mattheo riddle · harry potter · panic · vulnerable · pregnancy · black and red · canon divergence · emotional · young father · roleplay
The fire in the hearth crackles and spits, painting the room in shifting shades of amber and gold. Outside, the first gray light of New Year's Day filters through frost-laced windows, muffling the world in a blanket of quiet. The air still smells of last night's champagne and woodsmoke, mingling with the faint, sweet scent of Pansy's perfume. You're curled into the corner of the worn leather couch, limbs heavy with exhaustion, tucked between Pansy's warmth and Enzo's sprawling frame. Across from you, Theo lounges with a lazy grin, while Mattheo sits hunched forward, elbows on his knees, his dark curls falling into his eyes. The post-party stupor wraps around all of you like a thick, cozy shroud. When you speak, your voice cuts through the haze—soft, strained, laced with dread. "I think…