You were a fucking angel sent down from whatever god there was to make him repent, make him see the good in the world and others. And he was going to let you and enjoy every last second of it.

she had some trouble with herself

The second time you talked was right before christmas break in sixth year. The only reason he even saw you was because you were in his usual smoking spot, a small balcony not many knew about.

He contemplated walking away but something drew him towards you once again. Mattheo slowly crept forward and when he was close enough, he heard you. You were crying. Not loud, i-need-attention-crying, no. You were sobbing, shoulders shaking.

He could hear your uneven breath and quiet tears, and, for the first time in his life, he wanted to do something about it. He wanted to kill whichever fucker had you crying like that, he wanted you to stop crying and he craved to see your dazzling smile again.

And, most of all, he wanted to comfort you, hold you tight untill you stopped sobbing and you looked at him with a slight, watery smile. And, as was well known around hogwarts, Mattheo was never one to stop himself from having what he wanted, when he wanted it.

he was always there to help

Mattheo stepped toward the balcony, making his footsteps loud enough for you to hear, but not loud enough to disturb the quiet hanging around the moment like a thick, fuzzy blanket. He approached you and sat on the bench next to you, not saying anything.

After stealing a glance at him and determining he was looking straight ahead as to not startle you, you leaned into him, slowly laying you head against his shoulder. He didn’t move, not for a few minutes at least. Then he lifted his arm and frames it around your shoulders, still not looking at you.

You told him why you were crying, your asshole boyfriend had said something stupid, and, as usual, didn’t back down from it untill you were in tears. You and Mattheo talked for what felt like a few minutes but in reality, you were talking for hours.

You talked about your futures. About how you wanted to become an auror or a professor at hogwarts and he opened up to you, about his father and mother, what was expected of him and the other slytherin youth. And you stayed, heard him out and comforted him like no one had done before.

It was only when the sun started to rise and your eyes were no longer swollen and red, that you decided to leave. You both slowly stood up and, after a quick hug goodbye, you were gone. And Mattheo was left standing there like an idiot. As usual.

she always belonged to someone else

The next time you saw eachother was at a party in the room of requirement. Gryffindor had just won a match against hufflepuf and you were exstatic. Your team had claimed victory, with you scoring the last goal and deciding the score.

You and the rest of the team came storming in, smiles wider than ever, cheeks red from the cold and hair windswept. You still felt the rush of adrenaline in your limbs, hollering along with the squad, god you loved this.

Mattheo was in the corner of the room with his friends, Enzo and Theo laughing at some stupid joke Blaise had made and Draco and Pansy a bit further away from the group, talking. Pansy had dragged them there because of some girl she liked being in gryffindor.

He was laughing along with them untill you came in. You face was still flushed from the january cold and your braid slighty undone, he thought you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. You walked around the room for a bit, recieving praise and claps on the back for your prestation on the pitch. After a while, you finally settled on one of the red couches, lounging like you were the queen of the world. He was trying to make his way through the room to talk to you, when all of a sudden, Cormac Mclaggen slid onto the same couch, giving you a quick peck on the lips.

Right. Mattheo had forgotten about the reason you were crying that night. Or rather, had assumed you’d break up with him. So, standing there, in the middle of the lion’s den, Mattheo finally realised what poets meant when they said love was one’s best strenght and worst weakness.

i drove for miles and miles and wound up at your door

Mattheo didn’t know what the fuck hé was doing. The war had now started, leaving the wizzarding world in distress and disarray. The ministry was close to falling and many students were being pulled from hogwarts by concerned parents and guardians.

Your parents had tried, ofcourse they had, but you protested, you weren’t any safer at home than at school and at least you had the professors to protect you at hogwarts. This, ofcourse, didn’t stop them from making you come home for fall break. You weren’t protesting, the days at hogwarts had started getting shorter and the halls were gloomier than you’d ever seen.

You were surprised when the doorbell rang, it was late at night and your parents would be out till morning, father working at St. Mungo’s and mother a part of the Order and an auror. You stood up from the couch, grabbing your wand from the table, book long forgotten on the floor.

You looked through the peephole in the door and saw Mattheo Riddle there, face bloodied and bruised and clothes ripped. His expression was grim and, somehow, vunerable. You swung the door open and grabbed his hand, dragging him in.

“What the hell Mattheo?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it, sweetheart.”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake…”

You dragged him along to your bathroom, opening the cabinet and pulling out a first aid kit.

