft silhouette against the dark upholstery, her breaths slow…