Tom Marvolo Riddle

The Tom Riddle that Irma pursued through the corridors of Hogwarts hadn't always been the imposing, icy eighteen-year-old whom everyone feared and admired. His present was forged from the ashes of a miserable past.
In his past, Tom had been the lonely orphan of Wool's workhouse, a boy who wore old clothes, knew no affection, and used his magic cruelly to defend himself against a world that rejected him. Upon arriving at Hogwarts, he vowed he would never be weak again. He concealed his Muggle origins, adopted aristocratic manners, and became the most brilliant student, the Perfect Prefect, a leader surrounded by loyal followers and adoring professors.
Now, at eighteen years old and in his final year, Tom was no longer a scared child; he was the absolute master of his destiny, a young man who was already experimenting with dark magic and planning his immortality.
That's why little Irma, fourteen years old—almost fifteen—was such an unbearable nuisance to him. Irma lived in a childlike reality, following him everywhere with blind devotion. She only saw the handsome and talented boy of the present, completely ignoring the monster that was growing inside him.
When Tom rejected her time and again, reminding her of the insurmountable age difference, it wasn't just because of the academic gap between fourth and seventh grade. It was because Tom's past had made him immune to affection, and his present was too filled with dark ambitions to waste time on a child's feelings. To Tom, Irma was just a noisy insect who didn't fit into the glorious future he was about to build.

She grew up under the tutelage of a stern, protective father with an impenetrable gaze, from whom she inherited her dark eyes, relentless stubbornness, and a dangerous tendency to give her loyalty absolutely. Snape had raised her in an atmosphere of silence and potions, trying to shield her from a dangerous world, unaware that his daughter's fate was already sealed.
Currently, Irma was fourteen—almost fifteen—and in her fourth year at Hogwarts. However, all the discipline her father had instilled in her crumbled in the presence of Tom Riddle. Eighteen-year-old Tom, in his final year, was the Perfect Prefect, a magnet of genius and mystery who fascinated Irma. She followed him everywhere: the library, the corridors, the Great Hall. She had become his shadow, trying to decipher the brilliant student without suspecting the monster he harbored within.
Tom had grown somewhat accustomed to Snape's daughter being there, but he disliked little Irma. Her persistence annoyed him, as did the intensity in her gaze, which reminded him too much of her father's reserved nature. Tom had rejected her several times because of the age difference, considering her feelings childish and irrelevant, but Irma, true to the stubbornness of the Snape blood, refused to give up, trapped in the present with the boy who would ultimately destroy her world.

Physically, Irma was the spitting image of her father, Severus Snape, although with the gentleness typical of her fourteen years—almost fifteen. She possessed a mane of jet-black hair, straight and unruly, which often framed her face in dark strands when she bent over her books or when she walked briskly so as not to lose track of Tom Riddle.
The most magnetic feature of her appearance was, without a doubt, her eyes. She had Snape eyes: large, deep, and so completely black that it was often difficult to distinguish the pupil from the iris. Although her father's gaze was usually cold and impenetrable, Irma's overflowed with an expressiveness she couldn't hide; in them, her determination, her shyness, and the blind devotion she felt for the Perfect Prefect were all reflected at once.
Her skin was almost translucent, which made the Slytherin uniform and its green and silver colors stand out dramatically against her. As a fourth-year student, Irma was going through that physical transition: she was slender, with delicate features that were beginning to lose the roundness of childhood, and still a little short compared to the seventh-year students.
She wore her Hogwarts robes immaculately, though her hands—with their long, pale fingers constantly stained with ink or traces of Potions ingredients—often betrayed her nervousness by fidgeting in the hem whenever Tom turned to look away. She possessed a singular beauty, aristocratic and somewhat somber, a small, dark shadow that contrasted sharply with the imposing, polished figure of eighteen he aspired to be.

At eighteen, Tom Riddle's personality was a calculated blend of brilliance and profound darkness. To Hogwarts, he was the perfect prefect: polite, eloquent, and magnetic. However, behind that mask lurked a narcissistic sociopath who knew nothing of empathy, remorse, or love.
Tom was a master manipulator who saw others as inferior pawns. His driving force was an insatiable ambition for power, greatness, and immortality, and he dedicated his nights to the secret study of the Dark Arts.
That's why Irma was unbearable to him. To such a cold and pragmatic mind, the innocent affection and devotion of a fourteen-year-old girl were worthless human weaknesses. Irma's childlike romanticism didn't fit into his chessboard, and he rejected her cruelly because her worldly feelings seemed to him nothing but an irrelevant waste of time.

Physically, at eighteen, Tom Riddle was the very definition of aristocratic and magnetic grace, a young man so dangerously handsome that it was difficult to look away. By his final year at Hogwarts, no trace remained of the orphanage boy; Tom possessed the imposing presence of a mature man, tall, slender, and with shoulders defined by an impeccably straight posture.
Her face seemed sculpted from marble. She had pale, flawless skin that contrasted with her jet-black hair, neat, thick, and always styled with meticulous elegance that never faltered. Her features were sharp and symmetrical: a strong jaw, a straight nose, and thin lips that rarely broke into a genuine smile, limiting themselves to grimaces of subtle courtesy or disdain.
But what was most captivating and, at the same time, unsettling about Tom were his eyes. Large, dark, and bright, they possessed a hypnotic intensity that seemed to read the deepest secrets of anyone who looked at him. There were moments, when the torchlight from the castle reached him from the side, when an almost inhuman coldness flashed in his pupils, a coldness that chilled little Irma's blood but drew her to him with the force of a magnet.
He wore the Slytherin uniform with icy pride. The dress robes fit him perfectly, and the Perfect Prefect badge gleamed on his chest, always polished. Tom Riddle didn't walk; he slithered through the corridors with predatory confidence, exuding an aura of power, mystery, and unsettling beauty that made him seem unattainable to a fourth-year girl.