Winner of the 66th Hunger Games, Lavender Kingsley became known for surviving the longest Games in history, lasting 12 days. She was the first—and only—victor to win without killing another person.
The Capitol instantly fell in love with her. Her unusually lavender hair, wide grey eyes, and gentle demeanor made her impossible to ignore. During her victor interview, Caesar Flickerman gave her the name “The Capitol Flower.” She walked onto that stage wearing a pastel dress and an innocent expression, becoming everything the Capitol wanted her to be.
Innocent. Shy. Kind.
Everything she never signed up to be.
The first time Lavender walked onto that stage after the Games was the moment she knew she would never be the same person again. Instead of an audience, she saw dead bodies. Instead of Caesar, she saw Titus—the boy who had hunted her throughout the Games, who had eaten his victims, who she had only escaped because of a perfectly timed avalanche.
Then, in the blink of an eye, the entire building filled with water.
She started to drown.
She opened her mouth to scream—
And the audience returned.
How was she supposed to live like this? How could anyone live like this? Never trusting your own mind. Never being able to tell what was real and what wasn’t.
A part of her was still trapped in that arena.
Someone had to pull her out.
Someone had to save her from her own mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rowan Valek — District 10
Winner of the 63rd Hunger Games, Rowan Valek earned a reputation that would haunt Panem forever. His Games lasted only four days—the shortest in history. From the moment the countdown ended, he reached for a machete and never hesitated. Every kill was swift, calculated, and merciless.
The Capitol feared him just as much as they adored him. With his wavy dark hair, piercing dark eyes, and cold, unreadable expression, he captivated audiences. During his post-Games interview, Caesar Flickerman gave him the nickname “The Butcher.” Rowan simply sat there in silence, his face blank as the name became legend. His stylists leaned into the image, dressing him exclusively in black to match the deadly persona the Capitol had created.
But Rowan refused to keep playing Snow’s game after the arena.
When President Snow attempted to sell him to Capitol citizens, Rowan openly refused. In retaliation, Snow had his family killed. After that, Rowan withdrew from the world entirely. Back in District 10, most people feared the boy they had watched on their screens, leaving him alone with his grief and trauma.
Everything changed when a certain lavender-haired tribute was reaped.
He never intended to mentor her. Unable to bear watching another child die in the arena, Rowan gave up on her almost immediately, choosing instead to focus on the male tribute from District 10. He convinced himself she had no chance of surviving.
Much to his surprise—and his lasting regret—she walked out of that arena as the victor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: This is something I had been playing around with for a while and I wanted to share my ideas on here to see if I should go forward with it. I’ve been using ChatGPT to help with my writing styles and I worked a little bit of this out and I honestly love the story I have going here.
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Summary: Theodore never wanted children. The day his mother died was the day he had sworn off any semblance of a family. That was until a child appears before him, claiming to be his daughter.
A/N: This is the second part and since you waited so patiently i included 3 bonus scenes teehee posting it early for my babies
Special mention to @for-the-love-of-puppies and @luffysprincess who predicted this turnout lol our brains are in sync
Credits to @dividers-are-us for the divider
Part 1
Bianca was a blur of movement by the Great Lake.
She darted along the grassy bank, boots thudding softly against the earth as she zig-zagged around rocks and half-buried roots, stopping every few seconds to crouch down and inspect something with intense focus before bolting off again. A stick became a wand, a pebble became treasure, and the reeds at the water’s edge were clearly hiding something very important.
You watched her with a fond smile, arms folded loosely as you leaned back against the cool stone.
“She has too much energy.” You said, though there was no real complaint in your voice—only wonder.
Theo huffed a quiet laugh beside you, eyes never leaving her, “She’s a firecracker.”
Bianca shrieked with laughter as she nearly tripped over her own feet, caught herself at the last second, and then stood very still—carefully regaining her balance before continuing on her way.
Theo tilted his head slightly, watching her, “She takes after you.”
You laughed, startled, “Are you crazy?”
He glanced at you, amused, “What?”
You nodded toward Bianca. “Look at her. She’s observant. Thoughtful. She watches everything. She’s lively, yeah—but she hardly ever leaps without looking first.” You smiled softly, “That’s all you.”
Theo went quiet at that, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth.
He watched Bianca sprint past a patch of wildflowers, slow just enough to avoid stepping on them, then take off again.
“…Maybe.” He conceded.
A moment later, he added, half-thoughtful, half-teasing, “She’d be a good Chaser.”
You snorted, “Of course you’d say that.”
“Did you see that turn?” He said, nodding toward her as she swerved sharply to avoid the water’s edge, “She'll be a star quidditch player.”
You hummed, considering it. “I don’t know,” You said slowly, “I kind of see her as a Magizoologist.”
Theo glanced at you, “Yeah?”
“She’s gentle,” You said, “Curious. She doesn’t just want to look—she wants to understand.” You smiled as Bianca crouched again, whispering something to a very unimpressed-looking duck, “I think she’d love creatures.”
Theo’s expression softened.
“Whatever she chooses,” He said quietly, “she’ll be brilliant.”
The words lingered between you.
The lake rippled softly. The breeze carried the scent of water and grass. Bianca’s laughter echoed across the shore, bright and unburdened.
And then—slowly, inevitably—the conversation faded.
Neither of you spoke.
Because the truth settled in like a weight neither of you wanted to name.
There were futures you were imagining that you wouldn’t get to see. First matches. First discoveries. First failures. First triumphs.
Theo swallowed.
You hugged your arms closer to yourself, eyes fixed on Bianca as if memorizing the way the sunlight caught in her curls.
For a moment, it was almost peaceful.
And for a moment, that made it hurt so much more.
Bedtime was always a gamble.
There were nights when Bianca conked out long before she was meant to, curled boneless and warm in Theo’s arms, and you and him would exchange a silent look before jointly deciding it wasn’t worth the risk. No pajamas. No teeth brushed. Not if it meant waking her. You’d just lay her down as she was and hope she didn't wake up.
Some nights, she went down like a dream—padding excitedly toward bed because she was looking forward to the story that Theo read to her. When it was your turn, Bianca would read to you instead, you'd study the pictures with exaggerated seriousness, and make enthusiastic oohs and ahhs at all the right moments while Bianca beamed in pride at her reading skills.
And then there were the nights she refused.
It would almost be easier if she weren’t tired—at least then you could burn the energy off. A walk around the castle usually did the trick. More often than not, she’d be asleep in Theo’s arms before you even turned back toward the common room, her cheek pressed into his shoulder, breathing slow and even.
But the worst nights were when she was exhausted and still couldn’t sleep.
Overtired, overstimulated, and furious about it.
The crying cut through you in a way nothing else did—sharp and relentless, scraping along your nerves until you felt hollowed out. Theo held on as long as he could. When it became too much, he’d quietly excuse himself.
"Ten minutes." He promised, "I'll be back."
But when fifteen passed and he still hadn’t returned, you didn’t go looking for him. You knew where he was—the common room, breathing, grounding himself. You let him have those extra minutes.
You held Bianca instead, her small body tense in your arms, her face damp with tears. You hugged her close and rocked back and forth, humming softly at first, then singing—a lullaby from a film you used to love as a child.
Gradually, the sobs quieted.
Her breathing evened out.
And when you were absolutely certain she was gone—truly asleep—you tucked her into bed, smoothing the blankets, lingering just long enough to make sure she didn’t stir.
Only then did you leave.
You closed the door quietly behind you and let out a long breath.
“She’s finally down.” You murmured, collapsing onto the couch beside Theo like your bones had simply decided they were finished.
He looked up from the parchment spread across the coffee table. His hair was mussed, sleeves rolled up, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come back up.” He said quietly.
Your head tipped against his shoulder without thinking. “It’s okay, Theo,” You replied softly, “You deserved the break after the fight to get her into pajamas.”
He exhaled—a deep, exhausted sigh—and let his head fall forward for a moment. The common room was dim, fire crackling low, everything wrapped in that hazy, end-of-day quiet where the world felt temporarily paused.
After a beat, Theo straightened slightly, shaking his head like he could physically shake himself awake. “Okay,” He said, gesturing to the parchment with his chin, “Do you want to start writing the Charms essay?”
You nodded, eyes already heavy. “In a second,” You murmured, “Just… give me a second.”
Your eyes fluttered shut.
The fire crackled. The room softened. The parchment remained untouched.
And sometime in the night, Theo’s head tipped gently against yours, his breathing evening out as sleep finally claimed him too—the two of you tangled together on the couch like you belonged there.
Morning crept into the Slytherin common room slowly.
Pale light filtered in through the tall windows, casting faint shapes across the stone floor and catching on the dying embers in the fireplace. The room was quiet in that in-between way—too early for students rushing to class, too late for true solitude.
Sometime during the night, the distance between you and Theo had disappeared entirely.
Your head was tucked beneath his chin now, his arm slung loosely—but securely—around your waist. One of your legs had somehow ended up tangled with his, your body curved into his like it was the most natural thing in the world. His cheek rested against the crown of your head, breath warm and steady, fingers curled faintly into the fabric of your sleeve.
You looked… settled.
Theo hadn’t slept that deeply in weeks.
The first voices shattered the quiet.
“Oi—what the hell?”
Blaise stopped short just inside the common room, halfway through a yawn. Mattheo, behind him, followed his line of sight—and froze. Then a slow, shit-eating grin spread across his face.
“Mama y papà.” He said cheerfully.
Theo stirred at the sound, brows knitting together. You shifted too, burrowing closer on instinct, your face scrunching in your sleep in that exact way Bianca did when she didn’t want to wake up yet.
Theo’s eyes fluttered open.
It took him a moment to piece things together.
The couch. The dying fire. The weight against his chest.
You.
His arm tightened before he could stop himself.
Draco let out a low whistle. “Merlin,” He drawled, “You leave one kid with him for a week and suddenly he’s playing house.”
Theo’s eyes snapped fully open, “Shut up.”
Lorenzo folded his arms, unimpressed but unmistakably entertained, “Are we interrupting something?”
You shifted again, mumbling something soft and unintelligible into Theo’s chest. Your hand slid up, fingers curling into the front of his shirt like it was a lifeline.
Theo held his breath.
For a moment, he stared up at the ceiling—at the stone arches, at the faint greenish light—fully aware of his friends staring like the two of you were a particularly scandalous exhibit in a zoo.
And still, despite himself, his eyelids felt heavy again.
“Bianca?” He murmured, voice barely there.
“Still fast asleep.” Mattheo supplied easily.
Theo didn’t even fight it.
His eyes slid shut again, arm tightening just a fraction more around you as his head tipped back against the couch.
Out cold.
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
“Oh my God,” Blaise whispered, “He’s actually asleep."
Lorenzo stared, "My old man used to do the same too. Fell asleep through a whole movie once."
The Slytherin common room was almost unnervingly quiet at that hour.
The fire burned low in the hearth, casting slow-moving shadows across the stone walls, green flames reflecting in the tall windows like something alive beneath the lake outside. Most of the lamps had been extinguished, leaving only a soft pool of light near the couches where you and Theo sat—books spread open, parchment littered with notes, ink smudges marking the evidence of three solid feet of Transfiguration essays each.
You were officially on a break.
You shivered, tugging the blanket tighter around your shoulders just as Theo stood, rolling his neck once before moving toward the small table where he’d set up the kettle. You watched him quietly as he brewed tea—precise, unhurried, like the ritual itself grounded him.
When he returned and placed a cup in front of you, you couldn’t help the smile that curved your lips.
The teabag was still steeping.
You took a careful sip. It was perfect. Strong, but not bitter. Exactly how you liked it.
A soft chuckle slipped out of you before you could stop it.
Theo glanced up, “What?”
You shook your head, lifting the cup slightly, “Nothing. Just—thank you.”
He nodded once, but his mouth twitched like he knew there was more to it.
Then, almost without thinking, you said, “You know… before meeting her, I didn’t think I’d ever even look twice at you.”
Theo’s quill froze mid-scratch.
Slowly, he turned to face you, one brow lifting. “Wow,” He drawled, “I feel incredibly flattered.”
You winced, “No—wait. That came out wrong.”
He studied you now, the teasing edge fading, curiosity sharpening his expression.
“I just mean,” You continued, fingers worrying the hem of your sleeve, “before Bianca, I honestly thought we’d graduate and pass by each other without ever really being in each other’s lives.” You hesitated, “But now…”
“Now what?” He asked quietly.
You gestured vaguely between the two of you—the firelight, the late hour, the way his knee brushed yours and neither of you moved away.
“You know exactly how I like my tea,” You said softly, “And I know how you like yours. I’m allergic to smoke, and you stopped smoking before this even became…” Your voice trailed off as you ducked your head, unsure how to name what sat between you, “Whatever this is.”
“Whatever this is,” You finished, almost to yourself, “It’s funny, isn’t it? How sometimes things just… happen. Completely out of order.”
Theo leaned back slightly, watching you like you were something fragile and dangerous all at once.
“She changed things.” He said.
“Yes,” You whispered, “She certainly did.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable.
“I never thought about it before.” He admitted finally, voice low.
“About what?”
“Any of this,” He said, “A family. A future. I didn’t think I was capable of it, to be honest.” His jaw tightened. “Thought I was too screwed up to deserve one.”
Your chest ached.
“And now?” You asked softly.
“Now,” He said, barely above a breath, “I want it more than anything in the world.” His eyes met yours, “Bianca. And you.”
Your heart stuttered painfully.
“I don’t know when it happened,” He went on, “Or how. I just know that somewhere along the way, I stopped yearning for my past—and started anticipating the future instead.”
The fire popped, sharp in the stillness.
You looked at him—really looked. The shadows beneath his eyes. The tension he carried like armor. The boy who had let himself love without realizing how deeply it would cut.
“I think,” You said, voice trembling just slightly, “I feel the same way, Theo.” You swallowed, “I want a future with you.”
You reached for him before fear could catch up, your fingers brushing his wrist. He went utterly still at the contact, breath hitching like you’d struck something vital.
You hesitated, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you lifted your gaze to his—and then your hands began to tremble when you saw it. The want in his eyes. Bare. Unguarded.
Theo leaned in slowly, deliberately—giving you every chance to pull away.
You didn’t.
His forehead rested against yours first, warm and steady, grounding you both.
“Ti amo.” He whispered.
You didn’t need to understand Italian to know what he was saying.
The kiss started softly, tentative—his lips brushing yours like a question he was afraid to ask too loudly. When you responded, just as gently, his breath shuddered, relief and emotion tangling together.
He kissed you again, deeper this time, slower. Like he was learning you. Like he was afraid that if he rushed, the moment might fracture.
His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as if anchoring himself. You melted into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater, the firelight warming your skin as the world narrowed to this—this quiet, impossible thing that had found you both.
When he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath, foreheads still touching.
You really did love him.
Theo had been in a mood.
It settled over him the moment the owl arrived—thick parchment, precise handwriting, the professors’ seal pressed into the wax like a finality. You’d read it together at the kitchen table in the common room, Bianca swinging her legs beneath the chair, humming to herself as she colored, blissfully unaware.
We believe we have found a way to reverse the spell.
Preliminary tests indicate a high probability of success.
We are confident we can return the child to her proper time.
Ever since then, something in Theo had gone quiet.
Not angry. Not cruel. Just… withdrawn. As if he’d folded inward, brick by careful brick, building walls he refused to name. He spoke less. Smiled less. When Bianca reached for him, he held her a little tighter, a little longer—like he was memorizing the weight of her, the way she fit against his chest.
You told yourself you understood.
Of course he was going to miss her. You were going to miss her too. Somewhere between shared breakfasts and bedtime stories, scraped knees and tangled curls, Bianca had taken root in your heart. The thought of watching her vanish—of returning to your normal lives and pretending these weeks hadn’t rewritten you—made your throat ache in a way you didn’t know how to soothe.
That night, Bianca went to bed easily.
Too easily.
She pressed a sticky kiss to your cheek, murmured something sleepy in Italian, and curled beneath her blankets without protest. No fuss. No tears. Just acceptance.
It felt like a bad omen.
Theo waited until the door clicked shut behind you before he spoke.
“What if we don’t send her back?”
You turned slowly, the words not quite registering, “What?”
“What if we keep her here,” He said, voice low and urgent, like if he spoke too loudly the idea might shatter, “What if we just—don’t go through with it. We have time with her. Real time. Why should we give that up?”
Your stomach dropped.
“Theo,” You said carefully, “What are you talking about?”
“We’re her parents,” He said, like it was obvious. Like it had always been obvious, “And if we send her back, we’re sending her to a life where she doesn’t have a mother. At least this way—” His voice cracked, just slightly, “—at least this way she has both of us.”
“Theo—”
“I know it hasn’t been perfect,” He rushed on, stepping closer, words tumbling over each other, “But we’re learning. We can do this. We already are. You see her—she’s happy here. She’s safe.” His eyes searched yours desperately, “She doesn’t have to lose you.”
Your chest burned.
“I know we could do this,” You whispered, “I know that. But Bianca isn’t our child. Not really. No matter how badly we want her to be.”
His jaw tightened, muscles jumping beneath the skin.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” He said sharply, “To grow up without a mother. To wake up every day knowing there’s a hole in your life you’ll never fill.” His voice dropped, rough and raw, “If she stays here, she doesn’t have to lose you. Whatever it is—whatever happens to you—we can catch it early. We can fix it.”
Your vision blurred.
“If Bianca stays here,” You said, voice breaking, “the you in the future loses his daughter forever. He’s already lost his wife, Theo. Don’t make him lose his baby girl too.”
Something in him snapped.
“Screw him.” He said hoarsely.
He reached for you suddenly, hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes like he could stop the tears if he tried hard enough. He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, like he was holding himself together by sheer will.
“I have everything I’ve ever wanted right here,” He whispered, “Right now.”
Your sob escaped before you could stop it, fingers clutching at his sleeves like an anchor.
“Theo,” You breathed, “you know as well as I do… she isn’t meant to be here.”
He sucked in a breath—and this time, he couldn’t hold it back.
The sob tore out of his chest, raw and broken, his grip tightening like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
“Don’t make me give you up, (Y/N),” He choked, voice collapsing on your name, “Please. I can’t— I can’t lose you too.”
His forehead stayed pressed to yours as his shoulders shook, grief and fear and want spilling out all at once. He wasn’t just pleading for Bianca.
He was pleading for you.
For the life he’d tasted and already couldn’t bear to lose.
And you held him there, crying quietly into his collar, knowing that love—no matter how real—was not enough to change fate.
The second Theo entered the hospital wing, every instinct in his body screamed the same reckless, impossible thing.
Grab you. Grab Bianca. Apparate.
Disappear so completely that no one would ever find you again.
His mother had family in Italy—old blood, old names, people who still believed hospitality was sacred. They would open their doors. They would help you. They would protect you.
How hard could it be, really, to end up on their doorstep with a frightened child and a woman he loved?
Too easy.
Too selfish.
You didn’t even look at him when the thought flickered across his face. You simply squeezed Bianca’s hand and guided her forward, gentle but firm. You knew if you looked back at him, you would be all to convinced to leave together.
Theo swallowed hard, the bitterness rising sharp and ugly in his throat.
All he wanted—all he had ever wanted—was for the three of you to be happy. Together. Why was that such an impossible thing to ask for? Why did it feel like the universe kept dangling it just close enough for him to taste before ripping it away?
He knew the truth, even if it tore him apart.
Bianca belonged with his older self.
The man who chose to have her.
The man who could protect her.
The man who could stay.
But she was his daughter too—damn it. Flesh of his flesh. Blood of his blood. And the thought of letting her go felt like carving something vital out of his chest.
You knelt in front of Bianca, pulling her into a tight embrace. You kissed her forehead, whispered words she couldn’t possibly understand, and said as little as you could. Her fingers were small and warm in yours, but they grew slick with sweat as she glanced around at the unfamiliar adults. She tightened her grip, grounding herself the only way she knew how, holding onto you like she could anchor the moment in place.
Theo watched, throat burning.
Then he knelt too.
He’d done it a thousand times—tying her shoes, wiping tears from her cheeks, crouching to her level when he needed her attention—but this time his knees hit the stone floor harder than usual. Pain flared and vanished, eclipsed by something far worse. His hands trembled as they came up to cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing over her skin slowly, reverently—like he was trying to memorize the exact warmth of her.
“Hey.” He said softly.
His voice cracked immediately.
He closed his eyes, jaw tightening, and tried again, “Bambina.” (Little one)
Her eyes lifted to his.
Just like yours—wide, glassy, endlessly deep. Like looking into a pool of pearlescent ink that reflected too much truth.
“Ti vedrò presto, amore.” He said gently, brushing a curl back from her face. (I’ll see you soon, love.)
“Le cose saranno un po’ diverse…” His breath hitched, “Ma devi avere pazienza, va bene? Andrà tutto bene.” (Things will be a little different… but you need to be patient, okay? Everything will be fine.)
Bianca studied him with grave seriousness, like she was weighing his words carefully.
Then—suddenly—her face lit up.
“Oh!” She said brightly, “Come quella volta.” (Oh! Like that time.)
Theo blinked, “Come quando?” (Like when?)
“Come quando sei andato via con la mamma.” She explained easily. (Like when you went away with Mama.)
His chest tightened, “Quando?” (When?)
“Quando siete andati in ospedale.” She continued, rocking on her feet. (When you went to the hospital.)
"E poi sei tornato a casa felice." (And then you came home with happiness.)
Theo’s breath caught violently.
The room tilted.
"Felice?" He asked quietly, feeling like hell. (Happy?)
The word felt wrong in his mouth.
A cold, sickening thought slithered into his mind.
Was he happy when you passed?
His chest tightened, panic blooming sharp and fast, bile rising in his throat. His hands trembled where they rested, heart pounding so hard it hurt.
Then—
Bianca tilted her head, frowning slightly—confused by his confusion.
“Quando sei tornato con il mio fratellino, Felice.” She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. (When you came back with my little brother, Felice.)
The world went very, very still.
Blood rushed through Theo’s head so fast he swayed, knees locking as though a feather could knock him over.
“Tuo… fratello?” He repeated hoarsely. (Your… brother?)
She nodded, curls bouncing. “Sì.” (Yes.)
“È piccolo,” She added solemnly, “Piange tanto.” (He’s little. He cries a lot.)
The hospital.
You being sick.
Too sick to carry her.
Too sick to eat breakfast.
The reason Bianca hadn’t seemed sad.
The reason she’d been so independent.
Not because you were going to die.
But because you were making room for someone new.
Felice.
Happiness.
Everything slid into place with sickening, breathtaking clarity.
“Oh." Theo breathed.
Bianca reached up, cupping his cheek with her small, warm hand.
“Non piangere, papà,” She whispered. (Don’t cry, Papa.)
He hadn’t even realized he was crying until that moment.
Salazar—this was mortifying. Breaking down like this. In front of professors. In front of you. In front of a three-year-old.
And yet—he couldn’t stop.
Tears spilled freely now, hot and unrestrained.
Because now he knew.
He would be happy.
He would love you.
And you would love him back.
You would build a life together. Two children. Maybe more. A family so warm and whole that Bianca would speak of it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His children would never have to imagine a future without their mother.
He would never have to watch them grow up with that hollow ache he’d carried his entire life.
He would never have to watch you get sick, watch you leave this world, leaving him alone to raise your daughter, the last remaining memory of you.
Theo pulled Bianca into his chest, holding her like he could imprint the feeling into his bones—her weight, her warmth, the steady beat of her heart.
“Ti amo.” He choked, “Ti amo tantissimo.” (I love you so, so much.)
Her arms wrapped around his neck—fierce and small.
You stared at the pair of them, heart aching, mind reeling. You felt for Theo—deeply—but shock quickly overtook sympathy.
Because between the two of them, you had absolutely not expected him to be the one crying.
“…Wait,” You said slowly. “What’s going on?”
Bianca turned her head as best she could while still buried against Theo’s chest.
“Papa says he loves me, mamma,” She announced cheerfully, “You’re too slow these days.”
Both of you froze.
“…You speak English?” You and Theo said in unison.
bonus:
The room was finally quiet.
Bianca was gone—sent back to a future that suddenly felt more real than the present—and Theo’s bedroom felt too large without her small presence filling it. The curtains were half-drawn, moonlight spilling across the sheets in pale silver bands. You lay on your side facing Theo, your head tucked beneath his chin, his arm resting loosely around your waist.
Theo was on the cusp of sleep, just as he had been for the past hour, but your incessant thinking refused to let him go.
“But if Bianca hadn’t come back,” You murmured, staring up at the shifting shadows on the ceiling, “we would’ve just… gone on with our lives.”
He hummed softly, half-asleep but listening, his thumb tracing absentminded shapes into your side.
“And we wouldn’t have fallen in love,” You continued, the words tumbling out faster now, like if you didn’t say them you’d drown in them, “And if we didn’t fall in love, she wouldn’t exist. Which means she wouldn’t be able to come back and make us fall in love in the first place.”
You turned your face into his chest, your voice muffled, “So at the center of the loop—at the very beginning—there had to be a version of us that fell in love and had Bianca without any intervention at all.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy but not empty.
Then Theo sighed, fond and exhausted and deeply amused in that way that meant he loved you too much to be irritated.
“(Y/N), my love… amore mio,” He said gently. He had taken to repeating everything in Italian after English so it would help you learn faster. You felt his chest rise as he spoke again, slower and deliberate.
“My future bride… la mia futura sposa. It is four in the morning.”
You groaned softly. “I know,” You sighed, “I just… I miss her.”
His arm tightened around you, grounding and warm, “Me too.”
For a moment, that was all there was—breathing, moonlight, and the quiet certainty that somewhere, somehow, the two of you were happy and whole.
Then Theo shifted.
You felt it before you saw it: the subtle slide of his hand, warm fingers sneaking beneath the hem of your shirt like he thought you wouldn’t notice.
“Say the word, dolcezza,” He murmured, his voice dipping into something unmistakably dangerous, “and I’ll bring her back to us.”
You slapped his hand away without even looking.
“It is four in the morning.” You said flatly.
He chuckled, low and unapologetic, eyes still closed like this was all part of his master plan, “Italiano, per favore.”
You hesitated, “Um… sono...sono le… una, due, tre, quattro… quattro del mattino?” (Um...it's....one, two three, four....four in the morning?)
“Perfetta,” He said smugly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Your accent is getting better.”
bonus bonus teehee:
The front door closed with a quiet, final click behind you.
For a moment, you just stood there.
The house felt different somehow—too still, like it had been holding its breath. Sunlight spilled through the front windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air. The sofa. The stairs. The framed photos waiting to be filled with memories that hadn’t happened yet.
Home.
You looked down at the bundle in your arms, your baby boy wrapped in impossibly soft blankets, his face pink and sleepy and perfect. Tears blurred your vision before you even realized they were coming.
Theo stepped in behind you, arms full—hospital bags slung over his shoulders, a car seat awkwardly balanced against his hip. He froze when he saw your face.
“Hey.” He murmured gently.
You turned, blinking hard, then leaned into him anyway, pressing a soft kiss to his lips—slow, grounding, full of everything you didn’t have words for. Then you kissed Felice’s tiny forehead, breathing him in like you’d been afraid he might disappear.
“Bentornato a casa, piccolo,” You whispered, voice shaking, “This is where you’re going to grow up.” (Welcome home, baby boy)
Theo swallowed, eyes shining. He reached out, brushing one finger over Felice’s cheek like he couldn’t quite believe he was real.
And then—
“MAMMA!”
Footsteps thundered down the stairs.
Bianca came flying into the hallway, curls bouncing wildly, socks half-slipping off her feet. Mattheo, her godfather, was right behind her, laughing and reaching out uselessly like he could actually stop her.
“Bianca—piano, piano!” He called, “Slow down—!”
Theo reacted instantly.
He dropped the bags without a second thought and scooped Bianca up mid-run, lifting her clean off the ground just before she could crash straight into you. She shrieked with laughter as he spun her once, relief spilling out of him in a dozen breathless kisses pressed to her cheeks, her temple, her nose.
You watched them with a soft, aching smile.
Your heart lurched at the sight of your baby girl in his arms—hair wild, eyes bright, whole and glowing with excitement. You had missed her more than you’d allowed yourself to admit during the last few days. Every quiet moment in the hospital had carried the echo of her laughter, the absence of her small weight climbing into your lap.
You had been waiting eagerly to acquaint your children.
Theo had insisted it was better this way. Better for your recovery, better that you didn’t have to juggle between children so soon. He’d been gentle but unmovable about it, the same way he’d been your entire pregnancy—this one and Bianca’s.
At the first sign of discomfort, he’d been apparating you straight to the hospital wing or summoning your healer for a home visit without hesitation. You’d teased him once that your obstetrician must be thoroughly sick of him by now.
But judging by the way Theo paid—promptly, generously, without ever blinking—and by the fine silk scarf and expensive purse he’d gifted the healer who brought both of his children into the world, you suspected annoyance was the last thing they felt.
If anything, they were probably fond of him.
“Hey—hey—hey,” He murmured into her hair, “Careful, amore mio. Papà’s got you.”
Theo finally stopped spinning, still holding Bianca securely against his chest. He pressed one last kiss into her curls and rested his forehead briefly against hers, eyes closed like he was grounding himself.
And you realized, with a sudden, overwhelming tenderness—
And despite the 36 hours of grueling labor, you realized that, for this man, you would do it all again in a heartbeat.
Theo shifted Bianca onto one hip, still holding her tight as if she might vanish if he let go. Her laughter softened into a happy hum as she curled into him, arms looped around his neck.
Then her eyes finally landed on you.
On the bundle in your arms.
“Mamma?” She whispered, voice suddenly small.
You felt your throat close instantly.
“Vieni qui, amore,” You murmured, smiling through the sting behind your eyes, “Piano, va bene?” (Come here, love. Easy, okay?)
Theo crouched, keeping Bianca safely lifted as he guided her closer, one protective hand braced at her back. Mattheo lingered a few steps behind, unusually quiet, waiting for the family to have their moment.
Bianca leaned forward, peering into the soft folds of the blanket.
The baby stirred, tiny fingers flexing, lips puckering in a half-sleepy frown.
Her gasp was barely a sound.
“È… piccolo,” She breathed, "He's smaller than me."
Theo huffed out a soft laugh, eyes glassy.
You tilted Felice just enough so she could see his face properly. His eyes fluttered open for a brief second—dark, unfocused, brand new.
Bianca’s hand twitched like she wanted to reach out, then froze mid-air.
“Posso?” She asked, glancing up at you for permission. (Can I?)
“Yes,” You whispered, “Gently.”
Felice shifted again, a soft sound leaving him, and Bianca’s eyes went impossibly wide.
"He spoke to me." She gasped.
Theo pressed his lips together hard, eyes shining as he bent to kiss the side of Bianca’s head, then yours. His free hand came up to cradle you, thumb stroking slow, careful circles like he was afraid the moment might shatter.
“This,” he said quietly, voice thick, “is Felice, your little brother.”
Bianca straightened immediately.
“Felice,” She repeated, testing the name. Then she smiled, bright and sure, “Ciao, Felice. Io sono Bianca.”
The baby slept on, oblivious.
Mattheo cleared his throat, rubbing at his eyes like something had gotten in them, "Merlin, enough to make a grown man cry."
And standing there in the doorway of your home, with laughter in the air and your children between you, you knew—
This was it.
This was the life Bianca had promised.
Happy.
bonus bonus BONUS scene for my patient babies:
The one thing about living in Italy was that you missed the company.
Not the weather, not the food—certainly not the wine—but them. The loud, sharp-edged comfort of people who knew you before the life you’d built now. The friends who felt less like friends and more like family, forged in dungeons and late nights and shared survival.
The friends you’d left behind at Hogwarts.
You thanked every higher power you could think of that Mattheo had moved here a few years after Bianca was born. It softened the ache. Made the distance feel survivable.
And now—now that it was Bianca’s sixth birthday, the first child in the entire group to hit that milestone—the rest of them had descended to Italy like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Thank goodness Slytherins were rich.
Draco and Blaise were already deep in conversation near the terrace doors, voices low and animated, catching up like no time had passed at all. Lorenzo and Mattheo, meanwhile, had somehow been tricked—lured, really—into assembling Bianca’s princess castle in the middle of the sitting room.
That would teach them to bring gifts that required instructions.
Bianca hovered nearby like a general overseeing her troops, crown slightly askew, offering entirely unhelpful instructions. Felice, on the other hand, had claimed the discarded wrapping paper as his own, even though his uncles had been kind enough to bring presents for him as well.
Instead, he toddled around the sitting room, triumphantly dragging the empty box the princess castle had come in behind him, until Theo scooped him up at the last second—saving him from the scattered screws as Mattheo struggled to put the thing together.
Theo hovered near you like a shadow, as he always did these days. One hand rested habitually—possessively—against the small of your back, grounding, warm. The other balanced Felice on his hip, your son’s face still slightly sticky with cake frosting as he played absently with the little tie you’d put him in today.
Then the front doors flew open.
“MISS ME, YOU MISERABLE BASTARDS?”
Pansy Parkinson’s voice sliced clean through the manor.
Theo barely had time to turn before she was already there—flinging her coat into Draco’s arms without looking, heels clicking furiously across the marble floor. Her eyes found you instantly.
Her face lit up.
“Oh my God—” She started, already smiling—
Then she stopped.
Her gaze dropped.
Paused.
Lifted.
Dropped again.
You barely had time to blink before—
SMACK.
Theo yelped, jerking back, hand flying to his arm, “What the hell—?!”
Pansy rounded on him like a woman possessed, “Can you PLEASE stop climbing on top of this poor woman?”
You laughed helplessly, one hand instinctively moving to your stomach.
Theo stared at her, scandalized, “Excuse you—”
“Salazar’s balls,” Pansy cut in, eyes wild, “How many children are you planning on having? Fancy your own Quidditch team, do you?!”
“How many children we decide to have is none of you—”
“And she is not an oven to keep popping out your buns,” Pansy said sweetly, patting his shoulder like she was doing him a favor, “Control yourself.”
Theo spluttered, “It’s not like I could carry them myself, now could I?!”
“You’re a wizard,” She snapped back, “I think you could figure it out!”
