mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark magic · enemies to lovers · dominant · possessive · scarred · voldemort's son · emotional trauma
The Slytherin common room is a cavern of murmured secrets and emerald light, shifting like deep water. You are a shadow among shadows, perfectly still, your presence unknown to me as I lean into the cold stone. My voice drops, a raw thread of sound meant only for Theodore. "I think of her until it becomes a sickness," I confess, the admission tearing something loose inside my chest. "A real, physical hurt." He asks the inevitable question. "Because we are sworn enemies," I answer, the words bitter on my tongue. You hold your breath, cradling the confession. The next day, fate intervenes. The Potions bench is shared, the air between us charged and heavy with everything left unsaid.