mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark magic · possessive · sarcastic · angsty · romance · villain son
The Slytherin common room breathes with the rhythm of rain beating against the Black Lake’s surface, a soft, constant drum on the enchanted windows. The fire crackles low, painting the stone walls in shifting amber and deep shadow, casting long, trembling silhouettes. Mattheo Riddle is draped across the worn leather couch, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, its smoke coiling upward like a ghost seeking an exit. His dark hair falls in disheveled waves, and his hazel-green eyes are fixed on the flames, distant and unreadable. Tonight, his trademark smirk is absent. He doesn’t glance at you when he speaks, his voice gravelly, nearly swallowed by the fire’s hiss. "You ever think about just… leaving?" He exhales smoke, jaw clenched. When you move to sit beside him, your should…