SLYTHERIN LIBRARY

Your Quidditch playing beater boyfriend was going to be the death of you. 

“But what’s wrong with this one?” You huffed, your shoulders sagging as you glanced down at the fabric that clung to your body like second skin, running a hand across the diamantes that shimmered like tiny stars sewn into the dress. “I’m running out of options, and you said you liked this one.” 

Mattheo’s grin widened and his eyes drifted down your body lazily, drinking in the strappy heels you’d paired with your outfit and the matching shimmery handbag. His gaze lifted slowly, sliding up your legs, gliding over the soft skin of your thighs that was on show, still silky and glimmering from your shower earlier. He hummed, his eyebrow lifting at the short hem that left little to the imagination, the tip of his tongue brushing across his bottom lip. 

“I never said I didn’t like it,” his voice rumbled, raspy and low like it often was when he was trying to turn you on. His arms flexed as he moved to push himself up, meeting your gaze with a salacious glint in his eyes. “Quite the opposite, actually. Your arse looks phenomenal…” 

“Mattheo.” You whined, arms slapping down at your sides, shooting him a withering stare to scold his lewdness. “You promised you’d help me choose.” 

“I am helping.” He insisted, his pointer finger twirling in a small circle, a silent instruction to give in to his insatiable nature. He watched you through half lidded eyes, making no effort to hide the way his hand skirted over his crotch, adjusting himself. “C’mon pretty girl, spin for me.” 

It was impossible to stay angry at him. The tight lipped scowl you’d been directing his way morphing into a wry, barely contained grin, your cheeks heating under his watchful gaze. It was too easy to give in to him when he looked at you like that. 

“Pretty please,” he coaxed, tilting his head at the smile that was beginning to bloom on your lips, knowing you couldn’t say no when he asked so nicely.

Your teeth bit at your bottom lip. Noticing the way his eyes trailed across your body, the smugness in his expression as he reached down to ease the growing strain beneath his pyjama bottoms— it was all too much. He’d adjusted himself while you contemplated giving in, sitting up and leaning back on his hands, his legs spread wide as he waited with bated breath. 

Slowly your hands unclenched, your heels tapping against the floor as you spun slowly for him, shy under his stare as you showed off every angle of your dress. A soft sigh left him as your back turned, and when you were finally facing him again, his eyes were blown wide and his lips had parted to let out another strangled groan.

“Salazar’s bloody ballsack,” he murmured, head dropping back to stare at the ceiling for a moment, collecting himself. “You’re not wearing that anywhere.” 

You scoffed, heels clunking loudly as you walked across the dormitory, pausing at the foot of the bed, right between his spread legs, and glared at him. “You’re my boyfriend, you know, not my father.” 

His head was level with your sternum in this position, and he had to crane his neck to look up at you. His eyes darkening as his hands planted against your thighs, slithering up to your hips, one curling at your waist, pulling you closer, and the other resting against your arse. 

“You… are not… wearing that… anywhere.” He repeated slowly, as though you might’ve misheard him the first time. “Especially not around the rest of the Quidditch team. Otherwise I might just have to permanently blind the lot of them.” 

Your brows lifted humorously, your hands coming to rest against his shoulder and tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck. Your fingers gently twisted in his hair, gaze flitting over his broad shoulders and toned arms. That familiar sensation began to curl in your stomach as your thighs pressed together, long past caring about what dress you were going to wear later.

“Oh really?” you hummed, knowing full well he’d never really tell you that you couldn’t wear something. You tugged softly at his hair, pulling his head back just that bit farther and gazing into his eyes. 

“Mhm, really.” Mattheo nodded, his hands beginning to slide across your body, groping and stroking at you reverently. You smirked, watching the glee in his face as his hands explored. 

“Think of the team, Slytherin are close to winning the Cup,” he murmured in a deeply dramatic tone that had your eyes rolling, “What use is Malfoy in catching the snitch without any eyes?” 

His thumbs dug into the fabric as though testing how flimsy it was, still looking up at you with that glazed look in his eyes. 

“Exactly,” you grinned, cupping his cheek and stroking your thumb across his cheekbone, “Think of the team. They deserve a morale boost.” 

Mattheo, to his credit, had the sense to see you were only teasing, even as a look of pure horror broke out on his face. 

“They do not deserve that kind of privilege.” 

You began to giggle at the seriousness in his tone, the way he sat up straighter and seemed to snap out of his lustful teasing. The way his face softened at your laugh frustratingly endearing as he gazed up at you, like it was the best thing he’d heard all day. 

“Besides, you're my girlfriend, not theirs.” he muttered with a pout. 

You rolled your eyes fondly, fingers threading through his curls again as you laughed, this side of him was your favourite. The softer, vulnerable side he only showed when the two of you were alone. He practically purred under the attention, shameless as ever, tilting his head further into your touch.

“You know,” you mused lightly, “most boyfriends would just say their girlfriends look nice.”

“I did say you looked nice.”

“You said my arse looked phenomenal.”

“It does.” 

He maintained his straight face for all of two seconds, before you snorted in disbelief, and he grinned at the sound. Utterly pleased with himself for dragging such a sound from you. The two of you were quiet for a moment, and his eyes raked over you once more, slower this time. Appreciating every inch of your body. 

“Fine,” he sighed heavily. Relenting though he sounded bitter about it, “You can wear the dress tonight.” 

Your brows lifted in surprise, pausing your fingers that had begun to scratch at his scalp. 

“Wait, really?” Your face lit up, peering down at him with a puzzled look. 

“No.” he replied almost instantly, grip tightening around your hips, “Absolutely not. I just wanted to see your face.” 

Mattheo didn’t even glance up from his plate. “Didn’t ask for it, Hufflepuff.”

His voice was low, edged with that familiar bite. Sharp tongued as ever.

Around you, his friends, Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Pansy exchanged looks. Theo smirked into his pumpkin juice.

You shrugged, undeterred, and reached for some toast. “You didn’t have to. You skipped dinner yesterday. Figured you might be hungry.”

He finally looked at you then, dark eyes narrowing. “Stalking my eating habits now? Cute.” The sarcasm dripped like venom, but you just beamed at him, biting into your own toast.

Across the table, Pansy snorted. “Merlin, she’s at it again. Give it a rest, sweetheart. He’s not going to suddenly turn into Prince Charming because you bring him fruit.”

“I’m not expecting charming,” you replied lightly, defending yourself with a small laugh. “Just making sure he doesn’t starve while plotting world domination or whatever it is you lot do before Potions.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. “Bold for a Puff. Most of your house would’ve run by now.”

You met his gaze steadily. “Most of my house doesn’t see the point in running from someone who hasn’t actually done anything to them.” Your eyes flicked back to Mattheo. “Besides, I like sitting here.”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He took the apple though after a long pause and bit into it with more force than necessary.

You counted that as a win.

This had become routine. Weeks, maybe months now, of you orbiting him like a persistent moon.

Good mornings in the corridors, even when he responded with nothing but a grunt or a cutting remark about your “annoying cheerfulness.”

Little things: fixing the strap on his bag when it broke during Transfiguration, saving him a seat in the library (which he ignored and sat somewhere else, only for you to move anyway), defending him when some Gryffindor idiot muttered “Death Eater spawn” loud enough for the hall to hear.

His friends had started teasing you mercilessly at first.

“Another lap around the Riddle fan club?” Blaise had drawled one evening in the Slytherin common room after you’d somehow ended up there (Theo had dragged you along, claiming you were “funny” and “harmless”).

“Careful, love,” Pansy had added with a wicked grin. “He bites.”

You’d just shrugged and settled onto the couch like you belonged. “I’m not scared of teeth.”

Over time, the teasing softened. You laughed at their jokes, bantered back, helped Theo with Charms homework, and even managed to get Draco to admit your taste in Quidditch teams wasn’t completely abysmal.

You became part of the group, almost by accident. They got used to your presence. Mattheo… tolerated it.

Or at least, that’s what he showed.

Lunch was more of the same. You slipped into the seat beside him again, ignoring the way Lorenzo Berkshire raised his eyebrows across the table.

“Saved you the last treacle tart,” you whispered, sliding the plate over. “I know they’re your favorite.”

Mattheo exhaled sharply through his nose. “You keeping a bloody list or something?”

“Maybe.” You grinned, unbothered. “Someone has to notice these things.”

Theo kicked Mattheo under the table. “Mate, she’s literally handing you desserts on a silver platter and you’re acting like she hexed you.”

“Shut it, Nott.” Mattheo’s tone was flat, dangerous. But his hand closed around the fork anyway.

You chatted easily with the others, Pansy about the latest fashion disaster in the common room, Blaise about the upcoming match, Draco about some pureblood nonsense you mostly tuned out.

Every so often you’d glance at Mattheo, offering a comment or a small smile. He rarely responded with more than a grunt or a sarcastic jab.

He never spoke to you nicely. Not once.

Yet you kept showing up. After classes, in the corridors “How was Arithmancy?” even when he brushed past you with a muttered “Don’t you have badgers to hug?”

You sat with the Slytherins at dinner, laughing when they roasted each other, fitting in like a bright patch on dark fabric.

His friends noticed.

One evening in the Slytherin dungeons, after you’d left (having fixed a rip in Mattheo’s robes with a quick charm and a cheerful “See you tomorrow!”), Theo finally snapped.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Riddle.”

Mattheo leaned back in his chair by the fire, nursing a glass of firewhisky. “Problem?”

Blaise chuckled. “She does more for you in a day than half the girls throwing themselves at you ever have. Brings you food, defends your sorry arse, actually listens when you’re in one of your moods”

“I don’t have moods,” Mattheo cut in coldly.

Mattheo’s eyes darkened. “She’s just another girl hovering. They all do it eventually. Looking for the thrill of the ‘dark’ prince or whatever bollocks they tell themselves.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “She’s not looking for thrill, you dense git. She likes you. Properly. And she’s not scared off by your award winning personality.”

“She’s a Hufflepuff,” Mattheo said dismissively, though his grip on the glass tightened. “Too soft. Too… good. She’ll get tired of it.”

Theo laughed. “She’s been at it for months. Sat through your worst days. Defended you to McGonagall when you got detention for that stunt with the Gryffindors. And you still treat her like dirt.”

He was possessive by nature, territorial. But admitting she mattered? That was weakness. And Mattheo Riddle didn’t do weakness.

“She’s nothing,” he said finally, voice low and sharp. “Just background noise.”

His friends exchanged glances. They knew better. They saw the way his eyes followed her when she left the room, the subtle shift when she sat beside him. The hidden softness he buried under sarcasm and ice.

You, meanwhile, walked back toward the Hufflepuff basement with a small, satisfied smile. He’d eaten the tart. He’d let you sit there. Progress, in your book.

You weren’t naive. You knew he was cold, conflicted, carrying shadows most people couldn’t imagine. But you saw the good, buried, fighting to surface. You weren’t afraid. And you weren’t going anywhere.

Mattheo could pretend to tolerate you all he wanted.

You’d keep showing up until he couldn’t pretend anymore.

———

It was a rainy Thursday when things shifted, just a little.

You were waiting outside the Potions dungeon after class, two umbrellas tucked under your arm (one borrowed from the Hufflepuff common room because you knew he’d “forgotten” his again).

Students streamed past, giving you odd looks. A group of Ravenclaws whispered behind their hands.

Mattheo emerged last, collar up, expression stormy. His eyes landed on you and narrowed.

“Don’t,” he said before you could speak, brushing past.

You fell into step beside him anyway, unfurling one umbrella and holding it over both of you. “It’s pouring. You’ll catch a cold and then complain about it for a week.”

“I don’t complain.” His voice was clipped. “And I don’t need a bloody babysitter.”

“Too bad. I’m self appointed.” You smiled up at him, rain pattering loudly against the fabric. He didn’t take the umbrella from you, but he also didn’t speed up to leave you behind. Small victories.

Theo and Blaise caught up, grinning like idiots.

“Look at that,” Theo drawled. “Domestic already. Riddle, you gonna let her carry your books next?”

Mattheo shot him a withering glare. “Fuck off.”

