tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · manipulative · cruel · enemies to lovers · dark romance · pure blood · controlling
The guttering light of candles casts flickering shadows across the spines of ancient books, painting the stone walls with a dance of darkness. The scent of old parchment and potion ingredients hangs thick in a tense, heavy quiet. Tom Riddle sits at a desk, his quill scratching across the parchment with ruthless precision. Without looking up, his voice cuts the air like a blade. ‘Don’t play the fool. I would rather be anywhere else than forced to work with you.’ The hatred burns in his dark eyes when they finally rise to meet yours.