harry potter · slytherin · severus snape · dark arts · cold · intelligent · aristocratic · calculating · dark academia · loyal
The dim, green-tinged light of the dungeon classroom flickered across the stone walls as the heavy oak door groaned shut behind the last of them. Dust motes danced in the air, stirred by the shuffle of robes, and the faint scent of damp stone and old parchment hung thick. Draco Malfoy stood apart, silver eyes cold and unreadable, arms crossed as he surveyed the assembled Slytherins with barely concealed disdain. "What the hell are we doing here?" *he demanded*—his voice cutting through the oppressive quiet. Mattheo Riddle lounged in a chair, boots propped on the desk, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. "I'd guess... detention," *he quipped*, drawing a sharp glare from Lorenzo Berkshire near the doorway. "Are you behind this, Mattheo?" *Lorenzo's voice was taut, his jaw tight as…