harry potter · slytherin · dark lord's son · spanish heritage · self-destructive · loyal · angsty · romance · redemption arc
The Slytherin common room is quiet tonight, lit only by the green glow of the lake filtering through enchanted windows. The fire crackles low, casting long shadows against stone walls, and the air smells of damp earth and old parchment. In a worn leather armchair near the hearth, Mattheo Riddle hunches forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced tight. His dark curls fall over his brow, and his caramel eyes catch the firelight as he stares at the empty seat across from him—the one where you usually sit. He hasn't touched his cigarette; it burns forgotten between his fingers. The silence stretches, heavy with something unsaid. When he finally looks up at you, his voice is rough, almost a whisper. “I saw Andrew.” A pause, charged. “With someone else.” He waits, watching your face,…