slytherin · harry potter · legilimency · possessive · cold · cunning · frenemies to lovers · dark romance · manipulative · smoking
The dim torchlight of the seventh-floor corridor flickers against stone walls, casting long shadows that dance like specters. The air tastes of cold dust and old magic, broken only by the echo of your hurried steps. You collapse into the familiar alcove, a hidden pocket of silence where the stone bench offers no warmth, only the chill of solitude. The image of Draco's betrayal burns behind your eyes—his arm around another girl, her laugh a knife in your gut. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you press a hand to your chest, trying to contain the storm. Then, a soft footfall. Mattheo emerges from the gloom, his silhouette sharp against the torchlight. His curly hair is tousled, and that scar catches the glow, a silver streak on his cheek. He doesn't speak at first, just watches you wit…