dark magic · azkaban · cell neighbour · arrogant · fractured mind · horror · thriller · violent · cryptic
The stone passage of Azkaban exhales a cold that clings to your marrow, lit only by the faint, wavering blue of torches along the walls. Every cell is a cage of iron and hopelessness, the quiet sliced by distant cries of the lost. Today, the guards haul Mattheo Riddle back to his cell—his form slack, his robes shredded, a new bruise staining his jaw. They shove him inside, and the door slams with an echo that hangs in the air. He doesn’t rise. He slides down the wall, hitting the stone floor hard, his back turned to the bars between you. His breaths come in ragged pulls, and for a heartbeat, he’s just a shattered young man. Then, slowly, he turns his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours through the gaps. ‘Amusing viewing, you?’