You laughed softly. “I already did his Arithmancy notes last week when he was… occupied.” You didn’t mention the detention he’d earned for hexing a seventh year who’d called him a monster in the corridor. You’d simply copied the notes in your neatest handwriting and left them on his usual spot in the library.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “See? She’s useful. Unlike you when you’re brooding.”

Mattheo’s jaw flexed. He said nothing the rest of the walk.

Dinner that evening brought new company.

A tall Gryffindor boy, Cedric’s old friend, Marcus something, had wandered over to the Slytherin table, apparently on some inter house project nonsense. He stopped right beside you, flashing a bright, easy smile.

“Hey, I’ve seen you around. You’re the Hufflepuff who talks to this lot without running. Impressive.” His eyes lingered. “We’re having a study group in the library tomorrow. Potions theory. You seem like you know your stuff. Want to join?”

You felt Mattheo stiffen beside you before you even answered.

“That’s sweet,” you said politely, “but I usually study with these guys. Thanks though.”

Marcus didn’t take the hint immediately. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Less… intense.” He glanced at Mattheo meaningfully.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Mattheo beat you to it.

“She said no.” His voice was low, dangerous, laced with that dark charisma that made people listen. He didn’t even look up from his plate, but the temperature around the table seemed to drop. “Run along, Gryffindor.”

Marcus hesitated, then shrugged with a nervous laugh. “Alright, Riddle. Didn’t mean to step on toes.” He left.

Silence fell for half a second before Pansy cackled. “Territorial much?”

“I’m eating,” Mattheo muttered. “Don’t need distractions.”

You turned to him, heart doing a small flip at the possessiveness he’d just shown, even if it was wrapped in irritation. “You didn’t have to do that. I could’ve handled it.”

“Clearly.” His sarcasm was sharp. “You were about to agree.”

“I wasn’t.” You poked his arm lightly. He didn’t pull away. “I like sitting with you lot. Even when you’re grumpy.”

Draco snorted into his goblet. “Grumpy. That’s one word for it.”

The real crack appeared two days later.

It was late evening in the Slytherin common room. You’d been dragged there again, this time by Pansy, who wanted your opinion on a dress for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.

You ended up staying, curled up on the couch with a book while the boys played a lazy game of Exploding Snap nearby.

Mattheo was in one of his moods. Silent, sharp edged, staring into the fire like it had personally offended him. You knew the signs by now something from his past, or a letter from home, or just the weight of his own name pressing down.

You stood up quietly and disappeared toward the dorms corridor (Pansy had shown you where the spare blankets were kept weeks ago). When you returned, you draped a slightly warmer one over his shoulders without a word.

He tensed. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“You looked cold.” You sat back down beside him, closer than usual. “And you always steal the good blanket when we’re down here.”

“I don’t steal…..” He stopped, exhaling through his nose. For once, he didn’t shrug the blanket off. His fingers curled into the fabric anyway.

Theo watched the exchange with open amusement. Later, when you stepped away to grab drinks for everyone, he leaned toward Mattheo.

“You know she’s in love with you, right? Properly. Not the silly crush shit.”

Mattheo’s eyes flicked toward your retreating figure. “She’s delusional.”

“Or you’re blind,” Blaise added quietly. “She defends you to teachers, to randoms in the hall, even to her own housemates who think she’s lost her mind. Brings you food, fixes your shit, sits with you even when you’re a complete bastard to her. And you still act like she’s nothing.”

“Because she is nothing,” Mattheo snapped, voice low and venomous. But his eyes betrayed him,they followed you as you laughed at something Pansy said across the room.

“She’ll wise up eventually. Get tired of playing saint to the villain.”

Draco shook his head. “You keep telling yourself that, mate. But the way you nearly hexed that Gryffindor for just talking to her? That wasn’t nothing.”

Mattheo didn’t reply. Inside, the conflict raged. You made things easier, yes. Mornings were less bleak with your stupid cheerful “good morning” and perfectly ripe apples. His robes didn’t fall apart. He hadn’t missed meals. And the way you looked at him… like he was worth saving… it terrified him. Because if he let you in, if he admitted how much he’d come to expect your presence, then you became leverage.

A weakness.

And people like him didn’t get to keep soft, bright things without breaking them.

He was possessive. The thought of you smiling at someone else like you smiled at him made magic crackle at his fingertips. Territorial. He wanted you close but he refused to give you anything back. It wasn’t fair. He knew that. He just didn’t care.

Or so he told himself.

The next morning you were there again, sliding into your usual seat with a bright, “Good morning, Mattheo,” and placing a small vial beside his plate.

“Pepperup Potion,” you explained before he could sneer. “Just in case. You sounded a bit off last night.”

He stared at the vial, then at you. Something in his chest twisted uncomfortably, warm, annoying.

“You’re exhausting,” he said flatly. But he took the vial. Tucked it into his robe pocket like it was nothing.

You just grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Across the table, his friends shared knowing looks. They were done watching him self destruct in slow motion.

One of these days, Mattheo Riddle was going to have to face the fact that the persistent Hufflepuff had already wormed her way past every wall he’d built.

And when that happened… well. Even he wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.

———

Slytherin party,

The common room pulsed with music and low green light, the party in full swing after Slytherin’s narrow win over Ravenclaw.

Music thrummed from enchanted speakers, firewhisky flowed freely, and clusters of students laughed too loudly, danced too close, and forgot for one night about OWLs, NEWTs, and the shadows hanging over the wizarding world.

You’d shown up with Pansy, who had insisted on you wearing a simple but flattering black dress she’d “borrowed” from somewhere.

“Blend in for once, Puff,” she’d teased. You’d laughed and gone along with it. By now, no one batted an eye when you appeared in Slytherin territory. You were one of them. Sort of.

Mattheo sat in his usual spot on the large leather couch near the fireplace, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest.

A glass of firewhisky dangled from his fingers. His expression was the same half bored, half dangerous mask he wore most days.

You had claimed the spot beside him earlier, but the crowd had shifted. Now a Slytherin girl, sixth year, long dark hair, sharp cheekbones and sharper ambition had taken your place.

Literally. She was practically in his lap, one hand trailing down his chest, laughing breathily at something he hadn’t even said.

“Mattheo,” she purred, loud enough for you to hear over the music, “you really are the most interesting one here. All that mystery… I bet I could make you smile if you let me try.”

She leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear.

Mattheo didn’t push her away. He also didn’t pull her closer. He simply took a slow sip of his drink, eyes distant, like she was background noise. No smirk, no flirtation, no interest. Just cold tolerance.

You stood a few feet away, watching for a moment. A small sigh escaped you, not dramatic, not heartbroken, just… tired.

You knew this game. Girls threw themselves at him constantly. The dark aura, the dangerous reputation, the undeniable charisma, he attracted them like moths to a cursed flame. And he usually let them hover until they got bored.

You turned away and spotted Theo leaning against a stone pillar, nursing his own drink and watching the scene with clear amusement.

“Hey, Theo,” you said brightly, walking over and bumping his shoulder. “Think we’ll see another Exploding Snap disaster tonight, or has Lorenzo learned his lesson?”

Theo grinned down at you, glad for the distraction. “Doubt it. He’s already three drinks in and eyeing that pack of cards like an idiot. You good?” His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the couch.

You shrugged, leaning beside him. “I’m fine. She’s bold, I’ll give her that. Think she’ll last longer than the last one who tried?”

Theo chuckled. “Nah. He’s not even pretending tonight. Look at his face, pure ice. Poor girl doesn’t realize she’s talking to a statue.”

You laughed softly, genuine and light. Talking with Theo was easy. He had become a real friend over the past weeks, someone who actually listened when you rambled about Herbology or the latest book you’d read.

“I was going to ask Mattheo if he wanted to dance later, but… maybe not. He looks like he’d rather hex the music.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, studying you. “You’re really not bothered by that?” He nodded toward the girl, who was now tracing patterns on Mattheo’s arm while he stared into the fire.

You took a sip of your butterbeer. “Bothered? A little. But I’m not going to compete by climbing all over him. That’s not me.” Your voice stayed calm, sweet but honest. “He knows I’m here. If he wants me to leave, he can say it. He never does.”

Theo shook his head, half laughing. “You’re something else, you know that? Most girls would be over there hexing her by now. Or crying in the corner.”

You smiled, eyes drifting back to Mattheo despite yourself. “I’m not scared of him, or of this.” You gestured vaguely at the party. “Besides, I like talking to you lot. Even when he’s being… himself.”

Mattheo’s gaze had found you.

Even from across the room, even while the dark-haired girl whispered something in his ear, his eyes locked onto you and Theo. His jaw tightened. The girl’s hand slid higher on his thigh and he shifted away just slightly but didn’t stop her. His fingers flexed around his glass until his knuckles paled.

He didn’t like it.

Not the girl. Her touch felt like nothing, irrelevant, annoying. But you standing there, laughing with Theo, looking perfectly at ease in his common room, in his world… that twisted something ugly and possessive in his chest.

You were supposed to be orbiting him. Not chatting and smiling at Nott like it was the most natural thing.

Yet he said nothing. Did nothing. Just watched, brooding.

Later, the girl finally gave up with a dramatic huff and stalked off to find easier prey. Mattheo didn’t even watch her leave.

You eventually wandered back, sliding onto the couch beside him now that the seat was free. Your shoulder brushed his.

“Enjoying the party?” you asked lightly, offering him a fresh drink you’d grabbed on the way.

Mattheo took it without thanks, setting his empty one aside. “It’s loud,” he said flatly. His eyes flicked to you, scanning your face like he was searching for cracks. “You and Nott seemed cozy.”

There it was the sharp edge. Not quite jealousy admitted, but close.

You tilted your head, smiling softly. “Theo’s funny. We were just talking about how terrible Lorenzo is at cards.” You paused, then added, “You could’ve joined us. Or told that girl to give you space if she was bothering you.”

He scoffed, leaning back. “Didn’t need to. Not interested.” His voice dropped, sarcastic and low. “Unlike some people, I don’t need constant attention to feel important, Hufflepuff.”

You didn’t flinch. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning on giving her any competition.” You reached over and straightened his already loose tie with gentle fingers, a small habitual gesture.

“You looked bored. Thought maybe you’d want actual company instead of… whatever that was.”

Mattheo stared at your hands on his tie, then at your face. The conflict raged behind his eyes, wanting to snap at you, push you away, and simultaneously wanting to pull you closer so no one else could even look at you the wrong way. He settled for his usual defense.

“You’re too much,” he muttered, but he didn’t move away from your touch.

———

Weekend ends, and the new week already started badly for Mattheo.

A letter from his father’s old circle had arrived that morning cryptic, demanding, laced with expectations he wanted nothing to do with but couldn’t fully escape. Combined with a brutal detention from Snape and losing a Quidditch strategy argument to Draco, his mood was blacker than the dungeons.

The kind of day where the shadows around him felt heavier, and everyone with sense stayed out of his way.

Everyone except you.

You had noticed immediately during breakfast. His shoulders were tense, jaw locked, eyes darker than usual.

Still, you slid into your usual seat beside him with a gentle smile, placing a steaming cup of his favorite black coffee (extra strong) in front of him.

“Morning, Mattheo,” you said softly. “Rough night? I brought you….”

“Enough.”

His voice cracked like a whip. Louder and sharper than he’d ever been with you. The entire Slytherin table went quiet.

You blinked, hand still hovering near the cup. “I just thought….”

Mattheo turned to you fully, eyes blazing with barely contained fury and exhaustion. “You thought what? That your pathetic little acts of kindness would fix anything? That I want you here every single fucking day breathing down my neck like some lovesick puppy?”

The words cut deep. His friends froze.

“Mattheo…” Theo started quietly.

“No.” Mattheo didn’t even look at him. His gaze stayed locked on you, cold and unrelenting.

“I’m done with this. Done with you hovering, done with the apples and the notes and the stupid blankets and the defending me like I’m some broken charity case. Leave me and my group alone. Go back to your Hufflepuff flowers and mind your own business for once.”

The silence was suffocating.

You stared at him for a long second, heart twisting painfully in your chest. Your eyes stung, but you refused to cry in front of them. Not here. Instead, you swallowed hard and stood up slowly.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, voice small but steady. “I’ll leave.”

