#faestria

Your bed is empty.

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

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

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

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

"Bloody hell-"

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

"Promise?"

"Mhm."

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

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

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

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

You tried again.

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

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

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

"So let me be tired."

That hurt.

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

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

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

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

"I'm not."

"yes. Mattheo, you are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Stop lying."

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

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

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

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

"I'm trying to help!"

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

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

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

He stiffened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's not fair."

You barely managed to keep your voice steady.

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

"I never said you were the villain!"

"You didn't have to."

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

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

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

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

That sentence struck your breath from your chest.

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

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

"Fine."

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

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

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

"Maybe that's for the best."

Neither of you said anything else.

Neither of you moved.

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

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

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

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

-------

Something wakes you up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I feel like I’m failing.”

You pause, your hand in his hair.

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

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

“you’re not failing, Matt.”

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

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

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

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

you tense, chest constricting. No

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

“Mattheo.”

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

“You will never become him.”

“You don’t know that,” he chokes out.

Your heart breaks.

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

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

“I keep shutting you out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monster. Psychopath. Murderer. Heartless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sorry," he whispers again.

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

He shakes his head.

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

"I love you."

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

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

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

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

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

Your cheeks were rosy, eyes bright despite the chill.

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

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

"I got locked out."

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

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

You nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Mattheo couldn't stop looking at you.

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

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

By fourth year, all of his mates knew.

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

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

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

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

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

Dance lessons?

You saw him then.

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure."

You took his hand, stepping closer.

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

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

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

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

After that, you were nearly friends.

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

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

Your friendship solidified in fifth year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mattheo's crush had only worsened since third year.

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

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

He fancied you- everyone knew that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except for you. And it all suddenly hits you.

He only smiles at you and maybe two other people.

He carries your books everywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

He calls you pretty girl.

And he's being doing it for years.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now some pretty girl is flirting with your Mattheo.

"Y'alright?"

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

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

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

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

You always thought that love would declare itself.

You thought it would be loud and dramatic.

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

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

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

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

He was never lonely. He was just picking you.

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

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

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

You are completely mortified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs.

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

"Yes."

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

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

Your stomach tightens, warms, as he steps closer.

"I've been trying to court you."

You swallow. "For how long?"

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

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

"Yes, everyone knew."

"Even Mibby."

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

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

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

You feel your cheeks heat, and his smile widens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's still your Mattheo from fourth year.