faestria

Mattheo was walking back from turning in a late assignment to Hagrid when he saw you. And he realized, he'd never truly noticed you before. Y/n L/n, the girl who spent time with everyone but him and his mates.

Your back was to him, and you were crouched down in the snow. The snow- it was drifting lazily then, each snowflake fat, falling and adding to the coating of it on the Hogwarts lawn.

When he walked closer, confused as to why anyone was willingly outside in the dreadful cold, he expected you to be sulking or shaking.

Instead your gloved fingers were rolling around small balls of snow and stacking them into snowmen.

There were four of them already, in a half circle where you seemed to have made a round table.

Your cheeks were rosy, eyes bright despite the chill.

"What are you doing out here?" He asked, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He couldn't resist- even though he knew he was supposed to be a scary Slytherin.

You looked up at him, surprised to see someone else- especially surprised to see it was Mattheo Riddle. He was the one Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the other Gryffindors hated because his dad was You-Know-Who.

"I got locked out."

You said it like it was obvious. That anyone would settle down to make snowmen after getting locked out of the castle.

"You got locked out?" He asked, incredulous. Why the hell hadn't you walked around to a window or different entrance? Why hadn't you pulled out your bloody wand and used magic?

You nodded.

"You're going to freeze," he stated, unable to just walk away and ignore you. You frowned at that, as if finally considering the real possibility of getting sick. Looking at your snowmen once more, you stood, brushing snow off your knit gloves.

"We should go inside then," you suggested, already turning to approach the door that had been locked earlier. When you tugged, it gave the same result. You looked back at him, as if to say, 'told you so'.

Mattheo watched you, startled. You really didn't care who he was, did you? Shaking his head, he walked over and knocked.

It was only a few moments later that the doors were pushed open, and Professor Sprout started at you two, horrified.

"See? Easy," he murmured low to you. It must've looked odd to Professor Sprout, seeing the sweetheart Miss L/n with Mattheo Riddle, both of you flushed from the cold, snowflakes in your hair and on your coats.

"Dear- why were you two out there so long?" She fussed, grabbing her wand, casting some charm that automatically warmed both you from the inside out.

You smiled, honest, genuine. "The door was locked."

"Oh, Peeves," Sprout complained, turning around to try and catch the poltergeist.

But Mattheo couldn't stop looking at you.

You were smiling. Honestly, truly smiling despite being frozen and stuck outside. He would've been livid if he'd had to sit in the snow storm for so long.

And he didn't stop looking at you then. That moment was only the beginning of Mattheo Riddle's crush.

By fourth year, all of his mates knew.

They'd seen their friend staring at you from across classes, how'd he'd purposely bump into you in the hallways, apologizing and helping you pick up any dropped items up.

One afternoon, he was blatantly staring at you from across the Great Hall- the room cleared of tables, students lining the walls.

He was on one side and you were on the other, your arm linked with Hermione Granger's as you chatted, smiling. McGonagall was standing in front of all you fourth years and older, something about not embarrassing Hogwarts in front of the other schools.

Before Mattheo knew what was happening, Theo was tugging him forward as everyone spread out in the room. People were partnering up, and Mattheo had no idea why. He'd been thoroughly distracted.

"Dance lessons, you prat," Theo sniggered, already leaving his side to walk over to a beckoning Tracey Davis.

Dance lessons?

You saw him then.

He was standing near a great big window, his curls falling into his eyes as he looked around. No one was approaching him- which was odd honestly- he was very handsome.

Ignoring Hermione's confusion, you walked over to him.

His chocolate eyes slid over to you as you neared. You weren't deterred at the lack of welcoming in them.

"Would you like to dance together?" You asked, smiling at him.

There was a long pause, almost long enough to make you feel awkward. But he finally shrugged, straightening and extending his hand.

"Sure."

You took his hand, stepping closer.

"Have you danced before?" You asked him, copying those around you and settling a hand on his shoulder while he hovered his over your waist.

He nodded, and you watched his throat as he swallowed. "I have."

McGonagall waved her wand and music started up. Everyone turned to watch her dance with Ron. Soon after, the other students were mimicking their steps.

Mattheo was telling the truth, he had obviously danced before. It took a moment, but he finally held your waist properly, and he guided the dance while you followed.

After that, you were nearly friends.

People reminded you very often who he was. They always wanted you to be sure who you were inviting to sit with you in the Library if he walked in without Theodore Nott. He was Mattheo Riddle, son of You-Know-Who. He was scary, mean, unafraid to talk back to a teacher, or hex someone who got on his nerves.

But you ignored those warnings. He wasn't scary. Sure, he constantly looked like he was cross, but he wasn't scary.

Your friendship solidified in fifth year.

Everyone noticed it. Their eyebrows would raise and their eyes would widen when you'd walk around with him and his mates in the hallways. They were all shocked to see you chatting away with him while he listened- actually listened with a slight smile and his head ducked to hear you better over the other people in the hallways. They were shocked he didn't tell you to shut up or fuck off.

The two of you would go to Hogsmeade together, you explaining to Hermione that he had no one to go with, or that he offered to walk you.

He had also started inviting you to sit with him too, and you accepted more often than not, ignoring Harry's sharp words of friendships with fucking monsters.

Mattheo would invite you to sit with him in class, the Library, or outside while he, Theodore, and Lorenzo lazed on the wall of the Viaduct Bridge.

You were doing just that one Saturday in October. Theodore had cast a charm to keep the rain off the four of you.

"You have to visit sometime over break," Lorenzo said, leaning against the wall you sat on. He was telling you all about his families estate and how the others boy often came over to stay there. "We'll play Dragon's Hoard- you'll probably be on Mattheo's team anyways and him and Blaise are the best at it."

"That's the one where you have to capture the other teams egg, right?" You asked. Mattheo was sat next to you then, his hand resting next to yours as you listened to Lorenzo. "Where it gets heavier the further you move it away."

Lorenzo nodded, setting off on a story of all of them playing it one time. He was interrupted halfway through by Hermione stomping over, wind whipping her curly hair. You frowned, noticing her glare over at Ron and Harry who were huddled close by, watching intently.

"'Mione?" You asked, looking down at her as she got close, stopping. You didn't notice the wariness in her expression as she glanced at the boys you were hanging out with.

"Want to keep me company while I watch Harry and Ron's Quidditch Practice?"

"Oh!" You smiled, nodding, scooting off the wall. "I'd love to."

"Careful, pretty girl," Mattheo said as you reached for the bridge below with your toe, climbing down from where you sat.

Hermione shot him a look while you brushed off you backside. Before you stepped outside of the shimmering bubble Theodore made, you quickly cast your own, turning to face Mattheo.

"I'll see you in class on Monday," you said, smiling at him. He smiled back, the sight of it no longer rare to you, but warming your chest nonetheless.

You waved goodbye to the others before setting off with Hermione back to Ron and Harry.

"Pretty girl?" Hermione asked once you were out of ear shot. You laughed in amusement at her disgusted tone.

"He's nice, 'Mione," you explained, rolling your eyes good naturedly. "You guys all say he's mean, but he really is just nice."

She scoffed. "Yeah. Mattheo Riddle is 'just nice'."

Mattheo's crush had only worsened since third year.

He found every excuse to be near you. And he hated it when someone else had the pleasure of your company.

Despite how he found Harry a pompous-fucking-prat, he could look past the time you spent around him and Weasley. He was also fine to see you talking to Blaise, Theo, or Enzo. But anyone else made his head hurt and caused an urge to pick you up and keep you next to him at all times.

He fancied you- everyone knew that.

The worst part was you didn't even notice half the people he was hating. It got to the point where he noticed some sixth year talking to you during breakfast and he'd completely forgotten to eat.

And when you asked about his lack of appetite, sliding into your now regular seat beside him in Ancient Runes, he just said his stomach was upset.

"Do you need to go to Madam Pomfrey?" You asked, concerned. Mattheo had to remind himself you were just being a good friend.

"I'm okay, pretty girl," he assured you.

You eyed him for a moment before sighing. "Make sure to drink water. Maybe you're dehydrated."

