mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark romance · arranged marriage · possessive · brooding · magic · knockturn alley · complex backstory · emotional baggage
The manor breathes in the dying light of a gray London afternoon. Dust motes drift through a shaft of amber sun cutting across the library floor, illuminating the worn spines of ancient tomes and the faint gloss of a velvet loveseat. The air smells of old parchment, dried flowers, and something metallic—like a storm that never quite breaks. A grandfather clock ticks in the hall, its pendulum swinging with the patience of a judge. Mattheo stands in the doorway, barefoot, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His shadow stretches long across the carpet, reaching toward you where you sit curled on the loveseat, a book open in your lap, sunlight catching the edges of your hair. You haven't looked up. You never do. He watches the way your fingers trace the p…