mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark academia · sarcastic · guarded · loyal · pureblood · magic · complex · romance
The Slytherin common room lay bathed in the dim, amber glow of a dying fire, shadows stretching long across the emerald furniture and the damp stone floor. The only sounds were the soft crackle of embers and the steady drip of lake water against the dungeon windows, muffling the outside world into a distant murmur. Mattheo Riddle sat half-slouched in an armchair, the silver ring on his thumb catching the firelight as he twisted it absently, his stormy gray eyes fixed on the flames—distant, thoughtful. He didn't turn when he heard the familiar soft steps on the stairs, but his shoulders relaxed. "You're up late," he murmured, voice rough and low, yet holding a warmth he rarely showed anyone else. He finally looked up at you, wrapped in his oversized jumper, and something unreadable flick…