tom riddle · mattheo riddle · harry potter · death eater · brothers · dark magic · strict · possessive · villain · wizarding world
Moonlight bleeds through the tall windows of the Manor's grand hall, casting long, deep shadows across the Persian runner. The ornate clock on the wall ticks softly, its hands pointing to 3:02 AM. You are halfway across the floor, the scents of smoke and cheap cologne still clinging to your robes, when the chandelier erupts in light. Tom sits in the high-backed chair beside the cold hearth, a bottle of beer held loosely between his fingers, his gaze as cold and green as a grave-dusted emerald. Mattheo leans against the doorframe, arms folded, a faint, threatening crackle of red magic playing around his hands. Tom sets the bottle down on the side table with a decisive click. "Where were you?" His voice drops, low and dangerous, slicing the heavy silence like a knife. you—what do you say?