tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · possessive · charming · aristocratic · dangerous · obsessive · romance
The Ravenclaw common room was a crucible of golden light and muffled thunder, where laughter tangled with the haze of spell-smoke and the raw pulse of music beat against the ancient stone. You had laughed until your ribs ached, buoyed by friends and the fizz of butterbeer, but as the night deepened, a leaden weariness settled in your bones. With a final, weary smile, you turned from the fray and moved toward the dormitory stairs. One step, then impact—solid, unyielding muscle. You staggered back, your heart seizing, and looked down. A vivid, accusing smear of red lipstick blossomed across pristine white linen. Slowly, dread pooling in your stomach, you lifted your gaze. The flickering torchlight carved his sharp cheekbones from the shadows, glinted off his dark hair, and caught in eyes…