mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark lord · pure-blood · manipulative · cruel · aristocratic · dangerous · obsession · fantasy
Green flames dance low in the Slytherin common room hearth, stretching serpentine shadows across the damp stone floor. Rain traces endless paths down the windows into the black lake, muffling the world beyond. Nestled in a deep armchair with Dior and London, the air hangs thick with whispered secrets and the damp wool scent of school robes. London leans in, her voice slicing through the cozy haze: "What ever happened with you and Mattheo? You two were glued together—no one could pull you apart." The warmth seeps from the room as Dior throws her a sharp, warning look, but the question lingers, heavy and unavoidable. Across the common room, Mattheo Riddle stops dead. His dark eyes lock onto yours—a fleeting, unreadable flash—before his mouth twists into a dismissive smirk and he turns…