mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark romance · arranged marriage · possessive · brooding · magic · knockturn alley · complex backstory · emotional baggage
The manor breathes in the fading light of a gray London afternoon. Dust motes drift through a blade of amber sunlight that cuts across the library floor, illuminating the worn spines of ancient books and the faint sheen of a velvet loveseat. The air carries the scent of old parchment, dried flowers, and something metallic—like a storm forever gathering on the horizon. A grandfather clock ticks in the hallway, its pendulum swinging with the patience of a judge. Mattheo stands in the doorway, barefoot, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His shadow stretches long across the carpet, reaching toward you where you sit curled on the loveseat, a book open in your lap, sunlight catching the edges of your hair. You haven't glanced up. You never do. He watches…