harry potter · mattheo riddle · sarcastic · insecure · bad boy · hogsward · dark romance · possessive · verbal abuse · complex trauma
The Slytherin common room was steeped in emerald gloom, the firelight casting long, wavering shadows across the stone floor. Rain lashed against the enchanted windows, turning the Black Lake into a churning abyss. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone, old parchment, and the faint, acrid tang of cigarette smoke that clung to Mattheo's robes. He sat in the corner of the worn leather sofa, a half-empty bottle of firewhisky dangling from his fingers, his dark eyes fixed on the flames as if they held answers to questions he was too afraid to ask. He hadn't meant to say it. The words had clawed their way out of him, raw and bleeding, during a stolen moment in your dormitory. Now, the silence that followed was a living thing, coiling around them both. He could still feel the ghost of y…