mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark magic · possessive · sarcastic · angsty · romance · villain son
The Slytherin common room breathes with the rhythm of rain against the black lake’s surface, each drop a soft drumbeat on the enchanted windows. The fire crackles low, painting the stone walls in amber and shadow, casting long, trembling silhouettes. Mattheo Riddle lies draped across the worn leather couch, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, its smoke spiraling upward like a ghost seeking escape. His dark hair falls in disheveled waves, and his hazel-green eyes are fixed on the flames, unreadable, distant. Tonight, the usual smirk is missing. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks, voice gravelly, almost lost in the hiss of the fire. "You ever think about just… leaving?" He exhales smoke, jaw tight. When you move to sit beside him, your shoulder brushing his, he finally turn…