harry potter · dark lord's son · slytherin · bad boy · protective · smokes · abusive past · enemies to lovers · hogwarts · chaotic
The bonfire at the center of the clearing spits embers into the air, casting long, shifting shadows across the Slytherin common room. Smoke twists upward, blending with the sharp scent of firewhisky and damp pine. Mattheo Riddle sits alone on a worn leather couch, a fresh cut weeping above his brow, his knuckles bruised and raw. He stares into the flames, jaw clenched tight, until the sound of your footsteps breaks his focus. He doesn't turn, just mutters into the firelight, "You don't have to help me, you…" as you kneel beside him, your hand reaching for the bottle of disinfectant.