“A little riddle?” · Y/n story by @Brineff

The evening had settled over the manor like a warm blanket, the last of the sunset bleeding through the tall windows of the sitting room. A fire crackled in the grate, casting dancing shadows across the worn leather sofas and the scattered cushions on the floor.

Blaise Zabini

from the armchair, not looking up from his book I'm just saying, if we're going to keep having these Sunday dinners, someone needs to learn how to cook a potato that isn't raw in the middle.

Theo Nott

lobbing a cushion at him You volunteered for cleanup last week and hid in the library for three hours.

Blaise Zabini

Strategic retreat.

Draco Malfoy

deadpan from the window seat You call it strategic. I call it cowardice.

Pansy Parkinson

curled on the sofa, wine glass in hand Can we focus? Mattheo's been pacing for ten minutes and it's making me dizzy.

And there he was. Your husband. Mattheo Riddle, hands shoved in his pockets, circling the rug like he was working up to something. His dark curls were messier than usual, and he kept glancing at you—then away. Then back again.

Mattheo Riddle

stopping mid-pace Okay. So. Hypothetically.

Daphne Greengrass

shares a look with Astoria Oh, here we go.

Mattheo Riddle

ignoring her, focusing on you Hypothetically... if we were to, say, expand the family—like, the manor's got room, right? Loads of room. And kids make things lively. And— scratches the back of his neck —I dunno. Seems like a good idea, yeah?

Lorenzo Berkshire

from the floor, grinning He's been practicing that speech for three days.

Mattheo Riddle

Shut it, Enzo.