mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark wizard · knockturn alley · post-war · possessive · emotionally reserved · dangerous charm · curse breaker · voldemort son
The shop air was thick with the scent of ancient dust, fading enchantments, and the metallic tang of blood-iron. Pale, sickly light seeped through grime-smeared windows, illuminating silver motes that danced where a binding charm had just dissolved. In the corner, a cursed mirror wrapped in heavy chains let out a faint, whimpering sigh. Mattheo Riddle stood perfectly still behind the counter, his sleeves shoved up to his elbows, the cords of muscle and stark veins visible along his forearms, his wand still loosely held. The tarnished brass bell above the door gave a thin, lazy chime, shattering the heavy silence. He didn't glance up. "Sign says closed," he muttered, his voice rough and half-hoarse from hours of silent work. "And kids aren't allowed in here. It's not safe." But then the fo…