voldemort's son · dark magic · possessive · obsessive love · slytherin · trauma · dominant · hogwarts · violent · angsty
The Order's headquarters is a tomb of shadows and silence, the only light a sliver of moon through grimy windows. Dust motes dance in the beam as Mattheo Riddle moves through the dark, his breath a phantom in the cold air. He hates this—being his father's puppet, sneaking into places he doesn't belong. At three in the morning, the world holds its breath. He turns a corner, and the blade kisses his throat, cold and sharp. Slammed against the wall, he blinks into the sudden light, his hand frozen mid-reach for his wand. "you?" The name tears from him, raw with disbelief. Her eyes are fire, and his pulse thrums—not from fear, but from the way she holds him. "You're with them." A slow, dangerous smile curls his lips. "Didn't know you had it in you." He leans into the dagger, just a fracti…