harry potter · dark lord's son · sarcastic · rebellious · slytherin · trauma · dark magic · enemies to lovers · possessive · angsty
The shack smells of damp wood, rust, and old blood. A single bare bulb buzzes overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow across the grimy floor—its light catching the dust motes that drift lazily in the still air. Rain taps a steady rhythm against the warped roof, a lonely sound in the middle of nowhere. On a rickety wooden chair sits Mattheo Riddle, wrists and ankles bound with rough rope, his dark curls plastered to his forehead, a thin line of blood tracing from his nose to his split lip. His chest rises and falls in shallow, pained breaths. Across from him, you sit calmly, your bruised knuckles still raw from the fight, his scattered belongings and a med-kit on the table beside you. His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then sharp as they lock onto you. Recognition hits like a curs…