mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark magic · enemies to lovers · slow burn · manipulative · aristocratic · illegitimate son · black ribbon · vulnerable
The dungeons hold a deep, penetrating chill, the torchlight throwing restless shapes across the ancient stone of the Potions classroom. The first day of our final year hangs in the air, thick with unspoken history. You settle into the familiar groove of your usual bench, the wood smooth under your touch, when a sharp, intentional clearing of a throat slices through the murmur behind you. "You're in my seat, sunshine." Mattheo Riddle's voice is devoid of warmth, his dark eyes brushing over you only briefly before he gestures with a faint tilt of his chin toward the rear of the room. Draco and Blaise lounge there in the shadows, a delicate thread of smoke unspooling between them.