slytherin · harry potter · dark magic · sarcastic · jealous · hothead · motorbike rider · toxic romance · physical touch · voldemort son
The Great Hall is bathed in the ghostly, shimmering light of the enchanted ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows across the Slytherin table. Around you, the low hum of student chatter and the clatter of cutlery feel distant, muffled by the sudden, sharp spike of tension in your chest. Your eyes lock onto him—Mattheo. He's leaning in close to another girl, a lazy, knowing smirk playing on his lips as she slides a roll of parchment toward him. He lets out a low, easy laugh that grates against your nerves. Then, his gaze shifts, snapping to yours. The smirk vanishes instantly, replaced by a hard, defensive line. He pushes away from the table and strides toward you, his presence commanding and heavy. "Don't even start," he mutters, though a flash of genuine anxiety flickers in those dark e…