imagine... ⚯

It’s infuriating.

Theo nudges Mattheo with his elbow. “You’re staring again.”

“Shut up.”

“You should talk to her.”

“I said shut up.”

But Mattheo knows that Theo’s right. He should talk to you. He just doesn’t know how to talk to someone he almost let himself want.

But after he sees Enzo finally leave your side, Mattheo stands, jaw tight, and crosses the room until he’s directly behind you.

“You’re avoiding me,” he says quietly.

You freeze. Slowly, you turn to face him. “No, I’m not. I’m just… busy.”

“Right. Too busy to say two words to me for a week.”

You swallow, looking away. “It’s easier this way.”

He hates that answer. Hates the way it stings.

“Easier for who?”

“For both of us,” you whisper. “We said we’d go back to being friends.”

Mattheo laughs under his breath. There’s no joy in it. “We said that because neither of us knew what to do.”

“We still don’t.”

He steps closer. Too close. The same way he did on the tower. You almost feel the heat radiating off his body, the blood pumping in his veins. The breath he so carefully exhales.

“Tell me you don’t feel anything,” he says softly. “Look at me and say it.”

You meet his eyes, and for a second he sees it—the warmth, the hurt, the pull you’re both pretending isn’t real.

But then you steel yourself.

“Mattheo… we’re better off as friends.”

He flinches like you slapped him. The worst part is he tries to hide it, but you catch the slight tightening of his throat, the way his hands ball into fists at his sides.

“Friends,” he repeats, voice low. “That’s the lie you’re going with?”

“It’s not a lie,” you whisper, though it feels like one. “We crossed a line. We shouldn’t have.”

“So you’re pretending nothing happened?”

“That’s what we agreed.”

“No.” His voice cracks on the word. “You decided that. I never agreed to forget.”

Your breath trembles. “Mattheo, please—”

He steps back suddenly, like he’s afraid he’ll do something stupid if he stays close.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Friends.”

You hate how hollow it sounds.

He turns to leave, but you grab his wrist before he can step away.

He freezes.

Your voice breaks. “I don’t want to lose you.”

His eyes close. “Then stop pushing me away.”

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

He opens his eyes again, and the look in them is enough to break every wall you built.

“I know,” he murmurs. “But pretending we don’t want each other? That’s worse.”

You let go of his wrist slowly, fingers sliding away.

For a heartbeat, neither of you breathe.

And then he whispers the words that hurt more than anything:

“If this is what you want… if you really want to go back to friends… I’ll do it.”

You blink hard, but the tears don’t fall.

“Okay,” you whisper.

He nods once, sharp, controlled, like he’s holding something fragile inside.

Then he walks past you, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders stiff.

He doesn’t look back.

And that’s how the two of you stand there—close enough to touch, far enough to pretend you don’t want to.

Back to friends.

But every glance, every silence, every near-touch says the same thing:

I had heard Theo shout before. In frustration, in anger, even in rare moments of unguarded joy. But never like this. The sound was raw, torn from his throat with such agony that it sent me into a shaking mess against the dungeon wall. I pressed my hands over my ears, but it did nothing to drown out the gut-wrenching cries of my best friend.

I squeezed my eyes shut, breath coming in ragged gasps. I wanted it to stop. I needed it to stop.

"Please," I whispered to no one. "Please…"

Minutes stretched into eternity. Every scream, every choked curse made my stomach churn with helpless rage. By the time the door opened again, I had curled into myself, trembling.

Theo was barely standing as they dragged him back in. His face was pale, sweat-slicked, and his arms hung limply at his sides. His legs gave out the moment they released him, and he collapsed to the floor with a harsh grunt.

"Theo!" I crawled forward despite the searing pain in my arm. My hands cupped his face, finding his skin burning hot beneath my fingers. "Hey, look at me—come on, you’re okay. You’re okay."

His eyelids fluttered weakly, lips parting as though to speak, but nothing came out.

"No time for reunions, little one."

A cruel hand twisted into my hair and yanked me backward. I screamed, nails clawing at the Death Eater’s grip, but I was too weak, too slow. My body betrayed me, exhaustion weighing me down as they dragged me away from Theo, his feeble attempt to reach for me nothing more than a sluggish twitch of his fingers.

The dungeon door slammed shut behind me.

I was thrown onto the stone floor, pain jolting through my knees and palms as I barely caught myself. The air was thick with tension, charged with something dark and suffocating.

And then I saw them.

Draco and Mattheo.

They stood near the edge of the room, eyes trained on me. Draco’s face was blank, his hands clenched at his sides, but Mattheo—

His face paled, horror flickering through his dark eyes before he schooled his expression into cold indifference.

But Bellatrix noticed.

"Ah!" She clapped her hands together in delight, her sharp grin stretching wide. "So it’s true! What an adorable little betrayal."

I forced my head up, locking eyes with Mattheo, silently begging him not to react. Not here. Not now.

But the damage was done. Bellatrix stepped closer, her wand tracing lazy patterns in the air. "The Dark Lord was right to be suspicious. You’re quite the little weakness, aren’t you?"

Voldemort stepped forward, his presence drowning the room in ice. "Let’s see if your devotion holds under pressure."

Pain exploded through me before I could brace myself, a thousand knives stabbing through my veins. I choked on a scream, body convulsing against the floor. Through the haze of agony, I barely registered Mattheo taking half a step forward before stopping himself.

Bellatrix chuckled. "Oh, darling, this is going to be so much fun."

I barely managed to lift my head, my gaze finding Mattheo’s once more. His face was a mask, but his hands trembled at his sides.

And I knew, in that moment, that we were both doomed.

Then Voldemort’s voice cut through the chaos, chilling and amused. "Let’s make this even more interesting, shall we?" He turned his piercing gaze on Mattheo. “My dear son, prove your loyalty. Torture her yourself."

The room seemed to freeze. Mattheo’s breath hitched. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. His hands curled into fists at his sides, but his face remained eerily blank.

Draco shifted uneasily beside him, his usual arrogance stripped away, revealing something dangerously close to fear.

Bellatrix tittered. "Oh, how deliciously tragic! What will you do, little Riddle? Obey, or betray?"

Mattheo finally moved, taking a slow step forward. My heart pounded wildly, bile rising in my throat. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t.

But then his wand was in his hand, aimed directly at me.

I held his gaze, silently pleading.

His fingers trembled.

He hesitated.

And Voldemort noticed.

Mattheo hesitated.

Voldemort tilted his head, the ghost of amusement curling his lips. "Well? Do it. Or shall I assume your hesitation is an answer in itself? If not you, I will have Bellatrix take her turn."

Mattheo's jaw clenched. His wand was still aimed at me, but his grip shook, his knuckles white. I could see the war raging behind his eyes, the desperation, the silent plea.

Don’t make me do this.

I could barely breathe. My body was already weakened from the Cruciatus, but the pain of what was happening—what was about to happen—was worse. My vision blurred, but I refused to look away from him. If this was the end of us, I wanted to see him. I wanted him to see me.

Bellatrix hummed, stepping closer to Mattheo, her lips curling in delight. "Oh, my sweet boy, don’t tell me you’re hesitating? What would dear Father think?" She tutted, shaking her head. "What would our Lord think?" She whispered harshly, probably hoping she could take over.

Draco swallowed thickly beside him, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He wasn’t enjoying this—none of them were. But none of them could stop it. Not without damning themselves.

Voldemort’s patience was wearing thin. "Do it."

A single breath. A single moment.

Then—

"Crucio."

White-hot agony tore through me once again, burning through my veins like molten fire. My screams echoed off the stone walls, splitting through the suffocating silence. My body convulsed against the cold ground, every nerve ignited in unbearable torment. It was worse than before—so much worse.

Because it was him.

Mattheo.

And he had to mean it to cast it.

Tears streamed from my eyes, but whether they were from pain or betrayal, I couldn’t tell. My mind was drowning in agony, my muscles locking and seizing beyond my control. And still, somewhere through the haze, I could hear it—

A strangled breath. A broken gasp.

Mattheo’s.

His hand trembled violently as he held his wand, his face ashen, his eyes wild with horror. The spell flickered—weak, unstable—because he couldn’t bear to do it properly. But even this, even his hesitation, was enough to rip me apart.

Bellatrix cackled. "Oh, how tragic! Look at him—so tortured, so conflicted!"

Voldemort, however, was unimpressed. His voice was as cold as death. "Pathetic."

With a flick of his wand, I was released from the curse, my body collapsing like a ragdoll. Every limb was shaking, my breath coming in short, choked gasps. My skin was clammy with sweat, my heartbeat a frantic, erratic mess.

Mattheo dropped his wand. It clattered against the stone floor, the sound deafening in the silence.

He took a step back, his expression shattered, his hands shaking as though they’d never be steady again. His lips parted, forming my name, but no words came out. Because what could he possibly say? The tormented look on his face, the tears running down his cheeks, as realization hit him of what he had just done. But I wasn't mad. I couldn't be.

Voldemort watched him with cruel amusement, then turned to me. "You should be grateful," he mused, stepping closer, my view of Mattheo now blocked by the dark lords feet. "If he had put real effort into it, you’d be much worse off."

A slow smirk curled his lips. "But he failed me. And failures… must be punished."

Mattheo barely had time to react before Voldemort’s wand slashed through the air.

"Crucio!"

Mattheo didn’t scream.

His body buckled, knees slamming into the stone, but he didn’t make a sound. His teeth clenched, his face contorted in pain, but he swallowed every cry, every plea. Like he has been through this before. Like it has been nothing new.

And I broke all over again.

"Stop!" My voice was raw, barely more than a sob. I tried to move, but my limbs refused to cooperate. "Please—please stop!"

But Voldemort didn’t stop. He watched Mattheo writhe, his suffering an idle amusement, his punishment a lesson. The room was filled with the sickening crack of Mattheo’s nails scraping against the stone, his muscles spasming under the curse.

"My, my," Bellatrix purred. "He’s quite the resilient one, isn’t he? But how long do you think he’ll last?"

Draco was pale, his fists trembling at his sides. But he did nothing. He couldn’t. No one could.

Tears streaked down my face. I couldn’t look away. I was unable to stop this. I was helpless.

I was the reason he was suffering.

Voldemort finally lifted the curse, and Mattheo collapsed forward, his forehead resting against the stone, his breaths ragged and uneven. His body twitched with aftershocks, his shoulders shaking from something that wasn’t quite pain—

But something much worse.

Voldemort’s voice was quiet. Deceptively calm. "Let this be a lesson to you, my son. If you ever hesitate again, I will make you regret it."

Mattheo didn’t answer. He didn’t move. He just knelt there, broken.

Voldemort turned back to me, his expression unreadable. "As for you…" His wand traced the air lazily. "I think you’ve had enough fun for one night. We still need you and that weak boy."

And with that, the guards wrenched me up, dragging me away. I barely had the strength to struggle, my body limp, my spirit crushed.

But as they pulled me through the doorway, my eyes found Mattheo’s one last time.

He was still on his knees, his hands curled into fists against the stone.