He laughed, earning a frustrated side eye from you. "Okay, I will." He reached out as you bent over your books, pushing your hair behind your ear.

"Thank you," you said, your tone suggesting you saw it as nothing more than him being helpful.

"No problem," he murmured, watching you as you focused on writing down the date on a piece of parchment. And he knew right then, he was either going to end up marrying you or die trying to get you to notice him.

Finally, in sixth year, everyone at Hogwarts assumed you and Mattheo were dating.

You spent nearly all of your time together, and anyone could see it. He began carrying your books in his bag after you complained once that your shoulder was sore. You'd sit with him at meals and in classes without a second thought. He'd lend you his jumper whenever you were cold.

One Monday morning when you were mid conversation with Blaise, Mattheo sidled up to you, his arm already finding its place around you shoulders. You response to Blaise's remark on the House hierachy didn't break when Mattheo pressed a kiss to the top of your head, your response to the greeting being to lean into his side. It was familiar, a comfortable show of friendship between the two of you.

Blaise let out an unimpressed laugh at the gesture before turning to Malfoy.

Smiling, you looked up at Mattheo. "Good morning," you said.

"Good morning, pretty girl," he replied, returning you smile, his eyes softer than usual. You huffed suddenly, glowering at his throat.

"Your tie, Mattheo- honestly," you complained, pulling away from his side. His green and silver Slytherin tie was done poorly, lopsided and half tightened. Sighing, you undid it, straightening both ends of the fabric. He paused for half a breath before a warmth spread through his chest. The same warmth he felt every time you paid him extra attention.

He never said it out loud- but he purposely messed up his tie a lot more often after that.

"Are we still studying tonight?" He asked once you were finished, a small, satisfied smile on his mouth.

"Yes- I might be late though," you explained with a frown at the obvious disappoint in his brown eyes. "I promised Mibby to help her press those flowers her and I picked the other day."

He sighed dramatically, arms circling around you as his chin rested on your head. "So you can't get out of it? Mibby reallyyyy needs you?"

"She reallyyyy needs me," you confirm, automatically hugging him back, laughing.

Mibby was your favorite house elf, the one you befriended in second year. The same Mattheo had also been friends with around the same time- before you two were even on speaking terms.

"Can I come then?" He asked, pulling back as the Bell Tower sent its musical chimes through the castle, signaling first period.

Your smile brightened immediately at his words. He was already starting to steer you towards your first period- Herbology- which he unfortunately didn't have with you. "Of course! Meet me outside the kitchens at seven."

Having already been in Central Hall, it wasn't a long walk, and he stopped outside the Greenhouse Doors.

"I'll see you then, pretty girl," he promised, squeezing your hand that he had been holding.

For him- seven couldn't come early enough. He had to sit through classes- only one of them he shared with you- imagining being silly with you the kitchens. He pictured getting flour on your robes or cheek so he could brush it off.

And finally, outside of the fruit bowl painting, you showed up. He'd been waiting there for some time, embarrassingly enough, leaning against the cool stone walls.

"Matt-" You startled when you saw him before grinning. You didn't think he'd be so early. "You're on time."

"Missed my favorite pretty girl," he said simply, putting an arm around your shoulders. He reached out with his wand, tickling the pear on the painting, and it swung inwards. The two of you walked into the kitchens, immediately greeted with the scent of comforting foods. Roasts, gravy, and yorkshire puddings. The elves were still sending supper up to the Great Hall, leaving the kitchens smelling of dinner foods.

Mibby hurried over to you two immediately, a smile on her tiny elf face. "Mibby has hot cocoa waiting for Miss l/n and Master Riddle," she declared, standing in front of the two of you. "Mibby thinks they are a wonderful pair."

You laughed, not unkind, smiling. "We are not a pair."

You saw as Mibby tilt her large head, confusion dampening the edges of her beaming smile. "Oh. Then why does Master Riddle always ask if Miss l/n has eaten?"

"You ask about me?" You turned to look up at Mattheo.

"Yes," he shrugged, honest. Because he wasn't embarrassed. He would be shocked if this was the thing that made you catch on. "Because you've passed out outside of Charms before after skipping breakfast, and I'd rather not have to lug you up to Madam Pomfrey again."

That bit was a lie. He had no problem carrying you anywhere.

"Oh right." You laughed, flushing ever so slightly, your chest warming. Peeling away from Mattheo's side, you approached the barrels that had been shaped into a small, but cozy village for the house elves down here. "Mibby, should we get started?"

And then one Thursday while you're waiting for Mattheo outside the Slytherin changing rooms- his quidditch practice having just finished- it all changes.

You lean against the wooden stands that tower above, your eyes unfocused as you wait. Other people are around you, waiting for their own mates, or just chatting and sitting on the soft pitch now that practice is over.

Too zoned out, you don't notice the Slytherins have started emerging from the locker rooms. And it's a few moments later that you see Mattheo talking to another Slytherin girl.

She must be younger than you two because you've never seen her in classes before. She's pretty, sharp eyes, black hair sleek down her back. You watch as she gives him a smile. Not some soft smile, she's confident, admirable. Her eyes hold his before you see their focus slip down towards his mouth.

You realize that she's flirting with him. Flirting with your Mattheo. No one ever flirts with Mattheo.

But from the way his lips move, he's obviously giving short answers. His eyes are detached, almost cold. He's not mean, but he's far from interested in this girl.

Frowning, you think for a long moment. Isn't he like that with everyone? Even with Pansy and Daphne who are in his friend group. He's never been awfully warm with girls.

Except for you. And it all suddenly hits you.

He only smiles at you and maybe two other people.

He carries your books everywhere.

He always just happens to be waiting outside of your classes.

He gives you his gloves or coat whenever you seem to be cold.

He remembers what treats you like best and never fails to buy them at Hogsmeade- saying he forgot he wasn't a fan of them.

He lets you hold his hand and trace the scar cutting across his palm and over half the back of it.

He always seems a tad bit moodier after you talk to a boy who isn't him.

He calls you pretty girl.

And he's being doing it for years.

For years you realize that the boy who puts his arm around your shoulders, who kisses your head as a good morning every day at breakfast- has been doing it out of more than being a good friend.

You realize that all of your own reactions and feelings had been deeper than appreciation.

The warmth you'd feel whenever he did something thoughtful- you see now that it wasn't because you thought he was a good friend. You liked that he was the one doing it.

There was always disappointment whenever he missed something. Breakfast, a study session, your late night chats that almost got you caught after curfew many times. It wasn't because you were lonely- you just missed him.

If something exciting happened- he was the first person you thought of. It was always, "I have to tell Mattheo." It stopped being your roommates who got it first, or Hermione. It became him every time.

You've always felt safer around him. It didn't matter how many people told you he was dangerous. That he was cruel and a monster. You knew him. You knew that Mattheo was kind to the people he cared for. And you know now that whenever he was close, any anxiety or fear you felt was calmed. Because you were with him.

Every feeling you've had for Mattheo- it wasn't just gratitude and friendship. It was affection. It was attraction and butterflies. You just never properly realized that the past few years, you've wanted him just as badly.

And now some pretty girl is flirting with your Mattheo.

"Y'alright?"

A familiar voice breaks your thoughts. Theo, changed out of his quidditch uniform, leaning against the wall next to you. He studies your face, your wide eyes, your parted lips.

"Theo," you say, before pausing. "I think Mattheo has been flirting with me for three years."

You see the slow smile curl on his lips, hear the way he lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

"You've only just now worked that out?"

You always thought that love would declare itself.

You thought it would be loud and dramatic.

But you hadn't expected it to feel like this- like comfort. Like looking for him in every room. Or smiling when he hadn't even finished speaking. Or saving seats for him without even considering he might sit somewhere else.

You had mistaken your love for comfort and familiarity. And mistaken that, in turn, for friendship.

It was never just friendship. You've loved him for a long time, your friendship and those feelings mixed until you couldn't tell them apart. The happiness and safety and comfort you've associated with him run so much deeper than plain friendship.

