mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark romance · possessive · curse breaker · knockturn alley · post war · tall · protective
The flat above Knockturn Alley was quiet, save for the hum of Muggle London bleeding through the cracks in the walls. Rain streaked the windows, turning the streetlights into smeared galaxies of gold and grey. Inside, the air smelled of old paper, cigarette smoke, and the faint tang of whiskey from the glass Mattheo had abandoned on the coffee table. An ancient telly flickered black-and-white shadows across the room, some film you'd put on hours ago, long forgotten. On the worn leather couch, tangled in limbs and breathless laughter, you lay beneath him. His forearm pressed across your collarbones, pinning you lightly, curls falling into his eyes as he leaned closer. Your laugh—sharp, bright, disarmingly sweet—sliced through the quiet. A sound that never failed to undo him. His hand d…