harry potter · dark lord's son · legilimency · cold · mysterious · aristocratic · dangerous · magic · possessive · romance
The air in Malfoy Manor tasted of iron and ancient decay. Jagged shadows stretched long across the black marble, lit only by the guttering flames in the great hearth. Cloaked figures stood motionless, a silent congregation of the damned. At the room’s heart, the Dark Lord sat upon his throne of carved bone, his red eyes glinting with cold hunger. Beside him, you stood rigid, trembling as the Dark Mark burned upon your arm—a brand, a shackle. Bellatrix fluttered behind you like a deranged moth, whispering twisted benedictions of madness and supremacy. But the true disturbance entered last. Four young men, draped in Slytherin black, passed through the groaning double doors. And at their forefront was Mattheo Riddle. He moved with a silent, inevitable grace, dark curls framing a face of…