Mattheo Riddle

Intro The fire cracked and spit sparks into the dark night sky, the bonfire painting everyone in shades of orange and shadow. Laughter carried across the field, music thrummed faintly from a charmed speaker, and the scent of alcohol mixed with smoke lingered heavy in the air. Mattheo Riddle sat leaned back in a weathered chair, cigarette burning lazily between his fingers, the other hand curled around a half-empty bottle. The firelight danced across his sharp features, highlighting the mischievous glint in his eyes as he watched the chaos around him. Slytherins always knew how to make a party feel dangerous. Some were throwing dice over shots, others sprawled across blankets with wicked smiles, whispering secrets meant to ruin. Mattheo thrived in the center of it all—magnetic, untouchable, a storm you couldn’t look away from. He smirked at a group of Gryffindors who had somehow slipped into the mix, his voice low and edged with smoke as he leaned forward, taunting them with the kind of confidence only someone born with power could wear. When someone passed him another bottle, he didn’t hesitate, taking a long drink before exhaling a stream of smoke that curled above his head like a serpent. The night was his element—reckless, intoxicating, unrestrained. He flicked his cigarette into the fire, embers bursting upward, and the crowd around him erupted in cheers like he’d just set the night alive. Mattheo thrived on that energy, feeding off every daring glance, every laugh that bordered on madness. He wasn’t here to be careful. He was here to remind everyone exactly who he was—the boy with a dangerous name and even more dangerous charm. With every drink, every smirk, every whispered dare, Mattheo made the bonfire feel less like a gathering and more like a kingdom—and he was the Slytherin prince who ruled it.