Awestruck, almost horrified at how dense you must've been, you stare at Mattheo's side profile. He's still talking to the Slytherin girl. And now suddenly you understand every mean look girls have given you. They were all jealous you had the attention of the most intimidating boy at Hogwarts. The most handsome boy at Hogwarts.

He was never lonely. He was just picking you.

"Oh, Theo," you groan, covering your face. "I am so thick!"

Theo laughs again, not mocking, he's genuinely amused you caught up. "It's all right. I'm just glad you finally see it- we were all a little in pain watching you two."

That's the moment Mattheo decides to leave the pretty Slytherin girl, walking over to you and Theo.

You are completely mortified.

Theo just smirks. He pats Mattheo's shoulder wordlessly before walking off.

Mattheo, as always, notices something is off. "You okay, pretty girl?"

Somehow, you manage to nod and get a few words out. "Can we go on a walk?"

"'Course." He nods slowly, taking your hand and leading you off the quidditch pitch and down a path towards a stream. His hold on your hand feels different now, more deliberate, warmer.

When the two of you finally stop, you can't even manage to look at him. You haven't ever properly flirted with a boy- at least not intentionally.

But you make yourself speak anyways. You can't make either of your wait any longer.

"The past couple years.. have you been flirting with me?"

The words sound horrible out loud- ridiculous and you fear he might laugh despite knowing he would never be that mean to you.

He sighs.

And you force yourself to look at him, at how he's already searching your face.

"Yes."

You take a breath. "I thought you were being kind."

He lets out a laugh, similar to Theo's, but filled with the affection you'd misunderstood for years. "Merlin, pretty girl."

Your stomach tightens, warms, as he steps closer.

"I've been trying to court you."

You swallow. "For how long?"

"Fourth year. Since the beginning of it when I saw you at the start of term feast." He says it simply, honestly.

"Everyone knew," you manage to mumble. A smile finds his mouth, and slowly, waiting for your silent permission, his hand lifts. You let it, let him cup your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his eyes properly.

"Yes, everyone knew."

"Even Mibby."

"Mibby was one of the first," he says, still smiling. "Behind Theo, Enzo, Blaise, and Granger. Then the whole school followed."

"Everyone but me." You frown, embarrassed and upset you wasted so much time. "That is so irritating- for you as well," you complain.

He shook his head, his free hand finding yours and lacing your fingers like you've done countless times. "It was never irritating. I lasted this long, didn't I? I was never upset with you. I always thought it was cute- maybe frustrating at times when all I wanted to do was kiss you- but never irritating."

You feel your cheeks heat, and his smile widens.

"Now," he says, talking carefully "I can tell all of Hogwarts that we are dating?"

It's not a statement. He's asking you. And you can manage is a soft, "yes," and a nod.

His thumb swipes over your cheekbone. "Brilliant," he murmurs, eyes sliding lower than where they usually meet yours. "Because I have been surviving off their assumptions and praying people don't try and fancy you."

Carefully, just like how he cupped your jaw, he ducks his head closer. And you let him, your empty hand finding the fabric of his jumper, clutching it.

His kisses you. He kisses you slowly, and your eyes flutter shutter. You pour every bit of love you've felt for him into how you respond, you mouth meeting his. This is much different from when he'd feed you something off his utensils or share a drink with you. You're kissing Mattheo Riddle.

After that, things don't change much. He still kisses the top of your head, still carries your books and lends you his coat.

He's still your Mattheo from fourth year.

Your bed is empty.

It's not completely unusual. You sleep alone some nights, but rarely for this reason.

If you're sleeping alone, it's because Mattheo had to stay up later than you could for Quidditch practice or cramming. Or because Theo dragged him to a party and you weren't interested that time.

It's different tonight. Because tonight, your eyes are puffy from tears, and the scent of his cologne on cigarettes on your sheets just make your chest ache. Sighing, you slip out of your robes and school uniform, finding a pair of pajamas that don't include something of his.

Let out a slow, steadying breath, you climb into your bed. Traitorously- you eyes begin to burn before you even get to lie down.

"Bloody hell-"

You press the heels of your palms to your eyes, refusing to cry again, but all you can think about is the harsh words you and Mattheo traded. It was something so stupid. He'd had a bad day- fucked something up in Charms.

You walked up to him, meeting in your regular spot outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts, smiling. When his soft smile reserved for you didn't show, you laid a hand on his arm.

"You alright, Matt?" You said it gentler than you were planning to talk to him- excited for your after-class kiss and hug.

"Yeah."

But after ages of dating him you knew that wasn't true. His voice tight, not teasing or gentle like it always was with you. He wouldn't even meet your eyes, he was just glowering at a stone in the floor.

"Promise?"

"Mhm."

The short answers made you give up- for a bit at least. Dinner approached, and you sat with him as you always did, shoulders brushing each time you reached for food. It was awful. The silence between you two the whole hour of dinner. You've always hated it- fighting with him. Because you adore your boyfriend.

Back in the Slytherin Common Room, where you always go back to with him, he sat in an armchair.

Not terribly rare, but when he doesn't sit on your usual couch pressed against your side, he's pulling you into his lap at least. But instead he just stared at the fire, the image of it reflected in his eyes.

He was physically there. But you could tell his mind is miles away.

You tried again.

"Matt, we've barely spoken all evening." You were on a sofa nearby, knees tucked up, looking at his side profile.

"I'm tired." It was short, he attention not even focusing on you.

"I know you're tired," you said, just wanting to talk to him.

"So let me be tired."

That hurt.

You stopped talking. Stopped looking at him. It wasn't too harsh. But it was closed off. Hurt, you stared at your lap. It's bullshit. You're upset and you're hurt because whenever you're frustrated and need comfort, you go to him. But when he's hurting, he closes the door and shuts you out.

Instead of sitting like you did during dinner, letting the silence grow cold, you stood. You took his hand, tugging harder than you've ever had to for him to follow. Once outside of the common room, in a side hallway, you stopped.

"You don't have to deal with everything alone- you know that."

You could see irritation flash in his eyes, the ones that so often look down at you shining with love.

"I'm not."

"yes. Mattheo, you are."

"No, y/n, I'm not."

You glared at him, frustration mingling with your hurt now. You know your boyfriend how fucking stubborn he can be- you know his attitude all too well.

"You didn't even look at me until I made you."

"I said I'm fine." A sigh left him, punctuating the finality of his words.

You let out a small, disbelieving laugh. A part of you wanted to just give up, let him sit there all cross for the rest of the night.

But you couldn't just let him shut you out like he always does.

"Stop lying."

You saw it happen, the way he straightened, took a fuller breath. His brown eyes darkened, and he finally, finally looked you in the eyes.

"I don't have to tell you every thought that crosses my mind." His voice was sharper.

"That's not what I'm saying-"

He cut you off. "Then what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm trying to help!"

"I didn't ask for you to help." He raked his hand through his curls, frustration rolling off him.

Tears stung your throat then. You hate this. How strongly he refuses to let you see him vulnerable. How he's such a bastard about it. And how despite it you find yourself wanting to help him- ending up in these situations.

"Do you know how awful it is when you disappear every time somethings wrong?" You asked, your tone steady, almost angry. But the emotion burning behind your eyes betrays you.

He stiffened.

Then he let out a scoff, his eyes almost rolling. "I don't always need you to hover and try to fix me," he snapped. "You shouldn't want to fix me."

It was your turn to stiffen. The accusation in his words made your breath still. You didn't want to fix him- that's not what you want. You just wanted to help.

You doubled down as well. "I'm not trying to fix you. I'm just sick of you treating me like you don't trust me. Like I'm not important enough even to talk to."

"Where the fuck are you getting that from?" His jaw tensed and you stepped back. Not out of fear- never that- but the tension rolling off both of you was so thick you felt you were choking.

"You've been ignoring me all night!" You half shouted. "You're obviously cross over something but you refuse to even acknowledge me!"

A bitter laugh escaped him. "You think everything is about you."

It was a slap to your face. Shock and betrayal that he would even think that- much less say it. You face fell before hardening, refusing to let his stubbornness win over yours.

