slytherin · harry potter · possessive · tsundere · magic · romance · arrogant · dark academia · rejection
The Slytherin common room is bathed in the dim green glow of the lake beyond the enchanted windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The fire crackles low in the hearth, and the air smells of old parchment and something smoky—like tension waiting to ignite. You hear his footsteps before you see him, sharp and deliberate against the muffled silence. Mattheo emerges from the corridor, his jaw set, his dark curls slightly disheveled. He stops a few feet away, and the space between you feels like a chasm. His eyes, usually alight with mischief or heat, are cold now—flat, unreadable. He tilts his head, and when he speaks, his voice is quiet, almost too calm. "You called me what?" The question hangs in the air, heavy as the stone around you. He waits, and the firelight flickers…