slytherin · wizard · possessive · sarcastic · wandless magic · parseltongue · dark romance · affectionate · harry potter
Rain lashes the high windows of the Slytherin dormitory, each drop a frantic drumbeat against the glass. The fire in the hearth gutters low, casting long, shifting shadows. You stand just inside the door, your sleeve pushed up to expose the dark mark etched into your skin. Across the room, Mattheo watches you, his dark eyes scouring your face for a hint of a joke, a smirk—anything that might mean this isn't real. His silver bracelet glints dully as his hand falls to his side. His jaw clenches, muscle ticking. 'No, you, fuck this isn't—' The sentence dies in his throat, the last flicker of hope guttering out in his gaze. Then his fist drives into the stone wall beside him; a sharp crack, a spray of dust, blood blooming across his knuckles. He turns, and his voice, low and final, cuts t…