You turned and walked away without another word, head high even as your hands trembled at your sides. The Great Hall felt endless. A few people whispered, but you didn’t look back.

Mattheo didn’t watch you go. He gripped his fork until it bent, then shoved his plate away and stormed out. His friends exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing to him. Not yet.

Three days passed.

You kept your word. No more good mornings in the corridor. No more saving seats. No more sitting at the Slytherin table.

You ate with your housemates, smiled politely when people asked what happened, and threw yourself into Herbology and helping in the kitchens, anything to stay busy.

You missed them. You missed him. But you respected his wishes. If he wanted space, you’d give it to him, even if it hurt.

The Slytherin group felt the absence immediately.

Lunch on day one was too quiet. No one to laugh at Lorenzo’s terrible jokes or argue Quidditch with Draco. No soft voice reminding them about upcoming assignments.

By day two, Pansy was scowling at everything. “This is ridiculous. The table feels empty.”

Theo kept glancing toward the Hufflepuff table where you sat, surrounded by your housemates but somehow looking… dimmer. Less bright.

Day three, Blaise finally said it out loud in the common room: “She’s makes this lot tolerable. Can we bring her back”

Mattheo was there, slouched in his usual chair by the fire, pretending not to listen.

He hadn’t spoken much in three days. His mood hadn’t improved, in fact, it had soured further. The little things you used to handle were piling up. His bag strap had broken again. He’d missed dinner once because no one reminded him. The common room felt colder without your occasional presence.

He told himself it was better this way. Cleaner. No weaknesses.

His friends disagreed.

On the evening of the fourth day, the group made their move.

Pansy and Theo cornered you after Charms class, blocking your path to the Hufflepuff basement with determined expressions.

“You’re coming with us,” Pansy declared, linking her arm through yours.

You blinked in surprise. “Pansy, I can’t. He said…”

“He’s an idiot,” Theo cut in. “A miserable idiot. The common room has been dead without you. Draco’s even more unbearable. Lorenzo keeps losing at cards because no one’s betting against him properly. Come on. Just for a bit.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “I don’t want to make things worse.”

Blaise appeared behind them, smirking. “Too late for that. Mattheo’s been brooding like the Dark Lord himself since you left. We miss you, love. Properly.”

After a few more minutes of gentle insistence (and Pansy threatening to drag you), you gave in. You let them lead you down to the Slytherin dungeons, heart hammering the entire way.

And there, in his usual spot by the fireplace, sat Mattheo.

He looked up when the portrait hole opened. His eyes landed on you immediately, widening for half a second before the guarded mask slammed back into place. He said nothing.

The others moved casually, like this was normal. Pansy pulled you toward the couch. Theo dropped into the seat across from Mattheo with a pointed look.

“Look who we found,” Theo announced lightly. “Our favorite Hufflepuff.”

You stood awkwardly for a moment, offering a small, uncertain smile to the group. “Hi.”

Draco nodded at you, almost relieved. “About time. The silence was getting pathetic.”

You sat down carefully, not beside Mattheo this time, but on the opposite end of the large couch, giving him the space he’d demanded. Your hands twisted in your lap. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his stare burning into the side of your face.

The conversation started slowly, Pansy complaining about homework, Blaise teasing Lorenzo, but it gradually warmed up. You laughed softly at one of Theo’s jokes, the sound familiar and bright again. For the first time in days, the common room felt alive.

Mattheo remained silent, watching you from the shadows of his seat. His jaw was tight, fingers drumming restlessly on the armrest. The conflict was clear in his eyes, the same storm you’d always seen, only sharper now. He’d told you to leave. You had. And now that you were back (because of them), the relief mixing with his anger and possessiveness was making his chest feel too tight.

He still didn’t speak to you.

Laughter echoed off the stone walls as Lorenzo dramatically retold his latest failed attempt at asking out a Ravenclaw, complete with sound effects.

Pansy was curled up beside you on the couch, showing you fabric swatches for some upcoming event, while Theo kept sliding in clever quips that made everyone groan or laugh.

You smiled and participated. You really did. You complimented Pansy’s choices, teased Lorenzo right back, and even debated Quidditch tactics with Draco when he dragged you into it. It felt good to be back among them.

They had become real friends, and their obvious relief at having you there eased some of the ache in your chest.

But with Mattheo… it was different now.

You stayed on the far end of the couch. You didn’t slide closer like you used to. You didn’t offer him the fresh drink Blaise had passed around. You didn’t reach over to fix the cuff of his sleeve when it rode up.

Every time your eyes accidentally met his, you gave a small, polite nod and looked away again. Careful. Guarded. Not cold, you couldn’t quite manage that but no longer shining that bright, effortless warmth directly at him.

Mattheo noticed.

He sat in his usual chair, legs stretched out, nursing the same glass of firewhisky he’d barely touched. His dark eyes followed your every movement. The way you laughed freely with Theo. The way you leaned into Pansy’s side comfortably. The way you existed in his space without orbiting him like before.

It irritated him more than he wanted to admit.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Pansy murmured to you at one point, low enough that only you could hear. Her eyes flicked toward Mattheo. “Still sore about what the idiot said?”

You shrugged lightly, tracing a pattern on the couch leather with your finger. “I’m here for you guys. Not… not to push anything. He made it pretty clear he doesn’t want the extra stuff from me. I’m respecting that.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “He’s a dramatic prick. He didn’t mean half of it.”

“Maybe.” You offered her a small smile. “But I’m not risking it again. Not right now.”

Mattheo’s grip tightened on his glass. He’d heard enough.

When Theo stood up to grab more drinks and you naturally followed to help him carry them back, Mattheo’s voice cut through the air sharp, sarcastic, aimed straight at you.

“Careful, Hufflepuff. Wouldn’t want you overexerting yourself playing servant again.”

You paused, holding two glasses steadily. The group quieted a little. You met his gaze evenly this time, no flinch, but no smile either.

“I’m just helping a friend, Mattheo,” you said softly. Calm. Not defensive. “No big gestures. No hovering.”

You set the drinks down and returned to your spot without another word. No apple. No blanket. No gentle check in about his clearly still terrible mood.

The silence stretched for a beat too long.

Theo cleared his throat. “Smooth, mate. Really winning her back with that one.”

“Shut up, Nott.” Mattheo’s tone was flat, but his eyes stayed on you. That possessive streak was flaring hot under his skin. You were here, in his common room, surrounded by his friends, yet you were keeping him at arm’s length. It felt wrong.

The next few days followed the same careful pattern.

You sat with the group at meals again, but not directly beside Mattheo. You chose seats between Pansy and Blaise, or across from Theo.

You still defended the group when outsiders made snide comments, your Hufflepuff loyalty ran deep but you no longer singled Mattheo out.

No more personal good mornings whispered just to him. No more saving his favorite desserts. You were warm with everyone else, bright and kind like always.

With him, you were… polite.

“Pass the salt, please?” you’d asked at dinner the next evening, voice neutral when your eyes met his.

He’d slid it over without a word, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Later in the common room, when you’d laughed at one of Draco’s rare jokes and bumped knees with Theo accidentally, Mattheo had snapped at Lorenzo over nothing, magic crackling faintly at his fingertips.

His friends saw it all.

“You’re an absolute bellend,” Blaise told him bluntly one night after you’d left for curfew (earlier than usual, another new habit). “She’s giving you exactly what you asked for and you look like you want to burn the castle down.”

Mattheo leaned back, staring at the dying fire. “She’s acting like I’m a stranger.”

Draco snorted. “You told her to leave you alone. Loudly. In front of the entire hall. What did you expect? Eternal devotion on command?”

“I expected….” Mattheo stopped himself, running a hand through his messy curls.

He didn’t know what he expected. He’d wanted space, wanted the annoying persistence gone. But now the absence of her specific light left everything feeling flat. The little comforts he’d pretended not to notice were glaringly missing. And worse, seeing her still smiling, still caring, but redirecting all of it away from him… it stirred something ugly and jealous and needy he refused to name.

He was emotionally conflicted on the best of days. This was torture.

A few nights later, the group was studying (or pretending to) in the common room. You were helping Pansy with her Transfiguration essay, heads bent together, your neat handwriting filling the page. Mattheo sat nearby, book open but unread.

You felt his stare again. Heavy. Burning.

When Pansy got up to fetch another book, leaving the two of you momentarily semi-alone, you glanced up. His eyes didn’t waver.

You offered a small, cautious smile. “Need help with anything? The essay’s brutal this week.”

Mattheo’s response was instinct sharp-tongued and defensive. “Don’t start that again.”

You closed your ink bottle slowly, expression softening but staying reserved. “I’m not starting anything. Just offering as a friend. Like I do for the others.”

The distinction stung more than he cared to admit.

He wanted to snap again. Push harder. But the words caught in his throat when he saw the careful walls behind your eyes the way you were protecting yourself now, even while sitting in his world.

You waited a beat longer, then turned back to your own work when he stayed silent.

Mattheo Riddle watched you, the same storm raging behind his guarded expression. He was possessive. Territorial. And right now, the girl who had always chosen him was choosing distance, even while staying close to everyone else.

It was driving him mad.

The common room was quieter tonight, the fire crackling softly as most students had retreated to dorms or the library for last minute revisions. Only the core group remained scattered across the couches and armchairs, Pansy flipping through a magazine, Theo and Blaise arguing over chess moves, Draco reading with a bored expression, and Lorenzo half asleep.

You had been sitting with Pansy again, but something had shifted in you. You’d watched Mattheo. Really watched him. The way his eyes tracked you when he thought no one noticed.

The tighter set of his jaw whenever you laughed with the others. The restless tapping of his fingers. He was regretting it. You could see it, the conflict, the stubborn pride warring with whatever softer thing lived under all that armor. He wanted you close again. He just didn’t know how to say it.

Time to test the theory.

You stood up casually, stretching, and moved across the room. Instead of your careful distance, you dropped down on the couch right beside Mattheo, close enough that your thigh pressed lightly against his. The same spot you used to claim every night before the blow up.

Mattheo tensed instantly, dark eyes snapping to you.

You didn’t look at him right away. You simply leaned forward, grabbing a spare quill from the low table and twirling it between your fingers like nothing had changed. “Theo, pass me that book on curses? I want to check something for Pansy’s essay.”

Theo raised an eyebrow but tossed it over with a knowing smirk.

As you settled back, your shoulder brushed Mattheo’s. You felt the sharp inhale he tried to hide.

He lasted maybe thirty seconds.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The words came out harsher than he probably intended, laced with that unwilling venom. “Decided to test how much shit I’ll take before I snap again, Hufflepuff?”

You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze. There was no flinch in your eyes, only quiet understanding.

You saw it: the regret flickering behind the ice, the way his hand twitched like he wanted to reach out but refused to let himself.

“I’m just sitting here,” you said softly, voice even and sweet. “Like I used to. You haven’t told me to move.”

Mattheo’s jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. He tried again, the meanness spilling out despite himself, like a defense mechanism he couldn’t turn off.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have to. Thought I made it clear you’re exhausting. Always there, always fixing things no one asked you to fix. Find someone else to play hero for.”

The words stung, but you saw straight through them. His eyes betrayed him, lingering on the way your hair fell over your shoulder, on your hand resting near his leg. He wasn’t pushing you away physically. He wasn’t standing up.

He was just… lashing out, the same way a wounded animal snaps at the hand trying to help.

You smiled. Small. Knowing. “You don’t mean that.”

He scoffed, looking away into the fire. “Don’t tell me what I mean.”

But he still didn’t move.

Emboldened, you shifted even closer, tucking your legs under you so your knee rested against his thigh. You reached over and gently tugged the loose thread on his sleeve that had been bothering you for days, something you would’ve fixed without thinking weeks ago. He froze under your touch but didn’t pull back.

“Mattheo,” you murmured, low enough that the others pretended not to hear, “you can keep saying mean things if it makes you feel better. I’m not leaving this time unless you really want me to. And I don’t think you do.”

His breathing hitched. For a moment, the guarded mask cracked completely. Something raw and conflicted flashed across his face, possessiveness, relief, anger at himself, that hidden softness he buried so deep.

