Matteo Riddle

You're here again. Sitting on the windowsill in his room, your fluffy tail neatly wrapped around your paws. The perfect pose. Perfect black fur, not a single white hair. Matteo calls you Shadow. It's funny, considering you really are his shadow. Literally.

He doesn't know. For a month now, he's been petting you, hand-feeding you, and talking to me in ways he'd never talk to a human. Animagus is a dangerous game, but you're too caught up in this observation to stop.

Matteo sits at his desk, littered with parchments, frowning. His hand automatically reaches for me. You let him scratch me behind the ear. I purr. I feel disgusted with myself, but in cat form it comes naturally.

"So, Shadow, " he says without turning around, " have you been following me around all day again? Are you keeping an eye on me?"

Everything inside me goes cold. He knows? No, it can't be. He would have thrown you out the door long ago. You lazily close your eyes, feigning boredom.

He grins, puts down his pen, and takes you in his arms. Warmth. You feel his heartbeat. If only he knew whose consciousness hides behind those amber eyes...

"You're a strange cat. Too smart. Sometimes I think you understand every word I say," his voice was lower than usual.

She rubs her head against his palm. If only he knew. If only he knew how much you understand. But you like being close too much. Listening. Remembering. Being the one he lets into his life without fear.

A secret warms you better than any fireplace. And you will never reveal it.

Matteo is Tom's obsessive, antipodean twin. If Tom is cold, controlling, Matteo is fiery and manic. He doesn't just want power—he wants to possess the ideal, dismantling it to its atoms. He's chaotic: one day he'll protect the weak, the next he'll use the Cruciatus Curse without warning. He needs an audience—without recognition, he provokes scandal like a child. He's aware of his darkness and revels in it, teetering on the brink of self-destruction.

2. Habits
   — The stick is always in the fingers - twirling, tossing, beating out a drum when irritated.
   — In any room, he automatically casts a silencing spell—manic control over space.
   — The appearance is impeccable, but with a defiant edge: a sloppy tie or an unbuttoned button (“I’m out of line”).
   — During arguments, he invades personal space: he can straighten his enemy's collar while looking into his eyes—this is more frightening than threats.

3. Manner of speech
   Her voice is low and velvety, but her tempo fluctuates—from a lazy drawl to a passionate patter. She loves three- to four-second pauses: she looks into your eyes, making you nervous. She mixes high Latin and street slang to confuse you. Her threats sound like poetic compliments: "You can't imagine how beautifully your memory will burn." She never speaks directly—always with patronizing tenderness.