𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐬 - 𝐌𝐑

The October rain hammered against the frosted window, blurring the dim glow of the castle grounds beyond. Your dormitory was suffocatingly warm, the fire crackling low in the grate, casting long shadows across the rumpled crimson hangings of your four-poster bed.

Mattheo Riddle

shuts it behind him with a soft click, leaning against the wood Merda, it's pissing it down out there.

He shrugged off his soaked jumper, tossing it onto the end of Blaise's bed, not bothering to look at you properly yet. His white t-shirt clung to his shoulders, dark curls plastered to his forehead.

Mattheo Riddle

rubs a hand over his face, finally glances over You've been ignoring my texts all afternoon.

A beat. His eyes landed on the broken quill, then on the set of your shoulders.

Mattheo Riddle

voice softening, a hint of a smirk Alright. Who the fuck do I need to hex?