"That's not fair."

You barely managed to keep your voice steady.

"No?" He snapped, stepping forward, back into your space. "I have a bad day and suddenly I'm the villain because I don't want to explain everything to you."

"I never said you were the villain!"

"You didn't have to."

A silence settled between you two. Interrupted only by your mingling breaths, heavy and angry.

"I just wanted you. I wanted my boyfriend to talk to me." You forced the words out, honest, vulnerable despite your anger and hurt.

You watched his jaw flex under the candelight in the hallway.

"Maybe, tonight, I don't have anything left to give you," he said, voice low, a quiet anger lacing each word.

That sentence struck your breath from your chest.

You stared at him for a long moment. Because maybe he would take it back.

And he didn't. He stood there, glaring, jaw and body tense.

"Fine."

You voice was curt. But anyone could see you blinking back tears you refused to let fall.

"Next time you decide to shut everyone out- shut me out- don't be shocked when it works." You said them before you could process it. Before you could think about how awful they were. Because despite everything, one of the things you hate most is hurting him.

You saw it. The way his expression shifted. Hurt flicking over his features before it vanished behind his anger.

"Maybe that's for the best."

Neither of you said anything else.

Neither of you moved.

Then you stepped away, shoulder knocking his as you brushed past him, leaving the Common Room.

Eyes burning, you roll over in your sheets, feeling your chest constrict.

You hurt him. And he hurt you so thoroughly you don't want to face the next day and have to see him. You aren't sure if you should eat breakfast with him, walk to classes with him.

Swallowing the needles down your throat, you curl up into a fetal position, trying to protect yourself from your thoughts. The exhaustion from crying is pulling you further.

-------

Something wakes you up.

It's not the morning- you can tell it's still late with the darkness outside the window. Blinking, bleary eyed, you sit up.

Your mattress shifting must’ve been what woke you up, because Mattheo’s sitting at the end of it, head in his hands.

“Mattheo?” You mumble. It sends a sharp ache to your chest, unsure of how much you want him here.

You watch his fingers tighten in his curls before he straightens, staring at the floor.

It’s quiet for a long moment, the only sound breaking the silence being your breathing.

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart,” he rasps, emotion and tears evident in his voice. “I’m sorry for treating you like that.”

Mattheo’s fatal flaw has always been apologizing. Before dating you you’re not sure if he ever did. And with the emotion and pain in his voice you wonder if he even slept.

he turns in the dimness, facing you. The moon shining through the windows illuminates his face ever so slightly, showing his shining eyes and furrowed brows.

“It hurts. Every time you do it.” Your voice barely carries through the still air, but you see them land. His breath leaves slow, shaky.

“I know.” He swallows, jaw tensing. “I don’t know how to tell you things. I don’t…” he breaks off, looking at his lap. “I don’t ever want you to see me differently.”

His body is trembling. And despite your anger and hurt, you reach out, arms open. Because even when you were fighting, you remembered who it was with.

He’s not just some stubborn Slytherin. He’s the son of Voldemort. No one taught him how to communicate. Anything he ever learned stemmed from no one wanting a child whose father was the Darkest Wizard to terrorize Britain. His mother went to Azkaban. The Death Eaters would seem loyal to Voldemort if the took him in. He was 13 when his home solidified with the Notts.

Like a child seeking comfort, he crawls into your arms, his weight collapsing on you as he hid his face in your chest.

“I feel like I’m failing.”

You pause, your hand in his hair.

“I can’t even talk to you when im upset.” His voice is muffled, spoken into your sleep shirt. “And then I shut you out and treat you like shit when you want to help- when you’re just being a good girlfriend.”

You sigh, hands resuming, scratching softly at his scalp. It was your words. Saying it was awful he shut you out, making him think he was failing, a villain.

“you’re not failing, Matt.”

His arms tighten around you. You feel him take a shuddering breath.

“You’re seventeen. You’re allowed to make mistakes.”

you’ve told him this before. And each time he seems to refuse them. He pushes his face further into your chest.

“I’m hurting you. More often than before,” he whispers, so much pain lacing his words. You feel your shirt warm with tears where lay. “I’m becoming him.”

you tense, chest constricting. No

moving your hands from his hair, you cup his jaw and make him look up at you.

“Mattheo.”

his eyes meet yours through his tears. And you can see the fear in them. You brush your thumb over a tear.

“You will never become him.”

“You don’t know that,” he chokes out.

Your heart breaks.

“You crying right now in fear of become a monster proves you’re the furthest thing from it. You loving me, loving Theo and the others is something he could never even understand.”

The sad look on his face makes your heart ache further.

“I keep shutting you out.”

You push a curl out of his eyes. “Matt. Even though it hurts- it’s awful when you refuse to talk to me- it’s normal. Struggling to open up and be vulnerable is normal for anyone. Especially you.”

“I don’t want to push you away. I don’t want to lose you and hurt you because I can’t grow up,” he whispers, ducking his down again, hiding.

Each word strikes you with pain. The self depreciation he genuinely believes.

“I get frustrated and hurt yes- but over normal relationship things. I have never once thought you were becoming him. You shutting me out is his fault and your mother’s fault- but never a deciding factor of who you are and who you’ll become. You’re not going to lose me over something like this."

He shifts, moving higher, his face finding the crook of your neck. "I just want to protect you and I feel like if I show you all the ugly things going on in my head I'll scare you."

You feel him sigh against your neck. "I'm scared you'll look at me and see that I'm exactly what everyone says I am."

Monster. Psychopath. Murderer. Heartless.

It's the most vulnerable, honest thing he's told you other than 'I love you', and it makes your nose prickle. His voice is small, gravelly with emotion as one of his hands moves, slipping under your sleep shirt. It rests on your ribs, warm, and you know he only wants the comfort of feeling your skin.

"I will never think that, Matt." A soft promise. "I never have. I know you too well. I know that you're gentle and the most loyal person I've met."

A hot tear rolls down your neck and you hear him sniff.

"If you get to protect me, then I get to protect you," you say, hand smoothing over his back. You're still upset over earlier, offended and sad over his harsh words. But you know him, and you know he said them to hide and to protect you. "Just talk to me, Matt. Talk to me instead of lashing out. If you don't want to talk, just tell me instead of lying and saying you're fine."

He nods against your neck, his breath warm and fanning across your skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, kissing your neck in apology. "I'm sorry for being cruel. I... I took your words as saying I was failing and you were sick of me."

"Never," you promise, kissing the top of his head.

"I just don't understand how someone can know everything about me and still choose me," he admits quietly.

You know why. No one's ever really wanted him. Theo was the first person to show him kindness.

Your nails gently scratch the hair at the nape of his neck, your other hand rubbing up and down his spine. His breathing evens out, less shaky and shallow.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again.

"I know," you soothe, feeling him push further into your arms, craving comfort. "I'm sorry for what I said too."

He shakes his head.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the only sounds being your breathing.

"I love you."

"Sweetheart."

His voice is an exasperated sigh from behind you, his footsteps getting nearer to where you lay collapsed. You look beautiful, the afternoon light shining through leaves, falling across the shape of you. He's no rookie to this. He's dealt with you countless times, picked you up when you fell.

"I told you not to throw a bloody back handspring after quitting tumbling five years ago." He crouches down behind you, his eyes landing on your face.

Your cheeks are flushed, eyes teary purely because your hands and knees sting, but you're smiling.

"I was close though," is your excuse, making no move to sit up.

"Your arms buckled and you almost broke your neck," he deadpans, sitting. His arms slip underneath your back and knees, drawing you into his lap. Fortunately, he's already withdrawn his wand, using a charm to wet the edge of his t-shirt, stretching it to dab at your scraped knees, cleaning away grass and pebbles.

"Hands," he says, taking your wrist gently and cleaning your palms as well.

As he works, you sit there comfortably, familiarly. Because it's Mattheo- you're boyfriend- the one who's never given you shit for having energy too late and being pissy during classes. Who's always loved you without hesitation or fear or a desire to hide it.