His hand lifted halfway, like he might touch your arm, then dropped back down.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, sharper, still failing at kindness “You’re going to regret sticking around when I inevitably ruin whatever this is.”

You leaned your head lightly against his shoulder for just a second, testing, pushing, offering. “Maybe. But I’m still here.”

He didn’t shrug you off. Didn’t stand up. Didn’t tell the group to kick you out.

Instead, after a long, heavy silence, his body relaxed, just a fraction, against yours. His arm stayed draped along the back of the couch, fingers inches from your shoulder. Territorial. Close. Accepting.

Pansy caught your eye across the room and hid a triumphant grin behind her magazine. Theo didn’t even bother hiding his smirk as he moved a chess piece.

Mattheo still hadn’t spoken to you nicely. Not really.

But he wasn’t pushing you away anymore.

Your theory had been right. He regretted it. He wanted you back in his orbit closer than before, even if his sharp tongue hadn’t caught up to that truth yet.

You’d rest your head against his shoulder for a moment here, brush his hand while passing a drink there. He tolerated it all with his usual gruff silence and occasional sharp remark, but the tension rolling off him was palpable.

His friends had had enough.

Pansy caught Theo’s eye across the room and gave the tiniest nod. The plan they made that morning was in motion.

“Truth or Dare,” Pansy announced suddenly, clapping her hands. “I’m bored out of my mind and someone needs to entertain me.”

Lorenzo perked up immediately. Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. Blaise smirked like he already knew where this was going.

Mattheo narrowed his eyes but said nothing, he rarely backed down from a challenge, even a stupid one.

You smiled softly. “I’m in.”

The game started innocently enough. Lorenzo admitted to stealing Pansy’s favourite lipstick.

Draco chose dare and had to charm his eyebrows pink for the next ten minutes.

Theo got asked about his latest failed hookup and laughed it off.

Then Pansy turned her sharp gaze on you.

“Truth or Dare, darling?”

You felt the shift in the air. Mattheo’s posture stiffened beside you.

“Dare,” you said, because backing down in front of this group had never been your style.

Pansy’s smile turned wicked. “I dare you to kiss Theo. Proper kiss. Ten seconds.”

The room went still.

Theo raised an eyebrow, clearly in on it, but kept his expression playful. “Only if she wants to. I’m not above being used for a good cause.”

You glanced sideways at Mattheo. His hand had curled into a fist on the armrest, knuckles white. His jaw was locked so tightly it looked painful. Dark eyes burned holes into Theo, then flicked to you, possessive, stormy, conflicted.

Your theory had been right. He was cracking.

You leaned forward slowly, giving Mattheo every chance to say something. He didn’t. He just watched, breathing shallow.

You turned to Theo, cupped his cheek lightly, and pressed your lips to his. It was soft, brief, exactly ten seconds. Theo kissed back gently, more performative than anything, and pulled away with a dramatic sigh.

“Not bad, Puff,” he teased, winking.

You sat back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, heart racing for an entirely different reason. You didn’t look at Mattheo immediately.

The crack appeared.

Mattheo let out a low, dangerous sound, almost a growl. Magic crackled faintly around him, making the fire flare for a second.

“Enough,” he said sharply, voice dripping with venom. “This game is fucking stupid.”

Pansy feigned innocence. “Jealous, Riddle?”

“I’m not jealous of Nott getting pity kisses,” he snapped, the words unwilling and too quick.

His eyes finally met yours raw, territorial, and something deeper. “She can kiss whoever the hell she wants.”

But he looked like he wanted to hex Theo into next week.

You saw the tiny fracture in his restraint. The way his hand twitched like he wanted to pull you into his lap and erase what just happened. The hidden softness bleeding through the anger. He cared. Deeply. He just wouldn’t admit it yet.

The game continued awkwardly for a few more rounds before dying out.

As people started heading to bed or pretending to study, the group quietly regrouped near the fireplace once you’d stepped away to grab water.

“Close,” Theo muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Did you see his face? He nearly lost it.”

“Not enough,” Draco said. “He’s still too stubborn. One little kiss isn’t cracking that reinforced concrete he calls emotional walls.”

Pansy crossed her arms. “New plan then. We need to push harder. Something that forces him to choose publicly. Maybe Hogsmeade this weekend. We get her to ‘casually’ flirt with someone else. Or we set up a situation where she has to be alone with one of us and see how long it takes before he drags her back.”

Blaise chuckled darkly. “Or we make him think she’s actually moving on. He’s possessive as hell. If he believes he might lose her for real…”

Theo glanced over at Mattheo, who was now staring into the fire like it had personally betrayed him. “He’s already regretting everything. We just need one more push and that restraint of his is dead.”

They all looked toward you as you walked back, none the wiser to their scheming.

Mattheo’s eyes followed you the entire way, dark and intense. The crack was there. Now they just had to widen it until he had no choice but to admit what everyone else already knew.

———

The Hogsmeade weekend arrived under a crisp, clear sky the first proper snow dusting the rooftops like powdered sugar.

Students poured out of the castle gates in excited clusters, scarves wrapped high and pockets jingling with allowance money.

The Slytherin group had claimed their usual spot near the Shrieking Shack path for pre butterbeer strategy, but today their energy was sharper, purposeful.

The new plan was simple and ruthless : push Mattheo until his restraint shattered completely.

Pansy had looped her arm through yours as you all walked down the snowy path. “Stick close to me at first,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “Then ‘accidentally’ wander off with Theo or Blaise when we reach the village. We’ll make it look natural.”

You glanced at her, then at Mattheo walking a few steps ahead, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable. “You’re really doing this?”

Theo fell into step beside you, grinning. “He needs it. The kiss barely made him twitch. Time to light a proper fire under his arse.”

You exhaled, a mix of nerves and reluctant amusement fluttering in your chest.

Part of you still felt the sting from his harsh words days ago, but another part, the one that saw every hidden crack in his armor, wanted him to finally admit what was so obvious to everyone else.

“Just… don’t go too far. I don’t actually want to hurt him.”

“Too late for that,” Blaise murmured from behind. “He’s been hurting himself plenty.”

Mattheo slowed slightly, eyes flicking back toward you. You offered him a small, neutral smile the same careful one you’d been giving him since returning to the group. He didn’t return it, but his gaze lingered.

The village was bustling. Honeydukes was packed, Zonko’s even louder. The group moved as one at first, weaving through the crowd.

You stayed near Mattheo out of habit, your shoulder occasionally brushing his in the narrow street. He didn’t pull away.

Inside the Three Broomsticks, you all claimed a large corner booth. Firewhisky for the boys, butterbeers for everyone. Conversation flowed easily until Pansy executed the first move.

“I need to check out that new robe shop,” she announced, standing up. “Come with me, Draco? I want a second opinion.”

Draco sighed but followed, shooting the rest of you a knowing look. Lorenzo tagged along “for snacks.” That left you, Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise.

You took a slow sip of butterbeer, then turned to Theo with a bright, deliberate smile. “Theo, didn’t you say there’s a new shipment of cursed artifacts at Dervish and Banges? I’ve been wanting to see that silver dagger you mentioned last week.”

Theo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Absolutely. Let’s go before the good stuff disappears.” He stood and offered you his hand.

You took it without hesitation, letting him help you out of the booth. Your fingers lingered in his just a second longer than necessary. “Mattheo, Blaise, we’ll be back soon,” you said casually, like it was nothing.

Mattheo’s entire body went rigid. His glass hit the table harder than needed. “Since when do you give a fuck about cursed artifacts?”

You shrugged, still holding Theo’s hand. “Since Theo told me they’re fascinating. You know I like shiny, dangerous things.” Your tone was light, playful the same sweetness you used to direct only at him.

Theo tugged you gently toward the door. “We won’t be long, mate.”

Blaise stayed behind, nursing his drink and watching Mattheo like a hawk.

The snow crunched under your boots as you and Theo walked down the high street.

You didn’t go straight to Dervish and Banges. Instead, Theo led you on a slow, meandering route stopping at a stall selling enchanted jewelry, laughing loudly at your jokes, standing a little too close when showing you a necklace with a tiny snake charm.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you muttered, cheeks pink from the cold and the performance.

Theo grinned down at you. “It’s for the greater good. Look behind us, don’t turn too obviously.”

You risked a glance. Mattheo was stalking after you both, coat flapping open, expression thunderous. Blaise was a few paces behind him, failing to hide his amusement.

Your heart skipped. The plan was working.

Theo leaned in closer, pretending to examine the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing your collarbone. “Smile at me like you mean it,” he whispered.

You did, soft, warm, the kind of smile that used to be reserved for Mattheo’s rare good moments. Theo laughed like you’d said something brilliant.

That was when Mattheo snapped.

“Having fun?” His voice cut through the snowy street like a blade. He stopped right beside you, eyes locked on where Theo’s hand still rested near your shoulder. The possessiveness rolled off him in waves, dark and electric. “Didn’t realize you two were suddenly so fucking cozy.”

Theo raised an innocent eyebrow. “Just showing her the artifacts, like she asked. Problem?”

Mattheo’s jaw worked. He looked at you, really looked.

There was that storm again : jealousy burning hot, restraint fraying at the edges, the unwilling mean streak fighting against something deeper.

“You’re really doing this?” he said to you, voice low and sharp. “Parading around with Nott after everything? Thought you were supposed to be the one who saw ‘good’ in people. Not throwing yourself at the first idiot who smiles at you.”

The words stung, but you saw right through them again. His hands were clenched. He was one breath away from dragging you away from Theo. The crack from the truth or dare game had widened significantly.

You stepped just a little closer to Theo, testing. “I’m not throwing myself at anyone, Mattheo. I’m just… spending time with friends. Like you told me to do. Remember? Stop hovering. Stop fixing things for you.”

Mattheo’s eyes darkened dangerously. For a second you thought he might actually hex Theo. Instead, he grabbed your wrist not painfully, but firm enough to feel possessive.

“We’re going back to the group,” he growled. “Now.”

Theo smirked. “Whatever you say, Riddle.”

You let Mattheo pull you along, his grip staying locked around your wrist the entire walk back to the Three Broomsticks.

He didn’t let go even when you reached the booth. He sat down and tugged you into the seat directly beside him closer than you’d been in weeks. His thigh pressed against yours. His arm draped along the back of the booth, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder like a silent claim.

He was still being an arse, muttering sarcastic comments under his breath and shooting Theo lethal glares, but he wasn’t pushing you away.

The plan had started. And it was already cracking him open.

Pansy and the others returned shortly after, taking in the scene with barely concealed triumph. Mattheo didn’t speak to you nicely. Not yet.

But the territorial hold on your wrist, the way his body angled toward yours like a shield, and the raw, conflicted heat in his eyes said more than his sharp tongue ever could.

The restraint was dying.

The rest of the Hogsmeade afternoon passed in a charged haze.

Mattheo didn’t release your wrist for a long time. Even after you all returned to the Three Broomsticks, his arm stayed slung possessively behind you on the booth, fingers occasionally brushing the back of your neck like a silent warning to everyone else.

He was still sharp tongued, snapping at Lorenzo for talking too loud, throwing barbed comments at Theo, but he kept you glued to his side.

The group wasn’t done yet.

As the sun began to dip and snow started falling heavier, they all gathered outside, Pansy with a calculated sigh “It’s getting late. We should head back, but some of us still need to pick up things from Honeydukes. Theo, you mentioned wanting more of that fizzing whizzbees?”

Theo caught on instantly. “Yeah, and I could use help carrying stuff.” He looked straight at you. “Come with me? You’ve got better taste in sweets than these lot.”

You felt Mattheo’s body coil like a spring beside you.

Before you could answer, you turned to him with that same soft, testing smile you’d been using. “Do you mind? I’ll be quick.”

His dark eyes flashed. The crack was widening dangerously. “Yes, I fucking mind,” he bit out, the words escaping before he could stop them. “You’re not going anywhere with him.”

They went quiet. Even Draco raised an eyebrow.

You tilted your head, pushing just a little more. “Why not? You’ve made it very clear I’m exhausting. That I should stop hovering around you. I’m just hanging out with friends, Mattheo. Like you wanted.”

