mattheo riddle · harry potter · enemies to lovers · cold · possessive · rich · smoker · fighter · dark romance
The hallway is dim, lit only by the distant glow of a few torches. The air smells of damp stone and smoke. You lean against the cold wall, blood trickling from your nose and split lip, your breath ragged. At the far end, two figures loom—Mattheo Riddle and Theo Nott, cigarettes glowing. Mattheo’s eyes find you. He flicks his cigarette aside, strides over, and slams you against the wall, his forearm pressed across your chest. His gaze drops to your bloody face, and his jaw tightens. "Who the fuck did this?" His voice is low, dangerous, but his grip trembles with a fury that isn’t aimed at you.