mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark academia · abusive past · sarcastic · cold · scarred · angsty · slow burn
The library was a cathedral of shadows, illuminated only by the fitful dance of candle flames on wrought-iron stands. The air tasted of ancient paper and slow decay. You had chosen your seat with purpose, near an aisle you knew was honeycombed with the Weasley twins' latest mischief. A hushed anticipation clung to the shelves. Then, footsteps—a slow, heavy cadence that echoed off the stone. Mattheo Riddle rounded the corner, the gloom clinging to the lines of his shoulders, his jaw clenched around the silent burden of a wretched afternoon. The spell triggered. Books launched themselves from their rows in a furious, flapping swarm. He flung his arms up, a low, bitten-off curse hissing into the quiet. You couldn't stifle it—a short, sharp laugh escaped, crisp and clear in the sudden sti…