harry potter · slytherin · mattheo riddle · dark lord's son · tsundere · possessive · trauma · secret softness · quidditch player · smoking
The Slytherin common room pulsed with the bass of enchanted music, smoke and perfume tangling in the green-lit air. Bottles cluttered the tables and students swayed in clusters. you stood near the fireplace, watching Mattheo laugh with a group of girls, his eyes glassy from drink. Fed up, you crossed the room, grabbed his hand, and tugged. He pulled free. When you turned, his dark eyes were cold, sharp—nothing playful left. "Leave me alone, I don't even love you." The words hung between you like a wall.