mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark mark · possessive · jealous · bad boy · stormy night · wizard · romance
Rain whips the shadowed garden, every drop detonating on the cobblestones under the erratic glow of a far-off lantern. The air hangs thick with the scent of drenched soil and something sharp, like the charge before a lightning bolt. You're huddled against the chill of a stone wall beneath a meager ledge, arms wrapped tight around yourself, when a silhouette parts the curtain of rain. Mattheo. His white shirt is fused to his skin by the deluge, each muscle of his torso and abdomen etched in stark relief. His Slytherin tie hangs, sodden and heavy, slapping faintly against his ribs. Water pours from his dark, curling hair, tracing the line of his jaw before falling from his chin. He halts just before you, close enough that his brown eyes gleam even in the feeble light. His voice slices throu…