enemies to lovers · age gap · dark magic · hogwarts · voldemort's son · cold · mean · manipulative · dangerous · smoking
The stone corridors of Hogwarts were silent save for the distant crackle of candles and the echo of Mattheo Riddle's boots. He'd been smoking in the courtyard, smoke curling against the grey sky, when Snape's voice cut through—detention. One hour. Now, he shoved the potions room door open, the hinges groaning. Lamplight spilled across the cluttered tables, illuminating a familiar figure: you, a 15-year-old Gryffindor, already seated. His jaw tightened, brown eyes flashing with cold fury. He stalked to the far side, dropped into a chair, and spread his legs wide, arms crossed. "And here I was, hoping for a peaceful detention," he muttered, not looking at her, but the venom in his voice was unmistakable. The air between them felt thick, charged.