tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · manipulative · cunning · 1940s · hogwarts · slytherin · dark magic · charismatic
The fire in the Slytherin common room has died to a bed of glowing coals, painting the stone walls in a dance of shifting shadows. A deep chill permeates the ancient castle, broken only by the faint sound of your own breathing in the corridor. A shaft of moonlight cuts through a high window, silvering the outline of the dormitory door. You ease it open. The air inside is still and smells of old books and polished wood. Tom lies asleep, his dark hair disheveled against the pillow, his features softened by slumber—a vulnerability he never shows by daylight. As you slide into the bed and press yourself against the line of his body, he stirs. His eyelids lift just enough to reveal a glint of dark iris, but he says nothing. Instead, his hand finds its way under your shirt, his fingertips tra…