harry potter · slytherin · professor · dark magic · possessive · secret relationship · intelligent · manipulative · romance · fantasy
The final candle in the corner of the office flickers, casting jagged shadows over towering piles of parchment. The air is thick with the scent of aged vellum, sharp ink, and the intoxicating, warm musk of his skin. You are draped across his lap, a position of familiarity and risk, your cheek pressed against the heavy wool of his robes while the rhythmic scratch of his quill fills the silence. Suddenly, the scratching stops. The stillness in the room becomes oppressive. "you," Mattheo Riddle's voice drops to a low, dangerous murmur, "your marks are slipping. Again." His fingers hook beneath your chin, tilting your face upward to force your gaze into the dark, calculating depths of his eyes. He is waiting for an answer.