And I knew, with every shattered piece of my heart—

This would never stop haunting him.

Neither of us would ever be whole again.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

The air turned colder, as if the very presence of him had sucked the warmth from the room. My pulse quickened, but I forced my chin up, refusing to cower.

A long silence followed before a voice, low and smooth, cut through the stillness.

"Ah… what do we have here?"

I didn't dare turn my head, but I could feel his gaze settle on me, scrutinizing, calculating. My entire body tensed under his invisible grip, my fingers curling into fists despite the restraints.

"My Lord," one of the Death Eaters spoke, bowing his head. "We found them exactly where you said they would be."

Voldemort hummed in amusement. "Of course you did. I do not make mistakes."

A slow, deliberate sound of footsteps circled us, and I swallowed hard, my throat dry as parchment. Theo shifted slightly behind me, but neither of us spoke.

"Such an interesting pair," Voldemort mused. "Tell me, children… are you loyal?"

I bit my tongue, willing myself to remain silent. Beside mine, Theo's breathing was controlled, measured. He was trying not to react.

Voldemort sighed as if disappointed. "Silence? How predictable."

A sudden, searing pain shot through my arm, and I gasped, back arching against the ropes. Fire burned beneath my skin, spreading like venom, and I knew without looking what was happening.

The Dark Mark.

My vision blurred for a moment as agony racked my body. Theo let out a sharp curse behind me, telling me he was experiencing the same torment. I clenched my teeth, refusing to scream, but my breath came in ragged pants, my body shuddering from the intensity of the pain.

"Do you feel it?" Voldemort’s voice slithered into my ear, deceptively soft. "The power that binds you to me?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on anything other than the blistering heat of my burning flesh. I refused to answer.

A cold hand gripped my chin, tilting my face up. I was forced to look at him.

Scarlet eyes bore into mine, empty of anything remotely human. His expression was unreadable, but the amusement in his tone remained.

"You will learn, child. You will learn that resistance is futile."

A new wave of pain slammed into me, and this time, I couldn’t hold back the strangled cry that tore from my throat. My nails dug into my palms, desperate for something—anything—to ground me.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, the pain stopped.

I gasped for air, my entire body trembling, my vision swimming as I struggled to stay upright.

Voldemort released my chin, turning away with the eerie grace of a predator who knew his prey was already trapped.

"Take them to the dungeons," he commanded dismissively. "We will see if their loyalty can be... persuaded."

The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was Theo slumping forward, the same exhausted, pained look etched onto his face.

And then, everything went black.

With a jolt and desperate for air, I awoke, sitting up. The stone warm where I laid but otherwise cold as death. My blurry eyes take in the dungeons, eyes snapping to Theo still lying on the floor—

The dungeon was suffocating. The walls, slick with damp, seemed to close in around us, the air thick with the scent of cold stone and something metallic—blood, maybe. My skin still burned where the Dark Mark had seared itself into my flesh, the pain pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

"T—Theo," my voice croaks as the dryness returns to my lungs. I shuffle to my hands and knees, arms free of ropes, but I fall back onto my stomach. My arm burning darkly, my skin prickling in pain. A few tears slip from my eyes as I glance over to see the mark now etched into me forever.

"Y/N?"

I look up and see Theo shifting, giving me enough purpose to try again, and I crawl forward, sinking against the wall he was laying by.

"You okay?" I ask this time, voice quiet. I lift a hand and feel his burning skin.

"Shit—this feels worse than that one hangover after the biggest Slytherin party last year—" He mutters and sits up too, holding his head with a groan.

I can't exactly laugh, but my lip lifts into a calm smile as I see Theo is well enough to make jokes.

"You always have to wake up shit-faced after a party, otherwise you say it wasn't a good one." I added, and he chuckled, wincing from pain. A sigh leaving his strained lips.

"What the fuck is going on, Y/N?" He asks, sounding vulnerable and raw, a rare sight for any Slytherin but especially Theodore Nott.

"I wish I knew." I replied, glancing around once more.

I focused on the feeling of the stone beneath my fingertips, grounding myself, forcing my mind to stay here and not drift into the abyss of pain and fear. But it wasn’t fear for myself that threatened to consume me.

It was Mattheo.

Theo shifted beside me, his breathing still uneven. “You’re quiet,” he murmured, head tilting slightly as he regarded me through heavy-lidded eyes. “That’s never a good sign.”

I swallowed, pressing my lips together. I didn’t want to say it. Not here. Not now.

But when would we have another chance?

His gaze sharpened. “Y/N,” he pressed, voice low but insistent. “I know you. And I know when you’re keeping something from me.” He inhaled shakily. “If this is one of our last moments, just—don’t waste it on silence.”

I looked down at my hands, my fingers trembling slightly as I traced the fresh mark on my arm. The skin was still raw, red and angry. A wound that wouldn’t heal. Much like the truth I had buried deep inside me.

I exhaled slowly. “I think I know why we’re here.”

Theo tensed. “What?”

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. I could still feel Mattheo’s hands on mine, the way his touch had always felt like both a promise and a warning. The stolen moments. The whispered confessions. The fire that burned between us even when we tried to smother it.

And now, the cold realization that it might have led us here.

“It’s Mattheo,” I admitted, barely above a whisper. “More precisely… Mattheo and me.”

Theo stared, confusion flashing across his face before it hardened into something unreadable. “Explain.”

I swallowed, my throat tight. “He—he and I… we were keeping something secret. And if Voldemort found out…” My stomach twisted. “I think he did.”

Theo’s jaw clenched, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “What kind of secret?”

I hesitated again, but what was the point of holding back now? If I was going to die here, I refused to let this truth rot inside me.

“We are together,” I admitted. “In secret. Have been for months.” The words tumbled out now, unstoppable. “And it wasn’t just some meaningless fling, Theo. It was real. We planned things. We talked about—” I stopped myself, shaking my head. “It doesn’t matter now. But if Voldemort saw it as a betrayal, as a weakness…”

Theo exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “I knew you were close but—Fuck.”

I nodded, pressing my fingers against my temples. “And what if he’s here too? Or—or worse, what if that's why he was summoned with Draco?”

The thought was unbearable. The possibility that our love, our reckless, secret love, had condemned Mattheo—

Theo’s hand closed over mine, grounding me. “Hey,” he said, his voice steadier than I expected. “We don’t know anything yet.”

I blinked back the burn of tears, shaking my head. “But I might have gotten him killed.”

Theo was silent for a long moment before he spoke again, voice softer now. “Or he might be the only one who can save us.”

The weight of those words settled between us. Because if Mattheo was out there, and if he knew—he wouldn’t stop until he found us.

But would he be in time?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

The space under the stairs was dim, the cold stone walls pressing in on either side of us. His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go, his fingers lingering like he wasn’t ready to break the contact.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let out a slow breath, running a hand through his curls, frustration radiating off him. “I can’t do this, Y/N.”

My stomach tightened. “Do what?”

“This—” He gestured vaguely between us. “Watch you pretend like it doesn’t matter.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “I’m pretending? You were the one who said we had to keep this quiet. You were the one who told me we couldn’t—”

“I know,” Mattheo cut in, jaw tight.

“Then what is this about?” I demanded.

His expression was torn between anger and something else, something more fragile. “Because it’s driving me insane,” he admitted, his voice rough.

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “Well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you told me this wasn’t supposed to appear real, that we only did this—”

Mattheo’s lips parted slightly, and I could see the moment it hit him, the realization sinking in like a weight in his chest. “—to keep you safe,” he finished for me. His voice was different this time—lower, like the words tasted bitter in his mouth.

His face dropped. I had never seen him look like that before, like something in him was breaking apart.

Before I could say anything else, Mattheo suddenly winced, his whole body tensing as he let out a quiet but sharp breath. Brows furrowed and face paling.

“Mattheo?” My heart lurched as his legs buckled beneath him, and he crumpled to his knees, clutching his left forearm.

“Shit,” he hissed. His breathing was labored, his hand gripping his arm, so tightly his knuckles went white.

Panic surged through me as I knelt down beside him, my hands hovering over him, unsure of what to do. “Mattheo, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, with a pained grunt, he ripped off his robe and shoved up the sleeve of his uniform shirt, revealing the dark mark etched into his skin.

It was moving.

The ink-like tendrils twisted and slithered beneath his skin as if alive, pulsing with something dark and cruel. The black seemed even deeper than usual, as though it was burning into him.

Mattheo clenched his jaw, his other hand now digging into the stone floor as he let out a sharp exhale through his nose, eyes squeezed shut. His entire body trembled.

I reached out instinctively, my fingers hovering over his wrist, but I hesitated. “Mattheo—”

His head snapped up, his eyes wide, frantic. They were glossy, a deep, terrified brown, and the sight of them made my stomach twist painfully. I had never seen him look scared before. Not like this.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice shaking.

I didn’t know what to say. I had never felt this helpless in my life. I wanted to hug him to my chest, tell him that everything would be alright, that this would be over soon.

Before I could figure out what to say, footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Mattheo barely had time to shove his sleeve back down before Draco and Theo rounded the corner.

Theo froze, brows furrowing as he took in the scene before him—Mattheo on his knees, his face pale and strained, and me kneeling beside him, panic clear on my face.

But Draco—

Draco flinched, his own hand clenching at his left forearm, though he masked it better than Mattheo did.

His gaze flickered between us before his lips pressed into a hard line. “We need to go.”

Mattheo didn’t move.

Draco’s nostrils flared, his expression unreadable, but his voice was firm when he spoke again.

“The Dark Lord is summoning us,” he hissed. “He’s demanding our presence. Now.”

A chill ran through me.

Mattheo exhaled harshly, then, with great effort, pushed himself up onto unsteady legs. His hands were shaking as he adjusted his sleeve, his face blank, unreadable.

Draco and Mattheo locked eyes. Whatever silent exchange passed between them was tense, grim.

Theo stepped forward slightly, his gaze darting between them with barely concealed concern. “Mate—”

“I’m fine,” Mattheo cut him off, though his voice was hoarse.

I stood too, my hands still curled into fists. “Mattheo—”

His eyes flickered to mine for half a second before he turned away, his expression unreadable again.

Then, without another word, he and Draco disappeared down the corridor, their quick footsteps echoing in the silence.

Theo and I were left standing there, watching them go.

And I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change forever.

"How long?" I ask, pacing back and forth for what must be the sixth time now. Maybe ninth? I don't recall, as I try to focus on anything besides the feeling of helplessness.

"Two, possibly three hours. Y/N, stop—"

What could he possibly want from them? Why Mattheo? Yes, he was his son but—

"Y/N, stop—" Two hands grabbed my shoulders and my eyes focused back on Theo who now stands in front of me, a frown deeply set on his face, "you're crying." He added, more like a statement, as his grip loosened.

I lifted my left hand, gliding my fingers across my wet skin, and glanced down at my glistening fingertips.

"It'll all be okay, it's not the first time this has happened."

I nodded, his hands rubbed my arms, trying to calm me down. I hugged him then, falling into Theo as I let my tears fall freely and my sobbing echoing inside their shared dorm.

