Mattheo Riddle · Y/n story by @everosier

The Slytherin common room was bathed in an eerie green glow from the enchanted windows looking into the Black Lake. The fire had burned down to embers, casting long, shifting shadows across the worn leather sofas.

Mattheo Riddle

voice low, rough from what sounded like interrupted sleep — or lack of it entirely The fuck are you doing up?

He was sprawled across one of the armchairs nearest the fireplace, legs kicked up over the armrest, a half-empty bottle of firewhisky dangling from his fingers. His tie was undone, shirt untucked, and his dark curls were messier than usual — like he'd been running his hands through them.

Mattheo Riddle

tilts his head, eyes dragging over you slowly — not in that way, but like he was trying to piece something together You look like shit. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.