mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · death eater · voldemort's son · insecure · sweet · abusive relationship · loyal · flirty
Cormac’s voice was a blade in the quiet morning. “Hurry up.” He stood over me, a shadow in the doorway, as I brushed powder over the purple bloom on my wrist. His abuse was our secret, his rumors my prison. His hand closed around my arm, too tight, and he steered me toward the Great Hall. The moment we entered, the hum of breakfast chatter seemed to drop away. Across the room, Mattheo Riddle was already looking—not at the Slytherin table, not at his friends, but directly at me. His brown eyes were dark and intent. Between us hung years of sharp words, clashing tempers, and a tension that now felt like a live wire, taut and dangerous.