Theo pulled me close and sighed, stroking my hair. "It will be alright—"

I wanted to scream and kick and demand answers no one could tell me except the dark lord himself. But I doubt I would ever be able to ask him. I hoped I wouldn't.

"Just friends, huh?" He muttered under his breath as we pulled apart, and I lifted my face into a tear strained grimace. Shrugging.

As I was about to answer, the dorm room door flew open, and I shriek, falling back into Theo, my eyes flying to the intruders.

Two masked men.

Death Eaters.

A sickly sweet voice spoke up first, "Aren't you two just what we were looking for, what a convenience—" I felt Theo pulling me back, slow but steady steps to the other side of the room, where his bed was. His wand.

Mine was below my robe, my left hand carefully slipping below.

"Try it, silly girl, and you'll deeply regret it." The right one spoke, freezing me in my movement. My breath shallow.

"Duck when I tell you." Theo whispers under his breath as he pulled me even closer. I pull my lower lip between my teeth and wait for his command—

"Either you're coming with us—freely—or we'll need to make you, your choice." They were stepping closer now, their wands help high and their masks not leaving a trace of humanity behind.

"Now!" Theo screams and I duck, pulling out my wand as Theo draws his, close enough to his bedside table, casting spells left and right as the two Death Eaters block every blow.

I hit one with depulso, but he recovers quickly, groaning and gaze fixed on me as Theo desperately tries to use protego.

"Glacius!"

I freeze, my wand falling and my tense form hits the ground, surely leaving bruises for later. Theo is momentarily distracted and hit by a cruel curse, I can barely register it as they both close in on us, binding us and—to my surprise— apparate with us. Apparating on school ground? How in the heavens—

I can't waste too much thinking on what happened as we arrived wherever they wanted us to be.

A dark, grim place. The air thick with a greenish tinted light pooling into a huge room through dusty windows. Arched almost four meters tall. My body felt heavy as my fingers started to regain sense, my cheeks as well.

But before I could even try lifting a finger, I was yanked up and turned around, my hands being tied with a charm, ropes snaking up my skin and pulling tightly, making me hiss out. Theo's groan was behind me, I tried to peer over my shoulder, and he was bound as well, his back facing mine, and we're forced to sit on chairs facing away from each other. More ropes slithering up my legs and binding me to the wooden legs.

My heart raced with anticipation and a dreadful feeling spread in my chest, this was awful. And a huge part of me knew—

this was far from being over.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

She looked up from her parchment, fixing him with a stare so sharp and unimpressed that Henry physically flinched.

"—never mind," he muttered, backtracking instantly. "Apologies for the—um—disturbance." He hurried back to his seat before she could say another word. Almost tripping over his own feet and his head red as a beet.

Theo, who observed the scene from his table before us, leaned back, grinning. "That was brutal."

Pansy smirked, returning to her notes, shrugging like the most innocent girl there was. "If they can’t handle a look, they wouldn’t survive a dance with me."

I hid my laughter behind my hand, sneaking a glance at Mattheo across the room. He was watching the scene unfold with vague amusement, his fingers busy with his own task. He must have felt my stare because he turned his head slightly, smirking at me.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my work, ignoring the way my heart picked up speed.

After class, the sun was warm as we lounged in the courtyard, enjoying the rare moment of peace. Pansy sat beside me, flipping through her magazine once again. The same one she was skipping through at breakfast, looking for another dress to stun everyone at the ball, probably.

Blaise and Enzo strolled over, dropping their school bags onto the ground with a collective sigh.

"Alright," Blaise said, stretching his arms over his head before taking a seat on the ground across from Pansy and me, Enzo following suit. "Who’s up for a night at the Three Broomsticks? Butterbeer on me."

"Tempting," Pansy mused, flipping a page. "But I have better plans."

Enzo raised a brow. "Better than free drinks?"

Pansy smirked. "I got invited to an exclusive Ravenclaw party in the tower tonight."

The boys immediately sat up, intrigued. My own interest perked and ready to squeeze every detailed information out of her.

"You’re joking," Enzo said, propping himself on his elbows. "How the hell did you manage that?"

Pansy inspected her nails. "I have my ways."

Blaise groaned. "That’s not fair. Do you know how hard it is to get into one of those? Ravenclaws don’t just let anyone in."

"Well, obviously," Pansy teased.

"Think you could sneak us in?" Enzo asked, eyes alight with hope.

Pansy tapped a finger against her lips, pretending to think. "Maybe. If you all behave."

"Define ‘behave,’" Enzo muttered.

Before she could answer, Draco and Mattheo sauntered into the courtyard, deep in conversation. A moment later, Theo came running after them, slightly winded.

"Merlin’s sake, could you two slow down?" Theo huffed, collapsing onto the grass beside us.

Draco smirked. "You need to keep up, Nott."

Mattheo dropped next to me without a word, stretching his legs out. The closeness was casual, natural—at least to everyone else. To me, it was an electric current beneath my skin.

"What are we talking about?" Mattheo asked, glancing around, eyes finding mine.

"Pansy’s exclusive Ravenclaw invite," I explain, "She claims she might be able to get us all in."

Draco’s brows lifted. "That’s impressive."

Pansy smiled, looking quite pleased with herself. "I know."

Mattheo chuckled. "And what’s the price for this favor?"

Pansy’s grin turned wicked. "Only that you boys behave yourselves."

Theo groaned. "Alright, fine. But if we get kicked out, I’m blaming Draco."

"As if that’s anything new," Draco shot back. Looking annoyed, but didn't fight back as he knew he wouldn't get far with stubborn Theodore Nott.

The conversation flowed easily after that, filled with laughter and playful jabs. I leaned back, letting myself relax, knowing that for now, at least, everything felt normal.

Time flew as Pansy and I discussed the Ravenclaw party and soon got ready together, sharing the same mirror and giggling as we got dressed in our most "out there" dresses. We both loved bold, but Pansy literally glowed whenever she wore anything remotely revealing. A true Slytherin with pride and confidence that wasn't fake.

The Ravenclaw Tower was already buzzing with energy by the time we arrived. The moment we stepped inside—thanks to Pansy sweet-talking the host, a sixth-year named Elias Montgomery—it was clear this wasn’t just any party. Blue and silver enchanted lights flickered across the walls, casting a soft glow over the room. Music pulsed through the space, blending seamlessly with the sound of laughter and shouting. A couple of bookshelves that usually held dusty tomes had been cleared to make room for trays of drinks, and even a few study desks had been transfigured into makeshift lounges.

"Alright," Pansy said, turning to us with a smirk. "Try not to embarrass me." She addressed the boys, sending a pointed look at Enzo and Theo last, both of them giddy.

Theo scoffed. "Please. We should be saying that to you."

Pansy rolled her eyes and melted into the crowd, waving us goodbye, already chatting up a group of Ravenclaw girls who looked like they knew her.

Draco and Blaise exchanged glances before heading toward the drinks, Enzo trailing after them. Theo, ever the social butterfly, immediately started making conversation with a group of seventh-years. That left me with Mattheo, who had been quiet ever since we stepped inside.

I nudged him. "You alright?"

He glanced at me, the blue light casting shadows over his sharp features. "Yeah. Just never thought I’d willingly step foot in Ravenclaw Tower, that’s all."

I chuckled. "Expanding your horizons. I’m proud."

His lips twitched in amusement, but his eyes held something else—something darker. "Not too proud, I hope." His eyes lingering on my appearance, studying my dress casually, "you look stunning, by the way." He muttered and

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, thank you, Matty." A small blush forming on my cheeks.

"Just don't get too cozy, wouldn't want people to think you actually belong here." He adds and smirks, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"Oh? And where would I belong then?" I reply, gently playing with the hem of his shirt as we stand close, masked by the surrounding crowds.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for my fingers, tugging me even closer, his voice dropping so only I could hear. "With me."

A shiver ran down my spine, but before I could respond, Blaise’s voice cut through the noise.

"Oi, Y/N!" Blaise walks over to us and I take a small step back, "Some Ravenclaw bloke’s been asking about you."

Mattheo’s grip on my hand tightened for just a second before he let go. His jaw tensed, but his expression was unreadable.

I turned to Blaise, who was grinning like he knew exactly what kind of chaos he was about to cause. "Who?"

"Don’t know. Tall, dark-haired, looked like he reads poetry in his spare time. Probably wants to charm you with sonnets or something."

I snorted, but before I could say anything, Mattheo exhaled sharply and muttered, "Fantastic."

Blaise grinned, clearly enjoying this. "You should at least say hello. He looked nervous—adorable, really."

I glanced at Mattheo, but he was deliberately not looking at me. Instead, he grabbed a drink from the nearest table, swirling it lazily in his hand.

I sighed, shooting Blaise a look before making my way toward the group he had motioned to. If someone wanted to talk to me, I might as well say hello.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mattheo tip his head back, downing his drink in one go.

I hesitated before making my way toward the group Blaise had motioned to, my stomach twisting slightly. As I got closer, recognition clicked into place.

Callum Davies.

We’d worked on a project together in fifth year, something for Charms that involved hours spent perfecting non-verbal spellwork. He had been quiet but clever, a little awkward at times, but sharp with his magic. I remembered late-night library sessions, parchment covered in notes, and the occasional smirk when he caught me rolling my eyes at something our professor said.

"Y/N," he greeted, his smile easy but a little nervous. "I was hoping to run into you tonight."

I raised a brow, amused. "Really? Didn’t take you for the party type."

He chuckled. "I usually prefer something quieter, but I figured tonight was worth making an exception." His gaze flickered toward me, assessing, before he asked, "Enjoying yourself?"

I shrugged, swirling the drink in my hand Pansy had given to me as we entered the Ravenclaw tower earlier. "It's alright. Same faces, same drama, different night."

Callum smirked. "That sounds about right. Though, I'd argue the company makes all the difference."

I arched a brow at him. "Oh? And what makes tonight’s company so special?"

He hesitated for half a second, then gave me a knowing look. "Well, for starters, I managed to find you in this chaos. That’s a win in my book."

I huffed a small laugh, shaking my head. "Smooth, Callum. Very smooth."

He grinned but didn’t push, instead leaning against the wall beside me, his presence oddly steady despite the loud, drunken energy around us.

After a beat of silence, he asked, quieter this time, "You sure you're enjoying yourself?"

Something about the way he asked made me pause. I met his gaze, searching for whatever it was he wasn’t saying. "Why do you ask?"

He tilted his head slightly, considering. "I don’t know. Just… you seem like you’re somewhere else tonight."

For a moment, I wasn’t sure what to say. Because maybe he wasn’t wrong. Maybe my mind had been drifting too much—to Mattheo, to the weight of secrets I wasn’t sure I could keep holding onto.

But I forced a smirk and raised my glass. "Maybe I just need another drink."

Callum didn’t quite buy it. But he let it go.

"Should we perhaps dance? Might distract you a bit?"

Before I could answer, I felt the shift in the air—the kind that made my pulse quicken before I even saw him.

Mattheo.

His presence was unmistakable, a storm brewing at the edge of my vision. A second later, he was beside me, too close, his entire body radiating tension.