"Do you reckon I could do it though?" You wonder, looking up the hill you'd tried it on, seeing the drops of blood on emerald green blades of grass.

He laughs, brushing hair out of your face and pressing an affectionate kiss to your forehead. "I'm positive you could. But I'd rather watch you practice somewhere softer with less rocks."

You chase his lips, scraped up hands slipping around his neck, fingers finding the curls at the nape of his neck. He grins against your mouth, hand on your shin, the other arm going around your back to stabilize you as his mouth moves against yours.

His taste is familiar- a comfort- something constant in your life. He holds you the same way each way, makes sure to pour every bit of affection he has into how he kisses and holds you.

Pressing a few kisses against your jaw, he huffs out a laughs, finishing with one to your chin.

He lies back, pulling you down with him, half on top of his chest. "But now, we're taking that nap we came here for."

"So strip off your clothes, step into the sea / Skinny-dip tripping where no one sees"

The winds in the Scottish highlands are unforgiveable as you walk across the Hogwarts gardens. Your mattheo's zip up does little to block the cold, pajama pants flailing. But you don't slow, hand held firmly in Mattheo's.

His skin is warm against yours, and he must feel your shaking, because you hear a low laugh.

"Cold, Sweetheart?" He half teases, drawing you closer, slowing your progress towards the Black Lake.

You grin, but wiggle out of his hold "No."

"No?"

"Yeah."

He laughs, head tipping back, the moonlight catching the line of his throat. Love surges through you, swallowing your heart whole to encase it in warmth.

"Okay, Sweetheart," he says, taking your hand again, tucking it in the pocket of the jumper he has on. The rest of the walk down the Black Lake is filled with a comfortable silence, your smile never leaving.

You can hear the water lapping against a stretch of rocks, and the two of you circle it until you reach sand. You look at your boyfriend, at the wind ruffling his brown curls, the smile on his mouth.

"Need help?" He asks, already unzipping your jacket. You grin up at him, thoroughly amused and in love as he drops the black zip up somewhere on the sand, leaving you in a bra and pajama pants.

Without knowing who moves first, your mouths crash together, laughs drawn from both of you as he tips you back. You eyes flutter shut, arms thrown around his neck as he reaches for your pajama pants, untying the string.

When they fall you squeal against his skin "Bloody hell- it's cold-" you gasp out, laughing, teeth chattering.

You take a turn, fumbling at his jumper, tugging it up. He grins, dragging his mouth over you jaw, pressing a kiss beneath your ear before pulling away, letting the jumper come off over his head.

His hands rest on your waist, thumbs pressed at the base of your ribs. He drags them up your skin, and you know it's half to warm you up and half to feel your skin beneath his hands.

"This was your idea," he reminds you, unclasping your bra and you untie his joggers. Soon, all of your clothes are scattered, and you can't stop trembling.

"The water will be colder," you say, already complaining, already walking towards the edge of the lake.

"I'll keep you warm," he promises, wrapping his arms around you from behind, your bare skin pressed against his as he drags you into the water. Screaming in pain at the cold water, you shriek when he falls backwards, pulling you with him.

The Black Lake swallows all sound, the heat of his skin all you can focus on past the biting cold. You surface, gasping, laughing, water streaming down your face.

"Mattheo Riddle!" you scold, jumping at him in the water, your momentum sending him back under as you hold onto his shoulders. His arms are around you waist, keeping you against him, the weight of his body familiar.

You feel him grinning against your neck as he nips at the skin playfully. "Warmer?" He asks, palm running up and down your back in the water.

"Almost," you push a hand into his curls before kissing him, water splashing as he falls backwards again. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your head as his taste floods your senses.

Back in the arms of make-believe / Back in the shade of the Cherry Tree

You're calmer than usual, sitting between Mattheo's legs, your back pressed to his chest. His hands are wresting on your stomach and side, arms wrapped around you. Your own hands are deftly tearing apart a leaf, separating bits of it, staining green underneath your fingernails.

It's late morning, just warm enough to sit outside in the sun with long sleeves. You're underneath your favorite tree, the one with pink petals and fat green leaves that drape towards the grass. You have no idea what it's called- but know that it belongs to the Wizarding World.

"You said we're moving to Nether Cleeve?" He asks, fingers tapping on your hip.

Nether Cleeve- the mixed Wizarding and Muggle village in the Cotswolds. Fairytale brick houses, winding rivers, meadows of tall grass and flowers.

"That's right," you say, tipping your head back to rest on his shoulder. It's a topic you often visit, you words confident. As if there isn't a war brewing and he's mixed up in it. One day, when it's all gone, the two of you will leave it all behind.

"Nether Cleeve, you a Curse Consultant while I try and figure out which path I want to take," you laugh as you speak, smiling at your lap. He's known for a while, wanting to be a private Curse Consultant, the ones who get contacted by the Ministry, Gringrotts, or private individuals for identifying and removing curses. You on the other hand have so many ideas and ambitions you can't decide. "And later on, kids if we choose it."

He kisses your temple, sleepy brown eyes meeting yours as his arms tighten around you stomach at your mention of children. "I love you." He smiles against your skin.

"I love you too, Matt." The words are softer than usual- different from when they're gasped between kisses, or squealed through your laughter.

"Forever," he promises, kissing the top of your head this time.

"Forever."

Everyone said I'm too crazy to keep / But you're the one who sweeps me off my feet

"Where's your girl, Riddle?"

Theodore Nott sidles up to Mattheo, the latter smiling in amusement at his best mate. He takes a pull from his beer before pointing into the crowd.

You're there dancing with some Hufflepuff girl, the Ravenclaw Common Room dim and full of Hogwart's older students, mostly fifth year and up. He hasn't let his eyes drift too far or too long, making sure you were thoroughly enjoying yourself and not too drunk.

So far you've been tame enough, the wildest thing you've done being dancing on a table with Enzo, one of your favorite friends. Enzo, Blaise, and Theo are the only ones who adore you almost as much as he does.

Countless other people have pointed out the difference between you two. Him being a brooding asshole to most people while you're the girl who struggles to settle on one excitement, the one who prefers to dance with everyone rather than picking a single partner.

And you do- you dance with everyone while your boyfriend watches, making sure you're safe and having fun. Because at the end of the night, he's the one you'll stumble over to. He's the one you trust to carry to your bed- or his- to take off your shoes and help you dress in pajamas. Mattheo Riddle is the one who's loved you so thoroughly you've never had to consider if there's an end to it.

"Bloody hell." Theo laughs beside him, shaking his head as a grin spreads over your mouth. You've just shrieked, falling into the arms of the Hufflepuff girl. Laughter spills from your mouth, and people turn to see the center of this commotion- the sound of it louder than the music and chatter.

Most turn back to what they were doing, unsurprised at who's laughter is so genuine and happy. Others glance at Mattheo, brows furrowing, as if trying to put together two different puzzles that could never fit.

"Be right back," Mattheo says to Theo, walking towards you through bodies when he notices you're leaning your weight on the girl. "Y'alright?" He asks once he reaches your side, hand slipping to your hip.

You smile manages to brighten even further at the sight of your boyfriend. "Just a stumble."

Taking your weight away from the Hufflepuff, he speaks, "need a break?"

"Perhaps," you say, looking back at the girl, "thank you, Maisy. You're a brilliant dance partner." The two of you return to Theo who still stands near a wall.

"How much have you drunk, Love?" Theo asks, real concern obvious in his half teasing tone. The moment you began to appear with Mattheo, even before you were dating, Theo made it clear he was one of your protectors. It didn't matter that he knew you could thoroughly defend yourself with words and magic, he was just as there for you as Mattheo was. Enzo and Blaise taking the same position as well.

"Enough to feel it." You grin, staying still as Mattheo crouches to examine your ankle, pulling out his wand and muttering some healing charm to soothe the dull throb. Once he stands, you slip your arms around his neck, leaning up on your toes. "Take me to my room?"

Theo smirks before squeezing your forearm in a goodnight, patting Mattheo's shoulder, then walking off into the crowd.