That struck hard. Mattheo’s hand slid from the to your waist, gripping firmly. Territorial. Needy in a way he’d never allowed himself to show.

“You know that’s not ” He stopped, jaw clenching. The internal war was visible, the mean, guarded part of him fighting the part that had grown addicted to your presence, your care, your unwavering light.

Theo slowly, offering his hand again with an exaggerated grin. “Ready when you are, love.”

Pushing further Theo says “It’s just sweets, mate. Unless you’ve got a problem with that?”

Mattheo’s eyes darkened. He pulled you flush against him in one sharp movement, right there on the snowy street in front of everyone. No grand speech. No soft vulnerability. Just raw, irritated truth wrapped in his usual barbed tone.

“Yeah. I’ve got a fucking problem with it.” He glared at Theo, then looked down at you, jaw tight. “You win, alright? Happy now?”

You tilted your head, staying close but testing him one last time. “Win what?”

Mattheo let out a sharp, sarcastic breath, his breath visible in the cold air.

“This. You. The constant hovering and fixing and defending my sorry arse like I’m worth the effort.” His grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it became more territorial.

“I told you to fuck off because it was easier. Because you make shit… simpler. And I hate how much I’ve gotten used to it.”

He glanced at the group, who were all watching with barely hidden smirks, then back at you. His next words came out gruff, almost annoyed at himself for saying them.

“I don’t want you orbiting anyone else. Not Theo. Not some Gryffindor prick. No one. You’re annoying as hell and far too soft for someone like me, but I want you next to me. Where you’ve been. Stop with the careful polite bullshit you’ve been doing since I snapped at you. Just… be there again. Like before.”

It wasn’t flowery. It wasn’t sweet. It was Mattheo, reluctant, possessive, laced with sarcasm and that dark charisma.

He leaned in closer, voice dropping so only you could hear the rest. “And if Nott tries to hold your hand again, I’ll break his fingers. Clear enough for you, Hufflepuff?”

You smiled softly, reaching up to fix the collar of his coat like you used to. He didn’t stop you.

“Crystal clear,” you murmured.

Mattheo huffed, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he slung his arm firmly over your shoulders and started walking back toward the castle, keeping you tucked tightly against his side. The others fell in behind you, Pansy looking victorious and Theo chuckling quietly.

“Fucking finally,” Blaise muttered.

Mattheo shot them all a sharp look. “Say another word and I’ll hex every single one of you.”

But his hand stayed on your shoulder the entire walk back. No more pushing you away. No more pretending he didn’t care. He still wasn’t nice, not really, but the walls had come down in the only way Mattheo Riddle knew how.

And you were right where he wanted you.

———

The castle was quiet by the time you slipped through the Slytherin dungeons, heart hammering against your ribs.

It had been a long evening after Hogsmeade. Mattheo had kept you close the entire way back, but he hadn’t said much more after his gruff admission. The weight of everything still felt new and fragile.

You were nervous. Actually nervous, for the first time in months around him. Your fingers tightened around the rolled up essay you’d finished copying for him (Arithmancy, due tomorrow).

It was a small thing, an old habit, but it gave you an excuse to see him before bed.

You knocked softly on the door to his dorm. Theo and the others were still downstairs, giving the two of you space.

Mattheo opened it in a loose black shirt and trousers, hair messy like he’d already been running his hands through it. His dark eyes softened a fraction when they landed on you.

“Essay,” you mumbled, holding it out. “I know you hate this topic, so I made notes on the side.”

He took it without a word, stepping back to let you in.

The room smelled faintly of him, smoke, cedar, and that sharp edge of magic that always clung to him.

You lingered for half a second too long, then leaned in quickly, pressing a soft, shy kiss to his cheek before immediately turning to leave.

“Sorry, goodnight,” you whispered, cheeks burning as you tried to rush back out.

A flick of his wrist and the door slammed shut, locking with a sharp click.

You froze, back to him. “Mattheo, I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to push, I just”

He was on you in two strides.

His hands came up on either side of your head, caging you against the door with his body. The wood was cool behind your back; he was burning hot in front.

That stern, smug look was fixed on his face, dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction, one corner of his mouth curved in that dangerous half smirk.

“Do it again,” he ordered, voice low and rough.

You blinked up at him, still flustered. “I… what?”

“Kiss me again,” he repeated, leaning closer until his breath brushed your lips. “Properly this time. Don’t run.”

Your heart stuttered. The nervousness melted under the intensity of his gaze. You rose onto your toes and kissed his cheek once more, slower this time.

Then, gathering your courage, you turned your head and brushed your lips softly against his.

Mattheo made a low sound in his throat, half satisfaction, half relief. One hand left the door to slide into your hair, tilting your head as he deepened the kiss, claiming your mouth like he’d been waiting weeks to do it. Possessive. Hungry. But there was something almost gentle underneath the fire.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. The smug look had softened into something warmer, more private.

“You’re still an idiot for thinking I’d let you run after that,” he muttered, sharp tongued as ever, but his thumb stroked your cheek. “Told you earlier, you’re mine. That means you don’t get to kiss me and bolt, Hufflepuff.”

You laughed breathlessly, the last of the nerves dissolving. “I was scared you’d regret it tomorrow morning.”

Mattheo huffed, pulling you away from the door and toward his bed. He sat down and tugged you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“I regret a lot of things,” he admitted gruffly. “But not this. Not you.” He pressed another kiss to your temple, almost absentmindedly. “You make my life easier. Better. Even when I’m a moody bastard. So stay.”

You nestled into his chest, tracing lazy patterns on his shirt. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” His voice dropped, that dark charisma curling around the words. “Because I’m territorial as hell, and I’ve decided you’re stuck with me now.”

From outside the door, you both heard Theo’s muffled voice “Finally! Can we come in yet or are you two still snogging?”

Mattheo didn’t even look up. “Fuck off, Nott!” he called back, but there was no real heat in it.

You giggled against his neck. He squeezed you tighter, a rare, quiet chuckle rumbling through his chest.

For the first time in a long time, Mattheo Riddle looked… content.

Still guarded, still sarcastic, still carrying shadows, but with you curled in his arms, the weight seemed lighter.

You had seen the good in him from the start. Now he was finally letting himself believe it too.

Theo was just admiring how particularly gray the walls of the castle were looking this fine afternoon when a sharp elbow to the ribs pulls his attention back to the old bat's class. Theo shoots a glare Enzo's way as he rubs his wounded ribcage pointedly. To only further his agitation, Theo notices that Trelawney is now stood directly in front of him extending a deck of tarot cards to him as she blinks her wide owlish eyes at him expectantly.

With a deep sigh and a rather dramatic eye roll, Theo plucks a card from the deck and hands it back to the witch without even bothering to glance at it. Trelawney doesn't seem to mind much though as she inhales sharply, a grin that seemed much too wide for her face forming as she flips the card back to Theo.

"Yes, yes. Just as I predicted dear boy. Just as I predicted. The Two of Cups!" She announces proudly, brandishing the card out towards the class.

Daphne squeals.

"Oh Teddy—"

"Don't call me that."

Daphne ignores him.

"How exciting. How romantic," she continues, clearly far more interested in the pull than Theo was.

She pulls out a script of parchment, finger tracing down the lines of notes until she finds what she's searching for. Then she shoves the parchment under Theo's nose.

"Look there. The Two of Cups—signifies mutual attraction and deep connections. A representation of kindred spirits in the early stages of falling in love. That's so romantic," she gushes, continuing on in her notes.

Enzo snorts doing a horrible job trying to stifle his laughter. Theo glowers, not even wanting to deign such a ridiculous concept with a response. This was ludicrous. The whole thing. Theo had been attending Hogwarts for well long enough to know that there was not a single present student in the school that he would even dignify having a romantic relationship with. He can't help but shake his head and scoff at the mere idea.

"Oh lighten up Teddy, heaven forbid you let Daphne have this," Enzo snickers, clearly enjoying the discomfort the whole thing brought Theo.

It was easy for him to say. It wasn't his love life being carefully dissected by their mystic enthused friend.

Being the new student at any new school was always going to be nerve wracking. But being the new student at a new school in a whole new country was significantly worse in every aspect. Whispers float down the corridors, your name echoing off the high ceilings of the castle, and eyes flicker towards the ground as you pass as if they hadn't just been staring shamelessly the moment prior. Normally the stares wouldn't bother you much, but the constant hushed voices were beginning to be unnerving. Your lips tighten as you move swiftly through the halls and you can't help but feel a bit self conscious as you smooth out your unfamiliar, deep blue robes.

You weren't exactly enthusiastic about your new school to begin with. It was different—of course it would be—but no matter how much you had prepared yourself for all the changes, it just hadn't been enough. Like really, they let a ratty, old—albeit sentient—hat determine house placements? You hadn't wanted that thing anywhere near your head, but it just couldn't be helped. Then, once you had been placed into your house, you come to find that yours is the only one in the entire school that requires you to solve a freaking riddle just to get into your damn room. Asinine. And to top it all off, the wretched school was literally impossible to navigate because the staircases, apparently, were also sentient and did whatever the hell they wanted.

All that to say, when you finally collapse into a seat in the back of, what you hoped was the History of Magic classroom, you were more than a little miffed. With an agitated huff, you try to stay invisible as more students begin to file into the classroom, taking their seats closer to the front. As seats fill, the extra buffer of breathing room melts a bit of the tension in your shoulders. When your professor—a ghost you notice dryly—begins to write on the chalk board, you finally feel yourself start to relax, pulling out a roll of parchment from your bag and carefully copying down each line.

Just as you're about to finish—The Gargoyle Strike of 1911—the classroom door swings open once more and a boy with brown hair and dark, calculating eyes saunters in. You're content with giving him a quick, uninterested glance before getting back to your notes, but unfortunately for you, the boy is rapidly approaching. His bag hits the floor next to you with a dull thread and you feel your lips turn downward into a frown as you look up at the boy once more in annoyance.

You watch as the boy's mouth opens as if to say something, but then his eyes meet yours and you watch him freeze, mouth agape for a moment then two. Just as it's becoming a bit uncomfortable, he seems to awaken from his trance looking shaken, brows furrowing as if he were wondering why on Earth he was just standing there like a fool. Still though, he tilts his head awkwardly—chin gesturing towards the rest of the class—and for the first time you notice that every other seat in the room seems to be occupied. With a sigh of defeat, you wordlessly turn back to the board, preparing to scramble to write down whatever you'd missed just now, content with simply ignoring this boy's existence for the the rest of class.

"A 'wildcat strike' refers to a stopping of work by unionized workers without authorization from the union. In 1911 the wildcats were winning, meaning things were moving in favor of the gargoyles—"

Good god this was horrible. You weren't even ten minutes into your first day of this new class and you already wanted to throw yourself off the top of Ravenclaw tower. It seemed as though many of the other students in class felt similarly as one of the boys sitting a few rows in front of you lets out a concernedly loud snore. You have to choke down a snicker as your eyes flicker up to the ghost at the front of the room, but he doesn't seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn't care.

"That's Finnigan. There's a running bet on how long it'll take him to fall asleep after Binns starts monologuing," the boy next to you murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You turn to look at the boy, surprised to hear him speak after all, and for the first time take a good look. Shit. He was hot. You don't really get the chance to dwell too much on it though because he speaks again.

"That one next to him is Thomas. Any second now he'll start piling things on top of 'em. See how high the stack gets before it falls over or Finnigan wakes up. Whichever comes first."

As if on queue, the boy next to the snoring kid carefully places a thick text book on his friend's back. Then another. It's like you can't look away as you watch on in morbid fascination.

"They friends of yours?" you find yourself asking as the boy, Thomas, adds an ink well to his tower.

Your desk partner snorts.

"Hardly. Lions and snakes don't exactly get along," he says smoothly.

You have no idea what that's supposed to mean, but you don't want to ask. Instead you continue to watch as a bag of Bertie Bott's jelly beans, three quills, a sweater, and someone's pet frog is added to the pile. A potted plant is about to be placed on top when a sneeze sends the whole thing crashing to the floor. Professor Binns doesn't even blink as he just continues on. Finnigan's head shoots up as he takes in his surroundings once more, shoulders slumping when he apparently realizes where he is. Understandable.

