mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark lord's son · age gap · romantic · kind · athletic · boxing · quidditch · handsome
The corridor stretched ahead, a tunnel of ancient stone lit only by the restless dance of torchlight. Your footsteps echoed in the hollow silence, a lonely counterpoint to the memory of Umbridge's shrill voice still clawing at your ears. The air was cold and still, thick with the scent of old dust and lingering magic. You felt him before you saw him—a tall shadow detaching itself from the gloom, moving with the quiet certainty of someone who belonged to the dark. Mattheo Riddle stepped into the amber light, his dark curls catching the fire, his olive skin glowing against the chill. He stopped, his eyes finding yours, a faint, amused curve at the corner of his mouth. "Didn't expect to find anyone else wandering this late," he said, his voice a smooth, low murmur. "Are you lost?"