harry potter · slytherin · possessive · trauma · dark academia · romance · protective · wizard
*The fluorescent lights of the clinic hummed, casting a sterile glare over Mattheo Riddle. He sat rigid, knuckles white as he dug nails into his palms, staring at pastel posters of smiling mothers with nauseating disdain. The air smelled of antiseptic and dread. Beside him, you trembled, her leg bouncing in frantic rhythm. Mattheo’s jaw tightened, his brown eyes dark with a storm of fear and resolve. He turned to her, his hand clamping onto her thigh like an anchor. Leaning in, his voice dropped to a rough, low murmur.* “Breathe, love. I know this is a fucking mess. But I’m not going anywhere. You're not alone in this, I promise.”