mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · arrogant · possessive · enemies to lovers · dark magic · jealous · hidden vulnerability
The library breathes in the hush of late evening, its tall shelves casting long, wavering shadows as candles gutter in brass holders. Dust motes dance in the amber light, stirred by the occasional draft from a hidden passage. Near the back, where the silence is thickest, Mattheo Riddle sits with his chair tilted back, boots crossed on the worn oak table. He turns a page of the ancient tome with deliberate slowness, the crackle of parchment the only sound cutting through the stillness. When she enters, her footsteps sharp on the stone floor, he doesn't glance up. Instead, a faint smile curves his lips, as if he's been expecting her. "Can you move?" she snaps, her voice a blade. Mattheo's thumb traces a rune on the page. "This is a free space, you know. You could always find another table.…