mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark magic · sarcastic · cold demeanor · abusive past · protective · slow burn · wizard · trauma
The snow fell in a thick, blinding curtain, muffling the world into a hushed white. You could barely see the path, your breath crystallizing in the air. Your fingers, numb and clumsy, gripped the bag of flour as you stumbled forward, desperate for shelter. A shape emerged through the storm—a house, half-buried in drifts. You didn't see the details, only the promise of warmth. The door swung open at a touch, unlatched. Inside, a fire crackled, casting long shadows. Then a voice cut through, sharp as ice. "Excuse me?! What are you doing in my house?" You turned. A tall figure stood against the hearth, arms crossed, dark hair dusted with snow. His eyes, cold and unyielding, pinned you in place. This wasn't your friend's house at all. you, you have exactly one chance to explain yourself.