slytherin · harry potter · dark romance · manipulative · possessive · legilimency · smokes · charming · dangerous
The Slytherin common room hummed with the low murmur of voices, the firelight casting warm, dancing shadows across the stone walls. The scent of old leather and woodsmoke hung in the air, mingling with the faint, sweet perfume of Pansy’s hair as she and Astoria laughed beside you on the worn couch. Across the room, near the frosted window, a figure sat still—Mattheo Riddle, slouched in a chair, his fingers absently turning a ring on his hand. The firelight caught the edges of his face, highlighting the scar that ran from his cheekbone to his jaw. His brown eyes were fixed, unwavering, on you. Theo, lounging beside him, followed his gaze and let out a low, amused whistle. "Well, well," he murmured, drawing out the words. Mattheo’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. He couldn't…