"Sorry to interrupt," Mattheo said smoothly, though there was nothing apologetic in his tone. "But I need to borrow Y/N for a moment."

I exhaled sharply, my fingers curling into my palm. "Mattheo—"

He ignored me, his grip closing around my wrist, firmer than before.

"Won’t be long," he muttered, already steering me away.

I dug my heels into the floor, resisting for as long as I could. "Mattheo, you can’t just—"

But he wasn’t listening. He never did when he was like this.

"I— I guess I'll see you later, Y/N—" Callum stutters and I send him a small apologetic smile, nodding.

Mattheo's grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear he wasn’t letting go. His jaw was clenched, his breath steady, but I could feel the storm raging beneath his skin.

By the time we reached a secluded alcove, far from the pulsing energy of the party, I yanked my hand free, heart hammering.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I hissed.

His chest rose and fell sharply, eyes blazing. "What’s wrong with me?" he repeated, incredulous. "What’s wrong with you? Standing there, acting like that Ravenclaw isn’t trying to get you alone—like he hasn’t been waiting for an opportunity the entire night."

I scoffed. "Mattheo, it was just a conversation—"

"Don’t," he snapped, stepping closer. "Don’t pretend you didn’t see it."

I shook my head, frustration clawing at my throat. "You’re being too obvious. People are going to start noticing if you keep acting like this."

His expression flickered—hurt, conflicted. "Noticing what?"

I swallowed hard. "That something’s going on. Between us."

His jaw tightened. "Right. Because keeping this stupid cover is more important than me losing my mind every time some idiot looks at you like you’re theirs to claim."

My breath hitched, my anger momentarily faltering.

"You don’t understand," he muttered, running a hand through his curls, his frustration palpable. "It’s not just tonight. Every time I see some guy watching you, talking to you, hoping you’ll notice them—I feel like I’m coming undone."

I opened my mouth to argue, but something about the way he said it made my stomach flip.

"Mattheo," I whispered, suddenly unsure of what to say.

His gaze was sharp, burning into mine. "And you don’t even notice, do you?" he asked, almost disbelieving.

I swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, but I didn’t need to. Because the truth was simple.

I didn’t notice them.

I only noticed him.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

"You say that like it’s an accomplishment," Enzo said, grinning.

Theo shook his head, still amused. "Alright, then. If we’re actually going, who’s everyone taking?"

"Not Draco," Pansy said immediately, flipping another page in her magazine.

Blaise chuckled. "That’s a given." His eyes stayed on Pansy for a moment longer, which I noticed, but he deflected his gaze quickly.

Theo’s eyes flickered toward me. "What about you, Y/N? Who’s the lucky bloke?"

I rolled my eyes, taking a slow sip of pumpkin juice. "Haven’t exactly given it much thought."

Theo smirked. "So you wouldn’t mind if I asked you, then?"

Mattheo tensed beside me. It was barely noticeable—the tightening of the grip on his fork, the way his jaw clenched for half a second—but I felt it. I always did.

I sighed dramatically. "Really? That’s your approach? No charm, no poetry? Not even a bribe?"

"Would that work?" Theo grinned, looking rather hopeful.

"Not a chance."

Pansy laughed, shaking her head. Her eyes still glued to the pages before her. "Theo, you’re hopeless."

"Hey, I tried," he said, lifting his hands in surrender. Then he looked between Mattheo and me, a teasing glint in his eyes growing. "Guess I should’ve known better. You two are practically attached at the hip anyway." He smirked, "but you're just friends, huh?"

Mattheo leaned forward lazily, finally exhaling. His eyes meeting Theo's, "what else would we be?"

Theo hummed, clearly unconvinced, but he let it go as the conversation shifted to Quidditch and weekend plans. I joined in, pretending not to notice the knowing glances exchanged across the table. But under the table, Mattheo’s fingers brushed against mine—just for a second, just enough.

Later that night, long after curfew, I slipped through the dimly lit corridors, my heart racing with every step. Every moment apart was hurtful, but so was the risk of being together.

I pushed open the door to the Room of Requirement, and Mattheo was already there, leaning against the wall. The second I stepped inside, he let out a relived low chuckle.

"Theo’s a bloody idiot."

I smirked, stepping closer. "You were jealous."

His hands found my waist, pulling me toward him. "I just don’t like hearing other guys talk about you like that."

I rolled my eyes but softened, running my fingers through his curls. "You’re the only one I want, Mattheo."

His jaw tensed, but he nodded, pressing his forehead to mine. "It’s not just Theo," he began, "it’s my father. If he finds out about us—"

"He won’t," I whispered, tracing slow circles on his neck. "We’ll be careful. We always are."

Mattheo sighed, then kissed me—slow and deep, like he was trying to memorize the way I felt in his arms. And I kissed him back, knowing that, for now, in this hidden world we’d created, we were safe.

But secrets like ours never stayed hidden forever.

Blaise simply smirked, not really caring either way. “I’m fine with it as long as I don’t have to rotate off the blanket. You’re stuck with me, love,” he teased, throwing a wink at Pansy.

I was only half-listening, my gaze drifting out over the field where students were already mingling. A few were laughing, some were awkwardly standing in circles, and others were already making their way to the next blanket.

The bell signaling the first rotation rang out across the field, and the game began. I glanced at Pansy, who was already grinning as she grabbed a snack from the little pile of treats in between us.

“Alright, your turn,” Enzo said, nudging me lightly. “Let’s see who ends up on our blanket next.”

"What? Why me?" before Enzo could respond, a figure appeared, walking toward us with slow, deliberate steps. Mattheo Riddle.

I barely had time to process it before he was already standing in front of our blanket, eyes scanning the group. The second he saw me, his lips quirked into that familiar smirk—the one that could make anyone lose their composure.

Pansy noticed, and I could feel her glancing between me and Mattheo with a mischievous glint in her eye. But she didn’t say anything. Blaise, ever the observer, just raised an eyebrow but kept quiet. Enzo, however, seemed a little more attuned to what was about to happen.

“Mattheo,” I said, my voice flat, “You’re supposed to rotate off, find people you don't already know.”

Mattheo didn’t even acknowledge me immediately. He was too busy sizing up the group, his gaze flicking over Pansy and Blaise with a brief, bored glance before landing on Enzo. His expression darkened just a fraction, and it was obvious something was about to shift.

"Enzo," Mattheo said coolly, squatting down beside him, draping his arms lazily across his knees, his voice smooth but with a warning edge, "You can leave."

Enzo blinked, clearly surprised, but he didn’t hesitate. He knew better than to argue with Mattheo, especially when that tone came out. Despite their friendship, Enzo understood exactly how far Mattheo could push—and right now, Mattheo was making it clear who he was interested in staying on the blanket with.

“Right,” Enzo sighs annoyed but standing up without a word of protest. He flashed us all a quick, almost apologetic grin. “Catch you guys later,” he said, walking away to find another blanket.

Mattheo didn’t move, still standing at the edge of the blanket, his eyes lingering on me in that way that made my stomach twist in both annoyance and something else I refused to acknowledge.

“Mattheo, you can’t just—” I began, but he interrupted me with a lazy gesture.

“Yeah, I can,” he said, his voice smooth, almost smug. “I don’t see anyone else fitting in here.”

His eyes flicked back to Pansy and Blaise, who were both silently watching, clearly not wanting to stir the pot. Pansy’s lips curled into an amused smile, and she exchanged a glance with Blaise, who seemed very much entertained by the unfolding drama.

“Well, looks like you’re not getting rid of him anytime soon,” Pansy murmured under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear. Her voice was playful, but there was a certain edge to it, almost like she was enjoying watching Mattheo assert his dominance over our little space.

“Fantastic,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “Just what I needed.”

Blaise leaned back, casting a glance at Mattheo. “You know, I should probably leave to give someone else a chance,” he said in a mock-serious tone, but the smirk playing on his lips told a different story. “But, honestly, I’m more curious about where this is going.”

Mattheo’s gaze flicked to Blaise then, and the smirk on his face deepened. “Yeah, don’t bother,” he said coolly, turning his attention back to me. “This is where I’m staying.”

I groaned inwardly. “Mattheo, you’re unbelievable.”

He grinned, clearly unbothered. “You say that like you’re not enjoying it.”

Pansy snorted from beside me. “Oh, please, we’re all enjoying this,” she said, her tone dripping with amusement. “Don’t pretend you’re not secretly thrilled, Y/N.”

I shot her an incredulous look. “Pansy, I’m not—”

“Mm-hmm,” Pansy cut me off, flashing me a knowing grin. “Sure you’re not.”

Blaise chuckled softly, but he didn’t intervene. It was clear he was savoring the drama just as much as Pansy. In fact, it almost felt like they were watching a play unfold, and I was the reluctant lead.

“Well, this is fun,” I said sarcastically, trying to defuse the situation. “Now that we’re all settled in… I’m should probably be the next to rotate–” I gestured toward our peers, hoping my attempt to redirect the tension would go unnoticed.

Blaise leaned forward, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Oh no, don’t go just yet,” he said, his voice light. “Mattheo seems to be on a roll. You should hear him out, Y/N.”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow at Blaise’s comment, clearly entertained by the way everyone was getting involved. But Blaise didn’t seem bothered, merely stretching out a bit further on the blanket.

“Mattheo,” I said, trying to bring the attention back to him, “Why don’t you just talk to someone else? There’s no need to not at least try to socialize with people you don't know.”

He gave me a lazy grin, his eyes gleaming with something between amusement and determination. "Nah, don't want to. You’ll get used to it.”

Pansy let out a little sigh, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “How sweet. It’s like watching two people fight for dominance over a blanket.” She gave a pointed glance between me and Mattheo. “Really romantic.”

Blaise was quick to add, his voice laced with dry humor, “I think you should both just make it official. Save us all the drama.” He smirked, clearly enjoying the discomfort and the unspoken tension between Mattheo and me.

At that, I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, even though it was laced with frustration. “Right, because that’s what I need. A public declaration.”

“Not a bad idea,” Mattheo said, looking me over with that same insufferable grin. “You wouldn’t mind if I made it official?”

I shot him a sharp look, finally speaking up. “Mattheo, seriously. WWhat are you doing?”

His grin didn’t falter. “What’s the problem? Don’t tell me you’re actually trying to escape.”

I couldn’t believe him. I shot a glance at Pansy, but she was too busy snickering into her hand, clearly loving every second of this. Blaise, on the other hand, was silently watching us, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I’m not escaping,” I finally said, my voice louder than I intended. “I’m just trying to have a conversation without all of this... weird tension.”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “If you want a conversation, then talk to me,” he said casually. “We don’t need anyone else here.”

I opened my mouth to retort but stopped myself, realizing that was exactly what he wanted. My eyes flicked over to Pansy and Blaise, both of them pretending not to be invested, but their smirks said it all.

“Fine,” I said, giving in with a dramatic sigh. “Let’s talk, Mattheo. What do you want to talk about?”

His eyes sparkled with victory. “Let’s talk about you staying here with me... for the rest of the night.”