You tried—tried—to regain control, “Pansy—”
She turned on a dime, expression melting instantly as she crossed the space between you and pulled you into a careful hug.
“Oh, come here,” She murmured, “Look at you. Absolutely glowing.”
You laughed against her shoulder.
“I get it,” She added thoughtfully, pulling back to look at you again, “If I were Theo, I’d be filling you up with kids too.”
Theo opened his mouth.
SMACK.
“Do not.” Pansy warned.
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
Summary: Theodore never wanted children. The day his mother died was the day he had sworn off any semblance of a family. That was until a child appears before him, claiming to be his daughter.
A/N: this is NOT a pregnancy fic you guys i promise also i didn't want to split this into two parts but tumblr deemed it too long so um two parts ig
credits to @dividers-are-us for the divider
Part 2
Theodore Nott had read enough books to know that the day his entire life changed was supposed to feel different.
The air would be heavier. The world sharper. Something—anything—would be off. A subtle wrongness, a warning. Foreshadowing of the wrench about to be thrown into his carefully ordered life.
He had felt it once before, when his mother died and left a hollow space behind that never quite filled.
But that was the thing.
Nothing felt wrong about today.
Had everything gone as it usually did, it would have been completely mundane—monotonous, even. Theodore woke up, ate breakfast, slipped outside for a smoke. Double Potions. Another smoke. Transfiguration. Lunch. Arithmancy.
And now he was stuck in Charms.
Professor Flitwick had been lecturing about advanced spell interactions—something about like and unlike spells, wand movements and intent—when the first spell fizzled.
Then another.
Then three more went wildly off course, sparks ricocheting off desks and dissolving into the air like fireflies gone wrong.
Theo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, unimpressed.
“Focus,” Flitwick snapped, wand raised, “Clearly someone here has—”
The room cracked.
Not shattered. Not exploded.
Cracked—like reality itself had split open for half a second.
There was a blinding flash of gold light, a rush of displaced air, and then—
Silence.
Sitting in the middle of the classroom floor was a little girl.
She couldn’t have been more than three or four years old. Dark curls fell into her face, dressed in pajamas, and her small hands were clenched into fists as she looked around, eyes wide and terrified.
For exactly two seconds, she was quiet.
Then her lip trembled.
“—Papà?”
Her voice broke.
And then she started crying.
Not soft sniffles. Full-on, panicked sobs—the kind that came from being suddenly, completely lost.
“Voglio il mio papà!” She cried, scrambling to her feet, “Voglio andare a casa!” (I want my daddy! I want to go home!)
The classroom froze.
“…Did she just Apparate?” Someone whispered.
Another voice, baffled, “She’s a child.”
A Ravenclaw girl cautiously stepped forward, “Hey, it’s okay—”
The girl recoiled instantly, backing away as if burned, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“No! No, no, no!” She sobbed, shaking her head violently, “Non ti conosco! Voglio il mio papà! Voglio papà!” (I don't know you! I want my daddy! I want daddy!)
She spun in a slow, desperate circle, looking at all of them with pure, unfiltered fear.
“Papà! Dove sei?!” (Dad! Where are you?!)
Theo stared at her from his seat.
He wasn’t heartless—of course he wasn’t. There was something about the way she wailed, the sheer terror in her voice, that made his chest tighten painfully. And yet, he stayed where he was.
Blaise nudged his arm, “Oi, Nott. You speak Italian, don’t you?”
He didn’t bother answering. Everyone already knew—thanks to the absolute slew of Italian curses he’d hurled at Weasley during the last Quidditch match.
“Great,” Blaise said immediately, “Do something.”
Theo’s eyes flicked back to the girl.
She had dropped to her knees now, small hands pressed to her face as she cried, her breathing beginning to hitch dangerously. A Hufflepuff girl hovered nearby, concern written all over her face, but every step closer only made the child cry harder.
“Voglio il mio papà… per favore…” She sobbed between gasps. (I want my daddy… please…)
Something twisted uncomfortably in Theo’s chest.
“I’m not exactly a baby person.” He muttered.
“Nott,” the Ravenclaw girl hissed, “She’s a toddler. She’s about to have a panic attack, and she can’t understand a word we’re saying.”
The girl let out a sharp, breathless sob, her chest stuttering as she tried—and failed—to calm herself.
“Papà…” She whimpered.
Theo closed his eyes for a brief second and exhaled.
“Cazzo.” (fuck)
He pushed his chair back and stood.
The entire classroom fell silent as he took a step toward her.
Theo approached slowly, hands raised in a placating gesture despite himself.
“Ehi,” He said gently, crouching a few feet away from her. His voice was low, careful, “Va tutto bene. Respira, sì? Piano, piano.” (It’s okay. Breathe, yeah? Slowly, slowly.)
The girl barely registered him.
She was still crying hard, hiccupping sobs shaking her tiny frame as she shook her head over and over, “No, no, no… voglio papà… voglio papà adesso…” (No, no, no… I want daddy… I want daddy now)
“Io so,” Theo murmured, trying to keep his tone steady, “Ma sei al sicuro. Nessuno ti farà male. Guarda me, piccola.” (I know, but you're safe. No one's going to hurt you. Look at me, little one.)
He reached out slightly—then stopped, unsure.
“Come ti chiami?” He asked softly. (What's your name?)
She sniffed, wiping her nose with her sleeve, eyes squeezed shut as if refusing to look at the world around her. “Voglio papà,” She repeated stubbornly, voice breaking again, “Ho paura…” (I want dad, I'm scared)
Theo swallowed.
“Papà non è lontano,” He said, choosing his words carefully, “Va bene? Respira con me.” (Dad’s not far away, Okay? Breathe with me.)
That was when she opened her eyes.
Really looked at him.
Her crying hitched mid-sob.
For half a second, her face went utterly still—eyes widening, breath catching like she’d forgotten how to breathe.
Then—
“Papà!”
She surged forward.
Theo barely had time to react before a small body collided with his chest, tiny arms wrapping around his neck with desperate force. She buried her face into his robes, clutching him like he might disappear if she let go.
“Papà, papà, papà,” She cried, the word tumbling out between sobs, “Ti ho trovato… non andare via… per favore…” (I found you… don't go away… please…)
Theo froze.
Completely. Utterly.
His arms hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure what to do as the child clung to him, shaking with leftover fear. Her tears soaked straight through his uniform as she pressed closer, like she was trying to crawl into him.
The room was dead silent.
Theo’s eyes flicked up.
Every single person was staring.
Flitwick looked like he might faint. The Ravenclaw girl’s mouth hung open. Blaise had gone eerily still, eyebrows raised so high they were nearly in his hairline.
Theo slowly mouthed, Get this child off me.
No one moved.
The girl sniffed loudly and tightened her grip, small hands fisting in the fabric of his robes. “Papà.” She whimpered again, quieter now, exhausted.
Theo looked down at her—at the way she fit far too easily against him, at how natural it felt for her to be there—and felt his brain short-circuit.
“I—” He cleared his throat, voice coming out rough, “Io… eh…”
She tilted her head just enough for him to feel the movement, her grip loosening slightly as the tension finally drained from her small body. Her breathing stuttered once more, then evened out, warm against his chest.
Theo looked down just in time to see her eyelids flutter.
Once.
Twice.
And then she was gone.
Fast asleep.
Her forehead rested against his collarbone, tiny fingers still curled tightly in his robes like she was afraid to let go even in sleep. A quiet, shaky sigh left her, the last echo of fear finally spent.
Theo swallowed hard.
The hospital wing smelled faintly of antiseptic and lemon polish. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, but it did nothing to calm the chaos of the little girl in Theo Nott’s arms. Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape hovered nearby, wands and parchment at the ready, while a few house-elves scurried nervously at the edges of the room.
Theo wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here—one hand on her back, the other awkwardly supporting her legs—and frankly, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to set her down in a cot and get the hell out of there.
“She appears… well, as far as magical diagnostics go." Pomfrey said uncertainly, trailing off.
Flitwick rubbed at the crease between his brows and sighed, “I’m not even sure what spells were cast. Perhaps someone transfigured an object into a child… though it seems highly unlikely. I did a head count, but maybe a student from another class managed to get de-aged? It will take me some time to get to the bottom of this.”
“During which,” McGonagall added crisply, “We need to figure out where exactly she is going to reside.”
All eyes turned to Theo, still awkwardly seated on the bed. The green tie in her grubby hands was clutched tightly, her shirt streaked with snot from her tears. He stared at the ceiling, silently praying to whatever deity listened that this problem would disappear.
“All right,” Flitwick muttered, “We need… more concrete information. Perhaps a simple veritas test to confirm basic biological markers…”
He waved his wand carefully over a tiny strand of her hair, muttering under his breath. The result came up empty. Flitwick let out a frustrated sigh, before his gaze fell on the way her small body curled naturally against Theo. Her fear of strangers was… painfully clear.
He waved his wand again, more deliberately this time.
“It would seem, Mr. Nott,” He began cautiously, “that you are biologically related to her.”
Theo blinked in shock, his grip faltering. The little girl nearly toppled in his arms.
“Excuse me?” He managed, voice tight, heart racing, utterly refusing to acknowledge what Flitwick had just said.
Flitwick adjusted his glasses nervously, “I—I understand this is… unusual. But the magical markers are clear. There is no doubt: you are biologically related to her.”
McGonagall stepped forward, arms crossed, her voice calm but firm, “Mr. Nott, we must consider all possibilities. Clearly, she has appeared here through some magical anomaly."
Snape, leaning against the wall with an unimpressed frown, muttered, “Magical anomaly is one way to put it. Unprecedented, more like.”
Flitwick cleared his throat, “We may need to consider the… temporal aspect. Combined with the accelerated spellwork and residual transfiguration energy from earlier… it is conceivable that she has been displaced here from another point in time.”
Theo blinked, “…You’re saying… she’s from the future?”
“Yes,” McGonagall said carefully, though her eyes softened as she looked at the child curled against him, “And until we can stabilize whatever magical interference brought her here, we will need to come up with a plan to care for her."
Theo exhaled slowly, a sound somewhere between frustration and disbelief, "Alright then, take her."
Flitwick hesitated, frowning. The professors exchanged glances.
Theo’s heart thumped in a way that was decidedly unhelpful. The child pressed closer, nuzzling her face into his chest, hiccupping softly.
"Perhaps, it would be best for the child to stay with her fa—"
“I’m not her father,” He said firmly, “…And she is not my responsibility.”
“If you truly refuse,” McGonagall said quietly, “then the staff will care for her until we can determine a safe way to return her to her own time.”
McGonagall nodded once and gestured toward Madam Pomfrey, “Very well.”
Pomfrey stepped forward gently, arms outstretched, “Come now, dear. Let’s get you settled—”
The moment she felt herself being pulled away from the warm chest she’d been clinging to, the effect was immediate.
The little girl stiffened in Theo’s arms, eyes flying open as she registered that the hands lifting her did not belong to him. Her face crumpled, breath hitching once before she broke into loud, panicked sobs.
“No—no, no!” She cried, voice high and shaking, “Papà! Papà, portami!” (Dad! Dad, carry me!)
She twisted against him, burying her face into his chest as if trying to disappear. Tiny arms wrapped around his neck with desperate strength, her small body trembling violently.
“Papà, per favore,” She sobbed, words tumbling over one another, “Ho paura… non voglio… non voglio…” (Daddy, please. I'm scared… I don't want… I don't want…)
Theo’s jaw tightened. He stared straight ahead, pulse pounding, every instinct screaming at him to hand her over and walk away. But her grip only tightened, her cries growing sharp and breathless.
She was shaking.
“Alright,” Theo snapped suddenly, sharper than he meant to, “Stop—just—don’t—”
Everyone froze.
Theo swallowed and glanced down at her. Her face was blotchy and red, lashes clumped with tears, chest hitching unevenly as she struggled to breathe. She looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes, like she was bracing for him to vanish.
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
“…Va bene,” He muttered, the Italian rough but instinctive, “Va bene. Basta piangere.” (All right. No more crying.)
Her sobs stuttered—not stopping, but slowing.
Awkwardly, he adjusted his hold, one arm settling more securely around her back while the other patted her shoulder once—too stiff, too careful. He cleared his throat.
“Shh.” He said quietly, glancing around like he’d been caught doing something illegal, rocking her back and forth like a rusty robot that hadn’t been oiled in years.
She sniffed hard, still clutching him, but the panic ebbed enough for her breathing to even out. Her head tucked beneath his chin, warm and damp against his collar.
McGonagall studied the child for a long moment, then Theo. Her expression softened—just a fraction.
“It seems,” She said evenly, “that she has made her preference quite clear.”
Flitwick nodded, rubbing his hands together nervously, “Yes… yes, I’m afraid forcing the issue would only distress her further.”
Theo exhaled sharply through his nose, “…Unbelievable.”
The girl whimpered once more, fingers tightening in his shirt as if reminding him she was still there.
Theo stiffened, then sighed.
“…Fine,” He said quietly, “Okay. She can—she can stay. For now. Until you figure this out.”
The walk back to the Slytherin dorms was… an experience.
Theo kept his pace measured, one arm secured firmly around the sleeping weight against his chest. She’d fallen back asleep somewhere between the hospital wing and the dungeon corridor, her curls tickling his jaw every time she shifted, breath warm against his collarbone.
He ignored the stares.
The whispers.
The way a passing Hufflepuff nearly walked into a wall trying to figure out why Theodore Nott was carrying a child through the corridors like this was a perfectly normal occurrence.
The Slytherin common room fell silent the moment he stepped inside.
Lorenzo blinked once. Then twice.
“…Is this some sort of social experiment?”
Mattheo’s grin spread slowly, wicked and delighted, “Papa's home.”
Theo shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “Say another word,” he warned quietly, “and I’ll hex you.”
Blaise tilted his head, eyes flicking between Theo and the small, curled form in his arms. “Congratulations,” He said lightly, “When were you planning on telling us you’d been leading a double life?”
Theo didn’t dignify that with a response. He adjusted his grip slightly when the girl shifted, instinctively tightening his hold, and turned toward the stairs.
Behind him came a chorus of barely-suppressed laughter and stage-whispered “Night, daddy!” that followed him all the way up.
He noticed the change in his dorm the second he stepped inside.
Not because it was loud.
But because it was wrong.
Sitting neatly on his bed were things that had absolutely not been there that morning.
Tiny clothes, folded with precise magical care. Soft socks. A small blanket charmed with a low, steady warmth. Even a stuffed creature—some sort of dragon, judging by the horns—rested near the pillow, its stitched eyes cheerfully oblivious.
Theo just stood there.
Staring.
This was real. This was happening.
He looked down at the small, sleeping child in his arms, her face slack with sleep, lashes dark against her cheeks. A living, breathing human being. And somehow—somehow—he was now responsible for her.
His stomach twisted.
This hardly seemed responsible.
Did the staff really just let him walk out with an entire child and no follow-up instructions? No pamphlet? No checklist? How was he meant to keep one of these things alive? What if she woke up hungry? Or scared? Or—Merlin forbid—started crying? Again.
Theo swallowed hard, dread creeping in like a cold chill down his spine.
He crossed the room slowly and carefully, as if any wrong step might shatter the fragile reality holding this together, and lowered her onto the bed. She stirred faintly but didn’t wake, curling instinctively toward the lingering warmth of his body.
He hesitated.
Then, with movements stiff and unsure, he pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and tucked it in the way he vaguely remembered adults doing when he was small—firm but gentle, like it mattered.
He stepped back.
She looked… peaceful.
Completely unaware that she had just detonated his entire existence.
Theo dragged a hand down his face and turned toward the door.
He needed a cigarette. Immediately.
Just as his fingers brushed the handle, a small sound stopped him.
“Papà…”
It was barely audible—a sleepy mumble, her brow knitting faintly as one small hand twitched against the sheets.
Theo froze.
“…Papà.” She murmured again, softer this time, like she was reaching for him even in her dreams.
He closed his eyes and let out a slow, resigned breath.
“Merda.” He muttered.
If he left and she woke up—
He glanced at the chair beside the bed.
Then back at her.
“…Unbelievable.” He whispered.
Theo pulled the chair closer and sat down, leaning back with his arms crossed, eyes never leaving her face. He flinched every time she so much as twitched, every uneven breath sending his pulse spiking.
Just for tonight.
That’s what he told himself as exhaustion settled heavy in his bones.
Just until she woke up.
Theo woke to pins and needles.
A sharp, unpleasant numbness shot up his legs, like they’d ceased to exist sometime during the night and were only now remembering their purpose. He sucked in a quiet breath and shifted—immediately regretted it.
There was weight on him.
Warm. Solid.
Theo froze.
Slowly, carefully, he looked down.
She was asleep in his lap.
At some point during the night—at some point he did not remember authorizing—the little girl had migrated from the bed, curled herself into the space between his arms and legs, and settled there like she belonged. Her head rested against his bicep, curls splayed messily over his chest, one small hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.
Theo stared.
His mind helpfully offered no explanation.
He vaguely recalled her stirring sometime in the early hours. A soft whimper. A half-formed Papà breathed into the dark. He must have reached out—must have pulled her close without fully waking, murmuring something useless and soothing under his breath.
Apparently, his subconscious had decided this was his life now.
He didn’t move.
Couldn’t, really—his legs were numb to the point of concern, and any shift risked waking her. Her breathing was slow and even, lashes fluttering faintly as she slept, utterly unbothered by the fact that she was using him as a mattress.
Theo let his head fall back against the chair with a silent groan.
“This is a disaster.” He whispered.
She stirred at the sound, nose scrunching slightly, fingers tightening in his sleeve as if anchoring herself. Theo went completely still, heart hammering like he’d been caught committing a crime.
He tensed, eyes snapping down just as she stirred properly, lifting her head and blinking blearily up at him.
For a long second, they just looked at each other.
Then her face brightened.
“Buongiorno,” She said, voice thick with sleep. A pause, “…Papà.” (Good morning.)
After getting her dressed for the day using the clothes the professors had provided, Theo could only thank Salazar that whoever—or whatever—had sent her back in time had at least had the decency to send an older child.
Because Merlin help him, she was competent.
She managed socks on her own. Shoes, too—wrong feet at first, but she fixed it herself with a sharp little huff of frustration. He didn’t even have to supervise. He just stood there, half-awake, watching in stunned silence.
The only time he stepped in was when the shirt became her enemy.
She wrestled with it valiantly, tugging it halfway over her head before getting stuck, arms flailing wildly as she wobbled on the mattress like a headless chicken. For one terrifying second, Theo was certain she was going to pitch forward and crack her skull open on the floor.
Just as he reached her, hands already out, she stamped one socked foot and protested indignantly.
“Papà! Sono una bambina grande—faccio da sola!” (Dad! I'm a big girl, I can do it on my own!)
He waited—hands hovering uselessly in the air—until she finally relented with an irritated sigh and allowed him to tug the shirt the rest of the way down. She immediately smoothed it herself afterward, chin lifted proudly.
Theo pinched the bridge of his nose.
This was going to be a long day.
By the time they stumbled downstairs, the Slytherin dorm was already awake and in motion. Mattheo, Draco, Lorenzo, and Blaise were halfway through getting ready, bags slung over shoulders as they headed out for breakfast.
Theo was still in his pajamas.
He didn’t care.
The professors had given him permission to skip class until further notice—something he had accepted with a detached nod, too tired to even question how serious this apparently was.
He was already mentally charting a course to the kitchens. Quiet. Private. No gawking students. No questions.
He turned toward the common room—
And she bolted.
“—Oi, wait—!”
Too late.
She launched herself down the stairs at an alarming speed, feet barely touching the steps. Theo’s heart stopped dead in his chest.
“Slow down!” He snapped, already moving after her, “You’re going to—”
She did not fall.
Instead, she hit the common room floor at a full sprint and beelined straight for Mattheo, slamming into his pant leg with the force and commitment of a homing missile.
Mattheo yelped, stumbling half a step, “What the—”
“Zio Mattheo!” She chirped joyfully, arms wrapping around his leg like she’d just found a long-lost treasure.
The room went dead silent.
Draco stared.
Lorenzo choked.
Blaise pressed his lips together, shoulders shaking.
Mattheo looked down slowly. Very slowly.
“…Little girl,” He said carefully, “how do you know my name?”
Theo stopped behind her and closed his eyes.
“She can’t speak any English, you idiot.”
Mattheo glanced up at him, affronted, “I see recognition in those beady eyes—”
He looked back down at her just in time to see her grin widen, all teeth and delight.
“Buongiorno!” She announced brightly.
Mattheo snorted despite himself.
Then she lifted her arms toward him, wobbling slightly on her feet, “Portami! Portami, zio Mattheo!”
Mattheo blinked. Once.
Then he looked up at Theo, eyebrow raised.
Theo sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, the tips of his ears burning.
“She’s asking her uncle to carry her.”
Mattheo’s grin turned downright smug as he crouched and scooped her up like she weighed nothing—slung against his arm with all the care of someone carrying a sack of potatoes. She giggled, utterly delighted, legs kicking happily.
Theo moved instantly.
“Oi—if you drop her, I swear to Merlin—!”
Mattheo adjusted his grip lazily, unfazed, “Relax. I’ve got her.”
Blaise smirked, “Wow. Someone’s being all fatherly for a bloke who isn’t a baby person.”
Draco leaned against the stair rail, grinning, “Yeah, daddy. Love this look on you."
“…I hate all of you,” Theo muttered darkly.
The girl twisted in Mattheo’s arms, peering over his shoulder. “Papà!” she called brightly. “Voglio fare colazione con zio Mattheo!” (Daddy! I want to have breakfast with Uncle Mattheo!)
Theo opened his mouth on instinct.
“Non puoi chie—” (You can't ask)
He stopped.
Because she wasn’t crying.
She wasn’t reaching for him.
She wasn’t clinging to his sleeve like the world might end if he stepped two feet away.
She was perfectly content. Happy, even. Nestled comfortably in someone else’s arms.
Theo’s brain stalled.
Then—click.
The realization hit him like divine intervention.
An hour.
A whole, uninterrupted hour without tiny hands grabbing his clothes. Without panicked crying. Without being someone’s emotional anchor.
The synapses in his brain fired one by one like fireworks. Sweet, blessed relief bloomed so fast he was pretty sure he could feel tears—possibly drool—gathering.
He lifted his gaze slowly and locked eyes with Mattheo.
“You,” He said calmly, decisively, “are on babysitting duty.”
“What?” Mattheo barked, “Oi—wait—!”
Theo was already turning away.
“Feed her,” He called over his shoulder, “Don’t drop her."
Out of the common room. Down the corridor. Gone like a wanted man escaping Azkaban.
“HEY!” Mattheo shouted after him, “That’s not how this works!”
The girl waved cheerfully from his arms, “Ciao, papà!”
Mattheo looked down at her.
Then back at the hallway Theo had vanished down.
"Well, I hope you enjoy being an orphan. Take it from me it's better than having a shit dad." He said absently, carrying her toward the door.
Theo didn’t even remember reaching the usual alcove.
He only knew his hands were shaking by the time he lit the cigarette, breath dragging deep and slow as the smoke filled his lungs. The burn grounded him. Anchored him. For five blessed minutes, he was just Theo again—no professors, no timelines, no small human being calling him papà.
He shouldn’t feel guilty for this.
Dammit.
It wasn’t like he was some kind of deadbeat. He wasn’t even her actual father. Her actual father existed a decade in the future and had—presumably—actively chosen to have this suctioning little tentacle of a child.
He exhaled, staring at the stone wall.
And yet.
She adored him. Wanted him. Chose him over everyone else without hesitation. Which meant—somewhere in the future—he must be doing something right.
Sometime in the future… I’m a good father.
The thought unsettled him more than the panic ever had.
He had never imagined children in his life. Never thought himself capable of it—not after losing his mother so young. How would future him handle this? How would he guide her, discipline her, protect her from the quiet, unrelenting cruelties of the world?
How would he keep her safe?
Theo exhaled again, watching the smoke curl upward and vanish.
Merlin, he needed that.
When he finally returned to the common room, the laughter hit him first.
She was being levitated up and down—up and down—by Mattheo, shrieking with unrestrained delight. Chocolate smeared her cheeks, and it was painfully obvious Mattheo had absolutely no sense when it came to not jostling a child who had just eaten her body weight in breakfast.
Theo stepped closer.
Her face lit up the moment she saw him.
“Papà!”
Something eased in his chest.
At least future me doesn’t screw this up, he thought faintly.
Mattheo gently lowered her into Theo’s arms.
And immediately—
“—achoo!”
She blinked. Sniffed.
Then again.
“Ach—ah—choo!”
Theo froze.
Her nose scrunched as she rubbed at it clumsily, eyes beginning to water, cheeks flushing, “Papà…?”
Theo’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.
Was she sick? Had he missed something? She’d been fine an hour ago—
Mattheo’s gaze flicked from her red nose to Theo’s ash-stained fingers. He sighed, already reaching for her and lifting her back into his arms.
“…Go shower,” He said calmly, “I’ll skip first class.”
Theo blinked, “I—I didn’t know—”
“I know,” Mattheo cut in easily, “It’s all good. Go.”
Theo swallowed.
“…Right.” He muttered.
He hesitated only a moment before turning toward the stairs. As he passed, she reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve.
“Papà?” She asked softly.
Theo stopped.
“I’ll be right back,” he said quietly—then corrected himself, Italian rough but sincere, “Tornerò subito. Promesso.” (I'll be right back. Promise)
Her shoulders relaxed instantly.
Mattheo watched him go, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
When Theo returned—hair damp, robes changed, skin scrubbed raw of smoke and ash—the little girl didn’t sneeze once.
Instead, she wriggled free of Mattheo’s arms and launched herself at him with a delighted squeak, wrapping her arms around his neck like she’d been waiting.
Theo caught her automatically.
She settled against him, warm and content.
And for the first time, the weight that settled in his chest had nothing to do with panic.
It felt a lot like guilt.
And something dangerously close to resolve.
Theo was collapsed across his bed, utterly defeated. The day had been… long. He hadn’t even gone to class, but that was before the small human currently treating him like a jungle gym had decided it was time for her daily inspection.
He didn’t even have the energy to move her. She clambered over him, tugging at his robes and sniffing at his hair, and he let her—somehow, it was easier than trying to resist. Five minutes of relative respite came only when she discovered something else interesting: the top of his dresser, the ceiling, the corner of the bedpost.
Every so often, one of her “uncles” captured her attention—Blaise, Draco, and Enzo—each appearing just long enough to be ignored by the child, much to Theo’s surprise. Somehow she recognized them, somehow she liked them, and somehow they had managed to reconcile the fact that she adored Mattheo more than all of them combined faster than Theo had reconciled her existence at all. He watched them all patiently endure, his mind boggling at how quickly they’d adjusted.
Currently, she had his hair in a death grip, determined to tug out every last strand with her clammy little hands. Theo winced as she yanked again, a protest lodged somewhere deep in his chest. She scrambled backward across his chest—kicking him squarely in the face in the process—then crawled toward the edge of the bed and started opening the drawer of his bedside table.
“Oi. Cosa fai?” He asked, tone half-scolding, half-exasperated. (What are you doing)
“Voglio un elastico per capelli! Mamma sempre ne tiene qui.” She declared, fumbling through the drawer. (I want a hair tie! Mom always keeps some here.)
Theo froze.
Mom? She has a mom?
The thought hit him like a bucket of ice water. All this time, he had assumed—stupidly—that she had appeared out of thin air, some magical anomaly he had to manage. Now the idea that she had a mother… a real, actual human mother… knocked the air out of his lungs. He felt absurdly unprepared.
She pulled something plastic-sounding from the drawer and held it up.
“Papà… cos’è questo?” (Papa... what is this?)
Theo’s heart skipped. He blinked, eyes widening. And then the aneurysm in his brain fully bloomed: a condom wrapper. In his daughter’s hand.
“Oi! Restituiscilo!” He shouted, leaping upright just in time for her to bolt, giggling, around the room. (Give that back!)
“Get that out of her hand!” He yelled again, spinning to intercept her, but it was too late. She dashed past Blaise, who was already doubled over laughing, and then past Draco, who had his hands pressed over his mouth to keep from cackling. Even Lorenzo had tears in his eyes from the absurdity.
“Little girl,” Lorenzo called, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably as he wiped tears from his face, “wait a second—what is her actual name?”
Theo froze mid-chase, mind scrambling.
“You… you don’t know her name?”
The little girl shrieked with laughter from the foot of the bed, completely oblivious to the chaos she had caused, while Theo felt like the universe was quietly reminding him that, yes he was an utter fool.
The little girl zig-zagged across the room, still clutching the condom wrapper like it was some kind of treasure. Theo lunged, arms flailing, but she ducked under his reach and squealed with pure delight.
“Papà! Prendimi!” She shouted, her voice ringing with mischief. (Papa! Catch me)
“Merlin’s beard, why am I even doing this?!” Theo groaned, diving forward again, only to collide gently with Blaise, who had fallen onto the floor laughing.
“Oi! Watch it, Nott!” Blaise gasped between giggles, brushing off his robes, “Maybe if you had been as enthusiastic about birth control as your little girl there, you wouldn't be having this problem."
Theo didn’t even glance at them. His focus was entirely on the girl, who had somehow vaulted onto the armrest of the sofa and was teetering dangerously.
“Oi! Scendi di lì, immediatamente!” He barked. (Hey! Get down from there, right now!)
“Papà!” She chirped again, holding the wrapper above her head like a flag, “Guarda! Guarda!” (Papa! Look! Look!)
Before he could reach her, Mattheo appeared like a hero in the last second, levitating gently above the floor with his wand, and swooped in. “I got her!” He said triumphantly.
He glanced down at the pile of humans scattered around the room—Blaise doubled over, Draco snickering, Enzo leaning helplessly against the wall—and grinned, “You really gave them a run for their money, huh, Bianca?”
Theo froze mid-lunge.
“You… you know her name?” He asked, voice tight with disbelief.
Mattheo raised an eyebrow, utterly flabbergasted, “You didn’t?”
Raising children, Theo decided, was an absurd amount of work.
He handed Bianca over to Madam Pomfrey the second she woke up.
He had tried—really tried—to delay it, holding out hope that the professors would have some sort of solution by now. But it had been three days. Three days of dungeon air, sleep-mussed curls, and the unmistakable stickiness that came with being a toddler. She desperately needed a shower.
And while Theo was getting increasingly comfortable handling her—some might even say paternal—he was still very much not prepared to be the one responsible for that particular task.
Pomfrey had taken one look at the state of Bianca’s curls, the faint smudges on her cheeks, and Theo’s exhausted expression and immediately agreed.
Theo sighed in relief, already imagining a shower of his own. Or maybe collapsing onto a bed and stealing an extra hour of sleep. He didn’t understand why he was so tired—he was sleeping the same amount he always did.
Still. He felt wrecked.
He promised he’d come back.
Repeated it, even.
Swore on—well. Something. He wasn’t sure what, but it sounded convincing enough.
It didn’t help.
She cried anyway.
Clutched his robes with tiny hands, face crumpling as she begged him not to leave, words tumbling out too fast and too panicked for him to catch more than Papà and non andare. Theo pried her fingers loose with a wince, murmuring reassurances the entire time—but he couldn’t will himself to walk away while she was screaming like that.
Especially now that he knew the difference between her cries.
So, one of the girls’ bathrooms had been cleared out for the morning.
Pomfrey, Bianca, and Theo occupied it alone, the echoes far too loud for his liking. He stood just outside the stall while Pomfrey bathed her, hands shoved deep into his pockets, posture stiff—like a chastened criminal awaiting judgment.
The child sang.
Loudly.
Badly.
And every time Theo stopped responding—
“Papà?”
—her voice wobbled, threatening to tip into tears.
“Sono qui,” He called back immediately, instinctive, “Brava.” (I'm here. Good job)
She giggled and continued singing something that sounded vaguely like a nursery rhyme and vaguely like a direct threat to musical theory.
Theo leaned his head back against the tiled wall and exhaled.
My God, was she clingy.
Then again… he supposed he couldn’t fault her for it.
If Flitwick was right—if she truly had come from the future—then she’d been ripped away from her home. Likely somewhere warm and familiar in Italy. Dropped into damp, grey Scotland. Surrounded by strangers. Spoken to in a language she didn’t understand.
Clinging to the only constant she recognized.
Him.
The thought settled heavy in his chest, sharp and unwelcome. Theo swallowed, fingers twitching as the familiar urge for a cigarette crept in—persistent, comforting.
He resisted.
Inside the stall, the singing faltered.
“Papà!” She called, sharper now.
“I’m here,” Theo answered immediately, softer this time, “Sono qui. Non vado da nessuna parte.” (I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.)
The singing resumed—quieter. Sleepier.
Theo closed his eyes.
Unbelievable.
Bianca emerged from the bath wrapped in a towel with a warming charm woven into the fabric, her pajamas peeking out beneath it. Her curls were still damp, springing in every direction, cheeks flushed pink and clean, eyes already heavy with sleep. Madam Pomfrey handed her over with a satisfied nod and a stern warning about drafts, and Theo took her automatically, settling her against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He was now only dimly aware of how absurd this entire situation was.
They stepped out into the corridor together, the stone cool and quiet at this hour—
—and promptly ran straight into you.
You froze.
You’d heard the rumors, of course. Everyone had. Whispers carried between classes, exaggerated retellings murmured in the Slytherin common room. Nott has a kid. From the future. Ridiculous. Entirely ridiculous. There were more reasonable theories floating around—some magical accident that accidentally teleported a child here from outside Hogwarts walls. Others were more creative, claiming Theo had a secret child hidden away in Italy and the time-travel nonsense was just a cover story.
You firmly belonged to the former camp.
This—whatever this was—had to be some sort of misunderstanding.
You opened your mouth, ready to apologize for bumping into him—
“Mama!”
The word rang out, bright and clear, echoing far too loudly down the stone corridor.
Bianca lit up like she’d been waiting for this moment all day. She wriggled out of Theo’s already-loose hold with surprising strength, arms stretching toward you, the towel slipping dangerously as she leaned forward.
“Mama! Mama!” She chirped, utterly delighted, fingers grasping at empty air, “Sei tornata! Mi sei mancato!” (You’re back! I missed you!)
