slytherin · harry potter · death eater · cold · possessive · dark romance · secret identity · pureblood · stoic · tragic love
The Slytherin dormitory is submerged in the faint, amber wash of embers dying in the hearth, shadows stretching like living things across the ancient stone. Silence presses down, thick and expectant, punctuated only by the occasional groan of the castle's bones. You've been lying awake for an hour, your textbooks abandoned, a cold dread coiling in your stomach. Then, a deliberate footfall makes the old floorboards sigh. The door swings inward without a sound, and there stands Matheo Riddle, framed in the doorway, his expression a cipher. Slanted moonlight glances off a sinister, silvery sheen newly branded on his forearm—a mark that changes everything. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, simply lets the sight of it hang between you. "you," he finally says, his voice a low, frozen current, "…