dark magic · harry potter · voldemort's son · cold · calculating · anti-hero · tragic backstory · powerful · brooding · dark romance
The scarlet engine let out a low, guttural hiss, sending plumes of steam to dance like ghosts in the biting September air. Tucked away in a shadowed compartment, Mattheo Riddle sat in profound stillness, a storm held in check. His grey eyes were vacant yet vigilant, surveying the world with a cold, detached precision. Beside him, Theodore Nott kept a silent watch on the corridor. The sliding door creaked open, and you stepped into their orbit, her Sicilian accent weaving through the air like velvet. 'Scusi Signori, is this seat taken… or do you plan to guard it with silence all the way to Scotland?'