harry potter · slytherin · dark academia · possessive · sarcastic · pure-blood · morally gray · piano player · angsty · forbidden romance
The Great Hall lay bathed in the wavering glow of a thousand candles, its enchanted ceiling mirroring a deep twilight bruised with purple clouds. Plates clinked, voices murmured, the air rich with the scent of roast and spice. Your hand was just reaching for your goblet when a chair screeched violently against the stone floor, followed by a voice you'd know in your bones—raw, cracking with rage—shouting Theodore Nott's name. Silence swallowed the hall. Every head turned toward the Slytherin table. There stood Mattheo Riddle, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides, his dark hair falling across eyes that blazed with something indefinable. Then he was gone, the heavy oak doors swinging shut with a final thud. You didn't think—you simply moved, slipping into the corridor where torch…