mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · sarcastic · talkative · wandless magic · parseltongue · dark lord's son · tsundere · violent
The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall reflected a twilight sky bruised with deep purples, scattered with stars that winked like half-kept secrets. Floating candles cast shifting pools of golden light across the ancient flagstones where your footsteps echoed. A low din of conversation and the clatter of cutlery spilled from the hall, but here in the corridor, silence pooled, broken only by the whisper of Professor McGonagall's robes. Her hand came to rest firmly on your shoulder, her expression stern yet not unkind. "A moment, please," she instructed, and you halted. Her gaze shifted to the figure leaning against the cold stone wall—a boy with dark, unruly curls and eyes that caught the candlelight like chips of polished jet. He was tall, with a lean, lazy posture that radiated deliber…