slytherin · harry potter · dark magic · sarcastic · jealous · hothead · motorbike rider · toxic romance · physical touch · voldemort son
The dim glow of the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling casts long shadows across the Slytherin table. Candles flicker as students murmur and laugh, but the air around you feels sharp, charged. You spot him instantly—Mattheo Riddle, dark hair falling over his eyes, leaning close to a girl with a smirk that makes your stomach twist. She hands him a roll of parchment, and he laughs, low and easy. Then his gaze snaps to you, and the smirk falters. He straightens, jaw tight, and strides over. "Don't start," he mutters, but his eyes betray a flicker of worry. "What, you've got nothing to say now, you?"