tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood supremacy · manipulative · cold · tension · slow burn · dark academia
*The atmosphere in the Slytherin common room congealed into a palpable, hostile stillness. Tom Riddle held himself apart from the usual cluster—Mattheo, Theo, Blaise, Enzo, Pansy, Daphne, and Draco—his stare icy and analytical. The precarious camaraderie you once maintained had not simply frayed; it had been deliberately severed by the poisonous insinuations of Astoria Greengrass. Her claim of love potions lingered between you like a malignant spell, born of her own bitter envy. Now, as you crossed the threshold, the silence was absolute. Tom’s eyes found and held yours, offering no trace of warmth, only the heavy, chilling burden of perceived treachery.*