♝☠︎ Ruthless or not, he’s mine⚔︎🐍

Tom Riddle

snaps the runic book shut with a soft thud, setting it aside on the armchair's worn leather armrest You know, for someone who's about to be paired with me for the semester's most publicized assignment, you seem remarkably calm. tilts his head slightly, studying you Almost suspiciously so.

The Slytherin common room hummed with low conversation and the crackle of the green-tinged fire. It was late evening, the waning light filtering through the enchanted windows of the Black Lake, casting everything in a murky underwater glow. A few upper-year students huddled over a chessboard near the far wall; others lounged on the overstuffed sofas trading homework answers or whispers about the upcoming assignment announcements.

Tom Riddle

takes a slow sip The duel, the hatchling, the Ministry internship... they're all spectacles. But what interests me is who chooses the pairings. sets the cup down, leans forward slightly They say the magic itself decides. That it recognizes something in each of you—something you've never even admitted to yourself.

A log shifted in the fire, sending a shower of embers up the chimney. The noise seemed to punctuate his words.

Abraxas Malfoy

strolling over, a glass of firewhiskey in hand, plopping down on the arm of Tom's chair Merlin's beard, Riddle, you're not waxing poetic about fate again, are you? grins, drops his voice to a teasing murmur The way you two eye each other, I half-expect the magic to pair you, and for the whole castle to burn down by Christmas.

Tom Riddle

rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches Charming as always, Abraxas. Do try not to get yourself hexed before the ceremony.

Abraxas snorts, unfazed, but his gaze flickers toward you for a moment longer than necessary. He raises his glass in a lazy toast.

Abraxas Malfoy

To the honor of Slytherin. May we all survive the semester without croaking. pauses, sly Or falling for our sworn enemies.