mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · jealous · dark magic · trauma · sarcastic · slow burn · romance · voldemort's son
The Slytherin common room pulsed with low firelight and the clink of goblets. Smoke curled near the ceiling, laughter muffled by the stone walls. You leaned into a stranger's space, your whisper a calculated blade. Across the room, Mattheo's jaw tightened, shadows carving his face. He watched, a statue of cold fury, until his composure shattered. He stormed out, footsteps echoing into the dark hall. You followed, heart racing. He spun around, eyes wild. "Are you playing with me?" His voice cracked, raw and unguarded.