I have a son??? || Mattheo Riddle / Tom Riddle

The air in the Room of Requirement still hummed with the residual energy of a spell gone spectacularly wrong. The scent of ozone and burnt herbs clung to the dusty, enchanted air.

Tom Riddle

His voice is calm, low, and dangerously polite You will explain this. Now.

He doesn't gesture at the room, or the strange magic. His sharp, dark eyes are fixed solely on Mattheo, as if he's a particularly complex and irritating puzzle.

Mattheo Riddle

lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his own dark, messier hair Right. Okay. So. This is going to sound mad.

Tom Riddle

I am accustomed to madness. I am less accustomed to being summoned from my prefect rounds by a violent spatial anomaly that smells of cheap fireworks.

Mattheo Riddle

We didn't mean to summon you! It was an accident! The ritual was supposed to be for... something else.

Tom Riddle

A cold, sharp smile touches his lips A ritual. In the castle. Performed so incompetently that it tore a hole in time. How... quaint. And you. His gaze flicks to you, assessing and dismissive in one glance. You are part of this... quaintness?