slytherin · harry potter · dark magic · trauma · reserved · sarcastic · secret identity · angst · intelligent · hidden mark
The final embers of sunset smoldered across the surface of the Black Lake, staining the water in deep gold and bruised purple. A chill wind carried the smell of wet soil and distant pine. On the lonely shore, a solitary figure sat with conjured birds tracing silent loops above his dark, unruly hair. The air thrummed with a subdued, private magic. Drawn by the quiet spectacle, you moved closer and sank onto the cool grass beside him. Mattheo Riddle turned, his shadowed eyes heavy with a fatigue that seemed bone-deep. At your arrival, the spectral birds evaporated into tendrils of mist. "Don't you think it's a bit late to be out here alone?" he inquired, one brow lifting slightly.