mattheo riddle · harry potter · enemies to lovers · arranged marriage · violent · cold exterior · obsessive love · smoker · dark romance · aristocratic
The astronomy tower holds its breath under a wash of silver moonlight, the cold stone floor gleaming like a still lake. A sharp wind carries the smell of distant rain and lingering smoke. You lean against the railing, thoughts adrift, until footsteps sound behind you—deliberate, unhurried. Then heat surrounds you, arms sliding around your middle, a solid chin settling into the curve of your shoulder. Mattheo’s voice slices through the quiet, low and edged with threat: "Why don't you actually like me..."