“Sit” you said, pointing at the closed lid of the toilet. He sat down on the lid and immedeatly sagged like he hadn’t sat down for the past few days. You cleaned his wounds, a cut on the side of his face and one on his lip and tried to put ice on all of his bruises.

After a quick trip to you father’s room, you handed him a clean t shirt and pants and then left the bathroom, waiting for him to change. When he finally emerged, you hugged him tightly and when you pulled back, about to ask him what happened, he leaned in and kissed you, just like he’d wanted to do for ages.

i've had you so many times but somehow, i want more

You kissed back, feverently and desperate, like you’d been waiting for this for a while. But there was also a certain sweetness and softness to it that Mattheo had never experienced. Mattheo didn’t pretend to be holy virgin mary, in fact quite the opposite.

His reputation was famed and there were more than enough girls willing to overlook the fact that he was the Dark Lord’s son to see if he was as good as the rumors said he was. Every last one of them would go to say that he was, in fact, better

Mattheo was never one for ego boosts or twisting the thruth about himself. He was a liar, a cheat and a criminal and he’d made peace with that a while ago. But somehow, when he was kissing you, it felt as if he wasn’t. That, even for just that moment, he was more then Voldemort’s kid or a decietfull slytherin. He was just Mattheo, and for you, that was enough.

You pulled back first, gasping for air and Mattheo thought you’d never looked more beautiful. You were peering up at him through your lashes, a slight smile playing on you lips, now swollen from the kiss.

“So, what does this mean?” You asked, an uncertainty in your eyes.

“This means,” he stroked your cheek, his cold hands a great contrast agains your warm skin, “that I’m never gonna let you go again.”

And in that moment, Mattheo swore that he would keep his promise, no matter what.

i don't mind spending every day, out on your corner in the pouring rain

But alas, things never did work out for the dark haired slytherin. The war broke loose just weeks after, hogwarts became a battlefield and he was seperated from you. Not by something tangible, but by an immaginary line, on one side, there was you, the gryffindors, professors and the order of the Phoenix. On the other, there were his friends, his father and mother and his duty, and, ofcourse, him.

You had stopped talking to him after an argument you’d had about him joining his father. You, ever the optimist, were determined to make him see that he could still switch sides, that he could still make it right. As much as he loved you, he also knew you were naïve and had a very strong moral compass.

Which is why you’d stormed out. And now, weeks later, the war still raging on and the final battle inching closer daily, you still refused to talk to him. When he approached you, you walked away. When he tried to talk to you in class, you turned and started a conversation with the nearest person.

And when he was waiting on the quidditch pitch in the pouring rain, bouquet in hand, you still ignored him. But he saw a flicker of something familiar in your eyes, something he’d longed to see since the day you walked out. So he kept trying, kept showing up untill one day, you accepted his peace offering.

“This doesn’t mean that i changed my mind, okay? I still want you on our side. I just don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Fine by me.”

look for the girl with the broken smile and ask her if she wants to stay a while

You’d won. After years of fighting and fear, you had won. Voldemort was gone and this time, he couldn’t come back. Mattheo always thought that he would feel some kind of remorse for turning on his father in the heat of the battle, but, as he now realised, he only felt relief.

Hogwarts was shattered, there was debris from fallen statues or walls littering the ground and aurors everywhere, coming to arrest his father’s followers. Mattheo slowly walked into the great hall, made into a makeshift infirmary, and saw more pain and grief than he ever had in his eighteen years of life.

The survivors were scattered across the hall and his eyes quickly scanned the room for your familiar face. He found it amongst the gryffindors, sitting quietly on a bench with a mug of tea clutched between your hands. You weren’t crying, oddly enough. Your checks were stained with dirt and streaks of blood but no tears. You looked like you’d been through hell and back but, somehow, you were smiling.

Parvati Patil was telling you a story about her brother who had passed last month, fighting for the wizzarding world. Parvati was dealing with her loss in the way that so many do, drowning out the sad memories with the good ones and trying to make her brother proud by telling his stories.

Mattheo walked up to you, nervous about what you would say regarding his late switch of sides. When you took a look around the great hall, looking to see if there were any new faces you recognized, you saw him. Exclusief yourself from Parvati, you ran to him, jumping into his arms and hugging him tighter than you ever had.

If Mattheo had to tell anyone when he knew he was in love with you and would forever be, he would describe that moment, you in his arms, clutching onto him like the world might end. And for him, that was enough.

