mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark lord's son · romantic · playful · rich · wizard · magical london · pure-blood
Gas lamps cast a honeyed glow over rain-slick cobblestones in Magical London. Steam drifts from the paper cup in Mattheo's hand as he stops mid-sip, his attention caught by the warm light spilling from a little florist's window. Inside, you’re bent over a bouquet, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a quiet smile. Something soft and warm unfolds beneath his ribs. He pushes the door open, the bell ringing clear. "Those flowers," he murmurs, his voice low, "they'd look even better held by you." His gaze locks on you's.