You stared at her.
Then at Theo—who looked just as stunned, mouth parted slightly, grip tightening instinctively around her before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.
Then back at the small, very real child reaching for you like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
You stared at her.
Then at Theo—who looked just as stunned, mouth parted slightly, grip tightening instinctively around her before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.
Then back at the small, very real child reaching for you like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
You forced a smile, gentle and careful, lowering yourself slightly so you weren’t towering over her.
“I’m not your mama, little one.” You said softly.
You spared Theo a glance, silently pleading for him to say something—anything—but he looked like a statue carved from pure shock, arms still locked around Bianca as though letting go might shatter reality itself.
Bianca frowned.
Just a little.
Her brows knit together as she studied you, head tilting to one side in confusion. Then she turned in Theo’s arms, small hand gripping the front of his robes like an anchor.
You spared Theo a glance.
He hadn’t moved.
Not an inch.
He looked like a statue carved in shock, Bianca still tucked securely in his arms, as though letting go might shatter something irreparable.
Bianca’s smile faltered.
Just a little.
Her brows knit together as she studied your face, head tilting in quiet confusion. Then she turned slowly toward Theo, curls brushing his collar.
“Papà?” She asked, uncertain now.
Theo swallowed.
She pressed her cheek against his chest and spoke again, voice small but earnest—
“Papà… ora che la mamma è tornata, possiamo andare a casa? Ho sonno.” (Papa… now that mama is back, can we go home? I'm sleepy)
“There is absolutely no way I’m her mother.”
Your voice echoed far louder than you intended in the hospital wing, ricocheting off white curtains and cold stone with humiliating clarity.
Madam Pomfrey paused mid-sentence.
Flitwick blinked.
McGonagall’s lips thinned—just slightly.
Theo, seated stiffly on the edge of the bed with a sleeping Bianca curled against his chest, did not move. He looked like someone who had accepted his fate three hours ago and was now simply watching the universe pile on for sport.
It was hard to believe he’d been standing in this exact position less than a week ago, being told the very same thing.
Honestly, he wasn’t even sure the news had fully settled yet. He hadn’t had time to properly panic—not just about Bianca having a mother, but about who that mother apparently was. A girl he’d never given a second glance to. Someone who, in some unfathomable future, he had fallen in love with. Married. Chosen to have a family with.
Theo Nott. Married. A father by choice.
The thought felt so foreign he thought he might throw up.
“For one,” You continued, gesturing vaguely at yourself like the evidence should be self-explanatory, “I would remember giving birth. I am quite certain of that.”
Pomfrey cleared her throat delicately.
“And second,” You added, beginning to pace, panic sharpening every word, “there are processes involved in creating children. Processes which I have never done—” You pointed sharply at Theo, “—with him.”
Theo didn’t react. Didn’t even flinch. He just adjusted his grip slightly when Bianca shifted, instinctively tucking her closer as she sighed in her sleep.
Flitwick glanced down at his parchment, “…The magical diagnostics are, I’m afraid, quite clear.”
You stopped short. “So you’re actually telling me,” You said slowly, incredulously, “that this child is from the future? A future where I have a baby with Nott of all people?”
McGonagall folded her hands calmly, “Miss (Y/N)—”
“You’re joking, right?” You cut in, letting out a hollow laugh, “I mean, everyone here can see that there isn’t even a modicum of possibility that the two of us would date—let alone get married, let alone have a child.”
Theo’s jaw tightened.
He wanted to argue—wanted to back you up, to scoff and insist this was ridiculous, that there had to be some enormous mistake, some elaborate cosmic joke with particularly poor timing. A week ago, he would have done exactly that.
But he’d been standing in this same position barely days earlier.
He knew now that arguing would get him nowhere.
Soon enough, Bianca would wake up. She always did. And when she did, she would cry—sharp, panicked, desperate cries that cut straight through stone and reason alike. She would call for you the same way she had called for him, voice cracking, hands reaching for something familiar in a world that made no sense.
And if you were even remotely a decent person, you wouldn’t be able to ignore it.
The thought sat heavy in his chest, uncomfortable and inescapable.
But Bianca only shifted in his arms, letting out a small, congested sniff as she rubbed at her itchy nose against his robes. Theo adjusted his hold without thinking, brushing his thumb gently along her back until her body went slack again, weight settling against him.
Theodore Nott was not a single father.
Absolutely not.
He wasn’t even a father if one wanted to argue technicalities—and frankly, he did. Loudly. Frequently. If he wasn’t considered a father, then you certainly couldn’t be considered a mother. It was only fair. Balanced. Logical.
And yet.
If he was being forced to look after a suction cup turned human child—day in and day out—then he didn’t see why you got to take the easy way out and keep avoiding her. Avoiding them.
It felt less like co-parenting and more like he was chasing you down for childcare payments.
So he handed Bianca off to Mattheo—who was, once again, skipping class and therefore had no grounds to complain—and went looking for you.
He caught you just as Potions let out, students flooding into the corridor in clusters of laughter and complaints. Theo slipped through them with singular purpose and grabbed your elbow just outside the classroom doors.
You startled, turning sharply, “Nott? What do you need?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what this is about,” He hissed, releasing you only to cross his arms over his chest, “Go see your child.”
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, “She’s not my kid.”
“She’s as much yours as she is mine,” Theo shot back, frustration flaring hot in his chest, “and it’s not fair that I’m the one looking after her all day.”
“We can’t even speak the same language.”
“She’s three,” He snapped, “All you need to do is watch her while she plays with toys or draws or—Merlin—something.”
“She doesn’t even want to come with me.”
The words hit harder than he expected.
“Maybe she would,” Theo said, quieter but still sharp, “if you spent more time with her.”
The conversation had officially crossed into absurd territory. Theo felt like every dramatic woman in those ridiculous telenovelas his mother used to watch—hands flying, emotions everywhere, dignity nowhere to be found.
You scoffed, “Oh, come off it, Nott. Don’t you find it strange that she can only speak Italian? Nothing else? Not even my first language?”
Theo frowned, but you weren’t finished.
“She never comes to me first,” You continued, voice tightening, “Never asks me for help when she’s eating. Never reaches for me when she wants something. You’re always her first choice. Have you noticed that?”
His mouth opened—closed again.
“And,” You went on, softer now, more brittle, “you know she never lets me carry her? Not even once. And believe me, I’ve tried. She squirms out of my arms every time.”
The anger he’d carried with him faltered.
He could see it then—the hurt etched into your expression, raw and unguarded. Theo shifted, frowning, “She’s just… not used to—”
“I don’t think that’s it.” You interrupted quietly.
You hesitated. Took a breath.
“What if,” You said, voice barely above a whisper now, “what if in the future… I’m not there?”
Theo’s chest went cold.
“No,” Theo said quickly, the word cutting through the silence like he could sever the thought itself, “No. That’s—there are other explanations.”
You looked at him, eyes searching his face.
“Like what?” You asked.
He exhaled sharply, already reaching, “Maybe we just—split up. In the future. People do that. All the time.”
Your mouth twisted, humorless, “Right. So either I’m dead, or I’m a deadbeat.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s exactly what you said,” You shot back, “Because if I’m alive and well and present, Theo, then why doesn’t she know my language? Why doesn’t she come to me? Why doesn’t she trust me?”
His jaw clenched, “You don’t know that she doesn’t—”
“She doesn’t,” You said quietly, firmly, “And you know it.”
He felt like he couldn't breathe. His hand twitched at his side.
Theo shook his head, hands curling into fists at his sides, “You’re making assumptions."
"I don't want to confuse her," You snapped, "What if I spend time with her now and she goes back to a future where she's confused that future me doesn't? Don't you think it's better for her to not be left with any painful memories?"
"Fuck this." He said harshly.
You stared at him, stunned, “Theodo—”
He turned away before you could finish.
He needed a fucking cigarette.
Theo didn’t look at you when you spoke.
“I thought I might find you here.” You sighed, stepping into the Astronomy Tower. The night air was sharp, the stars cruelly clear.
He only glanced at you once before turning back to the edge, exhaling smoke into the dark. The orange tip of his cigarette flared, then dimmed.
He hadn’t gone back before bedtime like he’d promised Bianca.
The thought twisted in his chest—but he shoved it down. Mattheo would handle it. He told himself Mattheo would’ve worn her out enough that she’d gone down on her own. That she’d fallen asleep surrounded by noise and laughter and familiar faces. That she wouldn’t notice.
But he couldn’t go back now. Not like this. Not smelling like smoke and guilt and the kind of fear that hollowed you out from the inside.
You shifted, eyes flicking to the small graveyard of cigarette stubs at his feet, and visibly bit back a comment.
“You can’t seriously be that upset at the thought of me dying, are you, Nott?” You said lightly, like it was a joke you didn’t quite believe in, “After all, we aren’t anything to each other.”
Theo’s fingers stilled.
Truthfully, he wasn’t.
Not in the way you meant.
It wasn’t you he was grieving.
It was the future he thought he was building.
He had thought—Merlin help him—that he was doing something right.
Thought that maybe—maybe—this was him breaking the cycle. Overcoming his own childhood, his own grief, his own scars. The way she clung to him, trusted him, sought him out—he’d taken that as proof. Proof that he was doing something right. That he was raising her in a house full of warmth. Of love.
A home that wasn’t cold.
A father who didn’t disappear into silence.
A childhood that didn’t feel like walking on broken glass.
He had thought he was undoing the damage his own father had carved into him.
Breaking the curse.
And now it felt like he was watching history fold back in on itself.
Bianca would lose her mother. Just like he had.
She’d be left in a cold home, one that hollowed out instead of held you together. She’d grow into something sharp and distant and unfeeling—just like him. Just like his father.
Would he turn into him?
Would he still be able to love Bianca if every time he looked at her, all he saw was you? Would he sit across from her in silence at meals, watching her struggle to eat in the tension, only to hear her throwing up later—alone on the bathroom floor, crying for a mother who wasn’t there?
Would he say the same vile things? Lock her in the same closet?
Would his hands—
Theo’s breath hitched.
He’d never imagined hitting a child. Never.
But perhaps his father hadn’t imagined it either. Not at first.
Perhaps he was driven to it.
He took one last drag from the cigarette and flicked it away, crushing the ember beneath his heel before reaching for another with trembling fingers.
He never got the chance to light it.
Your hand closed around his wrist.
Firm. Steady.
He stilled.
Slowly, his focus shifted—really shifted—to you.
For the first time since Bianca had seen you, since the world had tilted on its axis, he truly looked at your face.
And there it was.
Your eyes.
Or rather—
Bianca’s.
His throat closed, eyes flickering over your face as he began to compare the two of you when your nose began to twitch, the smell of the smoke finally getting to you.
"Achoo!"
Theo couldn't help but let out a dry breath of laughter.
“You should spend time with her,” He said finally, voice rough—scraped raw by smoke and something dangerously close to tears, “I wanted nothing more than to remember my mother when she died.”
The words hung between you, fragile and devastating.
Theo swallowed.
“She deserves that,” He added quietly, “And so do you.”
Morning came quietly in the Slytherin dorms. The others had already left the dorm to get breakfast and begin classes.
Theo had been awake long before it—again. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the small lump buried beneath his blankets. Bianca had twisted herself sideways sometime in the night, curls exploding in every direction, one chubby foot sticking out from under the covers like a silent rebellion.
“Bianca,” He murmured gently, nudging the lump, “È mattina.” (It's morning.)
She made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whine and promptly rolled onto her stomach, hugging the pillow tighter.
“No,” She mumbled sleepily, “Ho sonno…” (I'm sleepy)
Theo blinked, staring at the blanket-wrapped lump that was technically his responsibility. For a fleeting moment, he considered letting her sleep—just fifteen more minutes, surely that wouldn’t hurt.
But experience had already taught him better.
If she slept in, she’d be feral by noon. No nap. No quiet. No sleep later. Which meant another night of pacing the dorm with a squirming toddler while his own body begged for rest.
He sighed. The deep, tired, fatherly kind—the one he was rapidly perfecting.
Just as he leaned forward to try again, there was a knock at the door.
Theo froze.
His mind leapt immediately to the all possibilities.
Professor McGonagall, stern and efficient, here to inform him they’d finally found a way to send Bianca back to her own time.
Or worse—here to say they couldn’t.
Another knock followed. Softer. Hesitant.
Theo stood slowly, smoothing a hand through his already-mussed hair, heart doing something distinctly unhelpful in his chest. When he opened the door, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting.
But it was you.
You stood there awkwardly, hands clasped in front of you like you might bolt at any second. You weren’t in your uniform—dressed casually instead—and floating just behind you was a small enchanted tray, stacked with breakfast.
Theo’s brows lifted despite himself.
“Oh,” He said. Guarded. Careful. “…Morning.”
You hesitated, then offered a small, tentative smile.
“I brought breakfast.”
Behind him, there was sudden movement.
Bianca’s head popped up from the blankets, curls crushed on one side of her face, eyes still hazy with sleep.
She stared at you for half a second before her entire expression lit up.
“Mama!”
Theo barely had time to react before she scrambled upright, tangling herself in the covers.
“Buongiorno?” You said, tilting your head as you stepped inside, “I—uh. I’m hoping I'm pronouncing that right.”
Theo stepped aside as you entered, watching carefully as Bianca scooted closer, clutching her blanket around her shoulders like a cape. You set the tray down on the bedside table and sat beside her without hesitation.
Breakfast became a quiet, shared thing.
Bianca sat between the two of you on the bed, half-awake but cooperative, munching on cut fruit and toast while you worked patiently through the knots in her hair. She winced once, then relaxed when your touch stayed gentle.
“I used to have curls like this too.” You said softly, lifting a section of her hair.
Theo glanced over, wondering why you were saying this. Perhaps you were just getting sick of being out of the loop while Theo constantly reminded Bianca not to chew with her mouth open, “Really?”
You hummed, “Yeah. Until I spent one entire summer swimming. Completely ruined them.”
"Oh." He muttered.
“And then,” You continued, amused, “I discovered Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion and never really went back.”
You began sectioning her hair, fingers moving more confidently now, twisting it into neat little ponies.
Theo slid the tray closer to you, “You sure you don’t want some?”
You shook your head lightly, “I already ate.”
Bianca paused mid-bite, brows knitting together. She looked up at you, then spoke quietly.
“Mamma… stai male di nuovo?” (Are you sick again?)
Theo stiffened slightly, “…Cosa intendi?” (What do you mean?)
Bianca shrugged, matter-of-fact in the way only children could be, “A volte la mamma sta male e non riesce a mangiare.” (Sometimes mommy gets sick and can’t eat.)
Theo looked at you slowly, something uneasy settling in his chest.
You tilted your head, confused, "Am I missing something?"
The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet.
Theo had never realized just how quiet it could get when everyone was actually in class. On the rare occasions he skipped, he was usually surrounded by his noisy gaggle of friends—laughter, insults, the scrape of chairs. Now, with most of the students gone, the space felt cavernous, almost reverent.
Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, casting lazy rectangles of gold across the stone floor. The lake beyond the glass shimmered faintly, shadows drifting slowly along the walls.
Theo sat at one of the long tables, a textbook open in front of him. Beside him, Bianca occupied her own chair, perched atop a cushion to give her some height. Even then, she barely reached the tabletop—her upper body completely propped up on her elbows as she strained forward, tongue poking out in concentration.
A piece of parchment lay in front of her, covered in colorful scribbles, and a box of crayons sat nearby—formerly one of Theo’s cigarette packs, now successfully transfigured.
You sat on his other side.
Your space had slowly expanded until it spilled over into his—parchment and quills scattered between you, a textbook here, a notebook there. You leaned in to show him a particularly complicated potion formula, pointing at your notes with the tip of your wand.
“So yesterday, we covered the difference between tinctures and infusions,” You explained, flipping through your notebook until you found the relevant lecture, “I wrote the key points here—see? You mostly just need to memorize the ratios.”
Theo scanned your notes, brow furrowing as he compared them to the questions listed beneath. He tapped one section with his finger.
“What about this one?” He asked, “It doesn’t match the ratio.”
You leaned closer to see what he was pointing at, scooting nearer without thinking, “Oh—okay, this one’s an exception. It’s considered an infusion because of the brewing process, not the base ingredients.”
You were just about to continue when Bianca suddenly sat upright, eyes wide, like she’d uncovered a great secret.
“Papà! Mamma! Guarda!” She chirped, spinning the parchment toward you with pride.
You leaned in immediately, your expression softening.
It was a drawing—very clearly the three of you. Stick figures, yes, but unmistakable. One tall with dark hair. One beside him with longer hair. And a much smaller one in the middle, curls drawn in chaotic loops. Behind you stood a crooked little house, flowers floating inexplicably in midair, and a tiny sun tucked into the corner of the page.
You laughed quietly, “This is adorable.”
Bianca smiled, satisfied, but said nothing—already basking in the praise.
You turned to Theo, “What’s wow in Italian?”
He shifted his gaze from the drawing to you, and it was only then you realized just how close you’d gotten—practically halfway into his seat. At this distance, you could see every individual lash, the faint shadows beneath his eyes.
You froze.
Theo leaned in, lowering his head toward your ear. When he spoke, his voice was low and lazy, far too close.
“Wow." He said simply.
You pulled back just enough to glare at him, “You’re unbearable.”
A corner of his mouth lifted, “You asked.”
Theo hadn’t planned on going to the Hufflepuff house party.
Not really.
But you’d insisted—gentle, firm in that way that made it hard to argue without sounding like an idiot.
“Go,” You’d said, already kneeling to help Bianca with her pajamas, “You haven’t been out in days. You deserve a night that doesn’t involve a sticky toddler."
Bianca had protested briefly, arms looping around his neck like a vise, but you’d distracted her with some Jaffa cakes. That seemed to do it.
So he went.
There was music. Laughter. Too many people packed into a common room that smelled faintly of firewhisky and bad decisions. Mattheo handed him a drink almost immediately.
Theo stared at it.
Then thought of Bianca—overtired, unfamiliar bed, the very real possibility that she’d decide midnight was an appropriate time to throw a tantrum and demand to be taken back to Theo's dorm only to be greeted by his drunk self.
He handed it back.
“No?” Mattheo blinked.
“No.” Theo said flatly.
He stayed long enough to prove he’d tried. Not to himself but to you. Who he knew would give him a teasing scold when he'd come back early, tail tucked between his legs.
And then—quietly, without much fanfare—he left.
The Slytherin dorms were dim when he returned, the corridors hushed and cool. He moved carefully, like any loud noise might break something fragile.
When he opened his door, the first thing he noticed was the lamp.
Low. Warm. Soft golden light spilling across the room.
The second thing—
You were there, curled on your side beneath his blankets, Bianca tucked against your chest like she belonged there. One of your arms was draped protectively around her small body, fingers curled instinctively at her back. Bianca’s face was pressed into your collarbone, curls splayed wildly across the pillow.
Fast asleep.
Theo stopped just inside the doorway.
Something tight in his chest loosened. Something else replaced it—heavier, warmer, far more dangerous.
You’d kicked off your shoes, throwing off your jacket as well in favour of casting a warming charm over the two of you right as you had fallen asleep. Bianca’s tiny hand was fisted in the fabric of your shirt, anchoring herself.
Theo approached slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He studied your face.
A loose strand of hair had fallen across your cheek, brushing your lips. In your sleep, your brow pinched faintly, nose scrunching in the exact same way Bianca’s did.
He let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle before he could stop himself.
Carefully—so carefully—he reached out and brushed the strand of hair away from your face with two fingers.
You stirred.
Not fully awake—just enough to shift closer to Bianca, murmuring something soft and unintelligible. Your hand tightened reflexively around her back.
Theo froze.
Bianca was going to lose this one day.
She was going to lose this—the warmth, the safety, the arms of her mother.
He was going to lose this someday.
He didn't want to lose you.
He wanted you for the rest of his life.
The thought hit hard and fast, knocking the breath out of his chest.
He swallowed, jaw tightening, eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall of Bianca’s back. On the way your fingers curved protectively at her spine even in sleep, like your body knew the job before your mind ever caught up.
Then you shifted again.
This time more sharply.
Your eyes blinked open, unfocused and glassy with sleep, lashes fluttering as you took in the dim room. For half a second, you looked confused—then awareness snapped in all at once.
You stiffened.
“Oh—Merlin—” You whispered hoarsely, lifting your head an inch before immediately freezing again when Bianca huffed and burrowed closer.
You blinked.
You slowly sank back down, mortified.
Theo watched as realization dawned on your face.
Then, horrified, you wiped at the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.
“I—” You croaked, then cleared your throat quietly, “I wasn’t… I wasn’t actually asleep.”
Theo raised a brow.
You winced, “Okay. That’s a lie. I was trying not to fall asleep.”
He stayed silent, letting you dig.
“I was pretending,” You continued in a rushed whisper, cheeks warming, “I thought if I stayed really still she’d think it was bedtime and settle down and—well—apparently I fell asleep first.”
Theo huffed out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh.
You shot him a look, “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
You sighed, rubbing your face with one hand, careful not to jostle Bianca, “This is so embarrassing.”
Theo didn’t respond right away.
Instead, he stood, crossed the room quietly, and took the blanket draped over the chair. His movements were careful—deliberate—as he unfolded it and drew it up over you and Bianca, tucking it in around her small shoulders before letting it settle across your waist.
“You can sleep here tonight,” He said finally, voice low. Then, after a beat, softer, “If you want.”
You blinked up at him, the last of sleep still clinging to you.
“Here?” You asked, whispering like the room might object.
He shrugged one shoulder, “She’s already settled. No point moving her.”
You hesitated.
Then nodded, “Okay.”
Theo’s jaw loosened, just a little.
A few days later, Theo was running on fumes.
The bone-deep exhaustion that settled behind his eyes and refused to leave. The kind that made time blur and thoughts lag half a second behind reality. Between the staggered schedules, half-missed classes, and nights that never quite counted as sleep, he felt like he was permanently five minutes behind himself.
You weren’t doing much better.
The professors still hadn’t found a way to send Bianca back, which meant the two of you had fallen into a strange, grinding rhythm: one of you attending class while the other watched her, trading off half-written notes—if by some miracle you hadn’t fallen asleep mid-lecture. You were grateful the professors were granting you at least that much grace.
The rest of the time was spent cramming together right before bedtime while Bianca threw a tantrum of truly mythological proportions.
It turned out she’d woken up once to find the two of you studying together and had somehow come to the conclusion that whenever she went to sleep, you and Theo threw secret parties without her.
So now—despite being exhausted—she refused to sleep.
You hadn’t known children could get overtired before.
Apparently, it was a thing.
A loud, shrill, nails-on-a-chalkboard thing.
Bianca was a small whirlwind. All limbs and laughter and boundless, feral energy that refused to burn out indoors.
So when you suggested a picnic by the Black Lake, Theo thought you’d finally lost your mind.
“You want to let her run free,” He said flatly, “near a giant squid.”
“She just needs to run,” You insisted, rubbing your temples, “Like—really run. Until her lungs give out.”
Theo stared at you, hollow-eyed.
“…You’re a genius.”
So there you were.
The grass near the lake was warm beneath the afternoon sun, the water dark and glassy, the mountains reflected on its surface like a painting. A blanket was spread out behind you with food you’d asked the house-elves to make—and while it looked incredible, you were deeply offended by the lack of sweets.
Apparently the elves had decided Bianca didn’t need sugar.
Who cared about Bianca?
You wanted a chocolate lava cake, damn it.
Bianca, meanwhile, had already abandoned the blanket entirely.
She shrieked with laughter as Theo lifted her into the air, spinning once before tossing her just high enough to make her squeal—then catching her easily.
“Ancora!” She demanded, breathless. (Again.)
Theo obliged.
He laughed—really laughed. Not the tired, guarded version you’d grown used to, but something lighter, freer. He threw her again, caught her, bounced her once on his hip before setting her down just long enough for her to sprint off in a wild, crooked circle.
You watched from the blanket.
At first, it was just fondness. Relief. Gratitude that she was finally burning off that impossible energy. You couldn’t deny it—the sound of a child laughing so freely tugged a smile from you before you could stop it.
Then your gaze shifted.
Theo crouched when she spoke, his attention completely zeroed in on her. When she stumbled, he steadied her without thinking. When she reached for him, he went instantly—lifting her with an ease that felt instinctive, like muscle memory he’d never known he had.
And something in your chest shifted.
Warm.
Tight.
Soft in a way you hadn’t expected.
He stole your breath.
You stared at him.
At the boy you’d never really noticed. The boy you’d fully expected to graduate without so much as a conversation between you. Someone who, before all of this, would’ve been nothing more than a footnote—if that—in the story of your life.
Not your ending.
And yet the realization hit you so suddenly you almost laughed.
Somewhere—somewhen—years from now, a version of you would love him enough to choose to have a child with this man.
And now?
You got it.
You got the vision your future self must have seen when she decided to lock him down.
You supposed it made sense that you’d never seen Theo like this before. He was just a boy—how could you possibly know whether a teenage boy would grow into someone steady? Someone safe. Someone capable of love that endured, of support that didn’t waver.
A man you could build a life with.
But watching him now—watching him lift Bianca again as she squealed, watching the way his hand stayed firm at her back—your stomach flipped.
Your brain short-circuited.
Your ovaries, traitors that they were, staged a full rebellion.
And for the first time, the future didn’t feel impossible.
It felt inevitable.
You stood abruptly and joined them, brushing grass from your skirt. “Alright,” You said, “My turn.”
You bent to lift Bianca—
“No!” She protested instantly.
She wriggled out of your arms with shocking strength for someone so small and darted straight back to Theo, wrapping herself around his leg like an anchor.
Your smile slipped. Just for a heartbeat.
“Oh—okay,” You said quickly, forcing it back into place, “That’s fine. Totally fine.”
You took a step back, suddenly unsure of where to put your hands, your weight, yourself. The breeze off the Black Lake felt colder now. You stared out at the water instead of them, swallowing the strange tightness in your chest.
Theo noticed.
He frowned, glancing between you and Bianca, then crouched so he was level with her. Gently, carefully, he loosened her grip just enough to look at her face.
“Perché non vuoi che mamma ti prenda?” He asked softly. (Why don’t you want mamma to pick you up?)
The word mamma hit you even before you processed it.
You turned away a little more, heart stuttering. You didn’t understand the rest of what he said, not really. You suddenly felt like you were standing on the edge of something sacred and private, like you’d wandered into a family photograph you didn’t belong in.
Bianca’s face scrunched up, serious in that way only children could be when they believed they were being very reasonable.
“Mamma è troppo malata per portarmi, papà,” She said firmly, “Lo sai.” (Mamma's too sick to take me, papa. You know that.)
Theo froze.
The world seemed to tilt, just slightly.
Theo’s eyes flicked to you slowly.
You tilted your head, not knowing how spines began to claw up his hands and feet, making him feel cold, "What's wrong?"
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
as promised, here's a treat for my mattheo riddle girlies ‹3 i hope you like it and feels ?? canon ?? because i honestly think that this is sooo matt coded. anyways! tysm for all the love and support. 🌷
warnings : obvious explicit mentions of sexual content, meant for +18 readers; read at your own risk.
’⭑ 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 : 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌.﹙★﹚
﹙★﹚ in one word, mattheo riddle is messy. that's the way that mattheo loves the most: messy, passionate, nasty, almost impulsive. a mess of feelings and urges alone.
despite seeking for his own pleasure, mattheo prides himself as someone who can satisfy both himself and his partner.
WHEN EATING YOU OUT, mattheo doesn't hold back. incapable of sticking to something for a long moment, he's a mess— running his flat tongue between your lips, then kissing your nub with a loud wet sound; mattheo doesn't care at all if the lewd sound of his lips and mouth on you rival your own moans. he's here to ravish you, so take it without complains, yeah?
more often than not, mattheo is one to use both his fingers and mouth. languidly kissing your core, almost messily making out with your clit, mattheo stretches you out with his fingers, scissoring the tight walls before curling upwards— you swear that each time he does this, you can feel him smirking against your sensitive skin.
empty bedroom, broom closet, locker rooms aftee quidditch practice; mattheo riddle doesn't give a flying fuck.
he's loud and vocal, deal with it. what's there to be embarrassed about? let the whole school know how much mattheo loves to drop to his knees for his girl.
honorable mention that no one has the balls to make a clownery comment about it. mattheo sent assholes with broken noses to the infirmary wing for much less.
mattheo isn't one to spread your legs while eating you out. he wouldn't make your legs tired right in the beginning— the slytherin needs them strong, not sore, to keep up with the way he'll manhandle you afterwards.
besides, mattheo is insanely addicted to the feeling of your thighs clenching around his head, making him feel the warm and smooth skin of those inner thighs almost suffocate him, from his place between your legs.
non ironically jokes about that being the most heavenly way to die. mentioned it once during a conversation with his friends— about dying like this. with honor—, his smug expression deeply contrasting with your embarrassed one.
whenever possible, nevermind if he's having you sat on a desk, chair, or standing up against a wall with him on his knees for you— mattheo finds a way to have one hand pleasuring you, in sync with his eager tongue, and the other sneakily on your chest.
his fingers barely give attention to your nipples; he's so not sorry, but there's no way that mattheo can help himself— his hand cups your bare breast, yanking the bothersome bra downwards or pushing it upwards, anything to have his palm on that soft skin that drives him insane.
groaning, with his face buried in your middle, mattheo squeezes your chest with a greedy touch. damn right that all of you belongs to him.
﹙★﹚ : SOME KINKS OF HIS, might include:
⋆ spitting : mattheo has heard and ignored comments that refer to this as something disgusting; he can't help it— to him, this is so hot. definitely has a thing for spitting inside your mouth, whenever you're facing him, underneath his heavy body. would also spit on your core before being inside you, or eating you out. prefers to be the one giving, instead of receiving; even so, mattheo would find it hot if you did so on his cock, before giving him a handjob or using your mouth.
⋆ biting : all i say is, good luck. mattheo riddle can't properly put it into words, however, his love for bodies who look a bit more chubby, where his hands can grab and squeeze, are also enthralling to him because there's a lot of room to bite. thighs? he'll spend a long time there, even if mattheo doesn't have the intention to take it further— he just likes the feeling of your skin inside his mouth, biting into it! neck too, which can be a nuisance sometimes; you never know if mattheo is burying his face on the crook of your neck because he's sleepy or in the mood of creating more bruises there. hard bites. like, the ones that hurt like a bruise after a few days.
⋆ choking : this man loves to have a hand around your neck, as if it is a collar that dictates his ownership over you. his hand there, fingers curling around the skin of your neck that he positively filled with bruises, so easily cups your jaw, keeping your face on his direction, facing him. this same hand is the one that is quick to slap your face a couple of times, hitting your cheek with his fingertips— enough to make it sting for brief seconds, not really bruising your face.
well, the same can't be said about your hips, thighs and ass. mattheo doesn't hold back there.
⋆ anal : would do his best to convince, or at least tempt you into trying it once with you. even so, should you not feel comfortable with it, mattheo would happily hold on to what he can do instead— if your limit are plugs, and you accept to wear it sometimes, mattheo is already over the moon.
hungrily licks over it while using his fingers on you, his wet muscle feeling the skin of your rim and the cold metal of your plug, pressuring his fingers on it. would want to do it in positions that gives him a good vision of the plug inside you, thumbs brushing over the skin of your asscheeks and the toy deep inside your other hole. it drives him crazy.
however! if even plugs aren't something that you'd feel comfortable with or want to try, mattheo accepts that he wasn't able to make the idea tempting for you. and, like a good loser— which doesn't apply to quidditch— mattheo will be more than happy with what he can get. which means, leaving a mess of handprints, finger marks, vicious bites and hickeys on your asscheeks.
⋆ not a rope bunny : even though being tied up or doing so to his partner is something that some people view as, well, something to spice up a relationship— mattheo doesn't perceive it that way at all. even the thought of having you tied up isn't charming to him; if anything, mattheo might pin down your wrists with his hand for a moment, but that's as far as it goes, with restricting touches; because mattheo, too, loves the feeling of your hands on him.
and let me tell you: this man would hate being tied up. what do you mean he can't touch you? mattheo can promise to hold back from thrusting up or switching positions, to be in control— but please don't prevent him from touching you. mattheo would look at you so genuinely sad, that he can't cup your chest or feel the skin of your thighs, much less get your ass squeezed by his greedy, warm hands. :(
⋆ biggest victim of cockwarming : no, not even for a bet. mattheo wouldn't be able to resist the temptation. for starters, why would he entertain the idea of not moving at all? mattheo is all too starved and hungry for you to be still; he might hold on for a few moments just to satisfy your requests, but ultimately, his patience will run out and he'll show you how it's a hundred times better to do something about it.
⋆ ¹overstimulation : believe it or not, mattheo wouldn't purposefully overstimulate his partner. however, when intentional, only happens if mattheo wants to prove a point, usually fueld by jealousy— because whatever guy you were laughing with, couldn't possibly making you tremble and fall apart on his arms like this, right? and yet, mattheo might also be tempted to use this as a punishment for bratty behavior.
⋆ ²edging : rarely ever does this to his partner; mattheo enjoys bringing pleasure to you, not finding satisfaction on depriving you from an orgasm if he's got you so close, so high for his touch alone. rather than torturing you, mattheo finds more enjoyment on the sight of having you coming undone on his fingers, tongue, or cock. coaxes and encourages you to do so as well, having little to no care over clothes, sheets or surfaces getting wet.
HOWEVER, mattheo is one to dealy his own release. mattheo riddle is addicted to the feeling of pleasure given by you; your hands, mouth, the feeling of slipping inside you— mattheo never wants it to end.
strategically finds ways to last longer with you, by switching positions, giving him a few seconds to calm down, if he feels like he's almost there. won't ever leave you unsatisfied; even if he finishes before you, and can't go on, then mattheo is more than happy to make you come in another way.
⋆ experimentalist : mattheo let's you do anything and everything to him— leaving little room to things that he would never be tempted to try out. is there something you want to try? perhaps a new kink in the list? he's all for it, like a puppy trailing right behind you.
so you want to use him like a toy? suit yourself; mattheo is already on the process of stripping out his clothes, moving to lay down on the bed. something more risky? his fingers intertwine with yours, that devilish mind of his already thinking about time, place, and what he'd love to do with you. unironically, mattheo riddle would even let you put a bow on it, if you so much as asked him to do it. there's practically nothing that he shies away from doing with you.