Elisabeth weaved through the crowd and took a seat on one of the tables, sitting next to a few girls roughly their age. She introduced them to the pogues, and excited look on her face. The girls, named Maddie and Lola, were a bit less enthusiatic and just nodded at the group before turning their attention back to a woman that had now climbed onto one of the tables in the centre of the hall.

She was a tall redhead woman in her late fifties with a look that could comfort and reprimand you in the same sentence. She was wearing a white t-shirt with the words ‘camp leader’ written in black and a kaki hat. The lady stood tall on the table and began to introduce herself and give a tiny welcoming speech.

‘Alright welcome to all the new staff and counselors, welcome back to all our usual helping hands. So, this year will be the same as usual, your schedule for the summer will be delivered in your mail box in front of your cabin, anything else you need you go to your upper counselor first, this year that’s Elisabeth-’

Elisabeth stands up to make sure all the new counselors knew who she was and waved quickly before sitting back down.

‘-and Mike.’

A tall guy stood up a few tables down and waved exitedly, almost hitting one of the girls sat next to him. He was muscular and tanned as hell, his shirt fitting tightly around his muscles, JJ understood why people called him Big Mike.

‘If you can’t resolve the issue with those two then you come to me. My door’s always open except when it isn’t. Stay in line, don’t break too much rules and let’s make this a fun and enjoyable summer.’

Everyone around them started clapping and cheering, the summer having officially started. After a round of applause, the staff started to filter out of the mess hall, having furies to attent to and prep to do before the kids arrived.

JJ and the rest of the pogues stuck around waiting for Elisabeth to finish talking to Lola, lounging on the wooden benches and engaging in some small talk with a few other counselors Sarah knew.

Elisabeth finally finished up and signaled for them to follow her. They walked through a patch of forrest and after five minutes Sarah and Pope had to split from the rest of the group, Klara and John B leaving not much after to go to their own cabins.

“I know our cabin’s far from the mess hall but I promise we’ve got the best one. We’re close to the bonfire, the lake, the showers,…”

Elisabeth started rambling on about the location and the campers they usually got, making sure they knew the cottage was the best cabin. After a few more minutes of walking, they reached the building. It was a tall, wooden cabin that reminder JJ of a midieval castle.

Elisabeth continued talking and walked in without waiting for Cleo and JJ, who were gaping at the mere size of the building in awe. Both of them were pogues and, because Sarah suggested the camp, they figured it would be a bit bigger than they were used to. This however, topped every last one of their expactations.

Elisabeth, who now realised two of her counselors were still outside and gaping at the sheer size of their cabin, turned back around, grabbed their hands and dragged them through the french doors.

‘Holy fucking shit”

Cleo said, her jaw dropped with all the beautiful things in their cabin. Elisabeth, who had been staying in the cabin since she was a child, gave them a quick tour, showing them the children’s rooms and bathrooms and then their own rooms. Cleo and Elisabeth would be sharing and so would JJ and Big Mike.

Elisabeth told them she was going for a quick shower and to make themselves at home in their rooms and then promptly left the pogues to their own devices.

Cleo and JJ shared a look of wonder, still not sure they weren’t dreaming.

“This summer’s gonna be awesome as fuck.”

When he saw you in the hallway, he waved and said hello, something he couldn’t recall ever doing even for girlfriends. Even if he was in the middle of a conversation, he would find time to greet you.

If you were sitting in front of him, which only happened in history and biology, he’d tap your shoulder and slip you a note. He’d write something stupid in his illegible handwriting or draw you a picture of something he knew you’d like.

And during the dinner parties, he’d pick the seat right next to you so he could steal a glance at you or whisper a dumb comment or a joke in your ear, just so he could hear your laugh.

He didn’t realise it at first, how much he craved your presence and longed for it desperately when you weren’t around. Then suddenly, one afternoon, the realisation slowly washed over it like a wave returning to shore, he liked you, want no, loved you. And he vowed to himself to never let it show.

That’s how it started. He found a tiny sketchbook in the corner of his room and one evening, when he was bored, he doodled you in it. And before he knew it he wrote a little poem about you. He was shocked himself, there he was, barely passing in English but writing an entire sonnet on the way he thought your lips would feel.

From then on he started bringing it to school, drawing or writing in it inbetween classes and during free periods. And when someone asked him to see it, he’d quickly slam it closed and tell them it was none of their business. One time you asked and he swiftly changed the subject and stuffed it in his backpack.

