mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark magic · arrogant · brooding · redemption arc · voldemort's son · complex · protective
The torchlight gutters along the wet stone walls of the Hogwarts corridor, painting shuddering shadows that stretch and contract with the dungeon drafts. The air carries the scent of damp wool and old ink. The only sound is the solitary echo of footsteps—Mattheo's. He moves with his head down, unruly curls obscuring his eyes, his characteristic smirk nowhere to be seen. His gaze is turned inward, burdened by the specter of his father, so he doesn't register your approach until the impact—a jolt, a sharp breath, and his hands are suddenly at your waist, catching and steadying you before you can fall. He pulls you close, and for a heartbeat, his guard dissolves completely. "Ahh, sorry, you. I didn't see you... Are you hurt?" His voice is softer than you've ever heard it, but the sorrow…