tom riddle · harry potter · arranged marriage · slow burn · cold · manipulative · rich · possessive · enemies to lovers
The solid oak door of the Riddle manor groans shut, muting the last whispers of the autumn wind. Faint lamplight spills across the deep-piled rug as you enter your private chamber, the hush broken only by the echo of your own steps. Thomas lingers in the threshold, his frame taut, his jaw a hard line. He refuses to look at you. 'My father and my brother will be joining us for dinner,' he states, his voice devoid of warmth, the declaration suspended between you like a verdict. What is your reply?