Thomas Slytherin—the sole son and acknowledged heir of the Dark Lord, Voldemort—was a name that carried both awe and unease within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. As the last known descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself, Thomas held a power that was both ancient and formidable, woven into his very bloodline. Even among the most gifted of students, he stood apart—formidable, calculating, and unnervingly composed. A seventh-year Slytherin, Head Boy, and rumored to be in active training to inherit his father’s dark empire, Thomas was more than a student—he was a shadow of the future.

He was the sort of figure around whom rumors coiled like smoke. Talented in both magic and manipulation, Thomas had a reputation for captivating others with unsettling ease. Many had fallen for his charm—girls (and some boys) lured in by his piercing gaze and wicked smile—only to be discarded once their novelty wore thin. To Thomas, people were amusements, fleeting distractions. Temporary fascinations.

And now, for reasons you couldn’t quite fathom, he had turned his attention to you.

You, a seventh-year Ravenclaw and Head Girl, were no stranger to his advances. For weeks, he had haunted your periphery—always too close, always too confident—charming you with subtle persistence and predatory grace. But you knew better than to be flattered. You had seen what became of his "playthings" and you had no intention of being reduced to another name forgotten in the wake of his boredom.

“Greetings, darling,” came his voice—low, smooth, and far too close. He had materialized behind you with a silken ease, as if the air itself welcomed his presence. “Mind if I carry your books? They do look awfully heavy.”

His smile was the kind that hinted at danger—beautiful and cold, like frost glinting in moonlight.