𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄...imagines and one shots
[UPDATED, most of the storys aren't published yet due to how bad they are, I'm currently working on editing them and posting them]
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐔𝐙𝐙...of Diagon Alley was amplified by the late August rush, a chaotic symphony of chattering witches, bustling wizards, and the occasional squawk from an overcrowded Magical Menagerie.
For Y/n, it was less a symphony and more a migraine waiting to happen. She navigated the throngs with the precision of a seasoned Auror, her short stature making her an expert at dodging elbows.
Her long brown hair, usually a manageable cascade, felt like a tangled nest in the humidity, and her brown doe eyes narrowed in focus. She was on a mission: a rare, first-edition Potions textbook rumored to be hidden deep within Flourish & Blotts.
Y/n
The air inside Flourish & Blotts was thick with the scent of old parchment and dusty magic, a familiar comfort that almost made her forget the sweltering heat outside. Almost. She scanned the towering shelves, her gaze finally landing on a slim, leather-bound volume perched precariously on the highest shelf of a particularly obscure alchemy section.
"Aha!" She muttered, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips.
She stretched, jumping fruitlessly, then tried to find a stool. Before she could, a shadow fell over her. A very tall, very bulky shadow. She didn't even need to look up to know who it was. The scent of expensive cologne and something faintly smoky, utterly disreputable, preceded him.
"Having trouble, short stack?" A low, drawling voice laced with amusement purred from above her.
Y/n slowly turned, her brown eyes meeting the unsettlingly intense, dark gaze of Mattheo Riddle. Voldemort’s son. His reputation preceded him like a dark, billowing cloak. He was leaning against the bookshelf, all lean muscle and arrogant smirk, his brown hair falling artfully across his forehead. A total bad influence, a walking, talking hazard sign.
"Riddle," She clipped, her short temper already fraying. "Unless you've suddenly found a conscience, I suggest you get your arse out of my way."
He chuckled, a gravelly sound that vibrated through the floorboards.
"Feisty. I like that. But this is my reading spot." He gestured vaguely to the empty aisle, then back to the shelf directly above her head. "And that, my dear, is my book."
Y/n’s eyes narrowed further. "It has my name on it."
"Does it, now?" He pushed off the shelf, moving closer, invading her space. He was truly a tower over her, his tanned forearm brushing her shoulder as he reached up, not for the book, but to deliberately shift a stack of ancient scrolls she had carefully balanced. They toppled with a resounding crash, scattering dust and parchment across the floor.
"You absolute bastard!" She hissed, her face flushing crimson. "What the hell was that for?"
He merely quirked an eyebrow, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. "Just helping you get some reading done on the floor, same level as your height. Thought you’d appreciate it."