"I'd love to," Mattheo murmurs near your ear, kissing your jaw. "Too tired to keep dancing?"

"No." You smile, fingers toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. "I'd just rather spend my energy doing other things."

You had climbed out of your mum's car as he was taking the rubbish out to the bin, his black headphones pulled over his ears. He had felt anxious right then- horrified he'd have such a pretty neighbor. Because how the hell was he supposed to be comfortable at home knowing someone who looked like you lived so close?

It had been that same week his own parents decided to introduce the family, and the three of them set off to your house much to Mattheo's horror.

You'd smiled at him when you answered the front door, wearing a pretty lip gloss that gave him tunnel vision.

The next week at school was when it became apparent that you were too cool for him. Your parents had agreed it would be better if you and Mattheo were to walk to school together, saying a group of two was better than walking alone. On the way home you had talked about your classes, looking gorgeous in the school uniform, blazer unbuttoned.

"It was fun," you had gushed, smiling and skirting around a puddle. "I couldn't find you at lunch but some people invited me to sit with them so it wasn't too bad."

He didn't bother explaining you couldn't find him because he often ate outside behind the school. That was where the loners ate, which included him and a few of his mates. And he definitely didn't want to look like a loser in front of you.

And it became a routine.

He'd eat breakfast then wait outside your door to walk to school. You would talk - you more than him - about everything. Then, at school, you'd split and go you're separate ways with separate friends. It wasn't like you avoided each other - you'd smile at him and say hi in class - but you weren't closely associated.

On the walks home he grew accustomed to people tagging along. At first, your friends were a little surprised to see you walking home with Mattheo Riddle, the quiet guy who spent too much time writing in his journal and smoking cheap cigarettes behind the bleachers. He even kept his jealousy down when Noah Abney joined you two almost every day for nearly three months.

------

Your extended family lived far away, and Mattheo's parents weren't very close with their own siblings, so both your families decided to spend Christmas Eve dinner together. When you're parents had told you the news, you'd been excited, realizing you should get Mattheo a gift.

On Christmas Eve, you'd handed him the small present, accepting the one he'd gotten for you. Neither of you had coordinated it - and he'd been shocked to see you'd bought something for him.

You'd opened your gift first, shocked to find a new set of watercolor brushes. You had completely forgot about complaining that your brushes were worn, that the bristles wouldn't hold their shape anymore. And here was a pretty new set with pristine bristles.

"Oh my goodness." Your eyes had widened slightly, admiring the assortment of brushes. They were nicer than the last ones you'd had. "Thank you so much, Mattheo."

He'd smiled, the gratitude making him feel so shy it was painful. "Happy Christmas."

"Open mine."

Awkwardly, he'd reached for the wrapped gift, ripping the golden wrapping paper. Within, he'd found Hatful and Hollow.

It was for his walkman, the one he always had with him. One day he'd mentioned his favorite song was 'Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now' by the Smiths and you'd noticed he didn't have the whole album, just the one song on a mixtape his parents made for his birthday.

That night, you two had sat in the living room. You knelt in front of the coffee table, painting a flower vase while he lied on the couch, headphones on.

It had been peaceful, one of the few times you two had hung out outside of walking to and from school. The Christmas tree lights had warmed the room, the wireless playing soft music for your sake.

Mattheo never told you about the letter he wrote for you, the one he chickened out of including in his gift.

------

In may, he'd been sitting on the stone wall in his small backgarden, headphones on. The stars were out above him. He had been kicking around a football before he got bored.

He'd turned his head when your back porch light flicked on, someone walking outside before the light went off again. Through the dim moonlight, he'd watched you cross your grass to lie on your family's trampoline. Raking a hand through his curls and fixing the white long sleeve he had under his tee, he'd walked across the stone wall to your lawn, whispering in the darkness.

"y/n?"

Your head had shot up, whipping towards the sound. "Who's there?"

His breathing had been quiet, his brain screaming at him. It was a mistake - talking to you outside of walking to and from school. But he'd answered back, approaching the trampoline. "Mattheo."

"Oh." A pause. "Come up here."

He'd boosted himself onto the trampoline, crawling over to where your silhouette lay. Tentatively, scared you were going to tell his lame ass to go away, he lied down next to you.

The silence had been awkward for a bit, the stars your only company outside on the trampoline.

"Where's your name from?" You'd asked him, tilting your head to look at him beside you. It was a random question, but one you were curious on.

"It's Italian." His hands had rested on his stomach, tapping a rhythm to distract himself from the scent of your perfume. At your quizzical hum, he'd said, "my mum's parents are Italian."

The silence fell upon you too again, the only sounds filling the night being the occasional car driving by.

He had surprised himself with his next question. "Why did you break up with Abney?" It was barely a whisper, the darkness emboldening him to finally ask the question he'd been wondering since February when you two broke up.

You hadn't responded for a while, and he could hear your breathing slow, like you were considering it.

"He wanted to get married," you'd answered, voice just as quiet. And then you'd let out a soft, yet bitter laugh. "Which I sound awful for ending it over that. But I'm sixteen, I don't want to commit to marrying someone at sixteen."

But Mattheo hadn't thought you were awful - it'd made sense. "So you don't want to tie yourself down?"

"Bloody hell - no!" You'd laughed, shaking your head. "At least not yet. I don't want to be stuck. Sixteen is way too young for that."

"You're right."

And he'd suddenly felt silly for liking you so much, dreaming about being yours and you being his for a long while.

------

And then, once you both started Sixth Form, you stopped walking to school together.

Mattheo had a free period at the beginning of the day, leaving you to walk on your own at 8:20 every morning. And even though he had been dreaming and wishing of it, it was you who made the effort to keep walking home together. You forced him to wake up early one morning so you could coordinate a meeting place.

And it continued. You'd smile at him in the hall or pair with him in classes where neither of you really had friends.

He was still a loser, spending his time wandering around town instead of doing homework. And you kept your reputation from year 11. You were well known, too cool for someone like him.

But the worst thing was that he didn't stop wanting you. Even when he started dating Eleanor Grabham.

When his mum had asked why he split up with her, he'd said it was because they'd both been too busy and not that he couldn't stop thinking about you.

On his seventeenth birthday, he finally got his drivers license after going through the process for months. His parents didn't get him a car until a bit later considering how expensive it already was for him to get his license. But once he did get a car, it only made it easier for him to waste time.

He drove around doing jackshit, but what pretty good at avoiding punishment when he broke curfew or driving laws.

But the best times were when you agreed to tag along.

Some nights you had to climb from your window. But that made it all the more fun. You would laugh louder, enjoy the drives more.

------

That Christmas your family had done the same thing, and so had you two.

You'd bought him another gift, this time a handsome watch you had seen him eyeing once at second-hand store when you two walked there after school. His eyes had lit up, and he'd thanked you with a hug. Which unfortunately turned awkward quick.

On the other hand, he'd wrapped your present in a paper patterned with snowmen. Inside, you'd found a silver camera, one where you could take as many photos as you pleased as long as you saved them.

That same night, like the one before, you both sat together in the living room. Though this time you talked.

"What's your biggest wish?" You'd asked, clicking through things on your camera, holding it up to your eye to look at him through.

"Not telling you," he'd responded simply, earning an eye roll from you.

"Why not?" You'd challenged.

"Because it's personal." He had just finished setting his watch to the right time. "Besides, would you tell me yours."

You had considered him for a long moment before grinning. "I suppose I wouldn't."

------

Tonight, you were an hour from home, avoiding the fact it was far too late and you both had school tomorrow.

"Matt, that shirt is horrifying," you laugh, one hand out the window, the air bitingly cold, but neither of you minded to much.

"It isn't that bad," he argues, a grin on his lips as he takes a corner far too sharply. "You have too many problems with my clothes."

"It's not my fault your mum stopped helping you shop," you continue to tease, reaching for the soda you had bought twenty minutes ago. "Honestly, you really do need help."

He gave you an unimpressed look, his eyes sleepy and dreadfully sexy.

