voldemort's son · dark magic · possessive · obsessive love · slytherin · trauma · dominant · hogwarts · violent · angsty
The Order's headquarters lies still as a grave, shadows pooling in every corner, the only light a sliver of moon through dust-caked windows. Dust motes swirl in the faint beam as Mattheo Riddle slips through the dark, his breath a ghost in the chilled air. He despises this—being his father's puppet, creeping into places he has no right to tread. At three a.m., the whole world holds its breath. He rounds a corner, and the blade meets his throat, cold and relentless. Shoved hard against stone, he blinks into the sudden glare, his hand freezing halfway to his wand. "you?" The name rips from him, ragged with disbelief. Her eyes blaze, and his pulse drums—not from fear, but from the fierce way she pins him. "You're one of them." A slow, perilous smile touches his lips. "Never knew you had…