She had waltzed into breakfast fashionably late, wearing that smug little smirk that told him she knew exactly what she was doing. Her uniform skirt was slightly shorter than regulation (whether that was intentional, he wasn’t sure, but he was too busy staring to care). And, to top it all off, she had taken one look at him—one single glance—before turning away with a hum, as if he wasn’t worth her time.

Now, she was sipping her tea, completely oblivious—or at least pretending to be—to the fact that Mattheo had spent the last ten minutes gripping his fork so tightly he might actually snap it in half.

Draco, who had been attempting to hold a conversation with him, finally groaned. “Alright, what is your problem?”

Mattheo’s jaw ticked. “Nothing.”

Draco followed his glare and scoffed. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake. Just hex her and get it over with.”

Blaise, sitting beside him, let out a low chuckle. “You’re hopeless, mate.”

Mattheo scowled. Hopeless? No. He was Mattheo fucking Riddle. He didn’t get flustered over a girl—especially not one who was currently twirling her spoon in a way that had his mind going places it definitely shouldn’t be going.

“Hopeless, my ass,” he muttered.

Blaise smirked. “Right. That’s why you’ve been looking at her like you want to devour her and throw her off the Astronomy Tower at the same time.”

Before Mattheo could retort, Y/N turned her attention back to them, finally gracing him with a glance. But, instead of acknowledging him, she looked at Blaise, smiling like she wasn’t actively making Mattheo’s life a living hell.

“Blaise,” she purred. “Be a dear and pass me the marmalade?”

Blaise raised a brow, amused, but complied. “Of course, love.”

She shot him a wink in thanks before spreading the marmalade over her toast, still refusing to give Mattheo so much as a second of her attention.

Mattheo almost saw red.

“Oh, come on,” he snapped. “You’re actually doing this on purpose now.”

Y/N blinked at him, feigning innocence. “Doing what, exactly?”

Mattheo slammed his fork down. “You know what.”

She took another bite of her toast, chewing slowly, as if she had all the time in the world. “You’re imagining things, Riddle.”

Mattheo clenched his fists. She was insufferable. Absolutely, utterly—

But then she smirked.

A slow, teasing thing that sent heat straight to his stomach.

And that’s when he knew—she was winning.

Not for long.

Mattheo leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a promise.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice low and dangerous. “If you want to play, let’s play.”

Y/N just hummed, completely unfazed, as she took another slow sip of tea.

“Already am, Riddle.”

And with that, she stood, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she strode out of the Great Hall—leaving Mattheo simmering in his seat, watching her go like a man starved.

Blaise let out a low whistle. “Mate. You’re fucked.”

Mattheo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

Yeah.

Across the room, leaning against the fireplace, his dark curls fell into his eyes as he brought a cigarette to his lips. His gaze was fixed on me, unwavering, heavy, like he was daring me to look away first.

I didn’t. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Instead, I took a slow sip from my glass, expression carefully unreadable. But inside, my pulse hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

Mattheo smirked. Of course, he knew. He always did.

"Alright," Enzo announced suddenly, a mischievous grin pulling at his lips. "It’s time for a game."

A collective groan rose from the group, but no one actually protested. A night like this always ended in some kind of reckless entertainment.

"What kind of game?" Daphne asked, raising a skeptical brow.

Enzo’s grin widened. "Truth or Dare."

I rolled my eyes, but a thrill sparked in my chest. This could be dangerous.

"Predictable," Theo muttered, but he didn’t object as Enzo conjured an empty bottle and placed it in the center of the table.

"Alright, rules are simple," Enzo continued. "If you choose truth, you have to answer honestly. If you choose dare, you have to do it. No backing out."

The game started off lighthearted—Draco was dared to serenade the room (badly), Pansy had to take a shot off Daphne’s stomach, Blaise admitted to having a secret stash of Honeydukes chocolates under his bed.

But then, of course, it was my turn.

I felt it before it happened. The shift in energy. Enzo’s smirk turning almost wicked.

"Truth or dare, Y/N?" he asked, eyes glinting.

I hesitated. I knew better than to pick truth. No matter what I chose, Enzo would find a way to make it insufferable.

But I also knew Mattheo was watching. And I wasn’t about to let him see me falter.

"Dare," I said smoothly, tilting my chin up.

A chorus of oooohs filled the room. Enzo’s smirk deepened. He glanced at Mattheo, then back at me, and that’s when I knew—he was going to ruin me.

"I dare you," Enzo dragged it out, "to sit on Mattheo’s lap for the next three rounds."

My breath caught. Laughter erupted around the room, and I heard at least one dramatic gasp from Pansy.

I should’ve expected it.

Mattheo, the bastard, just chuckled, exhaling a slow drag of smoke before flicking his cigarette into the fire. He spread his legs slightly and draped an arm over the back of the couch, looking entirely too comfortable.

"Well?" he drawled. "You heard him, princess."

I clenched my jaw. Backing out wasn’t an option.

So I did what any self-respecting Slytherin would do. I played the game.

With as much grace as I could muster, I stood and made my way over to him, ignoring the way my skin burned under his gaze. I turned my back to him and sat on his lap, settling down with a confidence I didn’t feel.

The room whistled and cheered, but I barely heard it over the pounding of my own heartbeat.

Mattheo’s hands rested lazily on my thighs, fingers tracing circles through the fabric of my skirt. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against my ear.

"You’re blushing," he murmured, just low enough for only me to hear.

"Shut up," I whispered back, refusing to look at him.

But Mattheo wanted me to look at him.

One of his hands slid to my waist, his grip just firm enough to make me inhale sharply. "What’s wrong, princess?" he teased, voice dripping with amusement. "You seemed so confident a second ago."

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. "You seem awfully smug for someone who’s supposed to be suffering through this."

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. "Oh, believe me, I’m suffering, sweetheart," he murmured, voice dark, dangerous. His fingers flexed against my waist. "Just not in the way you think."

My breath hitched, and the tension in the room was suffocating. Across the room, I could feel Enzo’s eyes glinting, his smirk knowing.

"Alright, let’s keep going," Enzo said, spinning the bottle again. "Wouldn’t want Y/N to get too comfortable over there."

Laughter rippled through the group, but I barely heard it.

Mattheo’s fingers moved subtly, lazily dragging along the hem of my skirt, a featherlight touch that was maddening. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Stop that," I hissed.

Mattheo’s lips twitched. "Stop what?"

I glared at him. "You know exactly what."

He hummed, his fingers tracing a little higher. "Oh, you mean this?" His thumb finding its way under the hem of my shirt, and I stiffened.

"Yes, that," I bit out.

His grin was slow, smug, devastating. "I don’t think I will."

Before I could snap at him, the bottle landed on Pansy.

"Truth or dare?" Theo asked, his smirk wide.

Pansy sighed, twirling a strand of her hair. "Dare, obviously."

Theo’s grin deepened. "I dare you to kiss the person in this room we’d least expect you to kiss."

Pansy blinked, scanning the room dramatically.

Then, in a move no one saw coming, she grabbed Draco by the collar and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

The room erupted in laughter as Draco sputtered, wiping his mouth. "What the fuck, Parkinson?"

Pansy smirked like she’d won something. "Relax, darling. It’s not my fault Theo’s a menace."

I might’ve laughed if not for the fact that Mattheo’s hand had slid dangerously far up my skin, his grip possessive.

I turned my head, narrowing my eyes. "Riddle."

He raised a brow, looking innocent. "Yes?"

My voice was sharp, but quiet. "Keep your hands to yourself."

Mattheo’s smirk turned sinful. "Oh, princess." His fingers ghosted up my ribs, slow and deliberate. "I think we both know that’s not what you really want."

Heat surged up my neck, furious and relentless. "I hate you," I whispered, but it sounded weak.

Mattheo leaned in, lips brushing my ear. "Liar."

The bottle spun again, landing on Mattheo.

"Truth or dare, Riddle?" Enzo asked, his grin wicked.

Mattheo didn’t hesitate. "Dare."

Enzo’s eyes gleamed. "I dare you to kiss Y/N."

Silence fell over the room like a guillotine.

I froze, pulse pounding in my ears.

Mattheo’s smirk widened, and I didn’t miss the dangerous flicker in his eyes.

"You don’t have to," Pansy said softly, watching me.

But I wasn’t about to let Mattheo think he had the upper hand.

I faced him fully, straddling him now, ignoring the way his hands found their way and tightened around my waist.

"Fine," I said, voice steady, daring. "Let’s get this over with."

Something dark flashed in Mattheo’s eyes before he leaned in. His nose brushed against mine, and I swallowed hard.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. Meaning it.

I should. I could.

But I didn’t.

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

But now the tension between you and Mattheo is thick, like a storm ready to break. You can feel it in the air, the unspoken words that hang between you both, electrifying the space. And yet, the weight of it all crashes down with the finality of your words, words that you didn't even realize held so much truth. "You've never been loved, I can tell." You don’t know why you said it, why the words slipped from your lips like a confession, an accusation. But the moment they leave your mouth, they settle over him like a shadow, dark and unavoidable.

You watch him, frozen, as his gaze falters, as if a part of him dies with your words. His shoulders drop, and for the briefest moment, he looks almost… human. Vulnerable. The walls he so carefully constructed around himself seem to crack, and for the first time, you see the weight he’s been carrying—the one he’s never let anyone see.

But Mattheo doesn’t speak. Not right away. His lips tremble, just slightly, as if the words he wants to say are too much to bear. His breathing is shallow, uneven. It’s a quiet sort of pain, the kind that threatens to swallow him whole, but he refuses to let it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, the harshness in his voice an attempt to mask the tremor you caught. His jaw clenches, his eyes narrow, but they can’t hide the flicker of something deep within them.

You wish you could take back the words, erase the hurt you’ve caused him, but you can't. The damage has been done, and now all you can do is watch him retreat behind that mask again.

“You don’t know me,” he snaps, cutting your thoughts off. The rawness in his tone pulls at your chest, makes your heart ache for him in a way you hadn’t expected. He’s breaking, but he won’t let you see it. His walls go back up, taller and colder than before, as he presses his lips together, trying to maintain control.

“You don’t know my name,” he continues, but it’s not the name he’s referring to. It’s something deeper, something that has been built over years of pressure, expectations, and burdens no one should ever bear.

You reach for him, words forming on your tongue, but they choke you as he takes a step back. The tears that threaten to spill seem to freeze in your throat. You want to apologize, to explain yourself, but the words are too heavy, the apology too fragile.

He shakes his head then, and you feel the weight of his emotions like a physical blow. “No,” he says, voice cracking. “You don’t have the right to talk about me. Talk about love. You don’t know anything about me.” His voice raises, and you flinch, a tiny part of you bracing for the anger that you know is coming. But then—then his eyes soften, and a single tear escapes, rolling down his cheek, tracing the path of all the years of grief he’s kept locked away.

The world tilts as you see that tear. It shatters everything you thought you knew about him. The bravado, the indifference—it all crumbles. He’s not invincible. He’s not the cold, untouchable boy he’s shown everyone.

