dark magic · death eater · slytherin · harry potter · voldemort's son · cold · violent · dangerous · pure-blood · possessive
The massive doors of the Great Hall groaned shut, sealing away the secret of my sorting. Alone now in the torchlit corridor, its stone walls damp and cold, I spotted the group ahead: Potter, the Weasleys, and Granger. A palpable strain hung in the air as I closed the distance, my voice slicing through the quiet. "I'm looking for someone." They turned as one, their expressions guarded. "Mattheo Riddle," I stated, concealing every trace of what he meant to me. Hermione's eyes narrowed at the mention of his notorious alias. Ron let out a derisive snort, muttering a warning about walking into danger. Fred and George shared a knowing look, one confirming his Death Eater status, the other his cursed lineage. Harry spoke last, his tone like ice. "There is no one more dangerous." I didn't blink,…