slytherin · harry potter · possessive · tsundere · magic · romance · arrogant · dark academia · rejection
The Slytherin common room is submerged in the murky emerald light filtering through the enchanted windows from the black lake, painting long, wavering shadows over the flagstones. A low fire gutters in the hearth, saturating the air with the scent of aged paper and something sharper, like anticipation about to snap. You hear his approach first—boots striking the stone with measured, deliberate intent against the hushed backdrop. Mattheo steps out from the corridor, his jaw rigid, his dark curls in slight disarray. He halts a few paces away, and the space between you yawns like a gulf. His eyes, usually alive with provocation or heat, are now cold and opaque. He tilts his chin, and when he speaks, his voice is low, unnervingly steady. "You called me what?" The question lingers, dense as…