You want to reach out, to take his face in your hands and promise him that it doesn’t have to be like this, but the fear that grips you—fear of what he’ll do, of what this moment will mean—paralyzes you.

When he speaks again, his voice is low, but it cuts through you like a knife. “I think it’s best if we part ways from now on.” The words hang in the air, and for a moment, everything goes still. The wind dies, the distant sounds of the castle fade. His voice is the only thing that matters now.

Before you can process what’s happening, he’s turning away from you, walking toward the castle with a speed that leaves you breathless, leaves you empty. You stand there, a hollow ache settling in your chest.

Your feet move before your mind catches up, and you grab his arm, forcing him to stop. “Mattheo, no—don’t say that.” But he doesn’t even look at you. His body stiffens, his hand brushes yours off as if it’s a weight he can’t bear.

“I’m only saying what you would expect of me. Your image of me is quite apparent. Since you know me so well.” His words are cruel, but they are truth. And it cuts deeper than anything he’s said before. You step back, your heart sinking with the realization that he’s right.

With one last glance over his shoulder, he’s gone, leaving you standing in the shadows of the evening, alone.

Days pass. You bury yourself in your studies, pretending like it doesn’t matter. You let the ache settle in your bones, telling yourself that you’re stronger than this, that you’re better off without him. But every time you close your eyes, you see him—his face, the way his eyes softened for the briefest moment before he pulled away from you, the tear that marked the end of everything.

Pansy finds you in the library, but even she can see the storm brewing inside you. She drags you out, forces you to confront what you’ve done, and somehow, you find yourself standing at the threshold of the common room, looking at Mattheo across the room.

You stand frozen at the entrance to the common room, your breath shallow, heart pounding. The noise around you seems to fade into a dull hum as you lock eyes with Mattheo. He’s sitting there, looking as casual as ever, but there’s something in his gaze that stops you cold—something colder than you’ve ever seen before. It’s like he’s trying to shut himself off from you, a wall rising in the space between you that feels miles wide.

Pansy’s grip on your sleeve is the only thing keeping you tethered to the present, but even her silent pressure on your arm doesn’t make your feet move. She knows what’s going on in your head, even if you’re too caught up in the chaos to say it.

Mattheo’s face remains unreadable as his eyes flicker between the fireplace and the others in the room, but the tension in the air is thick. You can’t tell if he’s angry, hurt, or simply indifferent—but the chill in his expression tells you enough. It’s the same kind of look he’s given you every time you’ve pulled away, each time you’ve said something wrong, like you’ve been a weight dragging him down.

“I think I should go,” you mutter to Pansy, your voice barely louder than a whisper. You can feel your hands trembling, the nervousness creeping up your spine.

Pansy doesn’t let go of your sleeve. Instead, she gently pulls you forward, her usual playful tone gone, replaced with a sharp, no-nonsense edge. “No. You’re not running away this time. Not from this.”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you feel like you might suffocate under the weight of it all—the fight, the guilt, the fear that he’ll never forgive you. But Pansy is already moving, leading you towards the fire where the others are seated. The firelight flickers in your eyes as you step forward, your body feeling heavy, like you’re walking through quicksand.

Mattheo doesn’t look up right away, but when he does, you feel the full force of his gaze. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask you how you’re doing or what you’ve been up to. It’s like the space between you has grown into something vast and impenetrable, and no words can bridge that gap. You wonder if that’s what you deserve after what you said, after what you did.

“You don’t have to do this,” Pansy says softly, but there’s a firmness beneath her words. “But if you don’t, you’ll never know if things could be fixed.”

You can’t breathe for a moment. Everything in you screams to just leave, to hide away again, but you know she’s right. You’ve never been good at facing what you’ve done. But if you leave now, you might lose him forever. And you can’t do that.

You stop in front of Mattheo, the words stuck in your throat. For a long moment, you don’t know where to start. It feels like you’ve already said everything you could say, yet nothing at all. But it’s different now. You’re standing here, staring at him, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not running.

"Can we- talk?" You don't hear your own words as you speak and hold your breath while you wait, still contemplating if you could make a run for it—but Pansy is right. Mattheo doesn't spare you a glance as he simply stands up and walks past you, toward a secluded corner in the common room, two armchairs next to each other, a dim lit candle and tall bookshelves rising to the ceiling. You join him as he sits, fiddling with your robe until you take a deep breath, finally looking up at him.

“I—I’m sorry.” The words feel like they’ve been stuck in your chest for so long. You swallow hard, voice cracking slightly. “I never meant to hurt you.”

He stares at you in silence, his jaw tightening, but there’s something there now—a flicker of recognition in his eyes, something that tells you he’s listening. Not because he has to, but because he wants to. You don’t know if that’s a good thing, but it’s a start.

“I know I fucked up. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I—” You pause, unsure of what to say next, your chest tightening with the weight of all the things you should have said before. “I care about you, Mattheo. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

He doesn’t speak for a long while, and for a moment, it feels like the world has frozen around you both. But then, slowly, his lips part. His voice is low, almost like it’s coming from somewhere deep inside him, a place he’s been hiding for too long.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.” His gaze is soft, almost vulnerable, and it shakes you to your core. “You don’t have to say anything you think I want to hear.”

“Then what do you want to hear?” you ask, almost desperately. “Because I don’t know how to fix this.”

“You don’t have to fix it. Just… be here. With me. No more walls.”

Your heart beats faster at his words. It’s not perfect, it’s not the answer you hoped for, but it’s something. Something you can work with.

And when he stands, taking a small step toward you, you feel the knot in your chest loosen just a little bit, so you stand as well. His arms, warm and familiar, slide around your shoulders, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel so alone.

“Let’s not do this again,” he murmurs against your hair, pulling you close as you clutch his dress shirt, shutting your eyes tightly.

And you nod, knowing that no matter how long it takes, you’ll keep trying. You’ll keep showing up, even when the storm inside you feels too strong to bear.

For him. For you.

He didn’t argue further, though his lips pulled into a tight line. You took his hand gently, carefully undoing the makeshift bandage. His skin was raw, scraped in places, and blood still oozed from some of the cuts. You felt a surge of something—anger, frustration, maybe something deeper—but you didn’t let it show. You simply took out your wand and murmured a healing charm.

It took a moment before Mattheo finally spoke again, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “You don’t have to do this.”

You didn’t look up, focusing on his hands as the cuts healed, knitting themselves back together. “And yet, here I am.”

The silence stretched between you, but there was an undeniable tension, a crackling energy in the air that neither of you acknowledged. When you finished, you let go of his hand and stood back, eyes finally meeting his. He didn’t move, still sitting against the bookshelf like some kind of wounded king, his posture relaxed despite everything.

"Let's not make a habit of this," he muttered, his voice softer now but still sharp in its own way.

You raised an eyebrow. “What, you getting into fights?”

His lips twitched, almost like he was fighting back a smirk. “You're right, doesn't sound very likely.”

And then, without another word, he stood up and left, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the library.

—

It became a pattern. Not a routine, not a friendship—not even a connection. Just moments where, after every fight, Mattheo found his way to you. Always in a quiet, hidden place where no one would see him in such a state—bruised, bleeding, looking like he had something to prove. And every time, you found yourself healing him. You’d never had a real conversation with him before, not one that went beyond the usual sarcastic remarks or terse exchanges. You weren’t even sure why he came to you. Maybe it was the way you never asked questions, never pried. You just healed.

But you couldn’t deny the way his presence lingered afterward—the way he would lean against the wall, his dark eyes watching you like you were the only thing worth seeing in that moment. His usual smugness wasn’t there. It was just him. And you. And the tension that hummed between you.

The first time you truly understood why Mattheo Riddle kept getting into fights, it wasn’t something you figured out on your own. No, it took someone else to unravel the truth, a truth you had been too blind to see all along.

It was another late evening, just after dinner, when one of his friends was asking for you. Again. Lorenzo, quite disheveled, came running down the table in the great hall and told you to follow him. It's because of Mattheo, he said. With a sigh you followed him into the dungeons, entering the Slytherin common room for the first time. And there he was, sitting on the edge of a couch, bloodied knuckles clutched tightly at his side, his face bruised in places you hadn’t seen before. He looked like he hadn’t even tried to hide it this time, not bothering to wear the usual mask of indifference. Lorenzo was pulled away and left you to it.

"Mattheo," you muttered, your voice a mix of frustration and concern, "you really should go see Madam Pomfrey."

He shook his head sharply, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "I don’t need her," he said, his voice tight with the same defiance you had grown accustomed to. "I only need you."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried not to let it show. Instead, you knelt beside him, setting your bag down and pulling out your wand to heal the worst of the damage. His gaze never wavered from you as you worked, the silence between you thick with unspoken words. You weren’t sure what kept pulling him back to you, but you weren’t going to question it now. Not when he needed you.

After a few moments, his wounds were mostly healed, but he didn’t seem to want to get up. He slumped back against the couch, staring at the ceiling with a faraway look in his eyes. You stepped back, about to ask if he wanted anything else, when you heard the soft click of the door opening.

Pansy Parkinson walked in, looking somewhat flustered, her eyes immediately locking onto Mattheo. She walked over to him quickly, concern flashing across her face when she saw the state he was in.

"Mattheo!" she hissed. "What the hell is wrong with you? You need Madam Pomfrey now—stop being stubborn."

Mattheo didn’t respond, his eyes still focused on you. Pansy’s gaze flickered between the two of you before she sighed, clearly exasperated. She crossed her arms, looking at him with a mix of disbelief and annoyance.

"I don’t know why you keep doing this," she muttered, more to herself than to him, but you caught the words. There was a strange undertone to them, something you didn’t quite understand.

As Mattheo finally stood, his movements slow, he winced, but he didn’t flinch. His hand brushed past yours in the faintest of touches, and you watched as he made his way to the stairs leading to the boys' dorms. Pansy followed after him, pausing to give you one last, lingering look. You had just finished packing away your things when she suddenly spoke again, this time more pointedly.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

You blinked, confusion settling over you. "Know what?"

She sighed, a mixture of pity and exasperation in her eyes. "Why he keeps getting into these stupid fights. Why he’s always so reckless."

You felt your stomach twist. “What do you mean? I thought he was just... angry. But I’ve never heard him really talk about it.”

Pansy’s gaze softened, and she leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "It’s because of you, dumbass."

You blinked at her, your mind spinning. “What?”

"Mattheo doesn’t do this for fun," she continued, the words slipping out as if she had been holding them back for too long. "Every time someone even looks at you the wrong way, or tries to get too close, he fights. Not because he’s angry, but because he’s possessive. He's trying to keep everyone away from you—because he wants you."

Her words hit you like a slap to the face. You tried to process them, but it was too much, too sudden. "No," you managed to say, shaking your head. "That can’t be it."

Pansy raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. “You really don’t get it, do you? Mattheo has been into you for ages. I don’t know how you didn’t see it. He doesn't care about getting hurt. He just doesn't want anyone else touching what he sees as his. It’s not about the fights—it's about you."

