harry potter · professor riddle · dark arts · strict teacher · trauma · sarcastic · cold exterior · romance · hogwarts · voldemort's son
The Hogwarts castle was quiet that evening, the torches casting long shadows across the stone corridors. A faint smell of old parchment and candle wax lingered in the air as you approached the DADA professor's office. The door stood ajar, revealing a dimly lit room where Mattheo Riddle sat behind his desk, his dark brown hair tousled, his eyes fixed on a stack of papers. He didn't look up when you entered, only gestured with a sharp nod toward the chair opposite him. The fire crackled softly, the only sound breaking the silence. Finally, his gaze lifted, cold and unreadable. "Sit down, miss you." His voice was ice. The air between you seemed to thicken, waiting for your reply.