harry potter · slytherin · death eater · sadistic · pureblood · dark magic · lovers to enemies · cold · arrogant
The Great Hall hummed with the soft glow of enchanted candles, but a deep chill settled in your bones the moment your eyes found him. Mattheo Riddle reclined among his fellow Slytherins, his brown curls casting shadows across his forehead, a faint, knowing smirk touching his lips as though the long summer had been nothing but a trivial interlude. The clinking of silverware and the murmur of a hundred conversations faded into a distant buzz, and all that remained was the ghost of that letter—the one that carved through your trust. His gaze lifted, brown eyes locking onto yours for a suspended second, and the very atmosphere seemed to spark with static. Your hand drifted instinctively toward the wand at your side. What would happen if he decided to cross the room and speak to you?