The world around you seemed to slow as you processed her words, each one ringing in your ears, louder than the last. It’s about you. The weight of it crushed down on your chest. You hadn’t understood the pattern, the constant tension that had been building between the two of you. It wasn’t just the way he came to you, the way he let you take care of him—no, it was much deeper than that. Mattheo wasn’t angry because of some random skirmishes. He was angry because you were the one thing he felt he had to protect, even if it meant tearing apart anyone who dared to get too close.

For the first time, the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

You exhaled shakily, your mind a swirl of confusion and disbelief. "Why didn’t he just say something?"

Pansy shrugged, her expression softening. "Mattheo’s never been one for words, especially not about feelings. But trust me, he’s made it pretty clear. If you wanted him to stop fighting, you’d have to stop letting him fight for you."

You stood there, staring after Mattheo, still processing the revelation. There was a certain heaviness in your chest now—one you hadn’t expected. And as you walked out of the room, still reeling, you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen next. Because if Pansy was right... then this was just the beginning.

—

Your heart pounded as you stalked down the halls toward the library the following day, having had plenty of time to contemplate confronting Mattheo. On thursdays he usually spent some time in a corner where you also encountered him for the first time. Rounding the corner you see him. He didn’t even flinch when you entered, but you could feel the tension rise between you.

“You beat people up—because of me,” you said, voice cold with something sharp, something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel before.

Mattheo didn’t blink. “They deserved it.”

Your hands curled into fists. “You can’t just—”

“Because that git thought he had a chance with you?” Mattheo interrupted, his voice lowering, standing up and stepping closer to you. “Because he didn’t know you were already—mine?”

The words hit you like a curse. Mine. The possessiveness in his voice made your stomach drop, but you didn’t back down.

“I—I’m not—”

“You are,” he said, cutting you off, his eyes narrowing, lips curling into that smug grin you knew so well. “You just don’t know it yet.”

The space between you two was suffocating now, the tension so thick you could almost taste it. And before you could think better of it, before you could let logic override the impulsive urge, you grabbed him. Your fingers fisted in the collar of his shirt, and with a sharp tug, you pressed your lips to his, shutting down any protest he might have had.

It was rough. Desperate. His lips moved against yours like he had something to prove, his hands coming up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. You didn’t know if it was anger, frustration, or something else entirely that made it feel so real—but in that moment, it was everything. And when you pulled away, breathless, Mattheo’s forehead rested against yours, his grin back in full force.

“Took you long enough,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of teasing and satisfaction.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding the smile that tugged at your lips. “Shut up, Riddle.”

He only laughed. “Not a chance.”

And from then on, the fights didn’t stop—but the aftermath did. Now, his bruises didn’t just end with your hands tending to him. Now, they ended with him holding you close, your lips pressing against the cuts and scrapes, the tension between you both still simmering, but now with an unspoken understanding. He was reckless, but you were his—whether he admitted it or not.

You’ve been arguing for the past hour—about Anne, about the lengths he’s willing to go, about the magic you barely understand but that he’s so desperate for.

“I don’t see why you refuse to use it,” Sebastian says, turning to you, his voice edged with frustration. “You could do things no one else can. You could help her.”

You fold your arms across your chest, trying to steady yourself against the intensity in his gaze. “I want to help her, Sebastian, but I don’t even know how this magic works. It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” He lets out a short, sharp laugh. “Since when has that ever stopped you?”

You flinch at the truth in his words. He knows you too well. Knows that deep down, there’s a part of you that wants to see how far your magic can go. But something about the way he looks at you now, the way his voice lowers into something softer, something enticing, makes you hesitate.

Sebastian steps closer, his expression shifting. The frustration melts away, replaced by something else—something warmer, more intimate. His fingers brush against your wrist, a touch so light it sends a shiver up your spine.

“I’m not asking you to do this alone,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I would never let anything happen to you.”

Your heart stutters at his words.

And you believe him.

Of course, you do. He has always been there, always fought for what he loves with everything in him. How could you doubt that?

Sebastian’s hand slides up your arm, slow and deliberate, and you don’t pull away. Instead, you lean in—just slightly, just enough that his breath ghosts against your lips.

“You’re extraordinary,” he whispers, and it feels like a confession, like something sacred. “You have no idea how much I need you.”

Your breath catches.

You shouldn’t be here, standing this close, letting your heart hammer in your chest for him. But when he lifts a hand to cup your jaw, when his thumb traces the curve of your cheek, you can’t bring yourself to stop him.

And then—

He kisses you.

It’s soft at first, almost hesitant, as if he’s waiting for you to pull away. But you don’t. You can’t. The warmth of his lips against yours, the way his fingers tighten ever so slightly against your skin—it consumes you.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, the hesitation is gone. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss with a quiet desperation that makes your head spin.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven.

“You and me, we can do anything,” he murmurs, his voice rough, laced with something dangerous. “Together.”

And you believe him.

You don’t see the satisfied glint in his eyes. You don’t feel the way his grip lingers, possessive, as if he’s claiming you.

All you feel is the warmth of his touch and the unshakable thought that maybe—just maybe—you belong to him now.

It starts with small things.

Sebastian no longer speaks of simply saving Anne. He starts asking questions—ones that make your stomach twist.

“How does it feel when you use it?” he asks one night in the Undercroft, watching you with sharp, unblinking eyes.

You hesitate. “It’s… overwhelming. Like it’s not entirely mine.”

His lips curve into something thoughtful. “But you control it,” he says. “Imagine what else you could do with it. Not just for Anne. For us.”

For us.

The words stick in your mind long after he’s gone.

He starts pushing you further, urging you to use your magic more often, to test its limits. And every time you do, he’s there—watching, encouraging, his admiration like a drug you can’t resist.

“You don’t have to be afraid of what you are,” he tells you, his fingers trailing down your arm. “The world fears power like yours because they don’t understand it. But I do.”

He does, doesn’t he?

So you let him guide you. Let him whisper things that make you feel invincible. Let him mold you into something neither of you fully understand.

And somewhere along the way, you stop questioning if this is really about Anne anymore.

Because when Sebastian looks at you now, it’s not with hope.

It’s with hunger.

The low murmur of the Three Broomsticks does nothing to mask the tension at your table. Ominis sits across from you, his expression unreadable, fingers drumming against the oak table. Natty is beside him, her gaze sharp, piercing.

“You don’t see it, do you?” Ominis finally says, voice measured.

You shift uncomfortably. “See what?”

Natty leans in slightly. “What he is doing to you.”

Your stomach twists. “Sebastian? He is trying to save Anne. That’s all he’s ever wanted.”

Ominis exhales, shaking his head. “That’s what he told you,” he murmurs. “But it isn’t the whole truth.”

Natty grips the edge of the table. “He is drawn to your magic,” she says. “Not just because it might help Anne. Because he wants it. He wants the power for himself.”

Your breath hitches. “That’s not true. How would you even know?”

But even as you say it, doubt creeps in.

Before you can respond, a voice slides through the air behind you.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?”

Sebastian’s presence is immediate, pressing in around you as he steps closer, fingers ghosting over the back of your chair. His eyes flick between Ominis and Natty, unreadable.

Ominis sits up straighter. “We were just—”

“I know what you were just doing.” His voice is smooth, but there’s something dangerous lurking beneath it. “Filling her head with your little theories, trying to turn her against me.”

Ominis’s jaw clenches. “I’m trying to stop you before you ruin her.”

Sebastian’s expression didn’t change, but something dark flickered behind his eyes. His fingers ghosted along your shoulder, a barely-there touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

“She doesn’t need saving from me,” he murmured, gaze locked onto Ominis’s. “But you—you love playing the hero, don’t you?”

Ominis flinched. It was barely perceptible, but Sebastian saw it. Of course, he did.

Sebastian tilted his head. “Or maybe you just love taking things from me.”

You frowned. “Sebastian—”

“No, let him say it.” Ominis’s voice was clipped, but you could hear the tension beneath it.

Sebastian let out a soft laugh, but there was no real amusement in it. “Come on, Ominis. Let’s not pretend anymore. You never wanted to be my friend, did you?” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something quieter, sharper. “You were just waiting for your chance. You spent all those years at my side, but the whole time, you only stuck around because you liked Anne.”

Ominis went utterly still.

The words hung between them, razor-sharp.

Ominis’s expression shifted, a crack forming in his usually composed demeanor. His hands clenched against the table, his knuckles turning white.

“That’s not true.” His voice was low, tight with something unspoken. “I was your friend, Sebastian. Even when you pushed everyone else away, I stayed.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Did you?” His fingers curled slightly against your shoulder. “Because it sure as hell looks like you’re doing the same thing now—playing the part of the self-righteous, concerned friend while trying to take what’s mine.”

Ominis flinched again, and Sebastian smirked, like he had drawn blood.

Natty’s eyes burned with anger. “She is not yours.”

Sebastian’s grip on your shoulder tightened for just a second before he turned to face you fully. His expression softened, the shift so seamless it made your head spin.

“Come on, darling.” His voice was warm now, coaxing, laced with something dangerously intimate. His hand slid down your arm, fingers brushing over the inside of your wrist. A tether. A reminder. “Let’s get out of here.”

Ominis’s expression was carved from stone. “You don’t have to go with him,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “You have a choice, Y/N.”

Sebastian sighed, shaking his head as if Ominis were a naive child. “Of course, she has a choice,” he murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. His voice dipped lower, just for you. “She already made it.”

You felt Natty’s eyes on you. Ominis’s too.

You hesitated.

But then Sebastian leaned in slightly, his breath ghosting against your temple.

“I need you,” he whispered.

And that was all it took.

Your pulse stuttered.

Because wasn’t that what you had always wanted?

To be needed.

To be his.

You swallowed hard and let him lead you away.

Ominis’s voice followed you both, quiet but filled with something dangerously close to grief.

“You won’t see it until it’s too late.”

The chuckle followed made your glare all the more sharply. The forest adventure turned into an odd hunt for the right path quite quickly, you would have never thought to get lost here- not to mention with Mattheo Riddle. Infuriating is the most fitting word you would use to describe that boy.

"Did your Ravenclaw witts already figured out how to navigate us out?" His playful tone was laced with a tint of seriousness and you rolled your eyes, still walking ahead and not looking back, "Me? What about you? Aren't you the one who wanted to leave the path in the first place? Go find it again."

He didn't reply, the groan forming in your throat had no time coming out as you heard rustling from behind you. Stopping dead in your tracks you felt your heart hammering, turning slowly.

Your clammy hand grasping the wand you held in your hand the hole time, only tighter this time. Eyes wide open to not miss a single thing.

"Riddle!" He wasn't behind you, nor anywhere near you. No reply. Just dead silence. A few droplets hit your head, wetting your crown of hair, "Shit.." you curse, briefly glancing up and noticing the thick grey clouds closing in above you.

Another twig snaps, your eyes back on the bushes in front of you, "M- Mattheo?"

Nothing.

A few ravens made you almost shriek as they left their spots in a tree nearby, croaking to announce their departure. You suck in air, almost stumbling back.

"Boo!"

