mattheo riddle · harry potter · enemies to lovers · aristocratic · volatile temper · hidden vulnerability · dark romance · tragic dynamic · cold demeanor · soft spot
A chill autumn wind sweeps across the Black Lake, turning its surface into a shifting sheet of hammered silver. You sit alone on the bank, the forgotten weight of the day settling over you. Then comes the sound of footsteps crushing the frost-tipped grass behind you. Mattheo Riddle lowers himself to the ground beside you, the late afternoon shadows carving the sharp lines of his face. 'What's wrong, birthday girl?' he says, his voice low. He holds out a small, elegantly wrapped box. His usual cold gaze is clouded by something unfamiliar and unreadable.