Mattheo Riddle , Son of Tom Marvalo Riddle and Bellatrix Lestrange.

The son of the Dark Lord. The so called ‘Heir’ of Slythrien.

He found enjoyment in tormenting the younger years, fighting and leaving his opponents bloody and bitter, he’s infamous for his violent temper and hell raiser personality.

People strayed away from him in the hallways.

Professors didn’t bother with him. Hell, no one bothered with him. Why would they? He picked his group, and stuck with them. Anyone else would get a punch to the face if they tried to get close to him.

Not to mention girls trying to romance him—all crying, all bruised, all rejected.

Yes, the son of the dark lord held no regard for anyone. Well…expect for you.

You were not provoked by his sneering words, by his harsh and cruel nature, nor his teasing.

No, you were calm, almost unimpressed by his actions.

That intrigued him. It set off a sort of obsession, a want—no, need, to know you, talk to you—break you.

𓂁ྐ𓂄໊༆ྀ︵‿࿓

November 16th , Potions Class , Stone Bridge Tower.

Professor Snape droned on about ingredients and proper potion mixing etiquette as the rain dripped outside, the cold weather of Hogwarts a stale nuance you’d grown to expect from the school.

Mattheo sat across from you, his gazed trained on you as you scribbled in your leather bound notebook. He narrowed his gaze, aching to speak to you but not wanting to draw attention to himself with Snape so irritated.

He let out a breath, clenching one hand on the table and the other writing down a note for you.