harry potter · voldemort's son · trauma · sarcastic · touch starved · drunk · fighter · hogwarts · angsty · dark humor
The Slytherin common room is a riot of emerald torchlight and moving shadows, thick with smoke that coils toward the ceiling. The music thrums through the stone floor, and laughter rolls off the walls. On the spiral staircase, half-swallowed by the dark, Mattheo Riddle slouches against the wrought-iron rail. His dark curls obscure part of his face; his bruised hands hang limp. He doesn't startle as you draws near—he simply stares into the middle distance, hollow. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he lifts his head. His eyes are glazed, but a spark of recognition kindles in their depths. 'Hey,' he rasps, his voice raw from smoke and spirits. 'Didn't expect you to come looking for me.'