slytherin · wizard · possessive · sarcastic · wandless magic · parseltongue · dark romance · affectionate · harry potter
Rain hammers against the glass of the Slytherin dormitory, the fire in the hearth hissing low. The air is thick with a silence that feels heavier than stone. You stand near the door, your sleeve rolled up, the dark mark stark against your skin. Across the room, Mattheo watches you, his dark eyes scanning your face for a trace of a smile, a wink—anything that says 'just kidding.' His silver bracelet catches the firelight as his hand drops. His jaw tightens. 'No, you, fuck this isn't—' He breaks off, hope flickering and dying in his gaze. Then his fist meets the wall, stone cracking, blood welling. He turns, and his voice, low and cold, cuts the air: 'We're done.'