The rest of class is an absolute drag as you flit in and out of different thoughts and daydreams. Anywhere was better than here, listening to this ghost drown on. If he were any less interesting, you're sure the entire class would die of sheer boredom and be cursed to haunt this very classroom with the old professor. Doomed to be subjected to the very thing that killed you all in the first place for all eternity.

After what you're certain is the longest hour of your life, class finally ends, but to your dismay, you realize that halfway through class you'd simply given up on taking notes. Dammit. As though reading your mind, the boy next to you slides his parchment towards you. His notes are impeccable. Perfectly neat rows in dark ink with not a smudge in sight.

"I can get them back tomorrow," he says simply, before returning the rest of his materials into his bag.

You open your mouth to thank the boy, but before you even get the chance he's gone in a swoosh of emerald green and black.

The whole thing leaves you a bit stunned. It was the first real interaction you'd had with, really anyone at your new school and you couldn't tell if you'd completely blown it or not. He'd seemed decent enough, whoever he was. And that's when it occurs to you. You hadn't even bothered to ask the boy's name.

"Mmm. What was their name again?" Theo asks, trying to appear nonchalant as he inserts himself into Enzo and Daphne's conversation.

The three of them occupied their usual spots inside the Slytherin common room, the soft glow of green flames painting their faces as their voices mix in with the other echoes of the dungeon. Enzo eyes Theo suspiciously, noting that—despite the unbothered front he put on—Theo's fingers couldn't seem to stop tapping anxiously against his knee. See, usually when Enzo and Daphne were participating in their daily debrief, Theo was staring off into the abyss, pointedly ignoring them. So it didn't take an intuitive genius to pick up on the sudden spike of interest he was showing.

"Y/n. They're from America," Daphne says helpfully, seemingly oblivious to the way that Enzo was trying to dissect their friend's inner most thoughts.

"Why all the interest? They catch your eye? Are you two already falling into the early stages of love?" He taunts when he isn't able to get a proper read on his friend.

Theo's heart stops beating in his chest for half a moment before he juts out his chin defiantly.

"All anyone will talk about. Just curious to know who all the fuss is about," he retorts, forcing his voice to remain steady as he continues to stare ahead, avoiding the curious glances of his friends.

He can tell Enzo doesn't quite buy it, but that simply isn't his problem to worry about at the moment.

So they were from America. Huh.

Truthfully, Theo didn't know much about America. Hadn't ever really cared to find anything out. He was familiar with Ilvermorny of course. Which was presumably your former school, but that was pretty much the extent of it. Maybe he'd ask you about it tomorrow.

Assuming he didn't freeze up again at the mere sight of you. Salazar's ball sack that had been bloody embarrassing. Theo couldn't think of a single other time he'd ever frozen up like that, brief as it had been. Usually Theo liked to consider himself to be quite suave. Charming even, if he did say so himself. And he did. It was completely unlike him to be rendered speechless. Especially not by the mere presence of someone with a pretty face.

But it simply hadn't been his fault. How was he supposed to expect that some great, higher power was going to reach deep into his inner most thoughts and desires—pull together every single physical trait that Theo could possibly fantasize about—and combine them all into one single heavenly creature, and then plop them down right next to him in History of Magic of all classes.

Fate was cruel.

And speaking of fate, there was also all that nonsense from Divination that morning to think about. Theo leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Surely the fact that batty, old Trelawney had predicted that he would fall in love was a complete coincidence in relation to him practically being prepared to propose to the new student in History of Magic a mere few hours later. How could it be anything else? Divination wasn't real. The whole class had been so close to being completely scrapped so many times that you either had to be a fool, or Daphne to believe in it.

Okay, so maybe Theodore was starting to believe it. A little. But what was he supposed to think as he watches you drag your feet through the door scowling? He feels his chest tighten as the two of you make eye contact and he watches as you make your way over to him.

"This seat taken?" you ask, already dropping your bag to the floor. "Didn't take you as one to be into this kinda stuff," you say conversationally as you pull parchment and a quill from your bag.

Theo scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"I'm not," he assures, "But Daph is," he adds, head tilting as he gestures to his friend.

He watches as your eyes dart over to the pretty brunette sitting happily between him and Enzo, assessing.

"Oh. Are you two?" The question lingers on your lips and Theo is quick to shake his head no.

Salazar he was being stupid. Of course you would assume—Why was he being like this?

"Nah. No. Daph's an old friend. Enz and I are just here for moral support. And an easy O." Theo hears himself drawl. "What about you? Training to become a seer?"

"Hardly. This was the only elective left that fit into my schedule apparently."

Salazar's balls you were perfect, Theo thinks to himself as Trelawney comes sweeping into the room. Her eyes are closed and her fingertips are pressed against her temples as she swooshes around the room, humming lowly.

"I feel new energy. An unfamiliar presence. You!" Trelawney screeches in her trembly voice, stopping in front of a poor, innocent Hufflepuff with an accusatory finger hovering dangerously close to their eyeball.

Theo can't help but let out a dry snicker and is delighted when he sees you out of the corner of his eye trying to hold back a laugh too. When it's clear to the old professor that the student in front of her had actually been present all year, her eyes scan the room, finally coming to a stop when they rest on you.

"Ah, there you are my dear! Your energy feels so concentrated on this side of the room, it simply drew me over," Trelawney babbles as she makes her way over. "Now let's see here. Palms up dear, palms up, let me have a look."

Theo watches amused, ignoring the weird kissing faces Enzo is making at him, as you sigh but still present your palms facing upwards to the professor. Her bony talons quickly engulf your hands, her eyes fluttering shut once more as her head tilts back, a low hum starting once more.

"Yes, yes. How interesting," the hums get louder as the professor's fingers dig into the lines of your palms. "I see. In the darkest hour, a dark shadow, it will over take you. Consume you."

Trelawney's eyes snap open and Theo watches her face melt back into a warm smile as she gives your hands one last squeeze.

"Welcome to class dear. We have much to learn, so much to see!"

Theo finds that he rather likes the way his heart swells when you turn to look at him, brow raised as you shake your head ever so slightly as if to say, 'what a nutter'.

"How many freaking goblin rebellions is it going to take before the British Ministry finally takes the hint and leaves those poor goblins alone?" you huff, slamming your books a little too loudly onto your table in the library.

You can feel Madam Pince attempting to burn a hole through your back as she glares at you, but you ignore her.

"Probably at least—" Theo checks his notes from the day's lesson, "six or seven. Unfortunately not every revolution to rid oneself of British rule is successful," he teases lightly.

You glare at the boy pointedly.

"I'm not even particularly, patriotic," you grumble, the word actually quite sour on your tongue, "but nothing brings Americans together quite like our mutual hatred of the British."

"Mmm. Do let it go on record now that my family is Italian," Theo replies dryly.

Theodore had very quickly become your closest friend at Hogwarts. From that first day in History of Magic the two of you just seemed to click. It also definitely helped that not only did he share your dry sense of humor, but he was also insanely smart, and very easy on the eyes. You'd been worried for a split second when he first introduced you to Daphne Greengrass, a familiar turning in your stomach that you'd quickly identified as jealousy flaring up, but it had been quickly squashed when Theo assured you that they were indeed just friends. But that was neither here nor there. You and Theo had become practically inseparable in the month that you'd been at your new school, much to the chagrin of his friends. You liked them too of course, and they'd been good sports about welcoming you into their little group, but with Theo it was just easy.

You slide your potions notes across the table just as Theo hands over his Charms essay for you to look over. No words exchanged, but you were both perfectly in sync. Easy.

It's far past dark when you finally push your chair back, the old wood scraping against the floor, and you force yourself to stifle a yawn.

"Alright. I'm calling it a night," you announce as you begin packing up your books. "I should head back in case it takes an hour to get that damn eagle to open up the common room door again."

You hear Theo let out a snort at your last comment. He'd heard well and good your complaints about that stupid hunk of metal.

"Guess I'll head out as well. Mattheo has been complaining that he never sees me anymore, but he's just mad he can't copy my notes anymore."

The two of you quickly gather the rest of your things, slinking out of the library right as Pince begins making her rounds to toss the last lingering students out before closing the doors for the night. The walk to Ravenclaw tower is made in comfortable silence as you walk side by side, both of you trying to ignore the way the back of your hands were brushing against each other as you went. When you finally arrive, a whole group of students in black and blue are outside the door when it swings open. Not wanting to miss your chance, you toss Theo a smile over your shoulder before disappearing with the crowd of students through the door.

As soon as you enter your room, you dump your bag on the ground at the foot of your bed, trade your stiff school uniform for a more comfortable track set, and turn right back out the door—a disillusionment spell on the tip of your tongue. You move silently against the walls, retracing the same steps you'd just taken, leading your right back to the library. It's dark now—you knew from experience that as soon as the clock hit ten, Pince was out the doors. You lift your wand, ready to cast the usual alohomora but tonight something stops you. Call it a gut feeling. You grip the handle of the heavy, wood door and without so much as a squeak, the door swings open. Huh. Maybe the cranky librarian had been in such a rush to leave she forgot to lock up.

Without giving it so much as a second thought, you slip through the doors, following the familiar path that lead you right to the heart of the restricted section of the library. Really, you often found yourself wondering, why on Earth did they have a so called restricted section, and then not even bother to put up a single ward to keep students from entering? Wasn't very restricted if they asked you. Your fingertips brush over the spines of different books as you pass through the shelves, pulling one from the shelf every so often if it catches your eye. The silence of the empty library was deafening, but you relished the way you could hear your footsteps echoing on the tile and the rustle of pages turning as you flipped through your nightly finds.

You're on your tiptoes, straining to reach a large tome from the top shelf when you catch sight of a dark shadow appearing out of the corner of your eye. God, you hoped it wasn't that old man Filch. He wasn't as bad as everyone made him seem, you'd been able to talk him out of snitching on you thus far, but it kind of ruined the mood. Your hand drops to rest on the handle of your wand as the shady figure draws closer and you prepare to throw one of your books its way just in case.

"What are you doing here?" the confused voice of Theodore rings out just as you're about to launch your copy of Moste Potente Potions at his head.

You feel your shoulders sag in relief. You hadn't been scared of course. Just vaguely alarmed. Then you let out a laugh.

"And what's funny?"

"Oh, nothing. Just Trelawney and her whole 'A dark shadow is going to overtake you' spiel," you snicker. "And what do you mean what am I doing here? What are you doing here?" you ask rather indignantly, turning back to focus on the book that was just out of your reach.

"I come down to the library at night all the time," Theo replies, crossing his arms defensively.

"Well it's obviously not all the time because I've been here every night this month and I've never seen you down here," you reply casually.

You can practically hear Theo rolling his eyes at you.

"Well of course not all the time, Filch would start getting—sorry did you say you've been here every night? How has Filch not caught you?"

You shrug your shoulders noncommittally, glaring up at the book that seemed to be just taunting you.

"He has a few times, but we usually just chat for a little and then he'll send me on my way."

You don't see the absolutely stunned look on Theo's face.

"You chat? With Filch. About what?" Theo asks incredulously.

You let out an exasperated sigh.

"The weather. Cat toy recommendations for Mrs. Norris. His mother's retirement in France. I don't know, we chat about a lot of things."

You still aren't facing Theo, but if you had been, you probably would have laughed at the completely gobsmacked look that was written across his face.

"Now will you be useful and get that book down for me?" you ask, foot stomping impatiently on the ground.

Still too shocked to respond, Theo reaches up over your head, placing one hand on your shoulder for balance as he easily plucks the book you'd been reaching for off the shelf. Just as he's about to hand it to you though, it seems he comes back to his senses and that smug grin that you'd become so familiar with recently finds its way back to his lips.

"Uh uh uh, where's my reward?" he teases, holding the book just out of reach once more as he smirks down at you.

"Reward?" you ask dryly, looking up to raise an eyebrow at your friend.

Had he always been standing so close?

"I'm a Slytherin. I don't do something for nothing now," he says, voice like honey in your ears.

"What do you want?" you ask, eyes narrowing.

Theo tilts his head as if pretending to think.

