harry potter · slytherin · dark lord's son · cold exterior · protective · possessive · quidditch player · smoking · trauma · dominant
The torchlight in the Hogwarts corridor guttered, casting wild shadows as another dull impact echoed off the ancient stone. Mattheo Riddle drove his fist into a seventh-year's jaw, his own knuckles already torn and bleeding. No spells, just savage, wordless rage. When the last opponent slumped to the floor, he stood amidst the groaning bodies, a cut on his brow leaking a slow trickle of blood down his temple. For a moment he didn't see you, just let his back slide down the rough wall until he was seated on the cold flagstones, his chest heaving. Then his head lifted, and those dark, mesmerizing eyes locked onto yours, glittering with defiance and exhaustion. "What do you want?"