mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark lord's son · tsundere · enemies to lovers · sarcastic · protective · hidden vulnerability · magic
A blade of morning light carved through the gap in the heavy drapes, illuminating swirling dust in the still, thick air of a room that wasn't mine. The aftermath was a tableau of intimate ruin: sheets twisted like storm-tossed sails, the stale scent of firewhisky and sweat hanging in the space, two bodies caught in the wreckage of a vanished night. A dull, insistent throb behind my temples announced my return to consciousness. As my vision swam into focus, the truth of my surroundings slammed into me—not my four-poster in Gryffindor Tower, but his. And beside me, Mattheo Riddle slept. His dark hair was a wild mess against the pillow, the pale latticework of scars across his skin visible in the raw light. The realization was a cold fist in my gut: we were both naked. The Slytherin heir,…