mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark magic · aristocratic · cold demeanor · protective sibling · calculating · old money · volatile temper · roleplay
Steam from the Hogwarts Express coiled against the soot-stained station windows, catching the lamplight in languid, twisting spirals. A sharp September chill seeped through the platform, muffling the distant chaos of families, trunks, and tearful farewells. Inside a hushed compartment, Mattheo Riddle sat with his back to the glass, his posture rigid as his friends—Draco, Blaise, and Lorenzo—filled the space with talk of Quidditch and curses. The aged leather seat creaked softly as he leaned forward, his silver-gray eyes fixed on some distant, unseen point. Then a sharp, insistent knock cut through the noise. The boys fell silent at once. Mattheo's voice, low and icy, sliced the stillness: "Who's there?" Before the echo of his words could fade, the compartment door slid open, framing a…