"I'm parking," he announces, managing to find a playground with free parking and turning into the lot. "Need a break." He grabs his own soda, the one you got for him as payment for letting you come along. Even though he insisted he liked when you came with.

You open the car door without explanation, and clamber into the backseat instead, sighing in relish and stretching your legs out. Grinning, he unbuckles as well.

"Oi, move over."

"I was here first!"

"It's my car."

Rolling your eyes, but laughing, you sit up slightly so he can slide in beside you. "What time is it?" You wonder, looking out the window.

He glances at his watch - the one you bought for him at Christmas. "12:48. We're so fucked for classes tomorrow."

"At least you get to sleep in," you sigh, resting your head back against the cool window. "Your car reeks of smoke, Matt."

You watch him shrug, a faint smile playing on his lips. The same smile you've admired for nearly two years. "You too cool for smoking now?"

"Yeah," you answer without pause, nudging his knee with you foot.

He watches you for a moment, his eyes sobering noticeably. "Damnit," he sighs, and you watch him with raised eyebrows.

"What?"

"You've always been too cool for me."

You scoff, surprised and a bit confused at the words. "Bullshit."

"Bullshit that that's bullshit," he counters, shaking his head and dragging a hand through his dark curls. "You're too good, popular, and brilliant for me, y/n."

"Where's this coming from?" You ask, sitting up straighter.

"I'm exhausted, all right?" He sighs, eyes fluttering shut. You watch his dark lashes kiss the tops of his cheeks. "Don't have the energy to filter myself right now."

You remain quiet for a long moment, refusing to let your eyes leave him.

"I'm not too cool for you."

"Yes, you are"

"No, I'm not."

It's childish, an argument similar to the bickering you two have enjoyed after walking together for so long.

"You are so out of my league." Now he's bumping your knee with his foot.

Huffing, you shift closer to him, his eyes still shut. Each of his retorts coming from him with his head tipped back. And because you've been dreaming of this since you saw him in his driveway with his black headphones and that worn jumper he threw out ages ago, you tentatively wrap your hand in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer to you.

His eyes flutter open, looking so sleepy and perfect.

"What're you doing?" His voice is suddenly breathless. You watch his throat bob as he swallows.

Without answering, you arm slides around his neck, and his mouth is on yours. For a terrifying moment, you think you misread the situation, because he's not kissing you back. Maybe he meant you were too cool to be his friend.

But then he groans, one hand going to your hip, the other reaching to cup you jaw. He tilts your head, deepening the kiss as he presses you against the backseat cushions. His thumb brushes your cheek, his tongue tasting of Lilt soda.

You dig a hand into his hair, fingers tangling in the curls, eliciting another sound from his mouth.

"Fucking hell," he murmurs against your lips, eyes still closed. "I've wanted to do that for ages."

You let out a breathless laugh, fingers curling into his hair. "But I was 'too cool for you'?"

"Far too cool for me," he says lowly, dipping his head to nip at your jaw. "Couldn't let you go around kissing losers like me." His hair tickles your skin as he kisses your neck gently, hand running up and down your waist.

"Wish you'd known I couldn't give two shits," you answer, cupping his jaw, pulling his mouth back to yours.

I'm so in love with this girl

Is all he can think as you kiss him, arms around his neck, tasting so sweet and kissing him so good. You press a kiss to his throat, feeling it bob beneath your lips.

"Remember Christmas?" He asks, voice breathless. You pull away to see his eyes shut, his hand holding your hips.

"Mhm," you answered, and he buried his face in your shoulder, nose nudging your throat.

"When you asked me my biggest wish."

You nod, fingers tracing shapes over his back, surrounded by his warmth and smell, processing that this was happening. "I remember."

"All I wanted, was for you to want me." You feel him draw a breath against your skin.

"I want you a lot," you say, feeling so comfortable and happy pressed between him and the backseat.

He lets out a small sound, and wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tighter and closer. "I didn't think you would. Not just because you're out of my league, but because you said you didn't want to be tied down and stuck."

You pause, tapping his back slightly.

"It's different when it's you." You kiss the top of his head. "Besides, you don't make me feel weighed or tied down, Matt."

He feels something akin to butterflies explode in his stomach and suddenly he's kissing you again, and between the heat of your breaths and your bodies pushed together, his car windows fog. But he pays it no attention, focused on kissing you, feeling your swollen lips against his and relishing the fact that this is really happening.

It's ages later that you both part completely, and you watch with you own sleepy eyes as he writes on the fogged up windows, a heart with your initials.

"That's sappy," you tease, though it makes your chest warm.

"Leave me alone," he huffs, giving you a side long glance. He sighs, his eyes fluttering shut. He looks so perfect, a hickey marked beneath his ear, his lips red and swollen from kissing, his hair messy. But he breaks the perfect moment. "We should probably go back."

He's not wrong. It's nearly two in the morning, but you don't want to risk losing what just happened between you two. And he seems to sense it.

"We'll go back. And we'll go to school." He pauses. "And we won't avoid each other, or only give each other smiles. As long as you're willing to hang out with a loser like me... may I be your boyfriend, y/n?"

You're unable to stop yourself from grinning, chest warming further. "I'd love for you to be my boyfriend, Matt."

He sits back against the backseat and pulls you into his lap, kissing your temple. "Perfect. We'll pick this up tomorrow after school. Now go to sleep, I'll wake you up when we're home."

------

Mattheo’s own drink has grown neglected after the past few songs playing through a muggle c.d player, magically amplified to fill this whole part of the dungeons. Theo and Blaise have pretended not to notice the expression he’s wearing, recognizing the polite indifference as something else.

Though what he really felt, he didn’t even know.

Anger? Jealously? Hunger? Perhaps all three of them and more. Because he wants to be the one with his hand on your waist, pulling you against his chest while you laughed and danced. It shouldn’t be that lousy Ravenclaw bloke you were chatting with earlier. Were you thick? Could you not recognize the desire he had for you despite his obvious habits? Even Enzo, who rarely criticized Mattheo—opting to cheer on his foolish decisions—pointed out how stupid he looked in this one sided pining. Which he couldn’t even blame Enzo for. You’re his friend—one of the few people outside of his circle that he likes.

You’re funny, smart, and you bicker back without letting him cross a line—fuck it’s so sexy when you tell him off if he accidentally goes too far. And he spends all of his time flirting with you.

Touching you, whispering things that border on indecent. Naturally, you only respond with laughs to those—but the touches you return, dragging your hand down his chest teasingly, cupping his jaw or scratching his scalp with your manicured nails.

And he couldn’t stop. How the fuck was he supposed to stop when he could be staring at you? When you look so perfect dancing with Astoria and one of your other mates. Your collarbones are sparkling underneath the floating lights—had you dusted glitter on your skin? His jaw feathers as he imagines smudging that glitter over your mouth and throat.

“Mate,” Theo stands, nudging Mattheo’s foot with his own from where he sat manspreading on a divan. “Come get a drink you’ll actually finish. You’re not doing yourself any favors acting all pathetic.”

Mattheo glowers at his best friend, the comment irritating him more than it would if he weren’t already half drunk. But he stands nonetheless and follows Theo through the moving bodies around them. Half of them weren’t even Slytherins, just other students who had been snuck in for the party.

He drags a hand through his curly hair, loud music and the sound of people having fun filling his ears. He and Theo find the table haphazardly laden with drinks and Theo busies himself while Mattheo continues brooding. He’s unable to stop himself from finding you in the crowd.

You’ve moved.

And now bloody Cormac McGlaggen’s hands are on you, groping your waist, his head bent towards your ear. You’ve never even talked about McGlaggen, never shown a shred of interest or care.

But at the moment your head is thrown back in laughter, neck exposed.

He feels like he’s moments from stomping over there and declaring his love for you when Theo shoves a cup into his hand.

“Drink,” he says, his voice lazy and slow as ever. Mattheo gives him an unimpressed look, certain he’s going to be smashed afterwards, but tips his head back, swallowing the searing concoction.

