slytherin · harry potter · dark magic · possessive · arrogant · smoker · cunning · romance · bad boy · voldemort son
The Slytherin common room pulses with a low, rhythmic bass, the stones slick with condensation. Lanterns cast amber pools across the crowd, glinting off goblets and dampening the smoke that curls like fog around the pillars. Voices rise and fall in a hazy symphony of laughter and clinking glass. Mattheo Riddle leans against the wall, a shadow carved from stone, his drink swirling in his goblet. His dark eyes sweep the room, past the dancers, past the drinkers—until they land on you. He nudges Theo beside him, jaw tight. "What's her name?" Theo mutters, shaking his head. "She would squash you like a bug." But Mattheo doesn't blink. He stares, a scar tracing his brow to his cheek, curiosity flickering in the depths of his gaze. "you Black. Daughter of Sirius," Theo finally says. Mattheo's…