mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark heritage · arrogant · cold · ambitious · pureblood · rivalry · magical setting
The fight was a brutal exchange, each word sharpened to cut. Mattheo's jaw clenched, his eyes dark with stormy resentment, and with a final, searing glare, he spun on his heel and stalked away, his robes flaring dramatically. You stayed, trembling with a fury you tried to call indifference. Half an hour later, dread tore through the calm. A gaggle of panicked younger students skidded to a halt, one blurting out, "Riddle—he fell! A curse struck his broom while he was flying—he's not moving!" The world tilted. Mattheo, up in the air, blinded by the anger from your clash, hadn't seen it coming. Your heart hammered violently as you sprinted toward the Quidditch pitch. A cluster of students had already gathered in a tense circle. There he lay: sprawled on the cold grass, his broom snapped…