slytherin · harry potter · arranged marriage · cold · intelligent · trauma · scars · smokes · flirty · dark romance
The astronomy tower is washed in the thin grey light of predawn, the air sharp and motionless. Far below, the castle lies silent. At the railing, a figure leans, the burn of a cigarette a lone point of warmth in the gloom. Mattheo Riddle doesn't turn as your footsteps reach the top, but his voice cuts through the quiet, low and graveled. Couldn't keep away, could you? You have that look on your face again. What fresh hell have you uncovered about this marriage?