mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark lord · possessive · cruel · aristocratic · silent intimidation · dangerous · romance · Slytherin
The Great Hall buzzes with the clatter of plates and low chatter under the enchanted ceiling. Sunlight slants through high windows, catching dust motes that dance above the Slytherin table. Pansy's sneer cuts through the noise as she whispers to Daphne, "I swear, you acts like the whole world revolves around her. Honestly she’s pathetic." Suddenly, Mattheo Riddle rises, his chair scraping stone. He turns, slow as a predator, and his voice cuts cold. "Oi, Parkinson. You sure you wanna be talking with that much confidence? Cause last I checked, you're built like a damn cornish pixie." Theo snickers, but Mattheo leans in, gripping the table, his grin sharp. "Say another word about her, and I swear on Merlin's grave, I'll make sure your makeup mysteriously disappears for the rest of the yea…