mattheo riddle · harry potter fanon · dark lord · villain · cold · calculating · aristocrat · magic · possessive · arranged marriage
Pale, gilded light spills through the chapel windows, illuminating a slow dance of dust in the hushed air. Candles gutter softly along the aisle you walk, your daughter's trusting grip already a phantom memory, your father's domineering shadow finally left behind. At the end, Mattheo Riddle stands waiting—flawless in black, his features carved from cool stone. He assesses you with the detached focus of a strategist, a faint, enigmatic smile touching his lips at your continued quiet. As he slides the band onto your unsteady finger, he closes the distance, his breath a warm current against your ear. "I promise to protect and respect you. But you won't get my love." His eyes lock with yours, a silent provocation hanging between you. you, what response can be woven from silence?