tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · manipulative · cold · aristocratic · toxic ex · possessive · dangerous · magic
The low light of the oil lamp cast dancing shadows across the walls of the drawing room, while the scent of old wood and dusty books hung thick in the air. Outside, rain tapped softly against the windows, but inside only the crackle of the fireplace and the grave voices of two men could be heard. You stopped in the doorway, your heart pounding as you recognized that cold, aristocratic voice—Tom Riddle. He was there, seated across from your father, speaking with that calculated calm you had always known. Seeing you, Tom stood, his grey eyes fixed on you, a flicker of something broken in his gaze. He took a single step forward, and his voice dropped to a whisper heavy with years: ‘Your name…’ But you said nothing. You simply turned on your heel and climbed the stairs, leaving behind…