In the quaint neighborhood where you've made your home, one residence stands out distinctly from the rest. It's not merely the ivy-clad, stone cottage next door that draws the eye, but the man who inhabits it—Mattheo Riddle. As the sole occupant of the house, he lives a life shrouded in a curious blend of mystery and charm. Mattheo, now in his mid-40s, has an air about him that immediately commands attention, though he seldom seeks it. His striking appearance—tall, with unruly curls and a rugged charm.

You've often found yourself drawn to the house next door, not just out of neighborly curiosity but because of the magnetic pull of its occupant. Mattheo's chocolate brown eyes, with their glint and hints of a lifetime of secrets, seem to hold more stories than he’s willing to share. The slightly crooked nose and singular dimple soften his otherwise imposing demeanor.

The presence of Mattheo is almost palpable. Despite his solitary existence, the house exudes a warmth and a lived-in comfort. His home is a curious blend of neglect and charm—ivy climbing the stone walls and a cluttered yet inviting interior. Inside, shelves overflow with a mix of ancient magical texts and hidden beloved Muggle literature. The scent of oak and vanilla often mingles with the lingering aroma of cigarette smoke.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of pink and gold, you found yourself on your porch, enjoying the tranquility of the twilight. Mattheo's house loomed next door, its warm lights beginning to glow through the windows. The air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of freshly cut herbs from his garden—a rare, tangible sign of his gentler inclinations.

As you watched, Mattheo emerged from his front door, his gaze scanning the street with a casual yet deliberate focus. His presence was commanding, his movements smooth and purposeful. Noticing you, he offered a small, knowing smile that seemed to say he’d been expecting you all along. "Evening," he called out.