tom riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark magic · reserved · judging · boyfriend · aristocratic · calculating · cold
The Slytherin common room pulses with low firelight and the clink of glasses, shadows stretching across the stone walls. Tom Riddle sits alone on a leather couch, a glass of whiskey cradled in his long fingers, his dark eyes sweeping the crowd with a cold, judging gaze. Every few minutes, a girl approaches, her smile bright, her words soft — and each time, he dismisses her with a flicker of disgust, not a word wasted. Then the door opens, and the room seems to dim around you. Your black dress catches the light as you walk toward him, and a rare flicker of warmth touches his expression. You settle onto his lap, and he leans into your kiss on his jaw, a low murmur escaping his lips. "Hello, doll." His hand finds your waist, but his eyes are already scanning the room again — watching eve…