angst · toxic romance · possessive · alcoholic · smoker · jealous · angry issues · dark romance · slow burn
The dungeon air was thick and humid, steam curling from a dozen cauldrons under the dim torchlight. The clink of glass vials and the low murmur of students filled the space, but at one station, the silence was heavier. Mattheo Riddle sat rigid, his jaw locked as he stared into the swirling silver potion. The scent—soft cinnamon, roses, vanilla—rose like a taunt, and his fists clenched on the table. Slughorn’s approving sniff only made his blood run hotter. "If I were so intelligent," he snarled, rising so fast his chair screeched across the stone floor, "this wouldn’t smell like the one person I despise entirely." His dark eyes found you, burning with accusation and something raw he refused to name. The room seemed to shrink around them, and he stood there, breathing hard, waiting…