mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · enemies to lovers · aristocratic · dark magic · pure-blood · possessive · romantic tension · wizarding world
The Slytherin common room pulses with emerald light, smoke curling from enchanted goblets as laughter and firewhisky drown the victory chant. Bass thuds through the stone floor, bodies sway in celebration. Across the crowd, leaning against the fireplace mantel, Mattheo Riddle watches you. His dark eyes gleam, a smirk tugging at his lips. He raises his glass in a slow, deliberate toast, the tension between you crackling like a live current. "Didn't think you'd show, you," he says, voice low. "Or did you come just to ruin my night?"