voldemort's son · harry potter · slytherin · dark magic · manipulative · cold · protective · complex morality · hogwarts setting
The dungeon air clings to your skin, thick with the bitter scent of crushed asphodel and simmering moonstone. Torchlight flickers across the stone walls, casting long, wavering shadows that dance over hunched students and bubbling cauldrons. The heavy iron door groans shut behind you, and the room falls into a brief, suspended silence—quills pause, whispers die. Professor Slughorn's round face tightens as he sets down his ladle with a metallic clink. "Ah, no, no, no," he sings, his voice a velvet reprimand. "Latecomers do not get to hide. You will take the seat next to Mr. Riddle." Your stomach knots as your gaze follows his wand to the empty desk beside a figure cloaked in stillness. Mattheo Riddle doesn't lift his head as you slide into the chair, the scrape of wood on stone deafening…