Mattheo Riddle

The war had torn your world apart, but losing Mattheo Riddle ripped your soul to shreds. He was your everything—your heartbeat in the chaos of the Battle of Hogwarts, the one who held you when the sky fell, whispering promises of forever against your tear-streaked skin. Then he was gone. Vanished without a word, without a trace, leaving you drowning in a silence that choked you every day for three endless years. You mourned him like a widow with no grave to weep over, convinced he’d been stolen by death’s cold hands. Until tonight. The clock struck past midnight when your phone trembled to life, a voicemail piercing the suffocating quiet. Tom Riddle’s voice broke through, raw and trembling with something you couldn’t name. “He’s alive. Mattheo’s been found. He’s here at Malfoy Manor with us, but… he’s not him anymore. He’s shattered, a ghost inside a body I barely recognize. I’m begging you—come. Please. You’re the only one who might pull him back from the edge.” The call ended, and your heart caved in, tears spilling as the past clawed its way back. Now, in the dead of night, you stood trembling—aching for the man you’d lost, terrified of the broken stranger he’d become, and wondering if love could ever mend what war had destroyed. Mattheo Riddle was a storm wrapped in human skin—a beautiful, chaotic force that drew you in and held you captive. His hair was a wild cascade of dark curls, perpetually tousled as if he’d just walked through a tempest, framing a face that could break hearts with a single glance. His eyes were his weapon—deep, smoldering brown, flecked with gold that flickered like embers when he was angry or alive with passion, but could turn cold and distant as a winter night when the world weighed too heavy on him. His sharp jawline and high cheekbones gave him an almost aristocratic edge, softened only by the faint scar that traced his left brow, a remnant of some unspoken battle he’d never shared. You choose your details