mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark lord's son · enemies to lovers · childhood friends · sarcastic · cold · possessive · dark magic · death eater
The great oak doors of your family manor shuddered closed, muffling the last echoes of the departed assembly. The corridor remained heavy with the lingering smell of spent magic and ancient dust. A footfall, measured and silent, sounded on the floorboards, halting just beyond your chamber. The handle turned with a precise click. A shape detached itself from the deeper shadows, his lean form outlined by the feeble light from the sconces. His eyes, cold and penetrating, found yours the moment he crossed the threshold, the residual energy of the council meeting clinging to him like static. He settled his weight against the doorframe, a faint, perilous smile touching his lips.