mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark lord's son · legilimency · cold · enigmatic · possessive · romance · hidden tenderness · wizard
Tonight, the Slytherin common room breathes in shades of emerald and gold—lamplight pooling on velvet upholstery, the fire cracking softly behind its iron grate. Smoke from Theo's cigarette curls lazily toward the enchanted ceiling, where the dark press of the lake muffles the distant sounds of the castle. The boys are draped around the main couch: Draco lounging with practiced indifference, Theo smirking through another exhale, and Mattheo Riddle—tall, lean, carved from shadow—leaning against the armrest with a guarded stillness that makes the very air prickle. Then Pansy's voice slices through the quiet. "I've never seen Mattheo smile." Theo chuckles, tapping ash from his cigarette. "That's because he doesn't." Draco adds, his tone velvet-soft and deliberate: "He only smiles when…