"A kiss."

You blink, shoulders shrugging as you turn to face the boy properly. Seemed fair enough to you. You were definitely getting the best end of the deal. So you tug on the collar of Theo's sweatshirt, before crashing your lips into his. His lips are warm and soft and that's all you take note of before pulling away quickly. Theo is clearly stunned once more so you take the opportunity to finally get your hands on the book you'd been eyeing this whole time.

"Thanks Theo!"

Theodore Nott was dangerously close to never brushing his teeth ever again. Because you had kissed him last night. In some sudden, stupid burst of confidence he had asked you to kiss him and you did. It had been a complete joke—Theo hadn't even remotely considered that you'd actually do it, but you'd grabbed the collar of his jumper and then your lips were on his and he knew he was well and truly done for.

"Theo. Theo! You need to get your act together mate," Lorenzo grunts, elbowing his friend to get his attention.

"What? Stop that," Theo mutters, batting his friend away from him.

"Seriously. You're acting like a love sick puppy."Brie

Theo glares.

"Would take one to know one," he snaps, falling back in his seat with a huff.

Now it's Enzo's turn to narrow his eyes.

"I'm going to choose to ignore that because you're just upset that you didn't kiss y/n back," he responds.

Theo's eyes bulge at the bold—albeit correct—observation.

"Can you keep your bloody voice down?" he hisses, eyes flickering about to make sure no one had heard.

Luckily, you had only just entered the divination classroom so at least Theo was safe for now. Or maybe not.

"Morning," you say brightly giving the group a small wave and taking your usual spot next to Theo.

Theo opens his mouth to respond but, Salazar you smelled good today, and your lips, god your lips looked soft and pink and, the words feel caught in Theo's throat. Somewhere in the distance he can hear Enzo snickering obnoxiously, but all Theo can do is stare at you dumbly. This was mortifying. As soon as he figured out how to move again Theo was launching himself straight off this bloody tower.

"Hey, do you want to sneak into the library again tonight?" you ask casually, laying your things out on your desk, seemingly oblivious to the fact that you were about to send Theo into cardiac arrest.

Of course I'll sneak back into the library with you. Especially if it means you'll kiss me again, Theo wants to say. But he has at least a little bit of dignity left, so he straightens himself in his chair, trying to maintain at least somewhat of an air of nonchalance as he finally strings a sentence together.

"Sure."

Okay, so a sentence might be giving himself a bit too much credit, but it was better than sitting there gaping like a daft idiot. You seem satisfied with his answer though as you turn to face the front just as Trelawney waltzes into the room with her usual dramatic flair. Theo drifts in and out of the lesson as Trelawney rambles on about tea leaves and the placement of tasseography symbols. He tried to focus. Really he needed to, because the alternative was his gaze finding its way to the curve of your lips and the way your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek as you furiously scribbled down notes.

The gentle sound of metal clinking on china pulls Theo wholey back to class as a spoon taps impatiently on the teacup in front of him as if urging him to drink. Glancing around he sees most of his classmates were already bottoms up. Drinking down the rather bitter liquid, Theo carefully places his cup back down in front of him, peering disinterestedly at its contents. Just looked like soggy tea leaves to him.

Trelawney insists on moving about the room though, dissecting the meanings inside each little cup and leaving behind a trail of utterly befuddled students in her wake. When she finally reaches Theo, he can visibly see her begin to vibrate with excitement as she moves his cup around in her hands, swishing the tea leaves back and forth.

"Look there, dear. Do you see?" she asks giddily, shoving the teacup back in Theo's face.

"No." he replies flatly, not even bothering to examine the wet leaves.

"Look closer."

Theo's nose is practically inside the cup now and he can hear you and Enz snickering on either side of him. Traitors. When he still doesn't say anything, Trelawney lets out a huff, sticking her crooked finger into the cup and speaking slowly as if explaining something to a small child.

"Right there. Don't you see?" she asks, as if it should've been the most obvious thing in the world. "An axe—" she swirls the cup to the side. "And a butterfly."

Theo stares blankly at the old woman.

"Use their notes and figure it out," she finally huffs in exasperation before sweeping off to another table.

As soon as she's gone and Theo makes eye contact with you he can't help but chuckle as Daphne scowls at the two of you.

"Look," she sighs, shoving her notes across the table for Theo to read.

The Axe—problems overcome

The Butterfly—success and pleasure

Wonderful. More nonsense. That was the problem with divination—the definitions were so broad they were basically meaningless. Overcoming problems and success? That could be about anything. Theo pushes the parchment back to its owner with a shrug. He'd just do what he always did and make something up for the assignment.

Shadows loom against the dimly lit walls of the library as you and Theo wander through the shelves together. Theo had been quieter than usual tonight. To be fair, he wasn't usually the most talkative person ever, but you had had to push to get your usual banter out of him. He clearly had something on his mind. You don't push though. That was something you both appreciated about each other—just being there together was enough.

Once you both have a sizable stack of books pulled together you tuck yourselves away in one of the back corners of the restricted section. Far enough that not even Mrs. Norris would bother to wander all the way back. You find yourself curling up next to your friend, legs pressed together and shoulders brushing as you cast a soft lumos charm just bright enough to illuminate the pages of your books as you read. The quiet is nice after a long day of navigating the crowded halls and classrooms of the school. Hogwarts was definitely a lively place, and you hadn't realized just how much you missed having some peace and quiet until you'd snuck out of Ravenclaw tower that first night.

"Do you think divination might not be completely useless?" Theo asks a while later, breaking the silence.

You look up in surprise before glancing down at the book he's reading—Divination Through the Ages: A Skeptics Guide—your eyebrows furrowing in thought. If you were being honest, you'd always thought that divination was, to be polite, dumb. In fact, you'd been rather pissed when your head of house, Professor Flitwick, had told you that it was the only class that would fit in your schedule. But you didn't think that was what Theo wanted to hear at the moment.

"I mean, all forms of magic have their unique uses I suppose," you reply carefully, wondering where this was going.

Theo just hums in response, continuing to finger through the pages of the book as you watch with curiosity. Finally, with a deep breath, he snaps the book closed and turns to face you. It's clear he wants to say something as you search his eyes which seem to be getting ever so slightly closer by the second. You can't help the way your eyes drop down to his lips as his tongue glides across his bottom lip nervously. They're so close now you can practically feel the way they had pressed against your own last night. However brief that encounter had been. When you finally tilt your head back up to meet his eyes once more, your nose brushes his and you feel your breath hitch. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was about to kiss you right now.

And then his lips are on yours and you feel your body go limp as he pulls you into him, your eyes fluttering closed as he molds you to him. Your book slips from your fingers with a dull thud as it hits the ground, but you hardly notice. Theo's lips are just as warm, and soft, and utterly intoxicating as you remembered them to be. You can feel Theo smiling against your lips as he pulls you impossibly closer and you forget where you are, what you were doing, everything except what it feels like to be held in Theo's arms.

When you finally break apart, it's your turn to blink in stunned silence as Theo gazes down at you, his breath warm against your cheek.

"Ever since you arrived, everything that divination has told me has come true," Theo says gruffly, clearly not pleased to be having to admit it.

You couldn't blame him. The two of you had kind of bonded over how unseriously you both took the class. Still though, you tilt your head, inviting him to continue.

"The first day we met—that morning in divination, a deck of tarot cards told me I was going to fall in love."

A dry laugh escapes Theo's lips as he pulls back, eyes trained everywhere but at you now. Which is probably for the best as you feel tendrils of heat creeping up into your face.

"I didn't believe them of course. Thought it was pure rubbish."

Your heart stutters for a moment before your eyes land on the book Theo had been reading so intently up until now.

"Hm. And did something change?" you ask cautiously, not daring to get your hopes up.

"Well, the soggy leaves in my tea this morning kind of implied that I should get my act together if I wanted any sort of success, so—" Theo lets out another wry laugh, though there's no humor in his voice. Just a nervous undertone that you can tell he's trying to mask.

"Well did you? Fall in love that is?" you ask, suddenly feeling shy around Theo for the first time.

There's a beat of silence where you can practically feel your heart trying to tear its way out of your chest. You hadn't quite realized just how much you wanted this until it was staring you in the face. Or rather anywhere but. Then Theo meets your eyes once more.

"I think I could. If I'm not half way there already."

His words melt every bit of tension you had been feeling previously as you let out a breath that you didn't know you'd been holding.

"I think I'm half way there too."

mattheo

i know baby i got the notification, i was just about to text you are you doing alright? do you need anything?

princess <3

no i want u here come quick

You pause, typing the next message with a small pout, though he can’t see it.

princess <3

pls

mattheo

go take a nap first i’ll come as soon as i can i love you

A smile makes its way to your face despite the pain.

princess <3

u better ilyt <3

mattheo

ily MORE

You send him an eye roll emoji & a middle finger emoji, he hearts the message.

mattheo

go to sleep baby

You turn off your phone and settle into your pillows, already feeling better knowing that he’ll be here soon.

But when the ten minutes it should've taken for him to get from his dorm to yours pass by and he’s still not here, you open your phone to check for a message saying he’s on his way.

You don’t see any new notifications and you frown. You decide you’ll just wait a little longer.

Eventually, the pain in your abdomen and the waiting become too much and you drift off to sleep.

It’s okay. You reassure yourself. You can sleep, Mattheo will be here when you wake up.

When you wake up, however, Mattheo is nowhere to be found and you’re left all alone in your room. You turn on your phone, seeing that a full hour and a half has passed since he sent that last message.

You’re not one to jump to conclusions — well, you are, but you trust Mattheo enough by now to give him the benefit of the doubt — and you're certainly not one to be extra clingy or needy. But with how emotional your period is making you, you are jumping to conclusions and you are feeling needy.

It’s a Saturday, which means he doesn’t have quidditch. It’s not a special holiday by any means and, since it’s a weekend, he probably had his whole day clear to see you anyway — what gives?

You wonder if he's avoiding you because you're on your period, you're mean enough when you're not in pain, you can't imagine you're very pleasant right now. Your meanness has finally driven him away, it seems.

You and your heightened sensitivity come to the conclusion that he’s grown tired of you — no matter how irrational the thought is, you rationalise it in your head — and he simply no longer places you as top priority, he must have better things to do.

You're filled with a sadness so strong you have to convince yourself it's anger. You let the anger and hurt simmer until you're stewing in it, furiously fantasising about letting him have it later when he eventually talks to you again.

The door to your dorm swings open just as you're practicing an argument in your head. You watch Mattheo enter quietly, he gently closes your door, worrying you're asleep.

“Where were you?” Your voice cuts through the room, and it sounds so bitchy. All the softness you usually reserve for him is gone and in its place, your bitch persona is back. God, no wonder he's sick of you.

“I had to get some stuff, baby, sorry I took so long.” He murmurs, walking over to you almost like a dutiful nurse. “How’re you holding up?"

You keep your head turned away, ignoring him.

He sits on your edge of your bed. “We don't have to talk if you're—”

“You’re such a bad boyfriend.” You whine, feeling extra irritable and irrationally upset as a result of your period. You don't even mean it, you just want him to hurt like you are right now. A tear rolls down the side of your face, angry tears, you tell yourself. "I'm in pain and I'm dying and you left me all alone."

You can’t see it, but he frowns. Though your words sting just a little, he doesn't take what you say to heart, knowing you don't mean it. He purses his lips, overly cautious of the state you’re in and knowing he has to tread gently.

He gently rubs your shoulder and you can’t help but feel yourself relax a bit. He rolls you over so you can see his face and smiles softly when he catches sight at the small pout on your face.

“You’re so cute.” He says, kissing your forehead and nose just to make you laugh — it doesn't work and the pout stays on your face.

“Stop it.” You say, swatting at his hand. “I’m still upset, what the fuck else was so important? What were you getting?”

He gently lifts the plastic bag he had dropped on your bedside table. He takes out the contents one by one.

“Heat pad, dark chocolate bars — with the little raspberry bits you love, pain killers.” He lists each item as he takes them out, “I brought my DVD player, too — we can watch those shitty chick flicks you love.”