⋆ blood / knife play : listen. if mattheo's kinks were to be explain with an iceberg, this one would be on the bottom of it. mattheo knows how bad this sounds— that the sight of blood can spark some worse assumptions about him, that are already as bad as they can get. even worse if he explains how charming it sounds for him, how it gets him hot and bothered, the idea of carving his initials on that pretty smooth skin of yours.
m.r. two letters, ones that he traces in random trees around school, when he's feeling bored of his friends' conversation. m.r., easy to write, due to previous practice.
it's a terribly territorial, even possessive craving of his; mattheo riddle can't excuse that urge that resonates deeply within him. and if you indulge this fantasy of his, or ask to do the same to him? mattheo wouldn't live for the embarrassment of how hard that would instantly get him.
﹙★﹚: FAVORITE POSITIONS. .ᐟ
⋆ REVERSE COWGIRL is a favorite of his, specifically for the heavenly sight of you, watching you struggle as he relaxes against the mattress. enjoying the show, his eyes darken as he watches you struggle to bounce on his shaft— feeling, admiring each time that your ass harshly meets the skin of his groin, prominent with each movement of your hips. no doubts that mattheo will smack your ass if your rhythm falters even for a second.
⋆ PRONE BONE, as soon as mattheo gets you as comfortable as you can get. fixing a pillow under your hips to make it easier for the two of you— not only getting you to arch your back, presenting your rear to him, but also to improve your comfort before he takes it all on you.
⋆ AGAINST A WALL works all too well for mattheo, as someone who prides himself on his strength and muscles, having a build that allows those obvious lines marking his four pack abs.
( mattheo would die right there and then, if you ever used them. as in, giving up on using any pillows to rub and grind against him instead, letting mattheo feel how wet he gets you over his firm skin. would have the best smoke of his life as he watches you, murmuring praises and encouraging you to use him as a toy. )
(...) ⋆ not just in bed, but in general— mattheo riddle loves displaying how strong he is; how much weight he can take and strength he has. the first he showcases with you on his arms; the latter he wordlessly brags with each dislocated jaw that comes from his doing. so carrying you and lifting you off the floor is a favorite, almost instinctive, action for mattheo.
sometimes he's so into this, that he won't seek for a surface— not even a bloody desk, much less the comfort of a sofa or bed— pinning you against the wall. his hands lower down your body, feeling the curve of your waist, giving a greedy squeeze to your bottom, until his hands settle for the back of your thighs, easily hoisting you up from the floor. it's nothing for mattheo to have you in this position for a while— he's bloody thankful for it. his hands greedily squeeze the skin at hand, pressing himself between your legs, grinding your middle with his bulge.
⋆ not really a position itself, but mattheo goes INSANE for DRY HUMPING. this man loves nasty, messy sex; creaming his pants as you grind on his clothed bulge, feeling you getting wetter and wetter until your underwear becomes a mess on top of him— it gets mattheo every. single. time.
﹙★﹚: PREFERRED PLACES. .ᐟ
the privacy of a bedroom is one that mattheo can't ignore, or deny, given his previous experiences. doesn't really mind if the two of you do it in yours, or his dorm— however, mattheo has a slight preference for his dorm room, because he knows where to find what he needs, which drawer, which nightstand, reaching for it blindly.
HOWEVER, mattheo isn't one to pass an opportunity, and being one to indulge his desire and need over you, passing by as an exhibitionist isn't something that mattheo is scared to do.
⋆ locker rooms, specifically right after practice or a quidditch match. if mattheo had to choose a place, then he wouldn't need to think a lot about this one. as someone who has a lot of pent up energy, there's something about him being all sweaty from giving his all as slytherin's beater, then riding the adrenaline off on — in — you.
⋆ ... bonus points if it happens inside a shower stall, the two of you hidden by a single curtain, moans and groans muffled by the sound of water falling down your bodies.
⋆ empty classrooms, strategically used during key moments of day or nightime, when there's the reassurance that it won't be used anytime soon in the next couple of hours. mostly during meal time, given that even professors would be too busy on the other side of the castle. there's something about bending you over an abandoned desk or getting you sat up on the currently unused professor's desk, for mattheo— he can't exactly say if it's about the thrill of breaking unwritten rules, or the way it somehow challenges their authority.
⋆ broom closets, which mattheo would preferably only use for the sake of a make out, during those days that your routines don't seem to match, for some cruel reason. if he misses you too much, separated due to different classes, different schedules, mattheo will steal you for a few minutes to get much deserved kisses. aching for the feeling of his skin against his again. however, it rarely develops into sex— the most it might get to, is giving him a blowjob or mattheo using his fingers on you; otherwise, broom closets are too tiny, too uncomfortable for more.
which mattheo had to accept, after almost getting caught because in the middle of his enthusiasm, mattheo knocked off a few brooms on the floor.
﹙★﹚ MORE RANDOM HEADCANONS :
if you asked him whether mattheo prefers ass or boobs, he'd say that HE CHOOSES BOTH. now, if you pressured him into choosing just one— mattheo seriously takes long minutes to decide. full on blank stare into nothingness, barely blinking as his mind uses all of his concentration to do the mathematics of which part of your body he prefers. after long minutes of indecision, chooses your ass, almost mourning it, as if mattheo would wake up to never stare at your chest again.
THE TYPE OF SLAP YOUR ASS AT ANY GIVEN CHANCE. mattheo riddle loses his life, but never a joke. mattheo riddle might be yelled at by you, but won't miss the opportunity to indulge that guilty pleasure of landing a smack on your ass.
TALKS YOU THROUGH IT. doesn't shut up for the life of him; vocal, because he wants you to know how good you make him feel, and would love it if you do the same.
would learn HOW TO BE GENTLE now that he's dating, given that mattheo loses himself to the intense feelings of craving and desiring you. you blink, and suddenly mattheo is carrying you to the bed, about to remove your shirt and already on his third hickey.
SO INTO THE IDEA OF BEING SLAPPED. initially, mattheo thinks that he'd be fucking pissed if a girl dared to lay a hand on him — he can sent bigger assholes flying through the astronomy tower, who the hell are you to hit him, chipmunk? — but then. then he gets a slap from you.
dark eyes become wide, staring at a spot on the floor as his face barely moves to the side, feeling the tingle of a slight pain on his cheek. mattheo looks back to you; instead of yelling at you or being pissed at what you did—
he's horny. seriously, mattheo might find reasons to make you angry at him, so that he can marvel at how hot you look while you're furious at him, craving another slap like a bloody giggling teenager.
RARELY ACTS SUBMISSIVE, yet would let you take control if you wanted to be the one leading this time. however, mattheo has the hardest time to keep his hands to himself, or be the one to set the pace.
⋆ wouldn't tell a soul, but he jerks off the most at the memory of that time you rode him, and while bouncing on his cock, your hand hit his cheek, giving him a slap for trying to hurry the pace. you could swear you saw his pupils dilate.
doesn't mind for QUICKIES, AND HONESTLY LIKES THEM ALL THE SAME. there's something about being hidden by your skirt, and pulling your panties to the side, only to know that he's probably dripping right to that soft fabric, preventing it from lewdly trailing down your thighs. call him a pervert— mattheo is just a man with some territorial issues.
and that's probably why MATTHEO THINKS THAT IT'S SO ATTRACTIVE to still have some clothes on. he's obsessed for the sight of your body, at any given chance, and yet— ripping most of the buttons from your shirt, clothes are pushed and pulled up, down or to the side. your bra is tugged upwards so that his mouth can tease the now bare chest, fingers already on their way to lift your skirt and pull your underwear to the side. mattheo craves the sight of you so desperate for him, the same way that he's desperate for you too, both not wanting to wait any moment longer.
A WHORE FOR TOUCHES ON HIS HAIR AND SCALP. mattheo didn't care much for his hair before, until the curly shape of his dark hair became pretty to his eyes, and wanted to take the chance of such genetics to make himself look handsome. with that said, mattheo riddle wants to leave your bed with a mess of a hair— from tugging, pulling, pushing, having your fingers running through it, or massages, rubs on his scalp. having your nails scratching (not painfully. have mercy?!) on his scalp makes this man whimper.
speaking of things that make mattheo riddle whimper: KISS OR LICK OVER THE SCARS ON HIS CHEST, and you'll see how much of a mess he'll be under your lips. the skin there is so sensible, not to mention how intimate it feels, to have his previous injuries being the center of your attention, pampered and kissed so gently.
GOES INSANE IF YOU TRACE his v-lines with your tongue. literally has to grip something to hold back.
﹙★﹚ ANGRY SEX, is something that once in a while, mattheo would like to have with his partner.
mattheo is amused at the sight of his partner angry at something, whenever it doesn't root from a confrontation with mattheo that got him annoyed as well.
the argument would escalate until he's almost yelling at your face— the moment your noses almost brush together, so close, with anger radiating from both of you— mattheo loses it and shuts you up with a kiss, putting an end to the argument. after this first heated kiss, mattheo pulls away, staring into your eyes for any hint that you are too angry to kiss him, or if you don't want him to touch you / continue what you were doing.
it's hard to insist on keeping up the argument given that between yelling at each other for another ten minutes, or having him roughly thrusting into that spot that makes you see stars— well, usually, you choose the latter.
becomes missionary if the argument continues, nevermind how the pleasure makes his mind dazed with foggy thoughts. it's doggy with his hand on the back of your head, pushing your face to bury on the mattress or the comfort of a pillow, whenever mattheo can't deal with your attitude, or has had enough of the argument. doggy it is, when it's to shut you up.
even if the argument still gnaws an ugly feeling inside yours or his mind, mattheo will pull you closer to him anyways, head over his heart, fingers running through your hair. a silent way to reassure you, and mostly himself, that it'll be okay, and a fight isn't what's going to separate the two of you.
it's a terrible terrible idea to tease mattheo by keeping your underwear on. oh, so you think it's funny to grind on him with those panties of yours? that's so funny, that mattheo will rip them too. during those days that he's too dizzy with need for you, you can anticipate grief over the underwear you're wearing. and mattheo is not apologetic at all— he keeps all of these conquered prizes on the last drawer of his desk. throwing those panties away? no, no. mattheo has a better use for them.
should anyone ever touch them or find out his dirty secret, mattheo might just be tempted to break someone's fingers. what? those are his and your panties! comunism! only between the two of you!
this man has no money left for cigarettes; mattheo will be begging theodore to share them with him, because guess what! he does have to pay for property damages.
which means, giving you money for each damaged underwear from his impatient, greedy hands. sometimes, going out to hogsmeade involves shopping for more underwear— this, while mattheo is just outside the store, smoking a cigarette as he waits for you.
he'd tell his friends that it's because he wouldn't be caught inside a lingerie store. the truth is that you have forbidden mattheo from entering one with you— this man is a tall child. a tall, menacing child.
panties would be flying, his hands would cup bras and say in a way too loud tone that: 'babe! these are your size! trust my hands, i know how your pretty tits feel like.'
worse than that, mattheo would try to speed up the process. such a thing means that he'd have a pair of panties hanging on his index finger —imagine the tiniest piece of cloth, in the most vibrant, awful tone possible— as he yells: 'princess, what about these?' with the stupidest smile because mattheo thinks that he's really funny.
so, yeah. no shopping together for underwear and lingeries. mattheo is on timeout from those.
🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.
the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷
Theo: Enzo and Y/n are missing, can you find them?
Mattheo: What, do you think I have them microchipped or something?
Draco: Well, do you?
Mattheo:
Mattheo: Yeah, hang on.
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Summary: Lady Whistledown and Gossip Girl [ Hogwarts Version] had taken the school by storm. Every week, spoken letters delivered the latest rumors, and things were getting out of control. Y/N had finally had enough, especially when the latest gossip claimed she was dating Mattheo Riddle. Frustrated and determined to put an end to it, she went to Mattheo, asking for his help in uncovering the person behind the relentless rumors and stopping them once and for all.
Words: 15k
Warnings : fluff, smut smut smut don’t read in public you have been warning , biker boy mattheo [yes a warning] , a little angst, fluff .
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**The Daily Whisperer: Hogwarts Edition**
_Issue #47: The Gossip of the Week_
Hogwarts is buzzing with the latest speculation surrounding two of our most enigmatic students. You guessed it—Y/N Y/L/N and Mattheo Riddle.
Rumor has it that sparks are flying between these two, and if they aren't already an item, then Merlin’s beard, they definitely should be! A sighting in the library, some lingering glances in Potions class, and let’s not forget that mysterious detention they both just _happened_ to land in last week. Could this be the beginning of a legendary Hogwarts love story? But that's not all! This week’s flying letters brought us another sizzling scoop: Y/N was seen practicing dueling spells with Mattheo, and let's just say, the sparks were flying—literally. Could this be a sign of something more than just friendly competition? Stay tuned, dear readers. We’re on the case!
In other news, Y/N has been making waves not just in the rumor mill but in the academic arena as well. This ( whatever house you’re in, darling Y/N!) has been impressing professors and students alike with her spellwork and potions prowess. Is there anything she can't do? We'll keep you posted on her latest achievements and, of course, any further developments in her relationship status with a certain handsome Slytherin.
Until next time, keep your wands at the ready and your ears to the ground!
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I could feel the heat of a hundred eyes on me as I stormed through the hallways, clutching the latest edition of "Hogwarts Whispers" in my hand. My anger was palpable, a tangible force pushing people aside as they gawked at me. As I turned a corner, a group of Hufflepuffs quickly scattered, clearly not wanting to be on the receiving end of my wrath. My anger flared hotter. Who had the nerve to spread such nonsense? And why did it have to be always about _me_?
Finally, I spotted him. Mattheo Riddle stood by the entrance to the Great Hall, casually leaning against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the world, his dark hair falling effortlessly into place as he exchanged easy banter with his friends. Typical.
I marched up to him, my footsteps echoing off the stone walls. His friends wisely took a step back as I approached, but he merely glanced over at me with that infuriating smirk of his, clearly amused by my arrival.
“Riddle,” I said, my voice clipped.
“Y/L/N,” he replied, raising an eyebrow in a way that made it impossible to tell if he was mocking me or just genuinely interested.
“We need to talk.”
His smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “We need to talk?”
I huffed in frustration. “You didn’t read what that freak wrote today?”
“No,” he said slowly, his eyes scanning my face for any clue. “But does that have anything to do with why people are looking at us like we are about to say our vows?”
Resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead grabbing his hand and pulling him down the hallway. “Come on.”
He chuckled under his breath, clearly enjoying the situation more than he should. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t about to have this conversation in front of the entire school. The last thing I needed was to give those gossipy little owls more fuel for their fire.
I could feel his gaze on me as we walked, his hand warm in mine, and for a brief, fleeting moment, I wondered if there was any truth to what they’d written.
But I shoved that thought aside as we reached a secluded corner. I had a bone to pick with him, and I wasn’t about to let a few stray butterflies distract me.
“What are we going to do about this?” I demanded as soon as we were out of earshot of anyone else.
He just grinned, clearly unfazed. “What do you mean, Y/N? Sounds like we’re the hottest topic in school.”
My glare deepened. “This isn’t funny, Mattheo.”
“Maybe not.”
“This is absolute bullshit!” I fumed, waving the gossip letter around like it was cursed. “Why would anyone write this? Why is it always about me? Every. Single. Week!”
Mattheo leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed, watching me with that maddening smile on his face. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned, which only fueled my irritation further.
“And then they say I’m dating you?” I threw the letter on a desk, feeling my pulse racing. “Are they insane? Where do they even get this stuff?”
He chuckled, that deep, velvety sound that always seemed to get under my skin. “I’m trying so hard not to take that personally, princess.”
I shot him a glare. “Shut up, Riddle.”
But he didn’t stop smiling, just kept leaning against the wall, looking at me like he was thoroughly enjoying the show. My frustration bubbled over. “Why are you so calm about this? This is serious! People are staring at us in the hallways! It’s like they’ve all got nothing better to do than imagine some ridiculous romance between us.”
“Well,” he drawled, pushing off the wall and taking a few steps toward me, “can you blame them? You’re not exactly easy to ignore, Y/N.”
I rolled my eyes, exasperated. “This isn’t funny. We need to find out who’s behind this, and you’re going to help me.”
Mattheo pushed himself off the wall, taking a step closer to me. "You want me to help you track down the identity of…" he paused, a playful glint in his eyes, "Madam Matchmaker?"
"Yes," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Would you do that?"
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I would never say no to my girlfriend."
"Shut up, Riddle." I stared at him, my heart skipping a beat despite the anger still boiling inside me. "I’m not your girlfriend," I insisted, my voice lacking the conviction I’d hoped for.
He raised an eyebrow, his expression smug. "That’s not what the whole school is saying."
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t ignore the way his words sent a shiver down my spine. "Shut up, Riddle."
"Don't you see how ridiculous this is?" I asked, exasperated.
He tilted his head, still not breaking eye contact. "Oh, I see it, alright. But I've got to admit, I don't mind being linked to you, Y/N. It gives me an excuse to spend more time with you."
"Shut up, Riddle."
He laughed, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You know, if you keep telling me to shut up, I might just have to find another way to occupy my mouth."
"You… you’re —-!"
"And yet, here you are, asking me for help. You must like something about me, Y/N."
I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "I like the idea of you doing something useful for once. Now, are you going to help me or not?"
He straightened up, still smiling but with a more serious glint in his eyes. "Of course I’ll help you. But you owe me one."
"Fine," I grumbled, though I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth.
The next day, I stormed into the Great Hall, clutching a rolled-up piece of parchment in my hand. I barely noticed the whispers that trailed behind me as I made a beeline for the Slytherin table, my eyes locking onto Mattheo, who was lounging back in his seat, looking completely unbothered by the chaos swirling around us.
I slammed the parchment down in front of him, making a few Slytherins glance over in curiosity.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s a list,” I said, taking a seat across from him and ignoring the way his friends were watching us with interest. “A list of suspects. I’ve narrowed it down to a few possibilities, and we need to figure out who’s responsible.”
Mattheo’s eyes flicked to the parchment, then back to me, clearly intrigued. “Go on.”
I pointed to the first name on the list. “First, there’s Carla knight. She’s always had it out for me ever since that incident in Potions last year. You know, she’s been looking for a way to get back at me ever since, she’s petty enough to spread rumors, and she’s got the connections to get them published.”
“True,” Mattheo mused, leaning back in his chair. “But Carla’s too obvious, don’t you think? She’s not exactly subtle.”
“Maybe,” I conceded, moving on to the next name. “Then there’s John Gary. He’s always been the quiet type, but that just makes him more dangerous. He’s close to the source, and he’s smart enough to cover his tracks.”
Mattheo nodded, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Interesting."
"What about Lavender Brown? She’s always gossiping, and she’s got this diary she carries around everywhere. What if she’s the one writing this stuff down and sending it off to ‘Hogwarts Whispers’?"
"Lavender’s a possibility," Mattheo admitted, his eyes flicking back up to meet mine. "But she’s more into writing about her own love life than anyone else’s. I doubt she’d be focused enough to keep tabs on us."
I grumbled under my breath and tapped my quill against the parchment, staring at the remaining names. "Then who could it be? I’ve gone through almost everyone who’s likely to be involved in this kind of thing, and none of them make sense!"
Mattheo didn’t respond immediately, and I looked up to find him just staring at me, a small, almost secretive smile on his lips.
"What the hell are you doing? Were you even listening?" I demanded, feeling my frustration rise again.
His eyes flicked over my face, lingering on my lips for a moment before he finally spoke. "Oh, I was listening, princess. It’s just hard to focus when you’re looking so damn determined. It’s… distracting."
My heart did a little flip, but I shoved that feeling down and crossed my arms. "This is serious, Riddle. Someone is spreading lies about us, and you’re just sitting here, smirking like it’s all a joke."
He chuckled softly, his eyes still locked on mine. "I’m not laughing at you. I’m just appreciating how hard you’re trying to solve this little mystery. It’s kind of… sexy."
I felt my face heat up, but I wasn’t about to let him derail me. "Stop with the compliments, Mattheo. This is important."
"Sure."
"Shut up, Riddle. I’m serious."
"So am I," he said smoothly, leaning back in his seat, his gaze still locked on mine. "But if you want to focus on this little mystery instead of the much more interesting topic of us, then go ahead."
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way his voice sent a shiver down my spine. "Fine. If you’re not going to help, then at least don’t make this harder than it already is."
Mattheo’s smirk grew as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "You know, Y/N, there are easier ways to spend time with me than concocting elaborate schemes to solve a mystery that might not even have a culprit."
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. "What are you talking about?"
He shrugged casually, his eyes never leaving mine. "Maybe someone’s just trying to push us together, and it’s working. Ever thought about that?"
"Shut up, Riddle," I snapped, though my voice lacked its usual bite.
He chuckled, his gaze never leaving mine. "Only if you make me."
I reached out to smack his arm. "Stop acting like that. This is serious!"
In a flash, Mattheo’s hand shot out, catching my wrist with a firm but gentle grip. His smile was both mischievous and reassuring as he looked at me. "Alright, but only because you’re so charming when you’re worked up."
I pulled my wrist free, trying to hide the flush creeping up my cheeks. "Just—stop distracting me. I need to figure out who’s behind this before it gets any worse."
Mattheo leaned back, still watching me with that unnerving mixture of amusement and interest. "Indeed, lead the way. I’m all ears."
For the rest of the week, I was on a mission. Every day, I dragged Mattheo around the school, from the library to the common rooms, and even to the less frequented corners of the castle. Despite his usual nonchalance, Mattheo followed along without question, his only response being that knowing smile he always seemed to have when he was around me.
We spent hours poring over potential suspects, analyzing their motives, and investigating their whereabouts. Each time I got frustrated or hit a dead end, Mattheo would patiently listen, never interrupting, and only offering occasional comments that were either strangely insightful or just plain distracting.
As we walked through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, I finally vented my frustrations. "This is ridiculous. I’ve talked to nearly everyone I can think of, and no one seems to know anything. It’s like we’re running in circles."
Mattheo’s hand brushed against mine as he walked beside me, and I could feel the warmth of his touch even through our robes. "Maybe you’re looking too hard. Sometimes, the answer isn’t in what people say but in what they don’t."
I sighed, feeling the weight of the week’s frustration pressing down on me. "I just don’t get it. Why would someone target me like this?"
He glanced at me, his expression softening. "Maybe they’re trying to get a reaction out of you."
His words, though comforting, did little to ease my worries. I shook my head and kept walking, the silence between us stretching as we turned another corner. "I don’t know how you manage to stay so calm about all this. I’m losing my mind trying to figure this out."
"You’re doing great."
"Thanks, Mattheo."
He flashed me a reassuring smile. "Anytime. Besides, it’s been… interesting, spending all this time with you. I’d say it’s been the highlight of my week."
I raised an eyebrow, giving him a wry smile. "Oh, is that so? I’m glad to be your highlight, Riddle."
He grinned, his usual mischievous glint in his eye. "You should be. And if you ever need me to be a distraction! again, just let me know."
" I hope not."
As we turned another corner in the castle, Mattheo suddenly stopped, his expression shifting from his usual playful smirk to something more serious. "Go on a date with me."
I froze, staring at him in disbelief. "What?"
"You heard me," he said, leaning against the wall with that infuriatingly confident look on his face. "Let’s go on a date."
I blinked, trying to process his words. "Why would I—what are you even talking about? We’re supposed to be figuring out who’s spreading these rumors, not giving them more fuel for the fire!"
"Exactly," he replied smoothly, crossing his arms over his chest. "If we go on a date, we can see who’s watching us, who’s interested in what we’re doing. It’ll flush out the culprit. And with the weekend coming up, whoever’s behind this will be desperate for more gossip to spread. We’ll be able to figure it out, Y/N."
I shook my head, utterly incredulous. "Absolutely not. I’m not going on a date with you."
"Why not?" he asked, his smirk returning as he stepped closer, his presence as magnetic as ever. "It’s the perfect plan. We’ll be able to spot who’s paying too much attention to us."
"Because," I stammered, feeling my heart race as he closed the distance between us, "it’s ridiculous! You’re just trying to mess with me. I know you, Mattheo. You don’t actually care about solving this, you just want to—"
"Want to what?" he interrupted, his voice low and teasing. "Think about it, Y/N. We go out, see who’s watching, think of it as an experiment. A way to gather evidences. You like evidence, don’t you?"
"I’m not going on a date with you. I refuse to give these gossips exactly what they want. I’m not some pawn in their game, and I’m certainly not going to parade around with you just to see who’s got their eyes on us."
He just kept smiling, his eyes locked onto mine with that infuriatingly calm, knowing look. "You keep telling yourself that, but deep down, you know it’s the best way to figure this out."
"No," I insisted, my voice rising slightly. "There’s no way I’m doing it. This is absurd, and I’m not falling for it. You’re just trying to—"
"Trying to what?" he echoed, taking another step closer until I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin.
I glared at him, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened. "Shut up, Riddle."
He didn’t move, his smirk widening as his gaze held mine. "You tell me to shut up again, and I will kiss the fuck out of you, princess."
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. "What?"
"You heard me," he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. "That’s the deal. You say it again, and I won’t hold back."
My face felt like it was on fire, and I could barely form a coherent thought as his words sank in. "You—you’re insane."
"Maybe," he replied, his voice low and full of intent. "But I always get what I want. And right now, what I want is to figure this out—with you."
I swallowed hard, my heart racing as I tried to gather my thoughts. "This is ridiculous."
"Is it?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, his gaze still locked onto mine. "Or is it just that you’re afraid you might actually enjoy it?"
I stared at him, my mind spinning as I tried to come up with a response. But the truth was, I was too flustered to think straight. His confidence, his intensity—it was overwhelming.
"This is stupid," I muttered, trying to muster up some semblance of defiance.
"That’s not a ‘no’."
I glared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "But this is strictly for the sake of finding out who’s behind the rumors."
I crossed my arms, trying to keep a lid on the flurry of emotions swirling inside me. "You have to behave, Riddle. No funny business, no flirting. Just… business."
"I’ll be on my best behavior."
I raised an eyebrow, trying to gauge if he was being sincere or just playing me. "Somehow, I doubt that."
He chuckled, leaning in slightly saying in a mocking tone. "Your doubt wounds me, Y/N. My favorite thing to do is be a good boy for you."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at my lips. "Sure, whatever you say."
"So," he continued, ignoring my skepticism, "tomorrow, then?"
I hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, tomorrow."
Mattheo’s gaze softened, though his smirk remained firmly in place. "Don’t be nervous. And try not to think about me too much tonight."
I scoffed, giving him a withering look. "In your dreams, Riddle."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, husky murmur. "Oh, believe me, darling. You’re in my dreams every night. But we’re not just talking in them."
My face burned as I smacked his arm again, harder this time. "I’m going to just kill someday and stop the rumors you’re insufferable, you know that?"
He just laughed, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "And yet, you keep coming back for more."
"I don’t have a choice," I shot back, starting to walk toward my dormitory with him following close behind.
"Ah, but you do," he said smoothly, keeping pace with me. "And you’re choosing to be here with me. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?"
I ignored him, focusing on the corridor ahead, even as I felt his gaze lingering on me.
We walked in silence for a moment before he spoke again, his voice soft and teasing. "You know, tomorrow’s going to be fun. You’ll see."
I rolled my eyes, still facing forward. "If by ‘fun’ you mean torturous, then sure."
Mattheo’s laughter echoed through the corridor, warm and rich. "Torturous for you, maybe. But for me? It’ll be heaven."
I stopped in front of my dormitory, turning to face him. "This is where we part ways."
He stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief. "For now. But you know, you can always invite me in if you’re feeling lonely."
Pushing him away lightly I said. "Not a chance, Riddle."
He grinned, completely unfazed. "Worth a shot."
I gave him a look, and for once, he seemed to back down. "Alright, alright. Sleep well, Y/N. And try not to think too much about tomorrow. Or about me."
I slammed the door shut in his face, cutting off his words, but I could still hear his low chuckle from the other side. Then I leaned against the door, trying to steady my racing heart.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’ve been on plenty of dates before, so why does this one feel different? I’ve had Quidditch players asking me out, and even the prince of Eldoria once tried his luck, but none of that made me feel as nervous as I am right now. And this isn’t even a real date. It’s just a… mission, right?
I stared at the mess of clothes strewn across my room, feeling utterly lost. Is this too much? Will I be overdressed if I wear it? Or is this too casual? And I can’t stop thinking about him—nope, we won’t do that. We won’t think about him or what he’s going to wear. Or not wear. No, absolutely not. We are not thinking about him without clothes. That can’t happen. I can’t stand Mattheo, right?
But why? Why can’t I stand him? I can’t remember anymore. Maybe it’s because he makes me feel so damn nervous? And I hate that. I hate losing control. I love having control over everything, and Merlin knows he wasn’t helping with that. It’s like every cell in my body is screaming, and I mean every single one.
I finally settled on a small black dress, letting my hair fall naturally around my shoulders. I added a touch of makeup and a simple necklace, convincing myself that I was doing this for me. It’s a good chance to get dressed up and look good—to myself, right? I always do. I’m a fashion icon, and I always dress well. Not for any certain someone with beautiful eyes and hair and a body that—nope, stop it, Y/N. We’re not going there.
I took a deep breath and walked out of my dorm, only to find Mattheo standing just outside my door, hand raised as if he was about to knock. He was dressed all in black, and oh, Merlin, that shirt was doing things to me.
His eyes slowly raking up and down my body. He wasn’t even trying to hide that he was looking, and when his gaze finally reached my face, it lingered on my lips before meeting my eyes.
"Matching," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. "You always wear black or gray, It’s hardly a coincidence Mattheo."
His smirk widened as he took a step closer. "Oh, baby, so you were trying to match with me?"
"What? Of course not!" I shot back, but my voice sounded less convincing than I would’ve liked. He laughed, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
I glared at him, crossing my arms. "If you don’t stop, I’m going back inside and forgetting about this so-called date,"
He raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. "Okay, okay, I’m sorry. You look stunning, Y/N. Absolutely breathtaking. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to focus on anything but you tonight."
I rolled my eyes again, though I could feel my cheeks heating up. "You’re so insufferable."
"And you’re so beautiful," he replied smoothly, taking my hand in his. "Now come on. Let’s get out of here."
I allowed him to lead me out of the castle, my heart pounding harder with every step. "Where are we going?"
"You’ll see," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice. "I promise it’s something you’ll like."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "If you’re up to something, Riddle, I swear—"
"Oh, I’m definitely up to something," he replied, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he glanced over at me, his eyes darkening slightly. "But I think you’ll enjoy it. Maybe even more than you expect."
My breath caught in my throat, and I tried to keep my voice steady. "You’re not fooling anyone, you know."
"Who said I was trying to fool you?" he shot back, his grip on my hand tightening slightly.
I tried to ignore the way his words made my pulse quicken. "You’re being annoyingly cryptic, you know that?"
"It’s part of my charm," he replied , his thumb brushing lightly over the back of my hand. "And besides, it’s worth the suspense, don’t you think?"
I looked at him, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "I think you’re enjoying this far too much."
He chuckled, his eyes darkening with a mischievous glint. "Oh, I am. But don’t pretend you aren’t, too."
As Mattheo led me down the dimly lit corridor, I couldn't help but notice the way his thumb was now tracing small circles on the back of my hand. The warmth of his touch sent shivers up my spine, and I fought to keep my thoughts from spiraling out of control.
My breath hitched slightly, but I forced myself to stay calm. "You’re really pushing it, Riddle."
"And you love it," he shot back, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear.
I pushed him away pretending to be annoyed it’s actually better to show him that I was so turned on. "Let’s just get this over with."
“Where are we going?” I asked, trying to inject some firmness into my voice, though it came out softer than I intended.
Mattheo glanced at me, a slow, almost predatory smile spreading across his lips. “Patience, darling."
I opened my mouth to retort, but the words got caught in my throat. The cool night air hit me like a wave, but it did little to quell the heat burning inside me.
“You look like you’re trying really hard not to think about what I’m going to do to you tonight,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.
I froze, my heart skipping a beat. “What… what are you talking about?”
He chuckled softly, pulling me closer until our bodies were nearly touching. “Oh, come on, Y/N. Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. About what it would feel like.”
My breath hitched, and I couldn’t stop the rush of heat that flooded my body at his words. This wasn’t happening. I wasn’t letting him get to me like this. But when he stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on my hip, I could barely think straight.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, though it was clear even to me that I was lying.
“Liar,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’ve been thinking about it. And the best part? So have I.”
I blinked up at him, trying to form a coherent response when he suddenly smirked and pointed behind me. “Relax, darling. I was talking about the ride I’m going to give you tonight.”
I followed his gaze and saw a sleek black motorcycle parked nearby. “Wait… what?” I breathed out, my heart still racing.
His smirk deepened, and he raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “What were _you_ thinking about?”
“Nothing!” I shot back, far too quickly.
“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly not buying it. He started walking toward the bike, and I followed, my steps hesitant.
“What the hell is that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at the motorcycle as if it had personally offended me.
He looked at me with exaggerated innocence. “This? It’s a bike. You know, that thing with two wheels that goes vroom?”
I glared at him, my patience wearing thin. “I know exactly what it is. I’m asking why you’re near it.”
He leaned against the bike, looking far too smug for his own good."Because we’re taking it for a ride, obviously."
“Mattheo, you didn’t… Where did you even get this from?” I asked, crossing my arms.
He grinned mischievously. “Stole it.”
My eyes widened, and I took a step back, ready to bolt. But then he laughed, shaking his head. “Kidding, darling. Just get on.”
I stared at him for a moment, debating whether I should turn around and walk back inside. But something about the way he was looking at me—challenging, teasing—made me pause. I cursed under my breath and reluctantly walked over to the bike.
As I approached, I couldn’t help but curse myself for wearing a dress. Of all nights, why did I choose tonight to be impractical? I awkwardly tried to swing my leg over the bike, careful not to flash him.
“Need some help there?”
“I’ve got it,” I snapped, finally managing to get on the bike without embarrassing myself too much.
