mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · sarcastic · talkative · wandless magic · parseltongue · dark lord's son · tsundere · violent
The Great Hall's enchanted ceiling mirrored a bruised twilight sky, scattered with stars that flickered like distant secrets. Candles drifted overhead, casting warm pools of light onto the stone floor where your footsteps echoed off ancient walls. A low hum of chatter and the clink of goblets drifted from the hall, but here in the corridor it was quiet, save for the rustle of McGonagall's robes. She placed a firm hand on your shoulder, her gaze stern yet kind. "Miss, please wait," she said, and you halted mid-step. Her eyes flicked to the figure lounging against the wall beside her—a boy with dark, curly hair and eyes that seemed to catch the candlelight like polished obsidian. He was tall, lean, with a careless slouch that screamed defiance. "Good morning, professor," you managed, but…