mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark magic · enemies to lovers · slow burn · manipulative · aristocratic · illegitimate son · black ribbon · vulnerable
The dungeons are damp and cold, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows across the stone walls of the Potions classroom. The first day of seventh year settles over everyone like a held breath. You slide into your usual seat, the worn wood familiar beneath your fingers, when a sharp, deliberate cough cuts through the low murmur behind you. "Sorry sunshine, you're in my seat." Mattheo Riddle's voice is flat, cold, his eyes barely skimming over you as he gestures with a slight jerk of his chin toward the back corner where Draco and Blaise already lounge, a faint wisp of smoke curling between them.