Hands wrap around your upper arms from behind, your body cringing and eyes squeezed shut. Then he laughs. That laugh. That boy!

In one swift motion you spin around, holding your wand against his neck and gritting your teeth, "having fun?" He still grins while tilting his head up slightly, your wand pushing deeper into his skin.

"Lots of it. You should try it sometime." He steps back, cutting you off as you open your mouth, ready to fling curses left and right.

"Come on now, I think I found a path." You don't believe your eyes as he casually walks off, as if nothing happened. Scaring you half to death, in the forbidden forest. And to imagine you almost– almost– were worried for him a minute ago. Almost.

—

The path turned out to really be one. Surprisingly so. Which you were glad about but also annoyed by. He wouldn't let you live it down that he was the one who found the path and brought you back to school.

Shaking your head you notice the light slowly fading through the crowns of the trees, the leaves rustling with the wind as more rain came down. Luckily you knew the Impervius Charm. Usually that's seventh year stuff but you always had a knack for Charms, Profesor Flitwick praising you almost every lesson. Much to the annoyance of the boy who was walking merely a few feet before you now. In pure silence for the last couple minutes.

"Great path you found. When will we be back? It's getting cold. And dark."

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious, sunshine. Be grateful I even found a path in the first place, without me–"

"–without you, I wouldn't even be in this mess!" He throws his head back dramatically, slowing to a stop, and turns to me.

"Do you ever shut up?" Your jaw almost drops at his remark, teasing another grin from him, apparently happy with your reaction.

"Excuse you, it was your fault we ended up–" His eyes left yours and drifted over your shoulder, to the side. He then takes off, running away, "hey! Where are you going?" You yelled and turned, looking after him. A light flickering in the distance. With your eyes squinted, you follow him quickly, not wanting to stand alone any second longer.

"Mattheo, wait!" Your muddy boots carry you through the mushy leaves, your robe now wet from the branches swiping across the fabric as you push through to not loose him in the forest.

"Matt-" You stop dead in your tracks as you almost collide with his back, placing your hands on his shoulders to stop the impact.

"Thought you couldn't stand me." Even in the dim light shining from the lamp ahead you saw the huge smirk and stretched out bruise across his lips. You huff and step back, thankful for the lack of sunlight.

"No witty comeback? Have I finally caught you off guard?" You shive his shoulder and step past him, an abandoned, crumbling hut coming into view, the lamp light flickering and dancing on the wooden panels.

"I guess we'll need to find shelter here before it really starts pouring."

With a gulp you glance at Mattheo, his posture also hesitant as you look back at the hut.

—

"Don’t get comfortable. This is just a pit stop."

Mattheo settles into a dusty corner with an exaggerated sigh, "I’m already comfortable. You? You look like you’re ready to murder me in my sleep."

You glance around and pick up a quilt, tossing it at his head. "If I wanted to murder you, Riddle, you wouldn’t have made it to the hut." He grinned then, as he pulled the blanket off his face, "So you’re saying I should be flattered? I think you just admitted you like me."

"The night is not over yet." He laughed at your attempt of a threat and you sigh, rolling your eyes and grabbing another blanket you found, no pillows, but at least some blankets. Mattheo got to work on a small fire in the fire place, Cracking the legs off a chair, you can't help watching him, flexing his muscles, his robe long discarded, claiming he's "way too warm". Boys.

"You know- for someone who claims to hate me, you stare an odd much." You've been caught red handed, diverting your eyes before his find yours and gulp, pulling the blanket a bit higher.

"Rubbish." You mumbled, his stare just as intense as he throws the last leg and back of the chair into the fire.

"Whatever you say. Don't come crawling to me in the middle of the night though, I'm not a hugger."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Riddle."

"Sure, night, sunshine."

"Night."

The cracking of the fire soothed you, the surrounding rest– not so much. Knowing you were in the forbidden forest, a storm brewing outside and the windows creaking with every gust of wind– not a good feeling. You couldn't believe he wasn't affected at least a bit by everything. He was just better at masking it. Right?

After running your mind through every terrible and possible outcome of the night, you finally grew tired enough to close your eyes for more than a few seconds.

—

"CRACK!"

You almost jolt up form the ground, the sound came from outside. You shuffle around, your tired eyes searching for your wand and as you grab it, you try to make out Mattheo across the room. He fell asleep sitting by the wall, leaving you the floor before the fire place. His shivering form still fast asleep. Great. What if there's an Acromantula outside? Or a- werewolf? Gosh, you couldn't think of that now, you needed to wake Mattheo.

"Hey." You whispered, trying to be as loud as you possibly could. But he didn't even flinch. Groaning internally you glanced up at the window, nothing seemed to be there. So you carefully crawled across the floor, the wood now cold, the fire place out long ago.

As you reach his form you lift a hand, debating wether to shake him or gently tap him- but what if this was an emergency? You resorted to tapping his shoulder. A bit more forcefully. "Mattheo–"

Your whisper was interrupted as he jolts awake, grabbing your wrist and pinning you to the floor in one fluid motion. You shriek and look up at him as he hovers above you, hand still tightly holding onto your wrist and his wand in the other.

"Are you crazy?" He mumbles, his voice tense and eyes now finally fully awake. His stare mimicked mine as he kept hovering above me.

"Sorry– could you–" I gulp and the heat rushing to my face was luckily masked by the darkness engulfing the room. Only a streak of moonlight casting a line of light across Mattheo's face.

"Yeah–" He shuffles back, finally letting go of my wrist and sitting back in his spot, a deep sigh leaving his lips. I carefully peel myself off the ground and sit across from him. His eyes avoiding mine.

"I– I heard a noise outside–" You whisper but stop, seeing the amusement on his face, brown eyes twinkling with enjoyment, "what are you smirking at, huh?" You fold your arms, growing even more irritated with him than usually.

"You come to me for comfort because you heard– a noise?"

The wind howled like a wounded creature, shrieking through the skeletal branches of the Forbidden Forest. Rain lashed against the wooden walls of the abandoned hunting lodge, the roof groaning under the force of the storm. The fire in the corner had long since died, leaving the space cloaked in cold shadows.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, suppressing a shiver as you glared at Mattheo Riddle, who sat against the far wall, watching you with an expression that teetered between amusement and curiosity. His dark curls were still damp from the rain, stray strands falling over his forehead, and the flickering candlelight cast sharp angles across his face, highlighting the ever-present smirk that played at his lips.

“You’re taking this awfully well,” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably on the splintered wooden floor. “Most people would be a little more concerned about being stranded in the middle of the Forbidden Forest overnight.”

Mattheo stretched out his legs, his boot knocking against yours as if he had all the time in the world. “Concerned? No. Annoyed? Maybe. Though I have to admit, the company makes up for it.”

You scoffed. “Oh, how lucky I must feel.”

He chuckled, low and warm, but you could hear the edge in it—the glint of something unreadable behind his casual demeanor. “You really should learn to take a compliment, sunshine.”

You ignored him, shifting your focus to the warped wooden door. It rattled against the wind, the latch barely holding, and for a moment, you swore you heard something outside—something heavier than rain. You tensed, gripping the edge of your cloak, your breath catching in your throat.

Mattheo noticed. Of course he did. “Relax. Whatever’s out there won’t get in.”

You shot him a sharp look. “You sound very sure of that.”

His smirk widened, but there was something behind it this time—something unsettlingly genuine. “I am.”

Another gust of wind slammed against the door, followed by a deep, dragging sound just beyond the threshold. Your stomach twisted, fingers clenching involuntarily. You weren’t easily scared, but there was something about being surrounded by absolute darkness, with no wandlight and no way back until morning, that made your heart hammer a little too fast.

You hated that Mattheo could probably hear it.

“You’re scared,” he murmured, voice softer now, like he was enjoying the realization.

You lifted your chin. “No, I’m being rational.”

“Rational,” he repeated, as if testing the word. “Rational is knowing that the moment I opened my eyes, you were already curled into me like a frightened little thing.”

Your face burned. “I was waking you up.”

His grin was slow and dangerous, his head tilting just slightly. “Right. Of course you were.”

Before you could snap at him, another sound echoed from the woods—a crunching of twigs, a breath of movement so faint you might have imagined it. But Mattheo stiffened, barely perceptibly, and you knew he’d heard it too.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he. The moment stretched, thick with unspoken tension. Outside, the wind howled again, but beneath it, something else lurked—something that made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

Mattheo moved first. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for his wand, his expression hardening into something unfamiliar. Something dangerous.

Your pulse thrummed. “You said nothing could get in.”

“I said whatever’s out there wouldn’t.” His voice was quiet, controlled, but you could hear the shift—the edge of something real behind the usual arrogance. “There’s a difference.”

Your throat tightened. The temperature in the hut felt colder somehow, the air thicker.

He glanced at you then, and for the first time since you’d met him, there was no teasing in his eyes. Just something sharp. Something calculating.

“Stay behind me,” he said.

And for once, you didn’t argue.

The door groaned on its hinges, and then, with a deafening crack, it flew open. Rain lashed inside, drenching the floorboards as the hulking silhouette of a figure loomed in the doorway.

“Blimey—there yeh are!” Hagrid’s voice boomed through the storm, his massive frame barely squeezing through the entrance. “I been lookin’ all over fer yeh two! What in Merlin’s name d’yeh think yeh’re doin’ out ‘ere?”

Relief flooded through you so quickly your knees nearly buckled. Mattheo exhaled sharply, slipping his wand back into his robes with a muttered curse.

“Got half the staff in a right state, yeh have,” Hagrid continued, shaking his shaggy head as he stomped further inside, dripping rainwater everywhere. “Professor McGonagall’s ready ter skin yeh alive, an’ I dun even wanna think what Snape’s got planned fer detention.”

You swallowed, exchanging a glance with Mattheo. He was still smirking—of course he was—but there was something in his eyes that told you he wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be.

“C’mon then,” Hagrid grunted, ushering you both toward the door. “Let’s get yeh back before McGonagall hexes me fer not findin’ yeh sooner.”

The trek back to the castle was a blur of rain and muttered complaints from Hagrid about “reckless students” and “runnin’ off into the forest like a pair o’ mad hippogriffs.” But despite the cold, despite the exhaustion settling into your bones, you couldn’t shake the lingering tension between you and Mattheo—the awareness of something unspoken that still crackled in the air like static.

By the time the towering silhouette of Hogwarts came into view, golden windows glowing through the downpour, you were drenched and shivering, but oddly… you didn’t entirely mind.

The moment you stepped inside the warmth of the castle, voices exploded around you but all you could focus on was the imposing figure of Professor McGonagall at the top of the stairs, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Miss YLN, Mr. Riddle," she said crisply. "If you ever decide to take a midnight stroll into the Forbidden Forest again, do let me know so I can personally prepare the hospital wing for your arrival."

Mattheo let out a quiet chuckle beside you. "Missed you too, Professor."

Her sharp glare was enough to silence even him. But a tinge of relieve shimmered in her eyes as well.

You sighed. This was going to be a long night.

Because somehow, someway, you knew this night wasn’t something you—or Mattheo—would be forgetting anytime soon.