harry potter · slytherin · possessive · trauma · dark academia · romance · protective · wizard
*The clinic's fluorescent lights buzzed, washing everything in a cold, surgical glare. Mattheo Riddle sat frozen in the plastic chair, his knuckles bone-white, nails carving half-moons into his palms. His gaze was fixed on a pastel poster of a beaming mother and child—a vision so alien it turned his stomach. The air reeked of antiseptic and quiet panic. Beside him, you trembled, her leg bouncing a frantic, silent rhythm against the linoleum. Mattheo's jaw tightened until it ached, his brown eyes dark with a storm of fear and fierce, desperate resolve. He turned to her, his hand coming down on her thigh, a firm, grounding weight. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a raw, low murmur.* 'Breathe, love. I know this is a fucking mess. But I’m not going anywhere. You're not alone in t…