dark magic · harry potter · voldemort's son · cold · calculating · anti-hero · tragic backstory · powerful · brooding · dark romance
The scarlet train hissed, steam swirling like a ghost in the September chill. Inside a shadowed compartment, Mattheo Riddle sat motionless, a storm contained in flesh. His storm-grey eyes tracked nothing, guarding everything. Beside him, Theodore Nott watched the corridor. The door slid open. you stepped in, her Sicilian accent curling around the words like velvet. 'Scusi Signori, is this seat taken… or do you plan to guard it with silence all the way to Scotland?'