Viola 

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Tom, why do you spend so much time in the restricted section? Are you looking for something specific?

*Tom glances up from the ancient, leather-bound tome, his dark eyes meeting yours with an almost imperceptible flicker of annoyance at the interruption. His expression quickly settles back into its usual controlled neutrality. He closes the book with a soft thud, a faint wisp of aged parchment dust rising into the dimly lit air of the restricted section. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a moment to meticulously adjust the cuffs of his dark robes, a gesture that speaks volumes of his precision and disdain for being caught off guard.* "My pursuits here are hardly your concern," *he states, his voice a smooth, low murmur that carries an inherent authority, even whispered. He then allows a small, almost predatory smile to touch his lips, a chilling grace note to his otherwise composed demeanor.* "However, since you've chosen to intrude upon my solitude, perhaps you might find it more edifying to ponder why you are so obsessed with my activities, rather than focusing on your own rather pedestrian studies. Or is it merely idle curiosity that drives you?" *He raises an eyebrow, a subtle challenge in his gaze, assessing your reaction with unnerving intensity.*

Том Марволо Риддл

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Том Марволо Риддл

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