He continues to show off all the things he must have ran out to buy as soon as he knew you were on your period. You suddenly feel sick with guilt — how could you be so mean to him? You had promised yourself that you’d start being the sweet girlfriend he deserved. How could you ever think he wouldn’t prioritise you?

You feel awful and you feel a rush of self hatred return.

“Also, I got you food from that taco place we like because I know you haven’t eaten — oh, princess, why’re you crying?” He says softly, cupping your face in his hands.

“Because I’m such a bitch!” You cry, sobbing harder at the touch of his hand.

“You’re not a bitch.” He says with a small smile on his face, like he's holding in a laugh.

"I am! You're the best boyfriend and I'm a bitch, you deserve someone better." You sob into his hands. Normally you'd be appalled being so pathetically self-hating out loud but, right now, everything just pours out.

"I thought—" You start, cutting yourself off with another sob. "I thought you were avoiding me or that you didn't want to see me, how could I think that of you?"

His eyes soften. “It’s my fault; you're right, you’re in pain and I should’ve told you I wasn’t coming immediately.” He says, looking down at you tenderly.

He’s being so patient with you, so understanding — it makes you feel worse.

"It is absolutely not your fault." You say sternly, shaking your head furiously. "Don't say that."

"Well, it's not yours either." He says kindly, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, sweetheart.”

He soothes his hand over your head for what feels like hours until you’ve finally calmed down.

“You felt bad being mean to me.” He says after a long lull of silence, grinning from ear to ear, “You love me.”

You scowl. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m hormonal and my emotions are all fucked up. A commercial for dog food could make me cry, in fact, it has—"

He’s not listening, he lowers his head to kiss you softly. You allow yourself to melt into the kiss.

“You love me.” He mumbles, face still hovering over yours. You blink up at him, lips almost curling into smile. You tug him by the front of his shirt, chasing his lips for another kiss.

You feel a sharp pain in your stomach and your face screws up, you whimper into the kiss. He pulls away and quickly assesses you.

You clutch your stomach, eyes screwing shut. "Hurts."

“I know, I’m sorry.” He hands you the heat pack he bought you and you hold it to your abdomen.

"Is there anything I can do for you now?” He asks.

“Just hold me, please.” You say, sounding embarrassingly like a small child. He doesn’t tease you, instead placing all the things he bought for you on your bedside table before sliding under the covers with you.

With his warm arms wrapped around you, you feel the pain being alleviated immediately. You fall asleep knowing you have the most loving and patient boyfriend in Hogwarts, who loves you enough to put up with you — your mood swings and all your bitchy glory.

every mean + secretly sensitive gf needs her patient + loving bf who'll stay & reassure her no matter what <3

- - -

When Mattheo and Enzo had pulled Theo into his hotel room, you worried he might strangle the two of them. You’d never seen him so angry—sober or not.

"Grab his arm—no, damn it!" Enzo muttered as Theo’s swollen fist swung around, looking for another target.

They laid him down on his bed and each hissed directions at the other. Mattheo pulled Theo’s shoes off as Enzo loosened his tie and pulled his jacket off. Theo sat there—stripped down to his dress shirt, trousers, and socks—sulking.

With a deep breath, you dropped to your knees against the bed and looked up at Theo. You found his shredded hands and cupped them safely within yours, cringing at the wet redness that coated his flesh.

The drunk man before you watched closely with parted lips as you held onto his hands like they were a lifeline. Your fingers touched the damaged flesh gently, careful not to provoke any pain. Your lips came down and ghosted across his cracked knuckles.

Theo’s blood was metallic against your teeth. It tainted your tongue with red. He watched so closely and so quietly, you were worried he might have fallen asleep.

Eventually, you pulled away but kept your eyes trained on your love's hands and the wounds that decorated them. Once you moved, Theo seemed to come back to life. The hand that had not yet been let go of reached down and angled your chin up. Your eyes met.

His thumb slid softly over your bottom lip, gathering his blood that stained, seeping into the cracks. You watched him through admiring eyes, waiting for every small touch that he gave you.

"So sweet…," he whispered.

"Go to sleep, Theo," you smiled slightly, slowly pulling his hand away. You adjusted his position, resting his head comfortably on the pillow he hadn't brought to your room and tucking his feet beneath the sheets.

"Will you stay with me?" Theo gripped your shirt sleeve just as you pulled away. His fingers tightened in the material, reminding you once more of a young child.

You glanced around the room, noticing a shut door and the absence of a certain drummer and a guitarist. You hadn’t noticed Enzo or Mattheo slip out.

You hesitated, dragging your eyes back to Theo. He was drunk, so anything he said didn't matter. Or, perhaps he did mean them and just would never think to say them while he was sober.

"Theo, I…," you started, but quickly shut yourself up when you saw the look Theo was giving you. You couldn't say no.

"Yes, I’ll stay with you," you whispered to him, pressing one last kiss to his knuckles which already seemed to be bruising. "Let’s clean you up first, though."

You disappeared into the bathroom. After a moment, you located an embroidered cloth and ran it under the tap, making sure the water wasn't too warm or too cold. You wondered if Theo would continue to try and talk to you in his inebriated mindset, sharing secrets you were never meant to know. You felt bad for almost wanting him to do that.

You shut the tap off and brought it in to Theo, kneeling back down beside him. You cradled his hands again, gently running the damp cloth over his knuckles.

The drunk man winced slightly, clenching his eyes shut at the pain. You glanced up every once and a while, gauging his facial expressions in order to know where not to touch.

"'m sorry, Theo—trying not to press too hard," you whispered soothingly, attempting to comfort the man.

Theo sighed and closed his eyes, letting you work in peace. You watched the cloth slide over his damaged flesh, seeing it soak up the blood. You couldn't possibly imagine why on earth the man had come after Theo and why he'd assumed he'd been messing around with his girl. Unless he had been.

Your hands halted, threatening to drop the cloth. The only thing that kept you from moving was the thought that Theo would never hear your confession; even if you told him. His ears and eyes would remain shut to your love forever until the day he died, and you would continue to love him until then.

"Why’d you stop?" Theo asked, barely getting the words out. His eyelids looked so impossibly heavy and his breathing was becoming steadier and steadier.

"Sorry," you whispered, quickly finishing your work. Once you stood to dispose of the cloth, Theo had completely fallen asleep. Nothing short of heaven itself could wake him now. You smiled softly at this.

You reminded yourself to thank Mattheo and Enzo in the morning as you began undressing.

Your white dress shirt, trousers, and jacket were laid nonchalantly across the chair in the corner and you found yourself beneath Theo’s sheets.

Your eyes found him, watching his chest rise and fall with each sleepy breath. You hesitantly raised the hand that wasn't tucked under your cheek and traced it down his face.

You brushed a piece of hair behind his ear, gently gracing your skin with his. His cheek was soft and just as you expected; reminiscent of that of a younger boy just like everything else about Theo. It saddened you to think that these small things that reminded you of him, could just be a reminder of how violently his childhood had been ripped from him. Overbearing, controlling parents. Having to leave home to play his music. You let out a shuddering breath.

Theo took in a deep breath and shifted a bit closer to your touch, feeling the warmth of your body radiating through the sheets. Your hand came back down by your side, allowing him to bury himself as deeply within you as he needed to.

You wanted to wrap your arms around him, sleeping so close to you, but you kept yourself from doing so. It took everything in your power not to wake him up and whisper sweet nothings into his ear, making him believe that you loved him whether or not he wanted to.

"Sleep well, love," you whispered into his hair.

- - -

It'd been months of sneaking around with Mattheo. There was no reason to tell anyone, and the sneaking around was so much more exciting.

He had dragged you into the quidditch locker room after practice this time-risky, but that was half the fun. He was still drying off from his after-practice shower, hair still wet and skin still warm from the hot water. Hands were all over you, yanking your shirt over your bra and bunching your skirt up just enough to pull of your panties.

He picked you up easily, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing your back against the back row of lockers. He slid inside you as both of you moaned. You'll never get over the stretch of him inside you.

He had only managed fucking you for maybe 2 minutes before the locker room door opened. You both froze, listening carefully to the person who entered. Persons. Fuck, there were at least three talking loudly, one you recognized as Theo, maybe Enzo was one of the other people? You weren't paying attention when Mattheo decided to start thrusting again, covering your mouth with his hand.

It wasn't fast and rough, but slow and deep-the kind that made your eyes roll back. And it made all concerns of being caught fly out the window. You couldn't care less if one of those guys walked around the corner and saw you and Mattheo like this.

The only thing that brought your attention back was the mention of Mattheo's name. One of them had asked where Mattheo was.

"I didn't see him leave yet." Theo said, a locker slamming shut just on the other side of the lockers you were against.

"Maybe he's still in the shower." The one voice you don't recognize said.

The door to the showers was only a few feet away from you, and you heard footsteps walking towards it.

"I'm getting dressed here! Can you give me a moment?" Mattheo suddenly spoke up, voice clipped like he was hoping it would stop everyone from coming around the corner.

"Oh, my bad! Yeah, dude, we'll see you later." The voice that you thought was Enzo said.

"Yeah, later." Mattheo mumbled, pausing until he heard the voices retreat and locker room door shut, waiting only 2 more seconds before fucking you like he did before they entered. "Fucking hell."

So very, very close to getting caught.

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff @leandre2006

@yours-truly-5 @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @brittney-121 @jannie-belaerys

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236 @ilove-dracomalfoy

@delulugirl2000 @akira1246 @queenshu @prettypinkprincess15

@jolly4holly @st0n3dbarbi3 @kurumbukaari @whydoireadanymore @sweet-afternoon

@ilovehpb0ys @satosugu4-ever @mattiesgirl @ur-local-wizard

@alwayslatetothefandoms @satosugu4-ever @whydoireadanymore @dustie-faerie

@shaquilles-0atmeal @gillyweeds @pluto-9456

@hereticdance @cindyss @saint-marvel

@yours-truly-5 @kenjikishimotoswifey @fallingblackveils

@strxwberri-s @nickirae @esmerai-artemis @blu3b3rrymuff1ns @yootvi

You were panting by the time he was done. Sweaty, panting, covered in a mix of sweat, his saliva, and your own juices. You felt so satisfied, wrecked in the best way possible. But in the most desperate need of a shower.

You didn't even have to tell Mattheo, the look on your face was enough. So he got up to start the shower, making sure it was hot enough by the time you got there. He helped you up and walked you over to the shower, helping you under the water. It felt wonderful, exactly what you needed.

And also what Mattheo needed, apparently. He was hard-painfully hard. Has been since he started eating you out, but that was about you, not him. So while you started cleaning yourself, Mattheo made sure he was out of your way in one of the corners, finally relieving some of the tension in his cock. He stroked himself slowly at first, but that didn't last long. Not when he saw the shampoo bubbles being rinsed out of your hair and sliding down over your tits like they were just trying to draw his attention there.

So his hand sped up while his other hand reached out, cupping one of them gently, giving a small squeeze before letting go to give you space to continue your shower.

But his hand found your body again when you turned around and he just had to grab your ass. He laughed at your little squeal when he spanked you, lightly, just once.

But, Merlin, just looking at you was enough of a visual to get himself off with, and it really didn't take him that long when you started soaping down your body and his eyes went right back to your tits. Wet, soapy tits he'd love to feel against his dick, and that fantasy is what made him cum, shooting it right onto the shower floor with a groan that brought your attention to him, enjoying watching him fall apart this time.

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff @leandre2006

@yours-truly-5 @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @brittney-121 @jannie-belaerys

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236 @ilove-dracomalfoy

@delulugirl2000 @akira1246 @queenshu @prettypinkprincess15

@jolly4holly @st0n3dbarbi3 @kurumbukaari @whydoireadanymore @sweet-afternoon

@ilovehpb0ys @satosugu4-ever @mattiesgirl @ur-local-wizard

@alwayslatetothefandoms @satosugu4-ever @whydoireadanymore @dustie-faerie

@shaquilles-0atmeal @gillyweeds @pluto-9456

@hereticdance @cindyss @saint-marvel

@yours-truly-5 @kenjikishimotoswifey @fallingblackveils

@strxwberri-s @nickirae @esmerai-artemis @blu3b3rrymuff1ns @yootvi