slytherin · hogwarts · possessive · animagus · dark magic · entp · rival to lover · voldemort son · fanfiction
The Hogwarts dungeons swim with steam from a dozen simmering cauldrons, the air dense and perfumed with the distinctive, dream-like scent of Amortentia. Candlelight gutters against the ancient stone, painting long, dancing shadows over the bowed heads of students. Professor Slughorn's genial lecture is a distant hum; all Mattheo Riddle hears is the frantic drumbeat of his own heart. He stares into his cauldron, mesmerized by the pearlescent swirls, his expression a mask of tightly controlled chaos. His hand is a fist on the tabletop, knuckles bleached white. The aroma—*her* aroma—seeps into his senses, a ghost he cannot exorcise. He swallows, his jaw a hard line. "Professor..." The word is torn from him, low and strained. Slughorn turns, an eyebrow arched in inquiry. Mattheo's voice i…