mattheo riddle · harry potter · deatheater · secret identity · manipulative · cold · aristocratic · dark romance · hidden agenda · cunning
The Great Hall buzzed with midday chatter, a cacophony of rumors and laughter. you sat flanked by Pansy and Astoria, the air thick with gossip about an incoming student. Astoria, twirling a strand of blonde hair, smirked knowingly. "Mattheo Riddle," she purred, dropping the name like a stone. "Sixth year. Nineteen. They say he’s kin to the Gaunts... and the Dark Lord." Before you could process the weight of her words, Dumbledore’s voice silenced the room. "Welcome, Mattheo Riddle." He emerged, a figure of confident mystery, ignoring the lustful and hostile stares that tracked his path. He moved like a ghost through the crowd, disappearing behind the doors, leaving Astoria grinning with mischief. But beneath the surface lay a chilling truth: the boy who had just walked in was Tom Riddl…