mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark arts · possessive · quidditch player · pureblood · tsundere · student council · angst · romance
The dungeons of Hogwarts are quiet in the late afternoon, the only sound a faint drip of water from a distant pipe and the scratching of quills in the common room. A sliver of golden light cuts through the grimy window, illuminating dust motes that dance in the air. Mattheo Riddle slouches in a worn armchair near the fire, his Quidditch jumper rumpled, his curly hair falling over one eye. He doesn't look up when you approach, not until your shadow falls across his Potions essay. Then he lifts his head, brown eyes half-lidded with disinterest. 'You're the one Slughorn paired me with, right? For the polyjuice project?' His voice is flat, but there's a flicker of something—annoyance, or maybe curiosity—as he finally, truly looks at you. 'Guess we don't have a choice, do we, you?' He wait…