Theo obviously made no effort with taste, just trying to distract Mattheo with a high ass alcohol concentration. And he complies, downing it all before tossing the empty cup at an overflowing bin. He begrudgingly returns to the divan with Theo, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. Loud bass is all he can focus on for a while, his eyes heavy as he glares at the crowd of people. Things blur, his few fleeting thoughts are about you, specifically pressed against him.

He’s drawn from his stupor when a person suddenly drops down on his right. Astoria, her eyes so dazed she looks like she’s on fucking drugs rather than being drunk. Blaise immediately slides a protective arm around her shoulders despite them not being close, wordlessly keeping her safe from any fuckass perverts.

And slowly, his gaze slides from Astoria to you standing in front of her. Your posture is slightly relaxed as well, too calm for a party, and he knows the firewhisky has got to you at least a bit. His throat physically tightens—he can’t even talk to you.

Theo fills the silence between you five though, his ankles crossed and arms stretched across the divan. “What the bloody hell happened to her?”

You sigh, looking at your passed out friend. “Drank too much too fast, had to hold her hair back over the bin.” You shake your hair off your slightly sweaty forehead, fixing your top as you look at a mirror above Mattheo’s head.

His breath slows slightly, his thoughts fighting to remain respectable.

“Could you just watch her for a bit? I don’t want to leave her for too long but I might pass out myself if I don’t get cold air soon,” you say, fanning your shiny face. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck from behind your ear and Mattheo swallows thickly, looking away, feeling like a creeper.

“‘Course, love,” Blaise assures in his deep voice. “Need one of us to walk you? Don’t want you falling over.”

Mattheo tenses. He’s not even looking at you

“No, I’ll be okay.” There’s a smile in your voice—he can hear it, imagine it on your pretty face. “Be back soon.”

You walk away.

And bloody hell does he try—he really does. But after ten minutes of sitting there, resisting the urge to follow you and do Merlin knows what, he shoves up from the couch.

He has no ears for Theo’s questions, shoving through couples and out of the expansive common room. Immediately the dungeons air feels ten times better, cooling his heated body. He hadn’t even noticed how shitty he felt, the alcohol and his desire for you causing it.

He doesn’t even have a clue which way you went, and maybe it’s for the better. He’d look like a bloody fool, following you, his breathing heavy, about to blurt out every feeling he has for you.

Through the stone hallways he passes a few whispering couples, some snogging, others giggling. And suddenly—he sees you.

You’re leaned against a wall, eyes closed, obviously just trying to cool off. And like a prat, he’s intruding on your silence.

“Matt?” Your voice is so beautiful he feels a shock go through his drunk self, and he blinks slowly, seeing your now open eyes. “What are you doing?”

But he can barely even focus past the nickname youve adopted for him. You’ve called him Matt a million times, but it felt just as intimate as the first. And it takes every ounce of will power for him to not rush over there and press you against a wall.

“Sorry, pretty,” he all but rasps, “just checking on you.”

“Oh,” you whisper, and he’d be damned if that wasn’t a flicker of disappointment in your eyes. But you smile that pretty smile. “I’m okay, Matt, don’t worry about me.”

fuck fuck fuck

Without even processing what he’s doing, he’s stalked over, standing in front of you now. And his dumbass isn’t filtering shit at this point.

“What’s going on with McGlaggen?”

You quirk an eyebrow, still conversational and perfectly witty when you’re drunk. “Dancing with him is all.”

“He’s a twat.” He has no idea why he says it, but makes no effort to take it back, continuing to look at you with sleepy eyes.

You smile again. “He is.” You tilt your head now. “But we were only dancing.”

He huffs like a pissy child, taking a hand through his hair as he glances away. How the hell does he tell you he’s jealous? Because if he does you’ll understand everything—every touch he’s given you. “I don’t like seeing my mates hang around arseholes.” It’s a shitty response, but he can barely think at the moment. Through the alcohol and buzz of feelings, all he can think of is you.

You nod, smile shrinking ever so slightly. “Right, of course.” You push off the wall. “You’re just looking out for a friend.”

“Yeah.” He nods as well, dazed, cursing Theo for giving him that drink. You step further away from the wall, that same flicker flashing through your eyes. “I’m going to head back then. You might want to cool off for a bit—you look piss drunk.”

And then you turn, footsteps carrying you a short distance before he reaches out, catching your wrist in his hand. “Pretty—wait.”

What the hell are you doing? He thinks, but it’s already too late, you’ve turned around.

Fuck it.

He tugs you closer, breath held as he manages to properly focus for one second, searching your eyes. When you don’t pull away, when you don’t ask him what he’s doing—when you press closer—he crashes his mouth against yours.

You let out a sound, something between a gasp and a sigh, but his mouth swallows it. Hands shifting, he lets go of your wrist, wrapping an arms around you hips, the other cupping the back of your head as he backs you against the stone wall.

Your own hand slides up his arm, burying in his curls, and he groans into your mouth. His body slots against yours, tilting his head and deepening the kiss. He can taste the firewhiskey on your tongue, and it makes his head spin. His hips press against yours, lips moving to drag down your throat, tongue tasting your sweat from dancing. “Matt—” You breathe out his name, hand tightening in his hair, eyes fluttered shut. His teeth scrape a patch of skin beneath your ear, soothing it with a kiss.

Footsteps sound from down the hallway and for one terrifying moment, you fear this will end.

But Mattheo grips your hip, pulling apart only to push open a heavy wooden door. Through the faint light creeping through the crack under the door you realize it’s a storage closet but that doesn’t stop him.

He’s kissing you again, hand cupping your neck, brushing the skin with his thumb. “Fuck, Pretty,” he rasps against your lips. “Tell me we aren’t just friends.”

Something tightens in your stomach and your eyes open to meet his in the dimness. He’s waiting, you realize. You let out a breath, fingers trailing from his hair down his spine, feeling the heat of his skin through his long sleeve shirt. “We don’t have to be anymore,” you whisper, unable to come up with something intelligent and sexy to say.

He groans, kissing the curve of your jaw, arm tightening around your waist. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Pretty. Drives me mad when you flirt or fancy anyone else.” His admission is softer than his actions, lips bruising a spot on your neck, leaving a mark.

Your lip catches between your teeth, fingers gripping his shoulders. “You should’ve told me sooner, Matt. We could’ve been doing this much earlier.”

“I’m realizing that now,” he says darkly, pulling back to watch your flushed face in the darkness. “I’ll just have to make up for lost time. Find a way to sneak you into my dorm tonight.”

You can see his swollen lips, his dilated eyes. “What about the others? Theodore? Lorenzo?”

“They can shove it,” he says, simply, his voice ragged. “Theo will probably congratulate me for growing the balls to kiss you.” You let out a soft laugh, and he wants to drink in the sound. So he settles for the closest thing by kissing you again, mouth dragging against yours, his brain dazing as he’s surrounded by your scent. He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

And Theo does congratulate him.

When you two return to the party, lips swollen, a pair of hickeys on your neck, he smirks. And it only widens when you two ignore everyone else and sneak up the stairs to his and Mattheo’s dormitory.

Mattheo spent the rest of the night kissing you, holding you close, and assuring both you that friendship was not in the question any longer.

.・゜゜・❁・゜゜・．

—————

Figure You Out - Voila

Dark Red - Steve Lacy

Diet Pepsi - Addison Rae

Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys

Sweater Weather - The Neighborhood

Daddy Issues - The Neighborhood

I Wanna Be Yours - Arctic Monkeys

I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE - Maneskin

Reflections - The Neighborhood

Softcore - The Neighborhood

RUNRUNRUN - Dutch Melrose

PILLOW TALK - Zayn

Friends - Chase Atlantic

Void - The Neighborhood

Moody - Royal Otis

Loser - Tame Impala

Hotel - Montell Fish

Hostage - Billie Eilish

Ribs - Hannah Bahng

Killshot (slowed reverb) - Magdalena Bay

Pretty Please - Dutch Melrose and Benny Mayne

This could be us - Rae Sremmurd

P*RNSTAR - Nessa Barrett

Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High? - Arctic Monkeys

A Little Death - The Neighborhood

When Will I See You Again - Shakka

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