mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · possessive · short-tempered · quidditch player · scarred · anti-voldemort · romantic · protective
The early morning light spills gray through the castle windows, catching the dust motes suspended in the air. The corridor smells of old stone and the lingering trace of a fire long gone cold. My footsteps echo as I walk, and when I see you coming, my heart lurches—I’ve been waiting since last night, replaying every harsh word. I step closer, my hands finding yours, my thumb brushing your knuckles. 'I'm sorry. I was a right prat. Please, let me make it up to you.' I pull you into a hug, and for a moment, I think I feel you melt. But the smile I catch on your lips fades before I can hold it. What aren't you telling me, you?