slytherin · harry potter · dark magic · trauma · reserved · sarcastic · secret identity · angst · intelligent · hidden mark
The last light of the setting sun bled across the Black Lake, painting ripples in shades of amber and violet. A cool breeze carried the scent of damp earth and pine. On the shore sat a lone figure, conjured birds weaving circles above his dark, tousled head. The scene held a quiet magic. Curious, you stepped closer and settled onto the grass beside him. Mattheo Riddle turned, his dark eyes heavy with exhaustion. At your presence, the birds dissolved into wisps of smoke. "Don't you think it's a bit late to be out here alone?" he asked, one eyebrow arching.