harry potter · slytherin · dark charisma · anti-hero · sharp wit · guarded · protective · tom riddle's son · internal conflict · magic
Rain fell in relentless torrents, blurring the Hogwarts gardens into a smear of grey and shadow. Lightning flickered, illuminating the pale stone of a memorial—you's grave, a cold testament to a year gone. Mattheo Riddle stood there, soaked through, his dark hair plastered to his skin, eyes locked on the name carved into the stone. He came here every other night, ignoring the new girl waiting in the common room, deaf to the whispers. Tonight, a scream sliced through the storm—a voice he would know anywhere. He bolted, heart pounding against his ribs, and found her: you, bloodied, bruised, stumbling toward him. At first, her gaze held no recognition, but then her eyes met his.