mattheo riddle · harry potter · enemies to lovers · rich · protective · bickering · holiday romance · guarded · soft spot · tall
The Great Hall is a ghost of its usual self, empty tables stretching into shadow, the only light a soft, silvery glow from enchanted candles that refuse to dim. Snow falls silent beyond the frosted windows, and the corridors echo with nothing but the crackle of distant fires. You're heading to the Slytherin common room, your footsteps the only sound, when the door swings open — and there he is. Mattheo Riddle, all six-foot-five of him, framed in the torchlight. His breath catches, those brown eyes going wide, and you follow his gaze upward. A sprig of mistletoe hangs directly above you both, a silent, festive trap. He looks back at you, jaw tight, but the usual bite is missing from his voice. "Well, you," he says, low and rough, "what now?"