He turned to face me, and suddenly, he was so close I could feel his breath on my face. His hands reached up, and he gently placed a helmet on my head, securing the strap under my chin. The simple act was far more intimate than it had any right to be, and I found myself holding my breath.
“You might want to hold on to me,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with suggestion.
I hesitated for a second, then wrapped my arms around his waist, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath my hands. “If you crash this thing, I’m killing you,” I muttered against his back.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through me. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ve got you.”
he started the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath us. I tightened my grip on him as we took off, the wind whipping through my hair. The cool night air rushed past us, but all I could focus on was the heat radiating from Mattheo’s body, the way his muscles tensed and flexed as he maneuvered the bike through the darkened streets.
“Enjoying yourself back there?” he called over the sound of the wind.
I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “Just keep your eyes on the road, Riddle.”
He laughed again, but there was a dark edge to it that sent a shiver down my spine. “Oh, I am. But I can’t help but think about how good you feel pressed up against me.”
My cheeks burned, and I was grateful he couldn’t see my face. “Shut up, Mattheo.”
" careful baby remember our deal?"
“Mattheo—”
“ Yes,princess?"
" don’t open your mouth please."
He laughed " Why? You don’t like it when I talk about how your hands feel on me? Or how I can feel every little movement you make?”
“No—”
“Or maybe it’s the way you’re clinging to me right now,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, more seductive. “Like you can’t get close enough. Like you don’t want this ride to end.”
I bit my lip, trying to ignore the way his words were making my heart race even faster. He was doing this on purpose, and damn him, it was working.
“Don’t get too full of yourself,” I shot back, but my voice lacked the bite I intended.
He slowed the bike down slightly, and I felt him lean back just enough to speak directly into my ear. “Too late for that, darling. You’re driving me crazy.”
My breath caught, and I tightened my grip on him, unsure if it was to steady myself or if it was because part of me wanted him to pull over.
“Mattheo…” I warned, but my voice was weak, trembling.
He chuckled, the sound dark and promising. “Relax."
Every time he took a sharp turn or sped up, my grip on him tightened, and he would laugh softly, his voice full of that infuriating confidence. “You sure you’re not nervous?”
“I’m sure,” I replied, though my heart was racing for more reasons than just the speed of the bike.
“Good,” he murmured, his tone almost a purr.
As Mattheo slowed the bike to a stop, I looked around and felt a jolt of unease settle in my stomach. The area was dimly lit, with groups of people loitering around, looking like trouble. The girls wore little more than scraps of fabric, their heavy makeup making their eyes look like dark smudges in the faint light. The guys weren’t any better—tough, dangerous, and clearly up to no good.
I turned to Mattheo, my voice tinged with irritation and confusion. “What the hell, Mattheo?”
He smirked, swinging his leg off the bike. “What? I thought you’d appreciate something different from the fancy dates you’re used to. Oh, remind me again, where did Prince Edward take you to?”
“He didn’t,” I snapped back, dismounting the bike as gracefully as possible while trying to keep my dress in place. “Because I turned the date down.”
Mattheo’s grin widened, a mocking edge to it. “How bad for him.”
I rolled my eyes, glancing around nervously. “There’s no one from school here, right? I mean, how is the gossip mill going to work if they don’t notice us?”
He leaned against the bike, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, they won’t.”
“Excuse me?” I shot back, incredulous.
He laughed, shaking his head. “They’ll be more likely to notice if we were at some fancy place, don’t you think?”
I frowned but nodded reluctantly. “Probably, yeah. Any normal person would feel so out of place here.”
I was about to step off the bike when I felt his hands suddenly on my hips, his grip firm. “No, not like that, princess.”
“What?” I managed to say, my voice coming out in a breathless whisper as he effortlessly swung off the bike first. Then, without warning, he placed his hands on my waist again and lifted me off the bike as if I weighed nothing.
“I wouldn’t want anyone to get a look at the show I had a minutes ago,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.
My face flushed crimson, and I struggled to maintain my composure as his hands stayed on my waist, guiding me toward the entrance. His touch was possessive, almost claiming, and I couldn’t help the thrill that shot through me despite the chaotic surroundings.
“So, do I need to keep my wand close?” I asked, half-joking, half-serious as we neared the group.
Mattheo chuckled, his breath warm against my ear. “You really think I’d let anything happen to you?”
As we walked through the crowd, people began to notice Mattheo, their eyes lighting up with recognition. A couple of guys came over, greeting him with casual nods and low murmurs.
“Riddle! Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” one of them said, a tall guy with a crooked grin.
Another guy came up, clapping Mattheo on the back. “Good to see you, mate. Thought you’d ditched us for good.”
“Nah,” Mattheo replied casually. “Just been busy.”
“Yeah, thought you were too good for us these days,” another chimed in, smirking.
Mattheo just shrugged, his grip on my waist tightening slightly. “Can’t forget where I came from.”
Before I could process what that meant, a girl suddenly appeared, practically throwing herself at Mattheo. She had wild, dark hair and wore a top that could barely be called clothing. “Matty! I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” she purred, her hands already trailing over his chest. Then, she noticed me, her eyes narrowing as she looked me up and down, clearly sizing me up.
I met her gaze, lifting my chin defiantly as I looked her over. She was all beautiful and confidence, but something about her screamed desperate. I couldn’t help the surge of jealousy that flared in my chest. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I snapped, crossing my arms.
The girl’s eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly recovered, her lips curling into a sneer. “Who’s this?” she asked Mattheo, her tone dripping with disdain.
Mattheo’s hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer to him. “She’s My girl,” he said simply, his voice cool and dismissive.
The girl’s eyes narrowed further as she gave me another once-over. I met her gaze head-on, refusing to back down. “Got a problem with that?” I asked, my tone sweet but laced with a clear challenge.
The girl hesitated for a moment, then forced a laugh, trying to play it off. “No, of course not,” she said, but her eyes were still cold. She turned back to Mattheo, trying to regain his attention. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”
“Well, now you know,” I said firmly, stepping closer to Mattheo as if staking my claim.
She shot me one last glare before reluctantly backing off, clearly realizing she wasn’t going to win this one. I watched her go, feeling oddly victorious, even as my heart pounded in my chest.
Mattheo’s low chuckle drew my attention back to him, and I looked up to find him watching me with an amused glint in his eyes. “Jealous, are we?”
“Absolutely not,” I retorted, though my face was still flushed.
“Right,” he drawled, clearly not believing me.
Mattheo guided me through the throngs of people, his hand never leaving my waist as we made our way toward a secluded area. The crowd seemed to part for him, everyone stepping aside as if they knew better than to get in his way. He led me to a corner of the warehouse where a small, dimly lit bar was nestled. The area was quieter, more exclusive, with plush leather couches and a polished wooden bar that gave it an air of importance.
“This is where the VIPs hang out?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as we stepped into the area. It was a stark contrast to the chaos outside—a private sanctuary within the madness.
Mattheo smirked, pulling out a barstool for me before taking a seat himself. “You could say that. Only those who matter get to hang out here.”
I settled onto the stool, trying to maintain some semblance of composure despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach. “And I’m guessing you’re one of those people?”
He chuckled, leaning in closer, his gaze locking onto mine. “What do you think, Princess?”
“I think you like making a scene wherever you go,” I shot back, trying to keep my tone light despite the way my heart was racing.
“Maybe,” he admitted, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
The bartender, a grizzled-looking man with a permanent scowl, approached us, his gaze flickering over me before settling on Mattheo.
“Riddle,” the bartender said in greeting, his voice gruff. “Been a while.”
“Hey, Greg,” Mattheo replied, his voice casual. “How’s business?”
Greg grunted, grabbing a glass and starting to mix a drink. “Same old, same old. You finally got yourself a date, eh?”
Mattheo chuckled, his hand still resting on my thigh. “Something like that.”
Greg's eyes flickered over to me again, his expression a mix of curiosity and skepticism. He took in my dress and my slightly flustered demeanor, a wry grin tugging at his mouth. “She's a fancy one, ain't she?” he commented, continuing to mix the drinks.
“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Mattheo agreed, his hand caressing my thigh. “But she’s all mine.”
I suppressed a shiver at the touch, trying to act as nonchalant as possible as I shot Mattheo a glare. He just smirked in response.
"Noted." Greg set our drinks down in front of us, a shot of dark liquor for Mattheo and something orange and frothy for me. “On the house,” he said gruffly, before moving to serve other customers.
"Can you tell me why those people know you? And how the hell are you so well-known like a famous celebrity here?"
Mattheo takes a sip of his drink, a smirk playing on his lips as he contemplates my question. “I wouldn’t say famous, darling. But I’ve spent a lot of time here... Let’s just say I know my way around.”
I raise an eyebrow skeptically. “That’s not a real answer.”
He grins, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Oh, it's a perfectly real answer. You just don't like it.”
"And what about this girl?" I ask, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
“That’s Layla. She’s part of this crowd… a regular here, I guess you could say.”
“And you… know her well?”
He shrugs, his hand going back to rest on my thigh. “We’ve crossed paths a few times, yeah.”
There’s something in his tone that makes me pause, a flicker of jealousy stirring in my chest.
He takes another sip of his drink, avoiding my gaze for a moment. “You’re full of questions today, aren’t you?”
I scowl at his non-answer. “You’re the one who keeps avoiding them.”
He lets out a soft laugh, his hand tracing lazy circles on my thigh. “I just like seeing you get all worked up, princess.”
“So what’s your definition of crossing paths?” I ask, pressing him further.
He pauses, seeming to consider his words carefully. “Layla and I have... hooked up a few times. Nothing serious, just casual stuff.”
My heart sinks, a mix of jealousy and disappointment flickering inside me. I try to mask it, though, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it bothered me.
“And what about now? Is she still in the picture?”
His hand tightens slightly on my thigh, and I feel him tense for a moment. Then he turns his head slightly, his lips almost brushing mine as he answers, “No, she’s not.”
“Good,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, “because this whole act would be a lot less convincing if you were involved with more than one girl.”
Mattheo chuckles, the sound low and rich, as his fingers tighten their grip on my thigh, sending a jolt of electricity up my spine. “And here I thought you were just in this for the show,” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement and something darker, more seductive.
“I am,” I say, my voice steady despite the rapid thudding of my heart. “But even in an act, there are rules.”
“Rules, huh?” He leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he speaks, his breath warm against my skin. “And what are those rules, princess?”
I bite my lip, fighting the urge to close the distance between us. I need to stay in control, to remind myself that this is just an act. “Like keeping your hands to yourself,” I whisper, but the words come out more breathless than I intended.
He chuckles again, a dark, knowing sound. “But where’s the fun in that?”
His hand slides further up my thigh, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body. My pulse quickens, and I struggle to maintain my composure.
“We’re supposed to be pretending,” I manage to say, my voice betraying the strain of keeping up the facade.
“Are we?” His lips graze the corner of my mouth, his words a challenge, daring me to keep up the pretense.
I turn my head slightly, our noses nearly touching, my breath mingling with his. “Yes,” I whisper, but it’s clear neither of us believes it anymore.
“So, just an act?” he repeats, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine.
I nod, barely managing to keep my composure. “Just an act,” I reply, though the words feel like a lie.
He tilts his head, his lips dangerously close to mine. “But we might as well convince them, right?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a fire in his eyes that says he’s not playing anymore.
I should pull away, tell him no, remind him that this is all part of the charade. But I can’t. My resolve crumbles as I look into his eyes, the intensity there pulling me in, refusing to let go.
“Right,” I whisper, my voice betraying me.
Before I can take another breath, his mouth was on mine, claiming me with a possessiveness that made my breath hitch. His lips moved against mine, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second of it. Then, his teeth tugged on my lower lip, and I gasped, giving him the opening he needed.
His tongue slipped inside, tasting and teasing, coaxing mine into a heated dance that left me dizzy. The kiss was all-consuming, each stroke of his tongue demanding a response that I couldn’t help but give. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a declaration, a promise of everything he could make me feel.
Mattheo’s hand slid up my back, pulling me closer until I was practically melting into him. He sucked on my lower lip, pulling it between his teeth before releasing it with a soft, wet pop. The sound sent a shiver down my spine, and I found myself pressing closer, needing more of him, of this.
“Good girl,” he murmured against my lips, the praise like gasoline to the fire already burning inside me. The words sent a rush of warmth straight to my core, and I couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped my throat.
His hands were everywhere—on my hips, my waist, tracing the curve of my spine—as he guided me to straddle his lap. The shift in position made me acutely aware of the hardness pressing against me, a reminder of just how much he wanted this, wanted me.
“Such a good girl for me,” he whispered, his lips trailing down my neck, sucking and biting just enough to leave a mark. His words were a drug, intoxicating and impossible to resist. I could feel the heat pooling low in my belly, a need so intense it was almost painful.
“Mattheo,” I breathed, my hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer, needing him to take more, to give more.
He groaned, the sound vibrating against my skin as his hands gripped my hips, guiding me to grind against him. The friction was maddening, each roll of my hips sending waves of pleasure through me that made it hard to think, hard to breathe.
“You like that?” he asked, his voice rough, laced with a hunger that made my heart race.
“Yes,” I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders as I rocked against him, desperate for more. His hands moved to my ass, squeezing as he guided my movements, his lips capturing mine again in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was raw, primal, a clash of tongues and teeth that left me trembling in his arms.
“Good girl,” he repeated, his voice thick with desire as his hands slid under my dress, tracing the edges of my panties. “Such a good girl for me.” The praise was almost too much, his mouth was on mine, sending a fresh wave of heat through my body as I arched into him, needing him to do something, anything to relieve the ache between my thighs.
Reality crashed down on me like a cold wave, dousing the fire that had been raging between us. I was kissing Mattheo Riddle—not just kissing him, but grinding against him in a dark, dingy bar, losing control in a way that was so unlike me.
Breathless, I shook my head, my hands still resting on his chest, but I pushed him away just enough to create space between us. “We shouldn’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling with the effort to regain control.
“Why not?” he murmured.
His hands remained on my hips, firm but not forceful, as if he knew I could—and might—pull away at any moment.
“It’s wrong,” I said, though even as the words left my mouth, they felt hollow. Wrong didn’t even begin to cover the tangled mess of emotions inside me.
“It feels so right to me,” he countered, his voice low.
“That’s the problem,” I whispered, my resolve wavering as I felt the heat of his body so close to mine, the pull of his gaze making it almost impossible to think clearly. I was losing myself, losing the control I prided myself on, every time I was near him.
“Mattheo, I want to go,” I said, my voice firmer this time, though the longing in me betrayed how much I wanted to stay, to give in.
He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes as he stood up, his hand falling away from my thigh. He kept close to me as we made our way out of the bar, his presence a constant, protective shield, yet he didn’t touch me. And damn, I hated that—hated how much I wanted him to touch me, to feel his hands on me again, even as I knew I shouldn’t.
We reached his bike, and he stood between me and the prying eyes of anyone passing by, shielding me as I climbed on. He still didn’t touch me, and it was driving me insane, the absence of his touch making me crave it even more. I hated myself for it, for wanting him so badly that it was all I could think about.
He climbed on the bike in front of me, starting the engine with a low rumble. My hands automatically went to his waist, and as soon as I made contact, it was like an electric current shot through me. My mind was a mess, a chaotic whirl of thoughts and emotions, and my body—oh, my body—was screaming for more, for him.
I clenched my hands tighter around him, trying to focus, trying to breathe, but the tension inside me was unbearable. The battle raging within me, between what I wanted and what I knew was right, was tearing me apart.
“Stop, Mattheo,” I blurted out, my voice cutting through the night.
He didn’t respond at first, but I felt his body tense under my hands. “What?” he asked, his voice tight, uncertain.
“I said stop,” I repeated, louder this time, and he immediately pulled the bike over to the side of the road, the engine cutting off with a final, ominous growl.
We were on a dark, deserted forest road, the trees casting long, eerie shadows under the moonlight. I got off the bike quickly, putting distance between us, trying to get a grip on the whirlwind of emotions inside me. I walked a few steps away, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the fire burning inside me.
I turned around, my breath catching in my throat as I saw him, standing there, taking off his helmet. His eyes were on me, intense, questioning, filled with something that made my heart race all over again.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was running back to him, my resolve crumbling to dust. I crashed into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as I pulled him down to me, my lips finding his with a desperation I couldn’t control.
His response was immediate, his hands flying to my waist, gripping me tightly as he kissed me back with a fierce, raw passion that left me breathless. His lips moved against mine with a hunger that matched my own, devouring, claiming me in a way that made my knees weak.
He lifted me effortlessly, placing me on the bike with my back against the handlebars, my legs on either side of him as he stepped between them, his body pressing into mine. The cold metal of the bike contrasted sharply with the heat of his body, the hard, unyielding surface beneath me a stark reminder of how exposed, how vulnerable I was.
But I didn’t care. I was beyond caring. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against me, needing him to take away the ache that was consuming me from the inside out.
His hands roamed over me, possessive, claiming, as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made me moan into his mouth. He was everywhere—his touch, his taste, his scent—overwhelming my senses until there was nothing left but him.
“Mattheo,” I breathed against his lips, my hands sliding up to cup his face, holding him to me as if letting go would mean losing him forever.
He growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my lips as he pulled back slightly, his eyes burning into mine, dark and wild. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.
“Then show me,” I whispered, my voice trembling, both a challenge and a plea.
And he did. His hands moved down to my hips, gripping me firmly as he pulled me closer, his lips descending on mine once more, claiming me, possessing me. The kiss was hard, demanding, every stroke of his tongue, every nip of his teeth, sending shockwaves through me that left me breathless, trembling in his arms.
his hand tracing a teasing line down my side. His breath was hot against my ear as he whispered, “If I were to slip my hand between those pretty thighs right now, would I find you soaking wet, princess?”
A shiver ran through me, his words setting my skin on fire.
“You’d have to do it to find out,” I whispered back, my voice shaky.
His hand slid down to my thigh, gripping it firmly as he pushed the fabric of my dress up, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin there. The touch was electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core, making me gasp.
“Such a good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, dripping with praise that sent another rush of heat through me. His hand moved higher, inching closer to where I needed him most, but he took his time, teasing me, making me squirm against him.
When his fingers finally reached the edge of my panties, he paused, his eyes locking onto mine, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re already so wet for me,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he slid one finger along the slick fabric, barely touching me but enough to make my breath hitch.
I bit my lip, fighting back a moan as he continued to tease me, his finger tracing lazy circles over my clit through the thin fabric. The sensation was maddening, the light touch just enough to drive me crazy but not nearly enough to satisfy the aching need inside me.
“Let’s see how wet you really are,” he whispered, slipping his hand inside my panties, his fingers brushing against my slick folds. The contact was enough to make me moan, the sound escaping my lips before I could stop it.
His finger slid along my slit, collecting my wetness before he pressed it against my clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had me arching into his touch, desperate for more. “You’re drenched,” he murmured, his voice laced with approval, his breath hot against my neck as he continued to work me over.
“Mattheo,” I gasped, my hands gripping his shoulders as he curled his finger, finding that perfect spot that made me see stars. He added another finger, the stretch delicious as he pumped them in and out, his thumb brushing against my clit with every movement.
“Look at you princess.” he whispered, his voice a low growl as he continued to finger me, his pace steady and relentless. “You like knowing we’re still in public, don’t you, Y/N? That’s so unlike you….”
His words made my head spin, the combination of his dirty talk and the way his fingers worked me over was too much, too overwhelming. “Nothing I do when I’m with you is like me,” I admitted, my voice breathless as I bucked against his hand, craving more of the pleasure only he could give me. “But nothing has ever felt this good.”
He groaned at my confession, his fingers curling inside me, hitting that perfect spot that had me seeing stars. “Good girl,” he praised again, his voice filled with pride and lust as he kissed me hard, his lips claiming mine with a hunger that left me breathless.
I kissed him back with equal fervor, losing myself in the feel of him, the way his fingers worked me over, driving me closer and closer to the edge. His thumb pressed harder against my clit, his fingers curling inside me in just the right way, sending shockwaves of pleasure through me that made my entire body tremble.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled against my lips, his fingers moving faster, harder, the wet sounds of his fingers working me over filling the dark, empty forest around us. “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, princess? Come all over my fingers like the good girl you are.”
His words were my undoing, the praise and the dirty talk too much for me to handle. I cried out, my nails digging into his shoulders as I shattered around him, my orgasm ripping through me with a force that left me breathless, clinging to him for support as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me.
Mattheo didn’t stop, his fingers working me through my orgasm, prolonging the pleasure until I was nothing but a trembling, panting mess in his arms. He finally slowed his movements, gently pulling his fingers out of me and bringing them to his lips, his eyes locked onto mine as he licked them clean.
“Fuck, you taste amazing,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe and satisfaction as he pulled me in for another searing kiss, his tongue slipping into my mouth, letting me taste myself on him.
I kissed him back, my heart racing, my body still trembling from the intensity of what he’d just done to me. I knew we were still out in the open, knew that anyone could have seen us, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was him, the way he made me feel, the way he could break down every wall I’d ever built around myself with just a touch, a word, a kiss.
breath was hot against my ear as he whispered, “Would you let me tease you, princess? Let me take my time driving you wild until you’re begging for me?”
His voice was dark, dripping with lust and promise, the words alone sending a shiver down my spine. I could only nod, still panting, my body trembling from the aftershocks of my release. The anticipation of what he was about to do had my heart racing, my breath catching in my throat.
He smirked at my response, his eyes gleaming with wicked intent. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to spread my legs wider. I gasped as the cool air brushed against my heated core, my entire body thrumming with a desperate need for more.
Mattheo took his time, starting with a slow, deliberate kiss on the inside of my thigh, just above my knee. His lips were soft, his tongue darting out to taste my skin as he worked his way up, inch by agonizing inch. Each kiss, each lick, sent a fresh wave of arousal through me, making my thighs tremble in anticipation.
He alternated between gentle kisses and slow, teasing licks, his tongue tracing patterns up my inner thigh. The closer he got to where I wanted him most, the more my hips began to shift, desperate for him to end the torment. But he didn’t rush, savoring every moment, every reaction he pulled from me.
When he finally reached the apex of my thighs, he paused, his breath warm against my soaked folds. The anticipation was unbearable, every nerve in my body screaming for him to touch me, to give me the release I was so desperately craving.
“Look at Me,” he murmured, his voice laced with dark amusement as he kissed the sensitive skin right beside where I ached for him most.
And then, without warning, his tongue was on me, the first long, slow lick sending a bolt of pleasure straight through me. I cried out, my hips bucking involuntarily as his tongue slid over my folds, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me in place.
He took his time, alternating between slow, teasing licks and firm, deliberate strokes of his tongue over my clit. Every touch was electric, every swirl of his tongue pushing me closer and closer to the edge. I was already so sensitive, still reeling from my first orgasm, and the sensation was almost too much to bear.
“Mattheo, please,” I gasped, my hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more.
He chuckled against me, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through me. “Patience, princess,” he murmured, his voice a dark, sinful promise. “I’m just getting started.”
He wrapped his lips around my clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub. The combination of his mouth and the steady rhythm of his tongue was driving me wild, the pleasure building so quickly that it was almost overwhelming.
He kept at it, his tongue working in tandem with his lips, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. My thighs were trembling, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps as the pleasure coiled tight in my belly, ready to snap.
And then he pushed me over the edge, his tongue curling around my clit in a way that made my vision go white. I cried out, my body convulsing as the orgasm tore through me, the pleasure so intense that I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only feel.
He didn’t stop, didn’t give me a moment to recover as he continued to work me through my release, his tongue lapping up every bit of my arousal. The overstimulation was mind-blowing, each flick of his tongue sending another shockwave through my already oversensitive body.
“Mattheo,” I gasped, my voice raw from the intensity of it all. “I can’t—”
“Oh, but you can,” he growled, his voice dark and commanding as he continued his assault on my clit, his fingers sliding back inside me to curl against that spot that made me see stars. “You’re going to cum again, princess. I want to feel you fall apart for me one more time.”
I could barely form a coherent thought, my mind completely consumed by the pleasure he was giving me. I could only nod, my body already climbing toward that peak again, the intensity of it making my head spin.
He finally pulled away, his hands gently holding my thighs as I came down from the high, my body still trembling with the aftershocks. I was completely spent, my mind foggy with pleasure, but Mattheo just grinned up at me, his lips glistening with my arousal.
“Fuck, you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he kissed my inner thigh, his fingers gently tracing patterns on my skin. “I could do this all night.”
Tears of pleasure welled in my eyes as I reached for Mattheo, pulling him up to me. I could feel my makeup smeared, my face wet with tears that I knew had streaked down my cheeks, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was him, about the way his lips met mine in a kiss that was as fierce as it was tender.
He kissed me with a hunger that matched my own, his hands cradling my face as if I were something precious, even as I reached down, my fingers fumbling with the buckle of his belt. I could feel how hard he was, could feel the heat radiating from him, and it only made me more desperate, more eager to feel all of him.
But then, to my surprise, he pulled back slightly, his hand catching mine. “No,” he murmured, his voice firm, but there was something in his tone that made me pause, that made me look up into his eyes, confused.
“What? Why?” I asked, my breath hitching, my heart pounding in my chest. The need in me was so overwhelming that I couldn’t understand why he would stop now, not when we were both so clearly on the edge.
He laughed softly, but it wasn’t mocking. It was low and full of a raw affection that sent a shiver down my spine. He leaned in and kissed me again, slow and deep, as if he were trying to pour all of his feelings into that one moment. When he pulled back, he looked into my eyes, his thumb brushing gently over my tear-streaked cheek.
“Believe me, there’s nothing I want more in this world than to bend you over this bike and take you right now, right here,” he whispered, and the words alone were enough to make my legs go weak.
“Then do it,” I pleaded, my voice trembling with both need and frustration. I didn’t care about anything else in that moment; I just wanted him.
But he shook his head, his gaze never leaving mine, his thumb still tracing the line of my cheek.
“No,” he repeated, and before I could protest, before I could beg, he continued, his voice soft but filled with a determination that left me breathless. “When I get to have you, Y/N, I want it to be when I can take my time, when I can make you feel everything I’ve been dying to give you. I don’t want to rush this, to take you in some dark forest where anyone could see. You deserve more than that, more than just a quick fuck.”
His words hit me like a tidal wave, overwhelming in their sincerity, in the sheer weight of what he was saying. I could see it in his eyes, the way he looked at me, like I was the only thing that mattered in the entire world. He wanted more than just my body; he wanted all of me, and he wanted it to be right.
I was speechless, my heart pounding so hard it hurt, and all I could do was stare at him, trying to process everything he had just said. “Mattheo…” I whispered, my voice barely audible, but he silenced me with another kiss, this one gentle, full of a tenderness that brought fresh tears to my eyes.
"Not here, not like this. I want to take my time with you, princess. I want to feel every inch of you, taste every part of you, and make you mine in every possible way.”
I could only nod, tears slipping down my cheeks as I kissed him back, pouring all of my emotions into that kiss. I wanted him so badly it hurt, but I knew he was right. This—whatever it was between us—was more than just a physical need. It was something deeper, something that deserved to be treated with the care and attention he was promising.
We were supposed to be heading to class, but with Mattheo Riddle standing this close, logic and responsibility seemed to melt away. His lips were on mine, hot and insistent, and I could barely think straight. His hand was firmly on my waist, pulling me closer as if he couldn't get enough, and I had to admit, I didn’t mind in the slightest.
In the back of my mind, I knew we were in a hallway, but everything else was a blur. All I could focus on was the way Mattheo’s lips moved against mine, the way his other hand slid up to cup my cheek, deepening the kiss.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. My eyes flew open, and Mattheo reacted instantly, pulling me into a nearby alcove and pressing a hand gently over my mouth. My heart raced, not from fear but from the thrill of almost being caught. I couldn’t help the mischievous smile that crept onto my lips as I peeked up at him.
His eyes were locked onto mine, and he had that signature smirk of his as we both listened to the footsteps drawing nearer. The Ravenclaw group passed by, completely oblivious to our presence. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at how close we had come to being caught.
As soon as they were out of sight, I grinned and grabbed his collar, yanking him back to me. “Where were we?” I asked, my voice playful as I pressed my lips to his once more. The taste of him was intoxicating, and I was already forgetting why we needed to stop.
His hands slid down my back, pulling me even closer, his lips moving hungrily against mine. “Right here,” he murmured between kisses. “Not going anywhere, princess.”
I laughed softly, feeling the thrill of the moment surge through me. “You’re going to get us both in trouble,” I teased, even as I kissed him deeper, not caring at all about the consequences.
“Worth it,” he breathed out, his lips trailing down to my collarbone, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “You know, you could just skip class… stay here with me. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I definitely don’t want to go to class right now.”
“Who says we have to?” he murmured, his voice low and tempting as he pressed another kiss to the corner of my mouth.
I sighed dramatically, feigning frustration. “You’re such a bad influence, Riddle.”
“And you’re such a willing participant, Y/L/N,” he shot back with a smirk, pulling me back in for another kiss. This time, it was even more heated, as if the idea of sneaking around had only fueled the fire between us.
But just as things were getting even more intense, a familiar voice interrupted us. “Oh, don’t mind me. Continue.”
We both pulled away quickly, turning to see Theo standing there, looking entirely too amused for my liking.
Mattheo sighed, rolling his eyes before he spoke, “Theo, mate, you’re my best friend. Can’t you find something better to do than being a cockblock?”
Theo crossed his arms, smirking. “And you two were supposed to be finding the person behind the gossip column, not making out in an empty hallway.”
At Theo's words, realization hit me like a lightning bolt. The Daily Prophet letter! It was supposed to be today! I spun around to face him. “Theo, did the letter arrive yet?”
He shook his head. “Nope, nothing. You might’ve scared them off for good.”
I frowned, trying to think straight despite the lingering heat in my body from Mattheo’s touch. “That’s strange… they’ve been so consistent."
Mattheo’s hand was still on my waist, his thumb brushing gently over my skin, and despite my worry, I couldn’t help but feel a small thrill at his touch. I turned to him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “I should probably go so I won’t be late for class,” I said softly, though every part of me wanted to stay right here with him.
“You sure you don’t want to stay? I can think of a few more ways to spend the time.”
I laughed, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “Tempting, but I’ll save that for later.” With that, I pulled away from him, giving Theo a playful wave as I hurried off down the corridor.
As I walked away, I could hear Mattheo’s voice behind me, low and teasing. “You know, Theo, sometimes I think you take your job as a third wheel a little too seriously.”
Theo’s laughter echoed through the hallway as I turned the corner, already counting down the minutes until I could see Mattheo again.
I sat in class, staring blankly at the parchment in front of me, my quill lazily tracing random lines across the page. The absence of the Daily Gossip Letter today was unsettling, and I could feel the unease settling over the classroom like a heavy fog. Everyone else seemed to be thinking the same thing—why hadn’t it come today? The letter had become a constant, its arrival as predictable as the sunrise, yet today, there was nothing.
As I absentmindedly doodled on my notebook, my mind began to wander, trying to piece together why the letter had stopped.
But why would it stop?
I tried to focus, to pay attention to the professor’s words, but my thoughts kept wandering. The gossip letter had become a staple at Hogwarts, a daily dose of scandal that everyone had come to expect. So why would it just… stop?
Unless… unless the person behind it didn’t need it anymore.
The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I started to think about all the things that had been written about me in that damned letter. The gossip wasn’t just random; it was targeted, specific. Almost like someone had a personal reason.
I started recalling all the gossip that had been written about me. My so-called date with Prince Edward, which wasn’t even a real date because I had turned him down. But when I returned to school, the letter had detailed everything about it—except the rejection part, of course. That happened privately, away from prying eyes. So how did the letter know about the date in the first place? Who else was in Italy at the same time as me?
My heart began to race as I straightened in my seat, my hand shaking slightly as I wrote down the names of the only two people who could have possibly known. The first name felt wrong, implausible, but the second… my stomach twisted as I scrawled it down.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. My thoughts raced back to another piece of gossip—the one about me supposedly flirting with a Durmstrang student during the Yule Ball. The truth was, I had been trying to get information about a certain dark artifact that night, and the conversation had been strictly business. Yet the letter painted a completely different picture.
Again, I scribbled down the name. My hand tightened around the quill as I recalled another instance—Time when I helped Adrian Pucey sneak into the restricted section of the library. It was late at night, and we were careful not to get caught. But the letter described it in perfect detail, down to the exact time we were there. Who else knew?
The quill in my hand quivered as I wrote down the final name. My breathing became shallow, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes as all the clues finally came together, like pieces of a puzzle that I had been too blind to see. Every rumor, every piece of gossip, every little detail that had been written about me, led back to one person.
I circled the name angrily, feeling my heart break as I stared at the words on the page, the tears now spilling down my cheeks.
I didn’t care that the professor was calling my name, didn’t care about the shocked whispers that followed me as I bolted out of the classroom. All I could think about was finding him, confronting him. My feet carried me quickly down the corridors, my heart pounding in my chest as I headed toward the Great Hall. But when I got there, he wasn’t among the students milling about.
I clenched my fists, trying to think. Where would he be? Then it hit me—Quidditch practice. They had the last part of the day off.
Without another thought, I made my way to the Slytherin dorms. My mind was racing, anger and betrayal twisting in my chest as I reached his door. I didn’t hesitate as I knocked, the sound echoing in the empty corridor.
When the door opened, Mattheo’s surprised expression turned into a mischievous smirk as he leaned against the frame, eyes raking over me. “Y/N? What, you miss kissing me so much you had to skip class?” His tone was playful, teasing, and he stepped aside to let me in.
I ignored the flutter in my chest and walked past him into the room. The moment he saw my face, though, his smirk faded. He closed the door and turned to me, concern clouding his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, as he moved closer. “Y/N, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
I sat down on his bed, feeling the weight of his gaze on me. His words echoed in my mind, the ones he’d said before about how the person behind the gossip letter must want to get a reaction out of me. I looked up at him, a cold smile curling my lips. "Well, was it good?"
Mattheo frowned, confusion crossing his features. “What are we talking about now, princess?”
“The reaction you got out of me,” I said, and just like that, the smile on my face vanished, replaced by the full weight of my anger and hurt. “Was it everything you hoped for?”
