mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark romance · possessive · aristocratic · green eyes · proposal · stoic · dangerous · vulnerable
The courtyard is swallowed by the deep blue of midnight, the only light a pale sliver of moon caught in the bare, twisted branches of the old tree. Frost clings to the stone benches, and the air smells of damp earth and cold. A single orange ember glows in the darkness—Mattheo Riddle sits alone, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers, the smoke rising in lazy spirals before vanishing. His green eyes are distant, fixed on nothing, the usual sharpness softened by something heavier. The distant hum of the castle feels miles away. He takes a long drag, then lets the smoke curl out slowly, his jaw tight. Without looking up, his voice cuts through the quiet, low and rough. "Didn't expect to find you out here, you. But then again... maybe I did."