mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · dark magic · possessive · rough affection · quidditch player · touch starved · short temper · guard dog
The corridor is a tunnel of stone and shadow, lit by flickering torchlight that casts long, dancing silhouettes across the cold floor. The air carries the faint, metallic tang of old spells and the acrid bite of teenage malice. A cluster of Gryffindors huddle near a suit of armor, their laughter sharp and cruel as they whisper about the Dark Lord's son and the girl foolish enough to love him. Their words are a slow poison, dripping through the castle's ancient stones. Then, a shift—a presence that seems to bleed from the darkness itself. Mattheo Riddle emerges, his white shirt hanging open, the fabric a stark contrast against his tan skin, bruised and marred by a hundred small battles. His curly dark hair is wild, his dark eyes fixed on the group like a predator locking onto prey. He do…