His face went blank, the confusion deepening in his eyes. “Wait, Y/N—”
“Checkmate, Riddle,” I said, my voice trembling as I stood up, the anger and hurt finally spilling over.
"You were the only one who knew about Italy, about what happened there. You were the one who was with me at the Yule Ball. You were there when Adrian and I sneaked into the library." My voice grew louder with each accusation, tears burning in my eyes. "All of those details, every single one of them—it was you. You were the one writing the gossip letter, weren’t you?"
Tears blurred my vision as I continued, my voice shaking with emotion. “Was it fun for you? Watching me losing my mind, seeing how much it effected me? Was it a game, Mattheo? Did you enjoy it? You said the person doing this wanted a reaction—well, congratulations, you got it. You got everything you wanted. I trusted you… I thought you cared, but you were just playing me all along.”
“You’ve been playing me this whole time, haven’t you? Feeding me lies, watching as I fell for every trap you set. And for what? A laugh? A good story?”
“Y/N, that’s not—” he started, but I cut him off.
“Save it,” I said coldly, my voice breaking. “You’ve already won, I just wonder why you didn’t write your story yet it’s a good one especially the one you —"
“Save it,” I spat out, my voice breaking under the weight of my emotions. “You’ve already won. I just wonder why you haven’t written your final story yet—it’s a good one. Especially the part where you—"
But before I could finish, he cut me off, his voice trembling with an emotion I hadn’t expected.
"What could I have done, Y/N? What could I have possibly done?" he began, his words tumbling out in a rush, raw and unfiltered. "I was there, yes, I was right there with you—through all of it. But do you know why? Do you know why I couldn’t stay away?"
I froze, his words piercing through my anger like a knife. He continued, his voice thick with desperation. "I’ve loved you all this time, from the first day I got off that stupid train, from the first moment I laid eyes on you. And I can’t remember a single day where I haven’t been in love with you.
He paused, his eyes locked on mine, pleading for understanding. "It wasn’t just some stupid crush, Y/N. It was an obsession, it was madness—but it was love. I loved you, and I still love you. I was desperate… Desperate to be near you, to be a part of your life, even if it meant doing something as twisted as this."
I stood frozen."You could have just said that. You should have just told me that."
"Yeah, right," he scoffed bitterly, shaking his head. "Fucking right, Y/N."
"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice wavering.
"You had a damn prince crying after you rejected him," Mattheo snapped, his frustration and jealousy spilling over. "A prince, Y/N! And here I am, the son of a psychopath, the last person anyone should ever trust, much less love. What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, by the way, I’m in love with you, even though my father’s the Dark Lord and everyone expects me to be just like him’? Who the hell would ever want that?"
He paced the room, running a hand through his hair as he continued, his voice strained. "Every day, I watched you. I saw you with your friends, with guys who could give you everything—everything. And the worst part? The worst fucking part was knowing that no matter what I did, no matter how close I got, it would never be enough. Not for someone like you."
Tears welled up in my eyes again, but this time they weren’t from anger. "You don’t get it, Mattheo. None of that mattered to me. None of it. I didn’t care about titles or any of that. I just wanted someone who was real with me. Someone who saw me for who I am, not just as some piece in a game."
He stopped pacing and turned to me, his expression softening. "I did see you, Y/N. That’s why I did what I did. The letters… they were my way of being close to you, of being a part of your world. But I was so scared of losing you, of you finding out what I’d done, that I just kept digging myself deeper. And now… now I’ve lost you anyway."
His voice broke on the last word, and the sight of him standing there, so vulnerable, shattered the last of my defenses.
Just as I was about to respond, movement from the next bed caught my eye. I blinked, my heart skipping a beat when I saw Enzo sitting up, looking between Mattheo and me with wide, startled eyes, propped up on his elbows.
He Clearly had heard more than enough. "Oh, fuck," he muttered, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "I’ve got this thing—relationship phobia. Can’t be around emotional confessions, they give me hives."
He awkwardly shuffled out of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, guys. Gonna get out of here real quick. Pretend I was never here, yeah?" With that, he practically bolted out of the room, leaving me staring after him in disbelief until the door clicked shut behind him.
This family is insane.
We both stood there in silence for a moment, the sudden interruption leaving us both a bit stunned. I didn’t know what to say, and it seemed like Mattheo didn’t either.
“Y/N,” he finally whispered, his voice cracking as he took a tentative step toward me. “Please… say something. Anything.”
“You hurt me, Mattheo,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You lied to me, manipulated me."
“I know,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I did, and I hate myself for it. But Y/N, please believe me when I say that I never meant to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how else to keep you close.”
Tears welled up in my eyes again, and I wiped them away furiously, hating how vulnerable I felt in this moment. “Why didn’t you just tell me how you felt? Why did you have to go through all this?”
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his voice so quiet, so broken, that it made my chest ache. “I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how else to be close to you. I didn’t know how to tell you that I loved you without feeling like I was going to lose you.”
I bit my lip, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “But you didn’t have to do it like this, Mattheo. You didn’t have to lie to me, to manipulate me, just to be close. I would’ve—” My voice broke, and I had to take a deep breath to steady myself. “I would’ve loved you anyway."
Mattheo's face softened, his brow furrowing in confusion as he whispered, "You would?" His voice was barely audible, almost as if he didn’t believe the words that had just left his lips.
I couldn’t bring myself to answer right away. My heart was pounding, and I could feel the walls I had built around myself beginning to crumble. Without a word, I got up from the bed and walked toward him, each step feeling heavier than the last.
"Yeah," I finally said, my voice trembling as I stood in front of him. "Because it would’ve been easy, Mattheo."
His eyes searched mine, desperate and lost, as if he was trying to find the truth in my words.
"I’ve loved you," I began, my voice cracking, "from the moment I stepped off that stupid train, too love must have been in the air that day or something. But I couldn’t let myself admit it. Instead, I pushed you away, pretended I couldn’t stand you because I was terrified—terrified of how much I wanted you, how much I needed you." Tears spilled over, and I couldn’t stop them this time. They streamed down my face as I choked out the words I had been too afraid to say for so long. "I didn’t know how to deal with how much you consumed me, so I fought it. But it was always you, Mattheo. It was always you."
He moved closer, his hands gently cupping my face, wiping away my tears with his thumbs. His touch was soft, so different from the way he usually carried himself—like he was afraid I might break if he wasn’t careful.
“I didn’t know…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“I did. I do,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper as I leaned into his touch. “I just didn’t want to admit how much you meant to me. How much you still mean to me.”
Mattheo’s forehead rested against mine, his breath warm on my skin as he held me close. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice filled with a kind of raw vulnerability I’d never heard from him before. “I didn’t know how to show you what I felt without messing everything up. I was so afraid of losing you that I did the exact thing that could drive you away.”
I shook my head, trying to push away the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me. “I know,” I whispered, my hands clutching the front of his shirt as if he was the only thing keeping me grounded. “I know now that the letters were more about admiring me than harming me. They only felt too much when another boy was involved, and… and I get it. I get that it was your twisted way of dealing with jealousy.”
He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze intense but soft, as if he was seeing me for the first time. “You mean everything to me,” he said, his voice so quiet it was almost a breath. “I just didn’t know how to show it without screwing it up.”
“You don’t have to be perfect,” I told him, my voice shaky as I tried to make him understand. “You just have to be you. That’s all I ever wanted.”
Mattheo’s grip on me tightened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in the softest, most tentative kiss. It was like he was asking for permission, for forgiveness, and I gave it to him willingly, kissing him back with all the emotions I had kept bottled up for so long.
As the kiss deepened, I felt the last of my walls crumble, leaving me completely vulnerable in his arms. But for the first time, I wasn’t afraid. I knew that despite everything, this was where I was meant to be. And maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other from here.
“I love you,” I whispered against his lips, my voice thick with tears and longing.
“I love you to—”
The door suddenly burst open, and Blaise walked in, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. He froze for a moment, his gaze darting between the two of us, and then a slow smirk spread across his face.
“Well, well, well,” he drawled, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Isn’t this cozy? I was just coming to grab a book, but it looks like I walked into the middle of a romance novel. Should I start narrating? ‘And in that moment, their love ignited like a house elf’s poorly managed kitchen fire…’”
I felt my face flush, and I quickly stepped back from Mattheo, wiping at my eyes. “Blaise, could you just…not?” Mattheo said .
Blaise chuckled, completely unfazed by Mattheo’s irritation. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’ll just be over here, pretending I didn’t walk in on whatever _this_ is.” He waved his hand vaguely in our direction before sauntering over to the bookshelf.
I shot Mattheo a look, trying to stifle a laugh as Blaise exaggeratedly searched for his book, humming to himself like nothing unusual had happened.
Mattheo sighed, shaking his head as he muttered, “I’m killing you after this.”
“Nuh,” Blaise called out, pulling a book from the shelf and turning back to us with a grin. “You love me.”
“Debatable,” Mattheo shot back, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
Blaise winked at me before heading toward the door. “Carry on with your dramatic declarations of love. I’ll leave you two to…whatever this is.” With that, he slipped out of the room, leaving us alone once more.
As the door clicked shut, I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, Mattheo looked down at me.
“Where were we?” he asked softly, pulling me back into his arms.
“I think you were about to tell me how much you love me,” I teased, my heart swelling with warmth.
“Right,” he whispered, his voice turning serious again as he leaned in to kiss me. “ Fuck yeah I love you. So much.”
Summary: all y/n wanted is to love and to be loved to see the beauty of the world and to be happy even if that's mean she will have to hide away, until that summer the summer she talked to mattheo riddle.
It was like I found myself in the middle—I couldn't go back to what I was and I still couldn't move forward. There was only one thing on my mind: anger, anger, anger, anger.
My thoughts broke as I heard Professor Snape assigning us to pairs for a dueling exercise. I lifted my head from my book and found a pair of green eyes on me—Betty. She was watching me so intently that she didn’t notice I saw her staring. When she realized, she shook her head and looked away, her hands trembling.
"Miss Y/L/N," Professor Snape called my name, and I got up, walking to stand behind him, waiting for him to call the other student I would have to duel.
"And. Riddle, come please," Professor Snape said.
My expression remained unchanged, though my heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest. My anxiety was high, my blood pressure rising, and the anger—the endless anger—but I stayed calm, looking unbothered, like a frozen child. It was an art I was well-versed in, thanks to my father.
Everyone gasped and couldn't stop talking. I looked up to meet his brown eyes, the eyes I told myself I hated every day to remind myself of their betrayal.
I didn’t look away. I met his gaze head-on, staring straight into his eyes as if trying to pierce his soul. He didn't deserve my avoidance; he deserved to feel my anger.
Professor Snape spoke—at least I guess he did—but my mind was elsewhere. All I could think about was anger and anger and anger, water drops and brown eyes, betrayal.
Mattheo stepped back, taking his place, and I did the same. I raised my wand, but he kept his lowered. I looked him in the eyes and cast the first spell. He dodged it but didn’t fight back. He wasn’t trying to fight.
My anger grew. I moved faster, casting spells more quickly and aggressively. He kept dodging but never retaliated.
I could see the way Professor Snape looked at him, and the way Mattheo’s friends called out to him, urging him to defend himself. But he didn’t. He just kept dodging, fueling my rage.
"Fight back, you fucking coward!" I yelled, angry, but he didn’t.
With a swift flick of my wand, I disarmed him, sending his wand flying across the room. up in alarm as I advanced on him, faster and angrier. I hit him in the chest.
"Coward, fucking coward," I said. Professor Snape called my name, but I didn’t stop.
I hit him again. "Selfish, arrogant, deceitful," I continued, my words venomous.
Professor Snape finally pulled me away. "You always made everything about you, Riddle, didn’t you?" I screamed.
"Miss Y/L/N," Professor Snape began, his tone icy. "This behavior is unacceptable. You will serve detention for this outburst."
I glared at Mattheo. "Oh, believe me, I have nothing better to do,"
One of the students, a Slytherin boy named Mark, snickered and muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Guess Riddle's got a soft spot for Backup girl."
I looked at him sharply. No—don’t—just go away—hide, Y/N, hide. Don’t let them see you. That’s enough. No.
I stepped forward, my voice steady. "Say it again, Mark."
He looked taken aback, but his bravado held. "I said, Riddle's got a soft spot for Backup girl."
"You know," I said, my voice cutting through the air, "I’ve been quiet, but not blind. And I didn’t have much to do this summer but sit at the beach and watch. And I watched a lot."
I turned to look at the faces around me, the same faces that had called me a slut, a whore, a homewrecker. They were all watching me now, some with curiosity, others with apprehension.
"I could say that one of you sitting there cheated on her boyfriend with all three of his friends, and they’re sitting right next to him right now. But I didn’t, did I? Should I?"
The room filled with gasps and whispers, eyes darting around to see who I was talking about.
"And I could say that one of you had a very interesting make-out session with his stepmother this summer. But I won’t do that." I paused, looking around. "Hint: he’s a Hufflepuff. Go with that. And wow, didn’t know you had that in you, if I’m being honest."
I saw more shock and outrage spread through the crowd, people trying to figure out who I meant. I continued, enjoying their discomfort.
"I could tell you that another one of you, who’s sitting there looking all innocent, spent the entire summer sneaking out at night to hook up with their best friend’s boyfriend. And yet another had an affair with their cousin’s fiancé, not caring about the wedding that was about to happen. Should I go on?"
The whispers grew louder, people trying to piece together the gossip. Professor Snape called my name again, more harshly this time, but I ignored him, taking a step back.
The room was buzzing now, everyone trying to figure out who the guilty parties were. I could see the fear and anger in their eyes.
"Maybe it’s time for everyone to stop judging others and take a good look at themselves. Maybe next time, you should think twice before you start throwing stones."
Professor Snape finally reached me, his hand gripping my arm tightly. "Enough, Miss Y/L/N. That’s quite enough, you will go to Professor Dumbledore’s office immediately."
"Of course, Professor."
I walked out, glaring at Mattheo on my way. There was a ghost of a smile on his face, and I wanted to smack it off. I wanted to say more, to hurt him, to make him feel the same agony tearing through my soul.
A week had passed, and the gossip had finally died down. The whispers and judgmental stares began to fade. The looks of disdain I received whenever I walked down the corridors diminished. It was as if everyone had finally moved on to the next scandal.
I was sitting alone under a tree in the courtyard, trying to read a book but barely absorbing the words. The shadow of someone approaching made me glance up. It was Enzo. He sat down next to me with a casual smile. "Hi, Y/N."
I didn't respond, keeping my eyes on the page.
"Okay, I get it. You hate me too now," he said, sighing dramatically.
I still didn't acknowledge him. He tried again, "Y/N, I’m—"
"Unwelcome," I cut him off sharply, closing my book with a snap. "Now leave."
He chuckled "Ouch, that stings. You know, that cold shoulder of yours is kinda cute," he said, leaning back on his hands. "I always did like a challenge."
I rolled my eyes but didn’t respond, unwilling to engage.
"I won't defend my brother. Even I didn't know it was a break. It seemed serious, and I really thought they broke up this time. Honestly, I wished they did."
I finally looked up at him, my expression guarded.
He continued,"Mattheo and Betty have known each other their entire lives. She was always there for him, and he for her. They faced the darkness of our world together, and I think somewhere along the way, the lines blurred between them. They hurt each other in ways no one else could. They always break up and then get back together within a week. It’s a fucked-up situation, and they keep running it into the ground, thinking they're saving it. Maybe they don't want to lose each other, but that isn’t love. It’s—"
"It doesn’t matter," I interrupted. "He knows, and that’s enough."
"I didn’t know it was just a break, but I was angry because I didn’t think he should get involved with someone else so soon after."
I glanced up, catching sight of Mattheo standing a short distance away, watching us. His eyes bore into mine, intense and filled with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. He then shifted his gaze to Enzo, and I felt a surge of tension, almost palpable in the air. Mattheo’s expression was a mix of anger and something deeper, more primal. His presence was overpowering, and for a moment, I felt heat creep up my neck.
Enzo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But Mattheo... He’s not the villain in this story either. He’s complicated, broken even. And I can’t say what he did was right, but he’s— he’s not as heartless as you think there’s more ."
I glanced up again, and Mattheo was still watching us, his gaze burning.
"But he’s never been happier," Enzo finished, his words hanging in the air.
"Never been happier," Enzo repeated softly, his eyes searching mine. "It means something, doesn’t it? Despite everything, it means something."
"i have to go , but thanks Enzo," I said softly, walking away without looking back.
As I made my way toward the dormitory, I felt a presence behind me. My grip tightened on my bag, and I quickened my pace, hoping to outdistance whoever it was. But the footsteps behind me only grew louder and more determined.
Adrian Pucey appeared, sauntering over with that cocky grin Slytherins seem to be born with. "Well, well, if it isn’t the infamous Y/N Y/L/N," he said, falling into step beside me as I made my way to my dorm. "Mind if I join you?"
I didn’t answer, keeping my eyes forward, hoping he’d take the hint and leave me alone.
"Silent treatment, huh?" Adrian said with a chuckle, clearly not deterred. "You know, that only makes me more interested."
I sighed, quickening my pace slightly. "Go away, Pucey."
But of course, he didn’t. Slytherins never could take a hint. He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, I’ve always had a thing for girls who don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’ve certainly got everyone talking."
I ignored him, still refusing to look up.
"Come on, Y/N, don’t be like that," Adrian pressed, his tone light and teasing. "You’re just going to walk away and let me bore you? I thought you were more fun than that."
Finally, I lost my patience. I stopped dead in my tracks, spinning on my heel to face him. In one swift motion, I pulled out my wand and pressed it under his chin. "I said, go away."
Adrian didn’t flinch; in fact, his grin widened. "You know, you’re even more beautiful when you’re angry."
I rolled my eyes, about to push him away for good, but then Adrian said something that caught me off guard. "For what it’s worth, I don’t give a damn about what they’re saying at school. People talk; it’s what they do. But I prefer forming my own opinions."
I paused, the wand still under his chin, studying his face. He looked sincere, in his own way—at least as sincere as a Slytherin could be.
"And what’s your opinion, then?" I asked.
"That you’re more interesting than any of them. And that I’d rather be here getting cursed by you than be anywhere else."
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. It wasn’t the reaction I expected, but something about his audacity and the ridiculousness of the situation just got to me.
Adrian raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased with himself. "See? I knew you had a sense of humor."
I shook my head, lowering my wand. "You’re insufferable, Pucey."
He took a step back, giving me a mock bow. "Thank you, I try."
Despite myself, I found the corners of my mouth twitching into a smile.
There was something disarming about him, and from that moment on, we fell into a sort of reluctant friendship. He had a knack for making me laugh when I least expected it, and I found myself tolerating his presence more than I would have admitted.
Days passed and we get even more closer he was the first friend I ever had besides Riddle ( we agree not to talk about him in this house).
It was strange, almost welcome, having someone who didn’t treat me like I was fragile or a pariah. As much as I hated to admit it, Adrian’s lightheartedness was exactly what I needed, a distraction from the complicated mess my life had become.
Adrian caught up to me in the corridor, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Y/N, you’re not going to believe what happened last night," he said, his voice full of mischief.
I didn’t slow my pace, only glancing at him briefly before looking ahead again. "Do I even want to know?"
He laughed, clearly delighted by my disinterest. "I hooked up with a Gryffindor."
I raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide my skepticism. "Congratulations. I’m sure that’s a new personal best for you."
He opened his mouth but I was faster, already knowing where this was going. “Adrian, you don’t need to broadcast every conquest.”
He rolled his eyes at my sarcasm but didn’t seem bothered by it. "Stop walking for a second. I need to see your reaction when I say the next part."
I sighed, finally coming to a halt and turning to face him. "Fine, what is it?"
Adrian leaned in, his grin widening as if he was about to reveal the juiciest piece of gossip. "Haven’t you heard? Your pretty boy and—"
I cut him off, correcting him for what felt like the millionth time. "He’s not my boy, Adrian. And for your information, if he heard you calling him 'pretty boy,' he’d cut your tongue out."
Adrian laughed, not at all intimidated. "Not if I used 'your' before it."
"He’s not my boy," I repeated firmly, crossing my arms over my chest. "And he has a girlfriend too, so that’s disrespectful."
"Dammit, if you’d just listen for once," Adrian said, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. "And you say you’re a good listener."
"I am a good listener."
"Good listener, my ass," Adrian muttered, shaking his head. "Anyway, back to what I was trying to say—Riddle and Betty broke up."
His words hung in the air, and I blinked, trying to process what he’d just said. "What?"
"They broke up," Adrian repeated, more slowly this time, as if I hadn’t heard him the first time.
For a moment, I felt a pang of confusion, but then Enzo’s words echoed in my mind, along with what everyone always said about them.
"They always do, Adrian. Give them a week."
He cut me off this time, his tone more serious. "No, they did break up. For good this time. She was kissing Cedric last night, so it’s official. They’re done. I don’t know how people do that—stay friends with their exes."
I blinked, processing his words,but I kept my expression neutral. "You’re still friends with half of your exes."
Adrian shrugged, not missing a beat. "And I never said it’s a good thing."
I let out a short laugh, shaking my head at his honesty. "You’re a piece of work, Pucey."
He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. "I try. Speaking of which, there’s a big game this week. You should come see me practice. I want to show off a bit. Everyone else has a girlfriend in the stands—I want to prove I’m at least capable of getting my friend to watch."
I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious of his intentions. "You’re just trying to get me and Mattheo in the same place, aren’t you?"
He chuckled, unashamed. "A little scheming never hurt anyone. But no, I really do want my friend there."
I hesitated, not really wanting to get involved, but Adrian’s persistence was hard to ignore. "I don’t know, Adrian…"
"Come on, Y/N," he coaxed, his tone playful but with a hint of sincerity. "It’ll be fun, and I could use the support. Plus, you can make fun of me if I screw up. It’s a win-win."
I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. "Fine. But don’t expect me to cheer or anything."
Adrian’s grin grew wider. "Deal. I knew I could count on you."
After classes, I made my way to the Quidditch pitch, feeling a bit out of place as I climbed the stands to watch the practice. It wasn’t something I usually did, and the familiar tension in my chest was a reminder that I was here because of Adrian’s persistence, not because I actually wanted to be.
I settled into a seat, scanning the field. It didn’t take long for Adrian to spot me. He grinned widely, waving enthusiastically from his broom. I couldn’t help but wave back, but my eyes weren’t really on him—they were on Mattheo.
He was standing off to the side, his broom in hand, looking between me and Adrian with a gaze that made my heart skip a beat. His jaw clenched, his expression darkening the moment he noticed me there. The intensity in his eyes was undeniable, and I could feel the weight of his stare even from across the pitch.
The practice started, but it felt like it was just background noise to the tension simmering between us. Every time I glanced down, Mattheo’s eyes were on me, glaring with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. I tried to focus on the game, on the way Adrian was zipping around the field, but my attention kept drifting back to Mattheo. The way his muscles tensed, the way his grip on his broom tightened—it was clear that something was brewing under the surface.
And then it happened. As the players flew around, Mattheo’s aggression grew, particularly toward Adrian. Every move he made was sharper, more forceful, like he was aiming to prove something. Adrian noticed it too and finally had enough. After one particularly hard shove from Mattheo during a pass.
"What’s your problem, Riddle?" Adrian snapped, his voice loud enough to cut through the sounds of the practice.
Mattheo’s response was a slow, sinister smirk, the kind that sent a chill down my spine. "You’re in my way, Pucey," he said, his voice dripping with malice.
Adrian narrowed his eyes. "What’s the matter, can’t handle a little competition? Or is it something else?"
The coach called out their names, warning them to get back in the game, but neither of them listened. The tension between them was palpable, thickening the air around us.
Their friends, Theo, Enzo, and even Draco, walked over, trying to diffuse the situation, but it was clear Mattheo wasn’t in the mood for peace.
"Careful, Riddle," Adrian taunted, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. "Wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re losing your edge."
Mattheo’s smirk widened, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Maybe you should keep that big mouth of yours shut before I shut it for you."
Before anyone could react, Mattheo’s fist connected with Adrian’s face, sending him reeling backward. The blow was quick and brutal, and Adrian barely had time to recover before Mattheo hit him again, this time with his broom handle, right across the jaw.
Adrian staggered, blood dripping from his lip, but he still managed to look up at Mattheo with a defiant grin. "That all you got?"
Mattheo didn’t reply with words. His eyes gleamed with that same dark amusement as he struck Adrian again, this time even harder. The crack of the impact echoed across the pitch, drawing gasps from the other players.
"Enough!" the coach roared, finally reaching them and shoving the two apart. "Both of you, out of here, now!"
Adrian wiped the blood from his mouth, glaring at Mattheo. "Always knew you were a psycho, Riddle," he muttered under his breath.
Mattheo just smirked again, his eyes briefly flicking up to meet mine before he turned and walked off the pitch, leaving chaos in his wake.
I sat on the common room sofa, gently pressing a cold ice pack against Adrian’s bruised cheek. His face scrunched up in pain, and he let out a frustrated groan. "For fuck’s sake, Y/N, he’s crazy."
"Yeah, so I noticed," I muttered, not really looking at him.
Adrian smirked, despite the pain. "He was jealous. I know it." His grin widened. "How cute is that, huh? Jealous over our friendship, baby?"
I rolled my eyes at him. "You’re so delusional, Pucey."
He winced as I pushed the ice pack a bit too firmly against his cheek. "Ouch! Careful, you’re supposed to be helping, not making it worse."
"Maybe if you stopped running your mouth, you wouldn’t be in this situation," I shot back, pushing him away.
He clutched his chest dramatically. "Oh, the betrayal! First Riddle, now you! And after I took a beating for you ? I’m wounded, Y/N."
Shaking my head, I stood up. "You’ll live."
I left the common room, needing to clear my head. The hallways were mostly empty, the late hour ensuring that most students were either in their common rooms or asleep. I walked with purpose, looking for him.
It didn’t take long to find Mattheo. He was outside, leaning against the cold stone wall, a cigarette between his fingers. The flame from his lighter flickered as he lit it, the orange glow briefly illuminating his face. He looked up when he heard my footsteps, his eyes darkening with recognition.
I didn’t hesitate. I marched right up to him and slapped him across the face.
Mattheo’s head snapped to the side, but when he looked back at me, he was smiling—almost as if he was amused. He licked his lower lip, that dangerous smirk still playing on his mouth. "Nice to see you too, darling."
I glared at him, my hand still stinging. "What the hell is wrong with you, Riddle? You think you can just go around punching people because you’re pissed off?"
He chuckled softly, taking another drag from his cigarette. "I think you’re overreacting. Pucey can handle himself."
"I don’t care about you or your bullshit. But you better stay away from me and my friends."
He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. "Your friends?" he echoed, a mocking tone to his voice. "Or just Adrian?"
I froze for a split second, then recovered. "Stay away from Adrian."
His expression darkened, jealousy flaring in his eyes. "So, it’s Adrian now, is it?" His voice was low, dangerous. "He’s not good for you."
I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "And who is, Mattheo? You?"
His jaw clenched, but he said nothing. I shook my head, trying to push past him. "I can’t even look at your face right now."
Before I could get far, he grabbed my hand, pulling me back with enough force to spin me around and shove me against the cold stone wall. My breath caught as the rough surface bit into my back.
His face was inches from mine, his grip on my wrist firm but not painful. "You don’t get it, do you?" His voice was low, dangerous, but there was a desperate edge to it that I hadn’t expected. "Adrian is a womanizer. He’s got a new girl every week, Y/N. Is that the kind of friend you want?"
I scoffed, yanking my wrist out of his grasp. "And you’re any better?You’re no saint."
Mattheo’s eyes flashed with something dark, and he leaned in even closer, his breath warm against my skin. "No I’m not."
I stared at him, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions in his eyes. He was so angry, so desperate to convince me that Adrian was bad for me.
"And he has a small dick," Mattheo muttered, almost as if it was an afterthought.
I blinked, my brain struggling to catch up with what he’d just said. "What?"
Mattheo’s expression didn’t change. "You heard me. He’s got a small dick."
I stared at him, utterly baffled. "How do you even know that?"
He shrugged, his tone completely nonchalant. "Changing room. We play on the same team remember?"
I couldn’t believe this conversation was actually happening. "Mattheo, what the actual fuck? I don’t want to talk about my friend’s dick. That’s just… weird."
But Mattheo didn’t respond, his eyes still locked on mine, his gaze piercing through the tension that hung between us. I could feel my breath hitch in my chest, and when I finally spoke, my voice was low and strained. "You’re starting," I said, the weight of our past heavy in my words.
He nodded, his voice equally subdued. "I’m starting."
I tried to push him away, desperate to put some distance between us, but he caught my wrist gently, his touch both tender and firm.
"I wish I didn’t stop that night and left you on that road."
Mattheo didn’t blink, didn’t try to interrupt me. He just stood there, absorbing every word like a punch to the gut.
"Do you know what happens to people like me when they get their hopes up? They pay. And I did."
The pain of those days, of that heartbreak, surged back, choking me as I tried to continue.
"No one blamed you. No one called you the things they called me. And I—" My voice cracked, and I couldn’t bring myself to finish. The words were too heavy, too raw.
"I lied," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion.
"I know you—" I began, but he cut me off, his words coming out in a rush.
"No, I lied when I said I knew we were on a break. We weren’t. It was really over. I lied to you that day in my house. That was the only time I lied to you," he said, and for a brief moment, I almost believed him. But then I remembered everything—the pain, the betrayal, the way he’d left me shattered. I pushed him away, shaking my head.
"I don’t believe you," I said, my voice hard, trying to build a wall around my heart.
"I know you don’t," he replied, his tone soft, resigned. "But I’m not playing games with you. I never did —“
I started to walk away, trying to block out his words, trying to keep my heart from breaking all over again. But his voice stopped me, laced with a vulnerability I hadn’t expected.
"For a long time, I thought I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t. Even for someone like me, I tried to play it safe, and dammit, you were no safe choice."
His words confused me, and I turned to look at him, my brow furrowing. "What?"
He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. "You made my heart beat faster. You made my breath hitch with just a look in your eyes. You made me feel things I didn’t want to feel, things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling."
I stood frozen, trying to process everything he was saying.
"You were everything I didn’t know I needed," Mattheo continued, his voice trembling slightly. "But all I did was hurt you. And I hate myself for it."
"Mattheo…"
He closed the distance between us, his hand reaching out to gently cup my cheek.
I wanted to pull away, to protect myself from the whirlwind of emotions his words were stirring up, but I couldn’t move. His touch, his words—they held me in place, and all I could do was stand there, my heart pounding in my chest.
His thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down my cheek, I searched his eyes, looking for any sign of deception, any hint that he was just saying what he thought I wanted to hear. But all I saw was sincerity, raw and unfiltered.
Then he kissed me.
It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fierce, urgent, like he was pouring all of the things he couldn’t say into that kiss. His hands roamed down my back, gripping my waist as he pressed me harder against the wall, and I felt my resolve crumbling with every passing second.
I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—there was only Mattheo and the heat of his mouth on mine, the feel of his body against me. His tongue traced my bottom lip, and I opened up for him, a moan escaping as he deepened the kiss, his hand tangling in my hair.
The intensity of it all was dizzying, making my head spin as I gave in to the raw, unfiltered desire between us.
Every touch, every kiss, only fanned the flames higher, and I found myself wanting more, needing more.
But then, reality crashed back in.
I pulled away abruptly, gasping for air, my heart pounding in my chest. "No," I whispered, shaking my head as I backed away from him, my hands trembling. "I can’t—I shouldn’t…"
I had to get out of there, away from him, away from the mess of emotions he stirred up inside me.
Without another word, I turned and ran, my footsteps echoing down the empty hallway as I fled from the confusion and the undeniable pull he had over me. My chest was tight, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting feelings as I put as much distance between us as possible.
But even as I ran, the taste of his kiss lingered on my lips, a reminder of the fire I couldn’t seem to escape.
The next day, I found myself sitting in the common room, staring blankly at the fireplace, my thoughts a jumbled mess. I was trying to focus on anything other than the way Mattheo's lips had felt on mine, or the fact that I had practically bolted from him like a coward. But just as I was about to lose myself in those thoughts again, Adrian plopped down beside me, his face twisted in a mix of disbelief and outrage.
"He said I have a small dick!" Adrian practically shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "Can you believe that? The nerve!"
I blinked, trying to process his words. "What?"
Adrian waved his hands around dramatically, still caught up in his rant. "Mattheo! He said I have a small dick! That’s a fucking lie!"
I stared at him, fighting the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. "Adrian, really? That’s what you’re focused on right now?"
Adrian didn’t seem to hear me. He was on a roll, pacing back and forth, gesticulating wildly as he continued his tirade. "I mean, where does he get off saying that? He thinks just because he’s got that whole brooding, bad-boy thing going on he can go around spreading lies"
"Okay," I said, trying to cut in, but Adrian was too worked up to be interrupted.
"And it’s not even true!" he exclaimed, as if I needed convincing. "I mean, who does he think he is? Mr. Big Shot Riddle with his—"
"Adrian," I tried again, louder this time.
But he was still going. "I swear, I’m going to hex him next time I see him. No, I’m going to curse him. I’m going to—"
"Adrian!" I finally snapped, and he paused mid-rant, looking at me with wide eyes.
"What?"
"I believe you," I said, my voice firm. "I swear, I believe you. But can we focus, please? I’ve got bigger problems than Mattheo’s opinion on your… anatomy."
Adrian huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he flopped down beside me again. "Yeah, fine. Whatever. But seriously, what an ass."
I rolled my eyes, trying to push aside the urge to laugh. "Dammit, Adrian. Focus."
He sighed, finally calming down. "Alright, alright. What did you want to talk about?"
I hesitated, the memory of Mattheo’s kiss still fresh in my mind. "That he… he kissed me."
Adrian’s eyes went wide. "Wait, what? He kissed you?"
"That’s what I was trying to say."
"Yes, but can we get back to the part where he called my dick small?" Adrian cut in, as if he couldn’t let it go.
I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "Adrian, for the love of Merlin—"
"Fine, fine," he grumbled, finally dropping it. "But for the record, that’s total bullshit."
