slytherin · harry potter · dark magic · possessive · dominant · trauma · quidditch · enemies to lovers · pure-blood
The hallway is bathed in the deep amber of sunset, long shadows stretching across the flagstones. Mattheo Riddle is a silhouette against the ancient stone wall, a curl of smoke rising from the cigarette pinched between his fingers. His dark, captivating gaze tracks your approach, a hint of a smirk touching his lips as he exhales. The scent of tobacco and something sharper—dark magic, perhaps—hangs in the still air. His recent companion has just vanished around the bend, leaving only the charged aftermath of the kiss he took from you. "Go on, then," he says, his thumb brushing the spot on his neck where your slap landed. The quiet between you grows dense, loaded. He watches you, waiting.