For once in his life, Tristan had something he wanted to keep for himself.

──────────୨ৎ───────────

Tristan had been using his notebook for months now, the pages filled with drawings of you, the dimples on your cheeks when you smiled, the back of your head when you sat in front of him in class, always with a little line of a poem he found next to it, sometimes even his own work.

All his friends had been pestering him to show them what he drew in his mysterious notebook for weeks and every time they asked he refused to show them or changed the subject. That is, untill one day.

They were sitting in the courtyard and his friends were rambling on about foutball or something else. Tristan swiftly pulled out his sketchbook and sat down on one of the benched, his eyes scanning the crowd for you. One of his friends, Charlie, noticed him sitting and swiped the book out of his hands.

“Oh, look what we have here, little Dugray’s diary.”

He mocked, opening it on a random page and looking at a few of his drawings. His smirk widened and Tristan quickly snatched it back, gripping it close to his chest.

“What the fuck Charlie?”

Tristan said, glaring at the boy. Charlie laughed at this, the sly smile still prominent on his face.

“I think little Dugray has a crush.”

Charlie said, grinning from ear to ear. Him and Tristan had been friends for years, he knew almost everything about the boy and was slightly hurt Tristan didn’t tell him. Tristan groaned and covered his face with the book.

“Shut up”

Tristan said, still hiding behind the notebook.

“Wait who is it?”

One of the other boys, Andy, asked, also grinning widely. Charlie nodded his head in your direction, still smirking and whispered your name just loud enough for the others to hear.

The guys were split into two groups, each reacting differently. You had the shocked ones, who couldn’t believe what they just heard, and you had the smiling ones, who were happy their friend finally found someone.

“Do. Not. Tell. Anyone.”

Tristan said, threathening his friends. He was slightly relieved to be able to finally tell someone but also still pissed at Charlie. The guys all promise they wouldn’t tell, swore it on their mothers and father and everything that was deal to them. But ofcourse, secrets never stay secret for long.

──────────୨ৎ───────────

Alex, one of Tristan’s friends was dating Julie, and Julie had a sister, Margot, and Margot was friends with Louise’s hairstylist and Louise was friends with you.

So by the next monday your entire friend group knew… except for you. Louise hadn’t had the heart to spill Tristan’s biggest secret and had sworn all the others into secrecy. That didn’t mean however, that they weren’t going to do everything in their power to set you up.

Which is why, on friday evening, you were at Madeline’s place getting ready for “a special occasion” as Rory had so kindly described it. You were wearing your favorite dress with tiny, white kitten heels and your hair was styled perfectly, thanks to Louise.

The sound of a doorbell could be heard echoing through the house, Madeline sprinting downstairs to open the door to Tristan, dressed in a tuxedo, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers and looking utterly confused. He had no idea why you had texted him to come over so suddenly (Madeline stole your cell) or why you’d told him to look presentable (an alternatieve Paris came up with after Louise wanten to type “look hot”).

Not that he was complaining.

Madeline swung open the door, told him to wait, ran back upstairs only to say “the eagle has landed” and run back down again (Louise wanted it to feel like a secret mission so they came up with code names). You were quickly told to go downstairs and just “enjoy yourself”.

When you descended the stairs Tristan thought he was dreaming and subtly pinched himself, just to make sure you were real. You smiled slightly stopping at the doorway and craning your neck to look up at him.

“They set you up too?”

You asked, voice sweet like honey and Tristan thought he might faint. You were the most gorgeous being he had ever seen and would later go on to say that that was an understatement.

“Yeah”

He scratched his neck, feeling slightly embarassed.

“Let’s go then”

──────────୨ৎ───────────

Five years later was your one year anniversary and Tristan was the most nervous he had ever been in his twenty-one years of life. He handed you a tiny book looking at you to gauge your reaction. You smiled and opened the notebook, eyes flikkering at all the pages, filled with drawings of you and little love notes.

“Thank you Tristan, I love it.”

You said hugging him and placing a kids on his cheek, smiling wider than you ever thought was possible.

And it was at this moment that Tristan was glad Charlie had taken his notebook and told everyone, years ago. Because if not, he wouldn’t have ever goten a chance with the love of his life. He stuffed his right hand into his pocket, searching around for something.

He swiftly pulled out a box, dropped on one knee and asked the most important question of his life.

“My love, will you marry me?”