Even though Betty and Mattheo still looked close, like the good friends they always had been, something had shifted. It was official—they had broken up. Their nearly lifelong relationship, which had been a toxic whirlwind of drama and passion, was finally over. Betty seemed fine, maybe even relieved, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was better at hiding things than I was.
Cedric, on the other hand, was the exact opposite of Mattheo in every way. He was calm, reliable, and safe. It made me wonder how Betty could jump from someone like Mattheo to someone like Cedric without a hitch.
She had spent so much of her life tangled up with Mattheo, and from what I’d heard, it hadn’t been easy. It had been intense, full of ups and downs, yet here she was, seemingly unscathed. I wished I could say the same for myself.
A week passed, and things were surprisingly... quiet. Well, except for Adrian, who couldn’t stop yapping about "that fucker trying to spread misinformation about his dick." It was a constant source of frustration for him, and honestly, the way he went on about it was almost comical.
Every time we crossed paths, Adrian would find some way to bring it up. “I mean, seriously, Y/N,” he’d start, completely exasperated, “the audacity of that asshole! He’s out there spreading outright lies! I should charge him with defamation or something.”
I couldn’t help but snicker. “Defamation?”
“Of character!” Adrian insisted, as if he’d been gravely wronged. “Or defamation of… of something! It’s not just about the dick thing, it’s about the principle!”
“Right, the principle,” I’d say, trying to keep a straight face.
He wasn’t having any of it. “This isn’t funny, Y/N! Misinformation like this can ruin a guy’s reputation!”
Despite his outrage, it was hard to take him seriously when he’d throw phrases like “my honor is at stake” into the mix. I kept telling him to let it go, but that was like asking a Kneazle not to pounce on a mouse.
Meanwhile, I was doing my best to avoid two things: my father’s letters and Mattheo. The former had been piling up, unopened and ignored, on my bedside table. I just couldn’t bring myself to deal with whatever he had to say, not when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control.
And then there was Mattheo. Every time I saw him in the hallways or across the common room, my heart would start racing, and I’d immediately look away, pretending I hadn’t noticed him. But I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and dark, following me even when I wasn’t looking. There was a tension in the air between us, thick and electric, like the calm before a storm.
It wasn’t just his stare that I noticed. It was something else, something impossible to ignore. Strawberries. Every meal, whether it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner, Mattheo would go for the strawberries. He’d pick them out with careful precision, eating them slowly, almost deliberately. I tried to ignore it, to push the thought out of my mind, but it lingered, nagging at me every time I saw him reach for the fruit.
In the common room, I’d catch him staring at me from across the room his eyes made my skin prickle. He’d lean back in his chair, casual and confident, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but there was always a hint of something more beneath the surface—a challenge, a dare, as if he was waiting for me to crack.
And I hated that it worked. That I’d feel my heart race, my breath catch, every damn time.
But I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. So I kept my distance, kept my focus on anything but him.
And so the week dragged on, with Adrian’s indignant rants and Mattheo’s silent, smoldering presence, the tension between us building like a storm ready to break.
As I was lost in thought, Adrian suddenly popped up beside me, completely oblivious to the turmoil brewing in my mind. “Hey, Y/N,” he started, his tone unusually chipper. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“Not now, Adrian.”
But Adrian, being Adrian, was persistent. He grabbed my arm, a grin spreading across his face as he practically dragged me down the corridor. “Come on, it’ll only take a second.”
“Adrian, what are you—” I started to protest, but before I could finish, he had pushed me into an empty classroom. I stumbled inside, annoyance rising in my chest.
“What the hell, Adrian?” I snapped, turning around just in time to see Mattheo stepping into the classroom as well, looking equally confused. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the silence.
Realization hit us like a freight train.
I bolted for the door, but it was already locked. Panic flared in my chest as I fumbled with my bag, searching for my wand, only to realize it wasn’t there. Adrian. I closed my eyes, vowing that once I got out of this room, the lies he’d been spouting about his dick would be the least of his worries.
I turned back to face Mattheo, opening my eyes. “Your wand,” I demanded, holding out my hand.
He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Are you planning to kill me, love? I’m sure Enzo would be more than willing to help you out, so it wouldn’t be much of a surprise.”
His voice was dripping with that infuriating confidence, and the way he called me “love” sent a shiver down my spine. I scowled, refusing to let him see how much he affected me.
“Don’t act like you didn’t know this was going to happen,” I shot back, my voice laced with anger.
He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, as calm as ever. “You think I planned this?”
“Who else would’ve put Adrian up to something so stupid?” I spat, my frustration bubbling over.
Mattheo chuckled, shaking his head. “You give me too much credit. But if I had known, I wouldn’t have let him lock us in without a proper plan.”
“Like what?” I snapped. “Driving me insane until I can’t take it anymore?”
He took a step closer. “You’re already there, aren’t you?”
I clenched my fists, trying to keep my composure. “Yes, Unfortunately.”
He was close now, so close that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. His voice dropped to a low murmur, sending a thrill through me despite myself. “But you’re not as immune to me as you like to pretend, are you?”
I glared up at him. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mattheo.”
His smirk widened, and he leaned in even closer, his breath warm against my ear. “I don’t need to. You’re doing it for me.”
“So you say you didn’t know this was going to happen?”
He shrugged, still infuriatingly calm. “I didn’t know, but I’m not exactly complaining. We seem to keep finding ourselves in situations like this, don’t we?”
I glared at him, anger flaring up inside me. “This isn’t funny, Mattheo. I’ve had enough of your games.”
“Games?” he repeated, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “Who said anything about games, Love?”
“Maybe I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation,” he murmured, his eyes locked on mine with that intense, burning gaze that always made it hard to think straight.
I clenched my fists, trying to hold onto my anger, but it was slipping through my fingers like sand. “You always think you’re so clever, don’t you?”
He was closer now, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of him—his cologne and something darker, more dangerous—wrapping around me.
“Maybe I am clever,” he said softly, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down my spine. “Or maybe… I’m just desperate to be close to you.”
“Is that so?” I finally managed to say, my voice barely more than a whisper.
He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “It is,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. "So if you’re going to kill me, love, better do it quick… because every second I’m this close to you knowing I had you once and then lost you, I’m burning alive.”
I shoved him away with all the strength I could muster, my anger boiling over. "I feel sorry for you, you know that?" I spat out, my voice trembling with the intensity of the emotions I was barely holding in check.
He didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes of his. And that only made it worse. “You didn’t even apologize, Mattheo,” I continued, my voice rising. “You didn’t even try. And you know why? Because you don’t know how. You don’t know how to say you’re sorry, how to admit when you’ve messed up. You don’t know how to do the right thing. It must be exhausting being a disappointment all the time.”
I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel just a fraction of the pain he’d put me through. But as the words left my mouth, a sharp pang of regret sliced through me. I hated the look on his face now—the way his eyes clouded over, the way he blinked and looked away, as if trying to shield himself from the weight of my words.
But I wasn’t done. “You have no idea how hard it was, Mattheo. To let you in, to let you see me—the real me. I showed you everything, all my scars, all my wounds. I trusted you with them. And what did you do? You added more. You just kept adding more and more until I couldn’t take it anymore.”
He finally looked at me, something in his expression shifting. Slowly, he sat down on one of the desks, the smirk that usually played on his lips completely gone. It was like a mask had dropped, and all that was left was the raw, vulnerable truth beneath.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It is exhausting.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stopped, taken aback, staring at him in surprise. This was different—he was different. There was no bravado, no arrogance. Just… Mattheo.
“So the worst part was letting you down,” he continued, his voice full of a sadness that I wasn’t used to hearing from him. “I was raised by anger and loud voices. But you… you’re so quiet, so pure. Dammit, Y/N, I don’t know how to love, but I know I love you.”
I opened my mouth, the anger flaring up again. “You cheated on—”
“No, Y/N, I didn’t,” he cut me off, his voice firm. “It was over. I would never do that to you, or to her. It was really over, I swear it was.” He looked me straight in the eyes, pleading silently for me to believe him. “I did go to tell her. I hated the idea of her finding out from Inez and not me. We weren’t together, I swear we weren’t.”
He paused, searching my face for any sign of understanding. “We did get together after, because we both were heartbroken and we didn’t know any other way to fix it but it wasn’t the same. It was never the same—not after you.”
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. “So I was the other woman, then?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue, the implication of what that meant, of what I had been to him, cutting deeper than I’d expected.
He shook his head. “You weren’t the other woman, Y/N. You were the one who made me realize what I wanted, what I needed. You were the one who showed me that there was more to life than just be angry, than just doing fighting for everything. You made me want more—made me want to be more. I didn’t cheat on you, because in my heart… it was you. Even when I didn’t realize it, even when I was too much of a coward to admit it, it was you. It’s still you.”
He took a deep breath, his voice softening as he continued. “I won’t lie to you, and I won’t pretend that I’m not messed up. But what I feel for you… it’s real. It’s the most real thing I’ve ever felt in my life.”
I looked at him, my breath hitching in my throat as I tried to keep the tears from spilling over. "I was raised by anger too, Mattheo," I began, my voice trembling. "But not the loud kind. It was quiet and slow, like a poison that seeps in and stays with you. It was the kind of anger that doesn’t shout but whispers, making you question everything, making you feel like you’re never enough."
I paused, struggling to get the words out, the emotions too raw, too painful. "And then you came along. You were loud, you were the voice in the silence, the one who made me feel something other than that suffocating anger. You—" My voice caught in my throat, and I couldn’t finish. Instead, I just sat down too, the weight of everything crashing down on me.
For a moment, we just sat there in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts, in the wreckage of what we’d done to each other. Then, I started again, my voice softer, more vulnerable than it had been before.
"I lived for the hope of what was between us. I wanted so badly for it to be real, for it to be serious. I cancelled plans, stayed up late, made excuses just to see you, to be near you. I was always waiting, always hoping that this time, you’d see me, really see me. And when you did, it was like nothing else mattered. It was like you were the only thing that mattered."
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing tighter. "But every time I got my hopes up, I paid for it. I paid for it with every tear, with every sleepless night, with every second I spent wondering if you felt the same, if you cared as much as I did. And when it all fell apart, when you walked away, no one blamed you. No one called you the names they called me. I was the one who paid the price, while you… you just moved on."
Mattheo was silent, his gaze fixed on the floor as he absorbed my words. Finally, he spoke,"I didn’t know how to love you properly, because I didn’t know how to love at all."
He paused, his voice breaking as he continued. "But I know I love you. Even when I didn’t want to admit it, even when I tried to convince myself that I didn’t, I knew. And it scared the hell out of me. Because you deserve better, you deserve someone who knows how to love you right, who doesn’t screw it up every chance he gets."
He looked away, his hands trembling slightly as he spoke. "But I tried. Dammit, Y/N, I tried. I tried to be what you needed, what you wanted. But I failed. I failed because I didn’t know how to be that for you. And I hated myself for it. I still do."
I stared at him, my heart aching at the raw honesty in his voice, the pain that I could see etched on his face.
Tears streamed down my face, the weight of everything crashing down on me all at once. I couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t catch my breath. The room felt too small, the air too thick, and all I wanted to do was escape—to run from everything, from him, from the pain that seemed to swallow me whole.
"Y/N… love?" Mattheo’s voice broke through the haze, soft and filled with desperation as he knelt in front of me, trying to get me to look at him.
"Look at me, love. Look into my eyes. You love doing that, don’t you? Come on, just breathe with me, okay?"
But I couldn’t. My whole body was shaking, and it felt like the walls were closing in on me. I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t think straight. All I could feel was the panic, the overwhelming fear that I was drowning, that I was going to fall apart completely.
"I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I never wanted to hurt you like this. I never wanted any of this to happen."
His hands moved to cup my face, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that continued to fall. "Please, forgive me," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Anything. I’ll do anything for you, baby. Just name it."
I tried to focus on his words, tried to let them ground me, but it was so hard. The pain was so deep, so consuming, and I didn’t know how to make it stop.
"Please, Y/N," he continued, his voice growing softer, more desperate. "I need you. I need you to know that you’re the one I want, the one I need."
I felt his hand move to the back of my neck, his touch gentle as he tried to steady me. "You’re the one I love," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. "The only one. There was no one else. I swear it."
"When I went to see Betty that night, it was over between us. It had been over for a while and I told you that love i didn’t lie about that I swear. I just… I couldn’t let her find out from someone else. I wanted to tell her myself. I didn’t want her to think… to think that I had been lying to her, that I had been with you while I was still with her. I wanted to be honest with her, with you. But I swear, Y/N, I didn’t cheat. Not with you, not with her."
His eyes searched mine, pleading with me to believe him. "You have to believe me. I know I messed up, I know I hurt you, but I never meant to. I just… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to handle everything. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. I swear it."
Tears streamed down my face, the weight of everything crashing down on me all at once.
"I’m so sorry," he whispered again, his lips brushing against my hair. "I’ll never hurt you like this again. I promise."
I felt the tears well up again, but this time, they were different. They weren’t tears of fear or anger, but something softer, something that felt almost like relief.
"I’ll do anything for you, baby," he repeated, his voice tender. "Just tell me what you need, and it’s yours."
The door creaked open, and I jumped slightly, still nestled in Mattheo’s arms. I quickly wiped at my face as Adrian stepped inside, a smirk plastered on his face.
"Please tell me you got him begging on his knees," Adrian said, his voice dripping with amusement.
Mattheo stiffened beside me, his expression darkening. He was up on his feet in a flash, and I knew that look—he was ready to kill Adrian. I quickly grabbed his hand, holding him back. "Don’t."
Adrian’s eyes widened in mock fear, holding up his hands as if to surrender. "Whoa, easy there, killer. I’m just here to check if my best friend needs any emotional support after dealing with, well, you."
"Do you have a death wish?" Mattheo growled, taking a step toward him.
"Mattheo, calm down," I said firmly, tugging on his hand to pull him back. I could feel the tension in his muscles as he glared at Adrian.
"You know," Adrian continued, seemingly oblivious to the danger he was in, "I’m just saying, I’ve never seen Mattheo Riddle on his knees for anyone. If I had a camera, I’d have snapped a photo for the history books."
"Adrian, shut up," I said,"You’re not helping."
"I think I’m helping," Adrian shot back with a grin. "In fact, I’m the best help you’ve got. What are you gonna do without me, Y/N? Cry on Mattheo’s shoulder all day? Please, that’s my job."
Mattheo looked like he was about to lunge at him, but I squeezed his hand.
Enzo suddenly appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a bemused expression on his face.
"Did I miss the show?" Enzo asked, raising an eyebrow. "I heard something about Mattheo begging?"
"I was not begging," Mattheo snapped, shooting Adrian a murderous glare.
Adrian shrugged, still smirking. "You say ‘not begging,’ I say ‘finally showing some humility.’ Same difference."
"Do you have a death wish or something, Adrian?" Enzo said, shaking his head with a grin.
"I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking," Adrian replied, crossing his arms. "Besides, someone needs to keep Riddle here in check. Can’t have him getting too full of himself."
"I can take care of that myself, thanks," I said, rolling my eyes at the two of them.
Mattheo finally relaxed a bit, though he still looked ready to strangle Adrian. "You’re lucky she’s here," he muttered darkly.
"Yeah, I know," Adrian said, giving me a wink. "I’d be toast without her around."
Enzo chuckled, pushing off the doorframe. "Alright, enough with the macho posturing. We’ve got better things to do than watch you two flirt-fight."
"Who’s flirting?" I shot back, crossing my arms.
"You," Enzo said, grinning. "And him." He pointed between Mattheo and me. "And for the record, you’re terrible at hiding it."
"Like I’d ever flirt with this asshole," I said, though my cheeks heated at the insinuation.
"Oh, please, Y/N," Adrian said, rolling his eyes. "You’re practically batting your eyelashes at him right now."
Mattheo finally smirked, his anger dissipating. "See? Even Adrian can see it."
"I’m going to kill you both," I muttered, but there was a smile tugging at my lips.
"Hey, that’s my line," Mattheo said, looking down at me with a soft grin. "But you’re cute when you’re mad, so I’ll let it slide."
Adrian snorted. "Wow, she’s got you whipped, doesn’t she?"
"I’m not whipped," Mattheo shot back, though he didn’t sound too convincing.
"You kind of are," Enzo said, laughing.
"And for you information Riddle that my dick is perfectly average-sized so stop spreading rumors, thank you very much!"
"It’s not a rumor if it’s true."
Adrian’s face flushed with annoyance. "That’s bullshit, and you know it, Riddle! Quit trying to spread misinformation about my buddy!"
"Adrian,Now, can we please focus on something other than your you know for five minutes?"
"Five minutes is all I need," Adrian quipped with a wink.
"Five minutes is all it’ll take for me to bury you six feet under," Mattheo Said.
"Alright, alright. Calm down, Romeo."
Adrian threw his hands up in exasperation. "I’m just saying, that kind of rumor could ruin a guy’s reputation!"
"Yeah, because that’s exactly what I was trying to do," Mattheo said.
I rolled my eyes and tugged on Mattheo’s hand, pulling him toward the door. "Let’s get out of here before I have to deal with any more of this."
"Good idea," Mattheo agreed, following me out of the room. "Before I decide to actually kill them."
Adrian called after us, "You know you love us!"
As we walked down the hallway, Mattheo turned to me with a lopsided grin. "So, I’m forgiven?"
I glanced up at him, trying to suppress a smile. "We can work on that," I replied, teasingly.
His grin grew wider, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "You know, seeing you all flustered and cute when you’re mad really does something to me."
My cheeks flushed red, and before I could respond, he captured my lips in a quick, heated kiss. It was so sudden that I barely had time to process it before he pulled away, smirking at my dazed expression.
"You can’t just kiss me like that out of nowhere!" I exclaimed, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.
"Well, I sure as hell will," he said confidently, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "If I get to finally call you my girl, then I’ll be going around showing off and making sure everyone gets the message."
I raised an eyebrow. "What message?"
"That you’re off-limits. No one gets close to you, and no one says a damn word that could upset you."
"No?" raised an eyebrow, teasing him. "And if they do?"
Mattheo’s eyes darkened, and his lips curved into a dangerous smile. "Let’s just say I don’t think they’d want to try that again."
My eyes widened in realization. “Wait, are you telling me you’ve been hitting guys who talk bad about me?”
He didn’t deny it, just gave me a sly smile, and suddenly, I couldn’t help the rush of excitement that went through me. The thought of him defending me like that—it was kind of a turn-on.
I smirked, stepping closer to him. “Okay, fine. That was such a turn-on. You can kiss me now.”
He didn’t need any more encouragement. His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer as he pressed his lips to mine again. This time, the kiss was deeper, more passionate, and I melted into him, forgetting everything else.
When we finally pulled away, breathless and slightly dizzy, he grinned down at me. "I’m going to love showing everyone that you’re mine."
I rolled my eyes, but my heart skipped a beat at his words. "Just don’t go overboard with it, okay?"
"No promises," he murmured against my lips before stealing one more kiss.
Summary: all y/n wanted is to love and to be loved to see the beauty of the world and to be happy even if that’s mean she will have to hide away , until that summer the summer she talked to mattheo riddle.
Words: 8.5k
Warnings: fluff, Angst , Angst , and a lot of angst, strong language , light smut, toxic, abused father.
August, finally. Summer, at last. The book snapped shut with a quiet _click_, and I slipped it into my bag. A glance at the darkening sky confirmed my decision. Time to go.
The beach was deserted now, save for the distant sound of laughter from a party I hadn’t been invited to. No hard feelings, no bad blood. It wasn’t that they disliked me—they simply didn’t see me.
I was an outsider to that world, a solitary figure on the periphery. No invitations had been extended, no longing glances cast my way. It was as though I existed in a silent film, a mere extra in the grand spectacle of life.
The sky, a masterpiece of blue, held me captive. In that moment, I was adrift, a solitary vessel on a boundless ocean. There was no turmoil, no drama, just the gentle sway of existence.
As I drove away from the beach, a flash of movement caught my eye. I slowed the car, looking out the window. There, on a bench under the pale glow of a streetlamp, was a figure slumped over. A bottle dangled precariously from one hand, and his face was streaked with what looked like red liquid. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized him—Mattheo Riddle, the infamous troublemaker.
I pulled over and got out of the car, the gravel crunching under my feet as I approached him. He was asleep, his dark hair falling over his eyes, his usually sharp features softened by unconsciousness.
I carefully took the bottle from his hand, the alcohol’s pungent smell mixing with the salt air. He stirred, and in an instant, his hand shot out, catching mine.
He sat up abruptly, blinking rapidly, clearly disoriented. “What the—” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep and alcohol. “Betty? Bethany? Is that you?”
"No," I replied, my tone firm yet gentle. "It's Y/n."
He sat up abruptly, blinking against the night. The world seemed to tilt for him, and I extended a steady hand. His fingers, calloused and strong, closed around mine. A wave of dizziness washed over him, his eyes glazing over.
"Y/n Y/L/n," he mumbled, as if testing the syllables on his tongue. "Y/N Y/L/N... I know who you are."
"You do?" I asked, a bit surprised.
"Oh, I know," he said, attempting to stand. He wobbled, and I reached out to steady him.
"You want me to help you get back home?"
He attempted to stand, wobbling on his feet, and I instinctively reached out to steady him.
"Easy there," I murmured, helping him to his feet.
"Thank you, love,"
"It's Y/N," I corrected.
"But 'love' fits you quite fine," he replied, a flirtatious glint in his eyes.
I rolled my eyes. "Let me drive you home."
"Yeah, that'd be nice."He nodded, still leaning on me for support.
"Are you staying with Enzo at the Berkshire house?" I asked.
"Yeah," he mumbled, his head lolling slightly.
With some effort, I guided him to the car and helped him into the passenger seat. As I started the engine, he looked over at me, his expression softening.
"You’re so kind, love," he mumbled. "Why are you so kind to me?"
"Because you need help," I replied simply. "Just doing the right thing,"
He laughed softly, a drunken, endearing sound. "You’re too good for this world, Y/N." he mumbled, "Always thought you were pretty."
"Thank you, Mattheo," I replied, trying to keep my focus on the road.
"I’ve noticed you before, you know. Always so quiet, so calm. I like that," he continued, his voice softening.
"That's sweet of you to say."
He leaned back in the seat, his eyes closing again. "Yeah, love. Sweet."
I pulled up to the Berkshire house and helped him out of the car. "Let’s get you inside."
As we walked to the door, he leaned heavily on me, his steps unsteady. "You’re my angel, love," he whispered.
"It's Y/N, and you’re drunk" I reminded him gently. "And you have a girlfriend,"
"Oh, not anymore," he slurred, his expression turning somber.
I looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
"It’s over. She doesn’t want me anymore," he mumbled, swaying slightly.
We reached the front door, and I knocked, but no one answered. Enzo must still be at the party.
"Do you have a key?" I asked.
"Yeah, somewhere," he replied, patting his pockets aimlessly.
"I need more than ‘somewhere,’ Mattheo. Can you please tell me where your key is?"
After a moment of fumbling, he pulled it out and handed it to me with a smile. I opened the door and helped him inside, guiding him to the couch. He collapsed onto it with a groan.
"No one's here," I said, glancing around.
"Are you trying to get me all alone, Y/N?"
"What? No, I just wanted someone to be here so you won’t do anything stupid," I retorted, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.
But he was already drifting off, too drunk to do much of anything. I walked to the kitchen to get a water bottle. It felt wrong to walk around someone else's house like this, but then I spotted a bottle of aspirin on the table. Maybe these boys get drunk a lot; why else would it be there?
I returned to the living room, placing the water and aspirin on the table. I noticed Mattheo struggling to get his jacket off, one arm stuck in the sleeve. Gently, I helped him remove it and set it aside.
"Thanks, Betty," he murmured in his sleep, making my heart sink.
I blinked, fighting the urge to correct him, "You're welcome, Riddle," I whispered, knowing he wouldn’t hear it. He thought I was someone else. I was his Betty I doubted he even knew who I really was all that time.
As I get back to the car I noticed the bottle of red wine on the seat and couldn't help but smile.
The next day, the familiar sound of my parents arguing filled the house, so I grabbed my keys and headed to the beach for some peace.
When I got there, I saw him again. He was sitting on the sand, his hair damp, and his shirt clinging to his wet body. He must have just come out of the ocean. I tried to turn away, but it was too late—he had already noticed me.
"Going to ignore me?" he asked, walking towards me.
"No, of course not," I lied.
He smiled, "Liar." Then he looked at me seriously. "Thank you for last night. I'm sorry if I said anything that offended you. I don't remember much, but I appreciate what you did."
I was surprised he remembered at all and I wondered if he recalled calling me Betty too. "It's okay, you didn't. You just had a bad day, I guess."
He nodded. “I can leave if you want.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said, sitting down on the sand and pulling out my book.
“Little Women,” he remarked, eyeing the cover.
I nodded. He asked, “Who's your favorite character?”
Suddenly nervous, I struggled to form a coherent sentence. “Uh, Amy,” I finally managed.
“Oh, wow. Amy?” He raised an eyebrow.
I rolled my eyes.
“What was that for?” he asked, smiling.
“You’re just going to bully her, probably.”
“No, I would never do such a thing.”
I nodded, turning my gaze to the blue water. “It’s just... she’s not—”
“She’s not what?” I interrupted, defensive. “Amy is passionate and driven. She knows what she wants and goes after it. She’s not afraid to dream big.”
Mattheo was looking at me, truly listening. I blinked and looked away.
He grinned, teasing, “You’re quite the defender.”
I felt his eyes on me, making it impossible to focus on my book. I looked up and met his gaze. “You’re staring,” I said.
“I’m staring,” he replied, unashamed.
I laughed and closed the book. “What do you want?”
“I want to listen to you.”
“Listen to me?”
“Yeah, just like when you were defending Amy with your life a minute ago.”
“I don’t have anything interesting to talk about.”
He sat closer, leaning on his arm. “Then tell me something about yourself, something that no one knows.”
I laughed nervously. “No one knows anything about me, Mattheo.”
“Mysterious, are we?”
“More invisible, are we.”
His expression softened. “You are not invisible. Not to me, not anymore.”
I looked away. “Fine. I can’t swim.”
“You what?”
“I can’t swim. Tried too many times but failed.”
He looked shocked. “I can teach you.”
“Oh no, thanks."
“Come on, that’s the least I can do after last night.”
“No, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that.”
He nodded, sensing there was more to it. “You’re not getting away from it, but we’ll drop it for now. Tell me, what can I do for you?”
“Nothing. You don’t have to.”
“But I want to.”
Blushing, I tried to say something, anything to distract from his gaze. “You can get me ice cream.”
He laughed. “That’s it? Just ice cream?”
I smiled. “Yes.”
“Fine, you get this.” He stood up and offered me his hand. Nervously, I took it, and he helped me up.
As we walked, a comfortable silence settled between us. I broke it, almost without thinking. “Wanna play something?”
I wasn’t sure why I asked, maybe to feel what it’s like to have a conversation, to play with a friend. Wait—a friend? No, we’re not friends.
He interrupted my thoughts. “Yes, of course. What is it?”
“I spy with my little eye...” I said, feeling a bit silly. He laughed, and I knew why. It was childish, very childish. But this was new to me. I hadn’t experienced much of this in my childhood.
“Fine with me. Wanna start?” he asked, grinning.
I nodded. “I spy with my little eye, something... blue.”
He looked around, squinting playfully. “The ocean?”
“Too easy. Your turn,” I said, smiling.
“I spy with my little eye, something... red,” he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
I scanned the surroundings. “That towel over there?”
“Nope,” he replied, smirking.
“Give me a hint?”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “It’s closer than you think.”
I frowned, looking around us. Then I realized—my swimsuit strap, peeking out from under my shirt. “Oh. My swimsuit?”
“Got it,” he said, his grin widening.
We continued like this, the game bridging the gaps between our words. He was better at it than I expected.
“I spy with my little eye, something... brown,” I said, feeling more relaxed.
“My hair,” he guessed quickly, ruffling it for emphasis.
“Right again.”
“I spy with my little eye, something... beautiful,” he said, looking directly at me.
I blushed. “Mattheo...”
“What? You’re wearing it. That necklace,” he said, pointing to the small pendant I always wore.
“So, what’s your favorite flavor?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation back to safer grounds.
“Mint chocolate chip. Yours?”
“Strawberry.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Sweet and classic. Fits you.”
I rolled my eyes playfully.
“Just being honest.”
We arrived at the ice cream booth, still caught up in our game. “Two cones, please,” he ordered, handing me one.
“Thank you,” I said, taking a bite.
“Anytime, love,” he replied, winking.
I felt his eyes on me again, the way they made me feel seen. It was unsettling and exhilarating at the same time.
Then we continued our game.
"I spy with my little eye, something... on your face," he said, a teasing smile playing on his lips.
I frowned, confused. "What? Where?"
He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto mine. "Right here," he said softly, pointing to the corner of my mouth. "You’ve got a bit of ice cream."
I tried to wipe it away, but missed. “Did I get it?”
“Here, let me help.” He reached out, wiping the spot with his finger, brushing my lips. My breath hitched at the contact.
Just then, a cat darted out from the bushes, startling me. Instinctively, I grabbed Mattheo. My ice cream went flying, splattering all over his shirt.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” I started to panic, my apologies tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t see the cat—”
“Trying to get me naked already, Y/N? If you wanted me to take my shirt off, you should have just asked, love.”
But my mind was elsewhere, trapped in a darker place. I kept apologizing, my breathing becoming erratic. Memories of my father’s anger flashed in my mind, and I couldn’t see Mattheo standing there.
“Y/N, it’s okay. It’s just a shirt,” he said, trying to calm me. But I couldn’t stop, the panic rising within me.
“Hey, hey, Y/N, look at me, baby,” he said, more urgently. I didn’t respond until he cupped my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “It’s just a shirt. It’s okay.”
I nodded, still trembling. He wiped away the tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“There’s nothing to apologize for, love,” he said, shaking his head.
“You’re not mad?”
“Of course I’m not mad,” he assured me. “If anything, you’ve given me an excuse to show off.” He grinned, his flirtatious tone returning. “I bet you’re wondering how someone can look this good, even with ice cream all over them.”
I laughed softly, feeling the tension ease a bit. “Maybe a little.”
“See? Just a shirt and a bit of ice cream. No big deal,” he said, his hands still gently holding my face. “Now, let’s get you another ice cream.”
For the next weeks, we were inseparable. Mattheo and I met at the beach every day, talking, playing, and even reading a book together. His relentless flirting always left my cheeks as red as blood and made breathing a challenging task.
Today, as I parked the car and got out, I saw him playing football with a little boy.
"Who is that?" I asked, curious.
He looked up at me and smiled. "Found him here. He’s adorable—might just adopt him."
I laughed. "You can’t just adopt a kid you found on the beach, Mattheo."
I knelt down to the boy's level. "Hi."
"Hi," he responded, smiling.
"Where are your parents?" I asked.
"Over there," he said, pointing to a small family who waved at us once they noticed we were looking at them.
I looked up at Mattheo. He smiled. "What? You look adorable when you’re confused. I’d never miss a chance to see that expression on your face."
I sat on the back of my car, watching them. He continued to play with the boy for a little while until his family called him to leave. I waved goodbye to the little boy and then turned my attention to Mattheo.
"I never knew you were that good with kids," I said as he walked over to me, placing his hands on either side of me.
"Yeah?" he asked, and I nodded.
"Let me wonder why," he said, smiling. "Maybe because my father who probably wants to end the world died and left me fatherless?"
My eyes widened. "No, no, Mattheo, I didn’t mean that."
He chuckled. "I’m just teasing you, my love."
I blinked, noticing the subtle difference—"my love," not just "love."
"Go ahead, ask it," he said.
"Ask what?" I replied, feigning ignorance.
"I can see you thinking. You probably want to ask something but are afraid to," he said.
I shook my head, but he insisted. "It’s okay, you can ask me anything, and I will answer it."
I smiled, about to speak, but he cut me off. "With one condition."
"What? What is it?" I asked, curious and a bit apprehensive.
"Come with me," he said, glancing at the ocean. "You don’t have to swim or learn, just a little in. I’ll be there and will help you and answer all your questions too."
I felt a wave of nervousness and fear, but he noticed, touching my cheeks gently. "Hey, hey, look at me, love. Forget about it, okay? If you’re not—"
"No, no, I want to," I cut him off, nodding. "Are you sure?" he whispered, and I smiled, saying, "Never had I ever before."
I got off the car, and despite not wearing a bikini, I shyly took off my shirt, revealing my one-piece swimsuit. He smiled, taking off his shirt as well, and grabbed my hands. His touch was reassuring, and as we walked towards the ocean, I felt a mix of excitement and anxiety.
He led me into the water, just a step ahead of me, watching carefully as I looked down, watching my feet touch the water.
"Up, eyes on me, my love," he said softly. I did as he asked, meeting his gaze. He smiled at me and said, "Now, ask your questions."
I knew what he was doing—distracting me from my fear. I smiled nervously. "Okay, it’s personal and-," I began, but he cut me off.
"It’s over," he said, my eyes widening that he already knew what I was going to ask. "Come on, love, I was waiting for you to ask it. You didn’t think I knew? Yeah, me and Bethany—it’s over since that night."
I nodded, feeling a bit relieved. He took his turn. "Tell me, why are you afraid of it?" he asked gently, his fingers tracing circles on my hands.
"My father—my father, he threw me into the ocean once. I thought I was going to die, but then he pulled me out at the last moment," I said, my voice trembling. He stopped walking, squeezing my hands gently.
"Why would he do that? How could he do that?" he asked, his eyes darkening with concern.
"He’s very religious. He doesn’t tolerate... mistakes. I was ten. It was a birthday party for a daughter of one of my mother’s friends. We the kids were playing—a silly game. Seven minutes in heaven. Nothing happened, we just stayed in the closet. But my father didn’t believe me, or maybe he did and was just angry that I agreed to such a ‘shameless game’ as he called it. My mother bore the brunt of his anger after that," I explained.
He listened intently, his face a mix of anger and empathy. I was too afraid to look at him directly, but then I realized the water was up to my chest. I panicked, and he immediately wrapped his arms around my waist.
"I got you," he said, and I clung to him.
