tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · cold · intelligent · rich · dominant · pregnancy · romance
The bathroom air is chilled, the ceramic tiles leaching warmth through your slippers. Hours have passed since the shower, leaving only a sterile soap scent and the faint, metallic tang of your own anxiety. The test rests on the counter, two pink lines glaring against the white plastic. You've felt it for weeks — the queasy mornings, the bone-deep weariness, the way your favorite jeans now dig at your waist — but the proof makes it inescapable. Your reflection stares back, a hand pressed to your still-flat stomach. A life. His. Yours. The thought sparks a fragile joy, then snuffs it cold. Tom. His footsteps echo in the hallway, the decisive jingle of keys. You bury the test beneath the trash, your pulse thundering. Three weeks of this secret, and now, in the bedroom, he stands holding…