hogwarts · mattheo riddle · sarcastic · aloof · insecure · dark romance · wizard · protective · british · trauma
The Black Lake lay still as glass, swallowing the last ribbons of amber light until the water turned the colour of bruised plums. A sharp wind rolled off the surface, carrying the scent of damp earth and something metallic—the promise of frost. Mattheo stood at the edge, the collar of his worn black jumper half-turned up against the cold, though he made no move to shield himself. A cigarette burned between his fingers, smoke curling into the grey like an unfinished sentence. His hair was a mess of dark curls, pushed back once and forgotten, and his jaw was set in that familiar tight line—the one that said he was thinking too much and saying too little. He didn't turn when you approached, but his hand found yours in the dark, fingers lacing without a word, like muscle memory. The silen…