"Did your parents divorce?" he asked softly.
"Oh, worse," I said bitterly. "They stayed together for the kid—me. Can’t you see how happy I am now, thanks to them?" I laughed, but he didn't. Instead, he tightened his hold on me.
"You asked too many questions. You cheated," i said, he smiled tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear while still holding me.
"I don’t follow rules, my love," he said, and I smiled. "But you’re right. Ask away."
"Will you—will you still talk to me when we go back to school?" I asked, finally looking him in the eyes. There was nothing under my feet now; I was deep in the ocean. But it wasn't that which made me nervous—it was his answer.
"Why would you think I wouldn’t?" he asked, smiling and touching my hair, then my cheeks.
"I don’t know. I just thought..." I struggled to express my fear.
"You thought wrong, my love," he said, and despite being in the water, I clung to him even more. "Of course I will," he whispered in my ear. I nodded, resting my head on his shoulder, afraid to look at him, afraid to see a look of uncertainty in his beautiful eyes, or worse, something more—a desire I had long craved but thought was a fantasy, a dream people like me couldn’t have.
"Now, my turn. Why do you always hide?" he asked, and I looked at him, confused.
"Hide?"
"Yes, hide from everyone. You’re one of the smartest witches in our year. You have too—"
"I don’t want that," I interrupted.
"Don’t want what?"
"It’s just—I—" I tried to explain. "I don’t want to be noticed. I thought I did, but I don’t. It’s... ugh, Merlin, this is hard to explain. I just want to be happy."
"Happy?" he asked, his tone gentle.
"Yes, happy. Just happy and loved. I want love. I want to see the beauty in everything, but people always ruin that, don’t they? I want peace and happiness and love—a lot of love. And just because I don’t want to be a fighter or always know what to say, always fighting for things, always proving and proving—I’m so tired of always having to prove that I deserve to live, to be part of this world. I don’t want power or everything. I just want a little something, a little love. And I’m not weak, but I can’t explain that without sounding like a weak person, a scared girl. I’m not. I’m stronger than they all think," I yelled the last part.
"I know," he said gently, his hands in my hair.
"I was just trying to survive," I said, and he nodded.
I looked into his eyes and regretted it. The sun made them even more beautiful, and the thoughts I had would make my father get a priest to cleanse my soul. Sadly, I realized how close we were, his hands on my skin, our faces too close.
I didn’t realize I was looking at his lips until I looked up and saw his smirk.
My heart racing as his smile softened into something more tender, more intimate. The sun glinted off the water, casting a golden light over his face. His hand was warm against my skin, the other still wrapped securely around my waist.
"Don’t let go," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I don’t want to die."
His smile widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "I would never," he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring.
He reached out, his right hand cupping my chin, gently guiding my face until I was forced to meet his gaze. His other arm remained securely around my waist, holding me close. “Don’t look away from me now,” he said, his voice a soft command that sent shivers down my spine.
I wanted to tell him that I couldn’t, that I didn’t want to look away, but the feelings swirling inside me terrified me. I inched even closer to him, our bodies nearly flush against each other. I could feel his breath on my face, warm and intoxicating, and without thinking—or maybe because I didn’t want to think—I leaned in and kissed his cheek.
The moment my lips touched his skin, I felt a jolt of surprise, as if I had crossed a line I didn’t even know existed. He looked just as surprised, his eyes widening slightly.
“Was this a sin?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of curiosity and guilt.
He smiled, his lips curving into a playful grin. “I don’t think so.”
I closed my eyes, feeling his breath tickle my lips as he leaned in closer. Without hesitation, I kissed his other cheek, the warmth of his skin searing against my lips.
I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze once more, and then, almost without thinking, I placed another kiss on his jaw. He let out a soft, appreciative hum that sent a thrill through me.
“Definitely not a sin,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire.
I couldn’t help but smile at his words. He tilted his head, brushing his lips over mine, teasing, tasting, but not quite kissing me fully.
And then he kissed me.
His lips met mine with a hunger that took my breath away, his arms tightening around me, pulling me even closer. His kiss was searing, demanding, as if he was pouring all of his unspoken desires, all of his pent-up emotions, into this one moment.
I melted into him, my hands clutching at his shoulders, desperate to keep him close. His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a dance that left me dizzy, craving more.
"You taste like strawberries,” he whispered against my lips.
“And you taste like trouble,” I replied, my breath hitching as his mouth moved to my neck, placing slow, deliberate kisses.
“Good trouble?” he asked, his tongue tracing a path up to my ear.
“The best kind,” I breathed, my fingers tangling in his hair, then his lips were on mine again.
His hand moved from my waist to my lower back, pulling me flush against him, the force of his kiss making my head spin. I melted into him, my hands gripping his shoulders as I kissed him back just as fiercely, my body responding to him in a way that felt both foreign and completely natural.
He broke the kiss for a brief moment, his lips hovering just above mine as he whispered, “You feel this too, don’t you?”
His words sent heat pooling low in my belly, and I gasped as he nipped at my bottom lip, his hands sliding down to grip my hips, pulling me flush against him. I could feel the hard length of him pressed against me, a tangible reminder of just how much he wanted this, wanted me.
I nodded, too breathless to speak, my eyes half-closed as I leaned in to kiss him again. He didn’t hesitate, capturing my lips in another heated kiss, his hands roaming up my back, holding me so close that I could feel every beat of his heart.
His lips moved to my neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, and I gasped, the sound swallowed by the crashing waves. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and filled with a desire that mirrored my own.
“Say my name,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear as he nipped at the lobe. “Say it, love.”
“Mattheo,” I gasped, my voice barely recognizable as my own, filled with a longing I could no longer deny.
He kissed me again, his lips crashing against mine with a fervor that made my knees weak. His hands gripped my hips tighter, pulling me closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past my lips to tangle with mine in a dance of want and need.
I was lost in him, in the sensation of his body pressed against mine, his lips claiming me in a way that felt both dangerous and exhilarating. I knew there would be no going back from this, that whatever we were doing, whatever was happening between us, it was irreversible.
A distant sound broke through the haze of our moment. I froze, my ears straining to identify it. Voices—young, excited, and getting closer. I turned my head, my eyes scanning the shoreline, and spotted a group of boys arriving at the beach, their laughter carried on the wind.
“We should probably get out,” I whispered, my heart still racing from our kiss but now tinged with the awareness of being seen.
He nodded, pressing one last, lingering kiss to my lips before we reluctantly pulled apart. The water felt cooler as we waded back to shore, the spell of our private world slowly dissipating with each step.
Once we were out of the water, I sat on the towel, feeling the rough fabric beneath me as I tried to steady my breath. He reached for another towel and draped it over my shoulders, his touch still warm, comforting.
He stood there for a moment, his eyes lingering on me before he sat down. I looked at him, taking in the way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way his skin glistened with droplets of water. He was beautiful, devilishly beautiful, with the kind of allure that made it hard to look away. My eyes traced the lines of his back, the muscles shifting under his skin, and I found myself wishing I could write my name on it, claim him in some small, secret way.
He turned to sit down beside me, his movement breaking the spell of my thoughts. I smiled at him, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, still flushed from both the water and what had just transpired between us.
Without thinking, I leaned my head on his shoulder, seeking the comfort of his presence. He didn’t hesitate, his arm wrapping around me as he held my hand in his. His fingers traced gentle circles on the back of my hand, the touch sending soothing waves through my body, calming the lingering adrenaline.
He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead, his lips soft against my skin. I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into the moment, feeling safe and cherished in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.
It had been a week since that day on the beach, and I had never felt so alive, so completely consumed by happiness. Every thought, every breath, seemed to revolve around him. The world felt brighter, more vibrant, as if everything had been infused with color. I was caught in a whirlwind of emotions, and I didn’t want it to stop.
I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thoughts of him, when my mother knocked softly on the door. She poked her head in, smiling.
“You’re coming, right?” she asked, her eyes warm with expectation.
I knew what she meant. I was supposed to go with her to visit her best friend, a plan that had been made long before all of this. But the thought of missing a call from Mattheo, of not seeing him today, was unbearable. I felt like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t see him, if I didn’t feel his arms around me, even for just a moment.
I sat up, giving her an apologetic smile. “No, Mom, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can. Maybe I’ll just take a nap,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t press the issue.
She looked at me for a moment, then leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Alright, sweetheart. Get some rest,” she said softly, before leaving the room.
I watched the door close behind her and sighed, sinking back onto my bed. Only half an hour had passed when my phone buzzed, and I scrambled to grab it. His name lit up the screen, and my heart skipped a beat.
“Hey, do you want to go out?” Mattheo’s voice was smooth, teasing, and I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.
“Of course,” I said, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.
For the past week, we had spent almost every day together, usually at the beach. It was our place, where the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of us. But today, I felt a need for something different, something more.
“Can I come to your house instead?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “I can’t risk my father seeing your car… and then we can go wherever you want.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line before he answered. “Sure, wait for me at the front door.”
I didn’t question it, didn’t think much of it until I reached his house and texted him that I had arrived. As I waited, I heard voices inside—Enzo’s voice, unmistakable, and loud enough to carry through the walls. I couldn’t make out all of what he was saying, but one sentence rang out clearly: “This is a mistake, brother. This poor girl doesn’t deserve that.”
I frowned, my heart tightening with unease. But before I could process what I’d heard, Mattheo appeared, slipping into the passenger seat of my car. He leaned over, kissing me, his smile bright but somehow not reaching his eyes.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, searching his face.
“Of course, my love,” he said, brushing off my concern.
I hesitated, wanting to believe him, wanting to chase away the shadow that had settled in my chest. “Can we go to the new mall? I heard—”
He cut me off with a smile that felt forced. “I don’t like it. Too crowded. How about the beach?”
I tried to return his smile, but it didn’t come as easily as before. “We always go to the beach,” I said, watching him carefully. His eyes were distant, like his mind was somewhere else entirely.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, my voice softening.
He blinked, as if pulling himself back to the present. “Oh, nothing,” he said, his smile returning, though it still didn’t reach his eyes.
“The beach sounds good,”I said something hoping that it will make him smile as well.
he nodded, even though I knew something was off. I didn’t push it, not yet. Instead, I drove us to the beach, the familiar route doing little to ease the tension between us.
Once we arrived, the wind was soft against my skin, and the waves lapped at the shore, but the usual magic of the place felt dimmed by whatever was weighing on him. We walked in silence for a bit, the sand cool beneath our feet, until I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped, turning to face him, reaching out to touch his arm.
“Mattheo,” I said, my voice a mix of concern and affection. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
He looked down at me, his eyes searching mine as if trying to decide whether to let me in or keep me at a distance. But before he could answer, I rose onto my toes, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that was meant to chase away the darkness I saw in him.
His arms came around me, pulling me closer, and for a moment, everything else faded away. His kiss was slow, intense, as if he was trying to pour all of his unspoken thoughts into that one gesture. I felt the tension in his body, the way he held onto me like I was his anchor, keeping him from drifting into whatever storm was brewing inside him.
When we finally pulled apart, I rested my forehead against his, my breath coming in soft gasps. “I care about you,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Whatever it is, we can face it together.”
He looked at me, his gaze softer now, though still shadowed by something I couldn’t quite name.
As I looked up, I heard a sound—a bottle hitting the ground. Both Mattheo and I turned to see Inez, a fellow Hogwarts student, standing a few feet away. She seemed startled, her eyes wide with confusion and shock as she stared at us. I wasn't close to her, but I knew she was Betty's best friend. Mattheo's reaction caught my attention; he looked tense, a mix of anger, confusion, and nervousness flashing across his face. They exchanged a look, something unspoken passing between them, before she hurried away without a word.
"Was this Inez?" I asked, breaking the silence. Mattheo nodded, still staring at the spot where she had been standing.
After that, it felt like he was with me physically, but his mind was somewhere else. The rest of the day passed in a haze, and the following day he didn’t call or text. He wasn’t at the beach, our usual spot. Worry gnawed at me, and I sent him a message.
"Hey, are you okay?" I texted, hoping for a quick response. But it went on delivered, a silent mockery of my concern.
The next day came and went, and still, there was nothing. I tried again.
"Is everything alright? Did something happen?" I sent, my anxiety growing with each unanswered message.
Another day passed, and desperation seeped into my words.
"Did I do something wrong?" I typed, my fingers trembling slightly. "Please, just let me know."
By the end of the week, my heart felt heavy with worry and fear. I sat on my bed, tears stinging my eyes as I typed out another message.
"I miss you, Mattheo. I'm afraid... Please talk to me."
As I pressed send, a sob escaped my lips, and I felt the hot tears roll down my cheeks. The silence was deafening, crushing me with its weight. I started to type again, my breath coming in shaky gasps.
"Are you ghosting me?" I wrote, my vision blurring with tears. The thought of being abandoned, of him leaving without a word, tore at my heart.
Then, it happened. I watched in horror as all my messages changed to "Seen." He had read them—every single one. But there was no response, no explanation. Just the cold, stark confirmation that he was ignoring me.
I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened, and my vision swam. Panic surged through me, and I clutched at my throat, gasping for air. The room spun, and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of despair. My body shook as I tried to steady my breathing, but the panic was overwhelming.
Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the raw, suffocating fear that gripped me. I curled into myself, feeling utterly alone and broken. The world felt like it was collapsing around me, the silence between Mattheo and me a chasm that threatened to swallow me whole.
Something had changed. I could feel it in the air, a shift that made my skin prickle with unease. It wasn't just paranoia; there was a new intensity in the way people looked at me. Their eyes followed me, but not in a nice way. They whispered, heads bent together, glancing at me with something close to disgust. I had no idea why.
I hadn’t left the house since that day, too wrapped up in my own misery to face the world. But today, my father had insisted I go out, needing me to pick up something for my mother. Reluctantly, I agreed, knowing I couldn’t hide forever.
As I walked, a group of girls passed by, one of them, no more than fourteen, muttering just loud enough for me to hear, "A slut." My eyes widened in shock, and I turned to confront her, but she was already walking away. Why would she call me that?
Stunned, I got into my car, my hands shaking slightly. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, judged. Instead of heading home, I found myself driving towards the beach, seeking the familiar comfort of the waves and sand.
When I arrived, I parked the car and stepped out, the salty air filling my lungs. I knew he wouldn’t be here, but still, I felt a pull towards our place. As I walked, I noticed groups of people scattered along the shore. And then, it started again—the whispers, the sideways glances, the expressions of disdain.
“What are you doing here, Y/N? Searching for someone else's man to steal?” Martha Grey, one of my classmates, called out, sarcasm dripping from her voice. She clung to her boyfriend’s arm protectively, her eyes narrowed at me.
“What?” I asked, bewildered. The accusation hit me like a slap, leaving me reeling.
“Would you fuck single boys, Y/N, or just the taken ones?” a boy sneered, stepping so close that I almost stumbled back.
“She’s shameless,” another girl muttered, loud enough for me to hear.
“Homewrecker,” someone else hissed.
“A whore with no shame.”
“Slut.”
“Ugly bitch.”
“You really have the nerve to show your face after what you did?”
“Cheap.”
“Who does she think she is? I mean, look at her and look at Betty. Did Mattheo lose his mind?”
“Trash.”
“Did you think you could just get away with it?”
“Desperate for attention, aren’t you?”
“I guess she’ll do anything for a bit of male attention.”
“Pathetic.”
“She’s just a desperate little thing.”
“Doesn’t she have any self-respect?”
“She’ll never be as good as Betty.”
“I heard she practically threw herself at him.”
“Mattheo probably just felt sorry for her.”
“She’s disgusting.”
I stood there, frozen, as the insults kept coming, each one slicing through me like a blade. My ears rang with their harsh words, my vision blurring with unshed tears. I wanted to scream, to run, to hide. But my legs felt like they were glued to the ground, and all I could do was stand there and take it.
Why were they saying these things? What had I done to deserve this? The pain in my chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. I felt like I was being suffocated, drowning in their hatred and contempt. All I wanted was to disappear, to escape the nightmare that my life had suddenly become.
"Can't believe she had the nerve to come here."
"She probably thinks she's some sort of seductress."
"More like a desperate wannabe."
"Does she really think she stands a chance against Betty?"
"Mattheo's way out of her league, it's embarrassing."
"Honestly, it's pathetic."
"She should just disappear, no one wants her around."
My heart sank with each word, each cruel remark cutting deeper than the last. The weight of their scorn was suffocating, and I felt tears pricking at my eyes. I had no idea what they were talking about or why they were so angry with me. The confusion and hurt were overwhelming, and I could feel a panic attack rising in my chest, the world spinning around me.
Someone's voice broke through the barrage of insults. “I’m glad Betty forgave him and didn’t let this ugly slut destroy what they have.”
With that, I walked away, the words still echoing in my ears. Their taunts didn't stop even as I put my hands over my ears, trying to block them out. They always said I was too sensitive, too weak. I was used to those words, but this wasn't something I felt like I could handle. Their attention, their eyes on me, their words—those words.
I walked faster to my car, closing the doors and windows before bursting into tears. How I managed to drive, almost crashing several times, I didn’t know. My body felt cold, shaking, and numb as I finally reached his house. The way to the door felt like forever.
With a shaking hand, I knocked weakly, hoping someone would hear it. The door opened, and even through my tears, I could see it was Enzo.
“Y/N, oh Merlin,” he said, trying to comfort me, but I flinched.
“It’s okay,” he said gently, stepping aside to let me in.
I walked in and saw Mattheo sitting on the couch. His eyes widened as he stood up quickly.
“You said you broke up,” I said, my voice trembling. No, he said it was over, nothing about a breakup, I corrected myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“We were on a break,” he said, his expression a mix of guilt and confusion.
“You said you broke up with her,” I repeated, more to myself than him.
“We were on a break,” he said again.
“That’s not the same thing,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Not the same thing,” I repeated.
“You lied to me, you ghosted me, and you... you went and—and—” I didn't even know how to finish the sentence.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his voice softer.
I felt like passing out, but I blinked the tears away and asked, “You didn’t?”
“No, Y/N, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he said. Was it me? Did I really throw myself at him? No, no, no, I didn’t— You kissed him first, my mind said. But on the cheek, I argued back. Keep telling yourself that, it sneered. No, he did.
I was losing my mind.
“Chase two girls, lose the one, right?” I said, tears falling heavily. “And it wasn’t even me. I’m not the one It wasn’t even my story.”
“Y/N,” he tried, but I cut him off.
“Please don’t say my name. Please don’t try to explain anything,” I said, feeling like I was about to collapse if not for Enzo’s hands supporting me.
“You did that. I had no idea it was you, but no one is pointing their fingers at you. No one is calling you the things they are calling me. No one is saying it was your fault or calling you an ugly bitch. No one is calling you a homewrecker, so don’t—don’t explain anything,” I said, and they were looking at me. I wanted to scream at him, they were looking at me now because of you.
Mattheo stepped closer, but Enzo shook his head at him.
“Everything is back to its place now. August is already over,” I said. Yes, everything is back to its place except for me. Nothing is the same, nothing will ever be the same.
I pulled away from Enzo and walked to the door, stepping out of the house.
“Y/N, wait,” Enzo called, but I ignored him and walked to my car.
“Let me drive you home, please. You can’t go like that,” he said, and I shook my head.
“Y/N, please,” he pleaded, but I kept shaking my head.
I got into my car, closing the doors. He looked at me with sympathy, and I felt bad for shutting him out like that. But I should feel bad for myself, for what his brother did to me, for what he knew was happening but didn’t tell me.
I saw him get into his car. My hands were shaking, my vision blurred as I started to drive. Enzo’s car followed behind, making sure I made it home.
I got out of the car once I reached my house, not even looking back, not having the energy.
I stepped into my house, the quiet enveloping me like a shroud. I walked to my room, but stopped short when I saw my parents standing inside. They turned to look at me, and my father’s eyes were filled with a cold anger.
"What is this?" he demanded, holding the red wine bottle in his hand.
The sight of it brought more tears to my eyes. If that night hadn’t happened, if I hadn’t found Mattheo, if I hadn’t helped him...
"What is it?" my father repeated, his voice rising. "Shame, shame on you."
"Give it back to me," I said, trying to take the bottle from his hands. My mother, knowing better, tried to step between us, but he pushed her away.
"I said, give it back!" I yelled, and then I felt it—pain, sharp and hot, as his hand struck my cheek. He hit me again.
I screamed and lunged at him, trying to wrest the bottle from his grip. He struggled, but didn’t fall.
"Give it back, give it back, give it back to me!" I cried, hitting his chest, my nails scratching at his hands, anything I could reach. He grabbed my hair, and something inside me snapped.
Enough—enough. I’ve had enough.
I started hitting him in the chest, my nails digging into his skin. He was shocked, and I didn’t stop.
"Get out! Get out! We hate you! We don’t want you! Get out!" I screamed.
My nails raked his hands again, trying to get the bottle.
"Don’t you dare put your hands on me or Mother again! I will use my wand. I will cast a spell on you to torture you. I don’t care! I don’t care about the consequences! Get out!" I screamed, and finally, he released his grip. The bottle fell to the ground, shattering into pieces.
He stumbled out of the room, then out of the house. I fell to my knees, touching the broken shards, crying hard.
My mother knelt down, trying to pull me away. "No, no," I said.
"It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll clean it up," she said, but I panicked.
"You can’t. You can’t, please, no," I said, my fingers bleeding as I touched the pieces.
"It wasn’t mine," I said, though I knew I wasn’t just talking about the bottle.
"It wasn’t mine, Mother. It wasn’t mine," I repeated, crying even harder. "It wasn’t mine to lose. It wasn’t mine to lose."
She finally managed to pull my bleeding hands away and hugged me tightly. I cried into her arms, sobbing for Mattheo, for myself, for everything that had gone wrong.
The rest of the summer passed in a blur of anguish and solitude. I found myself on the Hogwarts Express, not knowing how I was going to face the coming year. It didn't stop—the whispers, the sidelong glances, the barely concealed disdain. They had finally notified me that there was no coming back from this. Their eyes found me, and they whispered, not caring whether their words were good or bad. I was sure they were bad.
The journey to Hogwarts felt faster than ever, though I knew it wasn't. It was just that I dreaded every moment, and that dread made time fly. When the train finally stopped, I got out, trying to stay out of sight as much as possible.
As we reached the castle, I saw her—Betty. She stood there, as pretty as always. Unlike the others, her eyes held sympathy, and I hated that. I wanted Betty to give me a reason to hate her, but she couldn't. She was like an angel on earth, everything I wasn’t and could never be.
I walked inside, ignoring everything around me. I didn’t care which house the first years were going to be sorted into, even though I had always loved that part. Not this time. This time, I just wanted to hide.
Then I saw him—Mattheo. Our eyes met for a brief second before he looked away, walking past me as if I didn’t exist. Maybe I didn’t anymore, at least not for him. I didn’t have to look back to see where he was going; I already knew. So, I just walked to my dorm, feeling more invisible than ever.
I can’t stop thinking about a Hogwarts x Percy Jack AU. Where Mattheo is the son of Hades and you are the daughter of Aphrodite. Where he falls head over heels for you because of your beauty and charm. Where he hates everyone but you and he doesn’t know why. Where there is a prophecy of your love because it’s so powerful and great that Aphrodite blessed it herself.
Mattheo: “My shadows call to you, Mi amore.”
Y/N: “Is that a good thing? Because it feels like a bad thing.”
Y/N: “I must have missed out on the beauty part of Aphrodite…”
Mattheo: “I think she gave all of her beauty to you.”
words: 2.3K
warnings: | ANGST | abuse | blood | torture |
the pictures don't represent the reader and the characters are always 18+
playlist: Lana Del Rey-Cherry | Cigarettes After Sex-Cry | Cults-Gilded Lily
notes: read this post from @homelesssandwhich who inspired me to write this 🖤
Mattheo could never make you hate him, no matter how hard he tried to make you run away and leave him before you saw what he believed to be a monster, a product of hate and abuse.
It was ironic because all you saw was someone who craved a chance to be understood and loved, and that's why you kept bouncing back again after every attempt of his to try and push you away, peeling away his layers of false self-beliefs and giving him that chance that you craved for yourself too.
But he didn't know he would choose to put you in danger the moment he took it.
Mattheo was terrified when his father assumed you were the key to finding the lost relic. Voldemort was eager to get his hands on it ever since he heard rumors about your family owning it and hiding it in their vault.
Why does it have to be you? The only question in Mattheo's mind when his father assigned him to get close to you and get that vault number by any means, but what his father didn't know was that he was already too close and now consumed with planning how to keep you safe for as long as he could.
═════════════════
Every two weeks, Voldemort kept tabs on Mattheo's progress through legilimency, and Mattheo, being his father's son, mastered it from a young age. He could manipulate his mind every time Voldemort breached through the memories that Mattheo allowed him to see, only the safe ones, only the ones that could show the alleged progress in that sick plan. Until one slipped away.
Voldemort tilted his head in curiosity, narrowing his eyes as he tried to follow a faint voice. It was your voice, repeating the same sentence: "I feel so safe with you." Mattheo went pale when he couldn't conceal the memory back. He squirmed while he was strapped to the chair, unable to move as panic washed over him.
"We don't keep secrets in our family," Voldemort said in a low voice, revealing his sharp teeth through the vile smile as he dug his thumbs harshly into his temples, keeping him still, ignoring the sobbing pleading as he drilled into his mind again, breaking through the walls Mattheo built around you.
At first, Voldemort picked up on the emotions, navigating through Mattheos fear and anger to pick on the warm ones that surrounded the ones he kept away. Vivid pictures started to float and flash, his happiest moments with you now exposed. Voldemort entered a particular memory, one with the strongest warmth around it.
The common room was already empty of students who had long since gone to bed. You and Mattheo were still cuddled on the couch by the fireplace, his arms wrapped around you, tightening their embrace each time his lips pressed soft and tingling kisses along your neck, then slowly ghosted to reach your face.
"I feel so safe with you," you whispered against his lips before feeling their softness and warmth.
Voldemort exited his mind, yelping with rage as he harshly jolted Mattheo's head away.
"Father, it's nothing. Please listen! It's part of the plan." He pleaded, choking on the words, looking up at his father’s towering figure. Disappointment mixed with rage looked back at him, followed by a sharp and sudden slap to his face.
"Don't lie to me, boy!" Voldemort yelled as he bent to grab his face, digging his nails into Mattheo’s burning cheek.
Mattheo helplessly stared back into the evil of his father's eyes, his breath quick and panicked when the last words ripped his heart out.
“We will do it my way now.”
═════════════════
The next day, Mattheo was back in Hogwarts like nothing happened, like he wasn't filled with terror every time he imagined what his father could do to you. He stood in the open courtyard, leaning on a stone pillar with a cigarette burning away while he was deep into every possible outcome in his head. A sudden tug on his shoulder made him flinch, and he turned to see you with your smile slowly fading.
"Hey, are you alright?” Your fingers brushed lightly over his hand. “You didn't hear me calling for you?" Your voice carried worry when you flickered your gaze to his clenched jaw and back to eyes that didn't blink.
He wanted to tell you everything right now, to warn you, he did want to, but the words stuck in his throat. How could he tell you that, at some point, you became just a puppet in his father's plan? Would you even believe his feelings for you were real if you learned the truth?
"Mattheo!" You shook him slightly out of his racing thoughts.
"I'm sorry, I'll catch you later," He said, cupping the side of your neck and kissing your forehead before walking away.
“W-wait…” You turned back to watch his figure disappear behind the corner, leaving you confused with a pushing feeling to find out whatever was happening.
You couldn't spot him anywhere later in the day, and it started to feel like he was avoiding you. The frustration grew further when he wasn't present at lunch or his usual smoking spots. But dinner time came, and there he was.
You sat with a loud thud at the Slytherin table, your front body facing his side, waiting for him to look up at you from the book he buried himself in, but he didn't. You glanced up to the ceiling to find the answers and then back to him, slightly leaning your face to his.
"You're not eating?" You finally asked as you noticed the untouched plate. No answer followed. You sighed, gaze flickering to his hand as he flipped a page. Eyes widened when you noticed red marks wrapped around his wrist, and you reached for it.
"What did he do?" You asked softly but concerned. It wasn't a surprise since you knew who his father was and the abuse he put him through whenever he spent the weekends or holidays at his home when he couldn't spend them with you. Always coming back covered in bruises or a busted lip and with the same answer.
"It's nothing." He muttered, quickly jerking his blazer sleeve to cover up the marks the leather straps had left on his wrists, closed the book and got up. It was painful making you feel so rejected, but it was the only thing he could think of right now.
Your eyes followed him when he avoided yours, trying to understand why he was pushing you away again. You sat there for a few seconds after he left the Great Hall but quickly decided to follow him up to get answers.
"Matt!" you shouted for him to stop, getting more annoyed, trying to catch up, pushing students from your way in the packed dungeon hallway, picking the pace and running up to grasp him by the arm.
"I can't deal with you right now! FUCK!" He snapped at you, jerking his arm away and running his hand over his forehead, already regretting lashing out like that when he looked back at you, seeing the stupor on your face.
You darted between his eyes, still trying to find the reason. He sighed a heavy breath and stared at the floor. “Ok.” You breathed through the knot in your throat with tears glazed over your eyes and walked past him by shoving him with your shoulder.
"Shit," He mumbled under his breath as he shut his eyes in frustration and pressed his palms to his temples, his anger reaching its boiling point. He released a growl, cursing between each punch to the wall until his knuckles bled, ignoring the frightened and whispering passing students.
═════════════════
His anxiety increased with each passing day when nothing occurred, making him an agitated and hypervigilant mess, obsessed with watching you and making sure to know where you were all the time. Since his angry outburst that day, to his surprise, today you smiled at him, injecting your addicting warmth into him that he so desperately longed for and missed.
But how naive of him to think that maybe the emotional turmoil of sitting and waiting in terror for something to happen was the only punishment for betraying his father as he glared at the letter with the familiar family crest.
He held it with his shaking hands and pounding heart as he opened it to see the words written in red ink slicing through his denial as he read it.
I thought it would be only polite of me to meet your little dove since you left her all alone waiting for you.
Join us.
═════════════════
Mattheo ran through the door, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he ran towards the sounds of echoed screams emerging from what sounded like, came from the vast living room, which was now a cold and empty room. His vision blurred everything to black except for you, lying on the marble floor sobbing from pain as you tried to lift yourself, his father towering over you with his pointed wand as he cast the slicing charm on your arms, and you landed on them, crying in defeat.
“Don't fucking touch her!” He growled, eyes wide with rage as he lifted his wand only to be disarmed and seized by two masked death eaters. He erratically fidged as he tried to break free, glaring at his father.
"Ah, my boy! I was beginning to think you've lost your way!" Voldemort huffed with a sarcastic undertone, swaying his hands out with his wand intertwined in his fingers and a vicious smile towards Mattheo before he turned back to you.
You felt sudden sharp nails grazing along the crown of your head before a brutal pull raised your wounded body from the floor. You choked on your panicked breaths, realising how close you were to collapse to the floor, but you refused to give Voldemort the satisfaction of breaking you. The tip of his wand pressing against your neck, keeping you still to face Mattheo, whose eyes are full of guilt and regret, but yours tried to tell him that you didn't blame him for any of this cruelty.
"See? How simple it was to get what I need," Voldemort hissed through his teeth against your falling tears before glaring back at Mattheo. "But surely you didn't think we were done?" His smile widened at the sight of Mattheo's horrified eyes.
"Why are you doing this? Why? You got what you wanted!" Mattheo snapped, “You got it!” He shouted again and fidgeted his body forward, almost releasing himself from the seize on him.
"You must unlearn being so vulnerable, so weak," Voldemort said, drenched with disdain. “Stop hiding what you are…”
"Don't listen to him," You squeezed through your hoarse throat.
"Quiet!" Voldemort shouted with a fury that made you wheeze in shivering gasps as he pressed the wand further into your flesh and glared at you.
He turned his stare back at Mattheo, "Come, Come!" His voice carried a chilling calmness, tugging you along and making a dismissing wand movement at his followers to release Mattheo.
“You’re useless now," he added sharply to your face before throwing you onto Mattheo, who quickly captured you.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Mattheo repeated over and over between stuttering sobs, with his face buried in your hair as you panted and stared at the floor, understating that it wasn't your punishment, but his as you focused on the sounds of his pounding heart and found an odd comfort in them among all this chaos.
“Look at me!” Voldemort yelled.
You looked from your lashes at the wand pointed at your head as you lifted your heavy eyelids and looked at Voldemort.
“You were never safe.” He taunted in a calm voice.
“no, no, No!” The realisation hit Mattheo when he saw a faint red flicker, and he was about to turn around and take the blow on himself, but a second too late.
"Crucio."
Mattheo followed your collapsing body to the floor as you let out a piercing sound that would remain engraved into him and remind him that all of this was his fault, his choice.
Everything went pitch black when the agony hit. You didn't hear yourself scream anymore, but you felt glass shards cutting your throat and every cell from the inside, then healing, then ripping again.
"Stop it! Please!" Mattheo shouted in a cracking voice, "Stop!" he sobbed, holding your body tighter with every wail you let out, wishing it was him instead of you, and that's all he could do while he glared at his father in defeat and held you for what felt like an excruciating endless loop.
Your shallow breaths were all that was left when the agony abruptly stopped, the space filled with static and sounds of blasting spells. Your trembling fingers dug with the last power left in them into Mattheo's arms that cradled you at his chest. Their embrace that once radiated safeness is now clinging to the fabric of your bloodied dress, the same dress you wore that day.
You looked up at his lips that moved without any sound coming out and read your name from them when his hand cupped your face and slightly shook it, thumb wiping the tears from your cheek as your mind slowly drifted away to feel the warmth of the sun against your skin again.
Mattheo stood by the lake with a cigarette between his fingers when his gaze was captivated by the glistening aura the sun created around you as you ran towards him in your flowing dress.
“So, what do you think?” You stopped a few steps before him, twirling in your dress with hands up in the air.
He remained entranced, staring at you with his big brown eyes. “Hellooo?” you huffed a laugh, waving a hand in front of his stare.
“I think you’re my forever.” He finally said, his grin growing wider as he observed your radiating face in the sun.
𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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