#mattheo fluff

Summary: A bright, stubborn Hufflepuff refuses to stay away from the cold, guarded Mattheo Riddle.

Slow burn. Tension. Hidden softness.

9.9k words sheesh I don’t know when to stop :’)

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The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chaos, owls swooping low over tables, the clatter of silverware, and the low hum of gossip that never quite died down at Hogwarts.

Sunlight filtered through the enchanted ceiling, casting a soft golden glow over the Hufflepuff table where you sat, though your eyes were already drifting toward the Slytherin side.

Mattheo Riddle was there, as always, lounging in his seat like the hall belonged to him.

Dark curls slightly tousled, uniform tie loose in that deliberate way that screamed I don’t give a fuck, and an expression that could freeze fire.

He hadn’t looked your way once. He never did, not really.

You didn’t care.

Grabbing a fresh apple from the bowl, you wove through the crowd with the easy confidence of someone who had done this a hundred times.

A few Hufflepuffs shot you curious glances, saying “again?” but you just smiled brightly and kept going. You weren’t afraid of him. Never had been. There was something beneath that cold exterior, something sharp and broken and real.

“Morning, Mattheo,” you said cheerfully, sliding into the empty seat beside him without waiting for an invitation. You placed the apple in front of him, perfectly polished. “They had the good ones today. Thought you might want it before Theo hogs them all.”

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: Your partner for the potions assignment this year was randomly assigned. And it so happened that your partner was Harry Potter. However, whenever you and Harry sit down to work, your boyfriend Mattheo shows up. He plays it off as a coincidence but you know better.

Warnings: Jealous and possessive Mattheo. Mattheo being walked like a dog in the end. (You're welcome)

A/N: You can really see the Riddle genes coming out in this one 🤭

Masterlist

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"I don't like this."

Mattheo said stubbornly, sitting on your bed with his arms crossed.

"Matty, it's just an assignment. You trust me, don't you?"

You gathered your books.

"Of course I trust you, baby. It's Potter I don't trust. Everyone knows he fancies you. He's not exactly subtle about it."

He wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Don't go."

He murmured in your ear, kissing your neck, trying to convince you to stay.

"Yeah, and fail Snape's class? Not happening. I'll see you later, love."

He grumbled before finally letting you go.

"Don't let that dickhead get too close."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Later, you and Harry were sitting in the library.

You opened your textbook.

"Complete twelve inches on stabilising agents in modern potion work… Hey, pass that parchment."

Harry passed the scroll to you, his fingers deliberately brushing against yours.

You chose to ignore it.

"Okay, so—"

"You and Riddle, huh?"

You looked up.

"Yes… I am dating Mattheo. Can we focus on the assignment now?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course. I'm just curious. How did a snake like Riddle get a flower like you?"

He leaned forward.

You cringed.

Just then, there was the sound of a book falling, followed by a muffled swear.

A muttered swear that sounded all too familiar.

"Mattheo?"

A sigh.

Then footsteps.

Mattheo appeared from behind one of the bookshelves.

He looked at you, his eyes immediately softening.

"Baby."

Then he looked at Harry.

His face twisted into an irritated expression.

"Potter. Hitting on my girl now, are we?"

You cut in before Harry could reply.

"Matty, what are you doing here? I thought you had Quidditch practice."

Mattheo looked sheepish.

"I… remembered that I had a book to return. Didn't want to get a late fine."

You stared at him.

"I haven't seen you read a single book since we started dating."

There was a pause.

You sighed and stood up.

"Matty, can we talk for a minute?"

You pulled him off to the side.

"So you just happened to show up where Harry and I were working?"

You gave him a pointed look.

He smiled sheepishly.

"I guess it was just a coincidence."

You crossed your arms.

"Mm-hm. Sure it was."

"So… how's the assignment going?"

He stepped closer, resting his hands on your hips.

"Potter was flirting with you, wasn't he?"

"Yes… but I was handling it. And I need you to trust me."

"Of course I trust you."

He tugged you a little closer.

You sighed, placing your hands on his chest.

He rested his forehead against yours.

"I really have to finish this assignment, Matty…"

"I know, I know… but if he makes another move on you, I swear on Salazar—"

"I know, I know. I'll see you at dinner?"

He nodded before kissing you.

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A few days later, you and Harry were sitting in the courtyard, finishing up the assignment.

Unfortunately, Harry hadn't taken the hint.

He kept asking you out no matter how many times you turned him down.

Luckily, it was the last day you needed to work together.

As you were finishing up, you heard laughter approaching.

Mattheo and Theodore were walking towards you.

Mattheo, pretending not to notice you, was laughing while Theo shot you an apologetic look.

"Matty."

He stopped.

"Oh, baby. I didn't know you were studying here today."

Theo mouthed to you, He knew.

"Are you guys almost done?"

Theo mouthed again, He dragged me along to spy on you.

"Guess it must have been a coincidence," Harry said, leaning back in his chair.

"Yup. Juuuust a coincidence."

Mattheo replied, his eyes narrowing at Harry.

"You know what I don't get?" Harry said, standing up. "What's so special about you? Why would she go out with a guy who doesn't even trust her?"

You tensed.

"Jealous, Potter?" Mattheo replied with a mocking grin.

"Okayyy, kitty cats."

You stood up.

"I'm in no mood to break up a cat fight."

You stepped between them.

"You."

You pointed at Harry.

"Learn to take a hint. When a girl says no, it usually means no. Can you get that through that thick skull of yours?"

Harry's face turned bright red.

"And you."

You pointed at Mattheo.

"I'll deal with you later. Come on."

You grabbed your books and scrolls and started dragging Mattheo towards the common room by his tie.

Mattheo looked far too happy.

He shifted your books into his arms without a single complaint, letting you drag him away while Theodore and Harry watched in bewilderment.

"She really walks you like a dog," Theodore muttered.

Mattheo didn't even bother denying it.

He just shrugged with the most lovesick grin anyone had ever seen.

"So?"

Theo blinked.

"So?"

"So."

"Merlin, you're pathetic."

"I know."

"You realise half the school is watching this?"

"I hope they are."

You glanced back over your shoulder.

"Are you two done?"

"Coming, baby."

You gave another tug on his tie, and he happily followed.

Theo watched the two of you disappear down the corridor before shaking his head.

"Potter didn't steal your girlfriend," he called after Mattheo. "She stole your dignity."

Mattheo turned just enough to look back over his shoulder.

"Worth it."

You rolled your eyes, trying—and failing—to hide your smile.

Once you were finally out of earshot, you let go of his tie.

"You know," you said, "you could've just trusted me."

"I do trust you."

"You literally followed me three times."

"…I trust you."

You raised an eyebrow.

"I don't trust everyone else."

You couldn't help laughing.

"You're impossible."

"But I'm your impossible."

He slipped an arm around your waist, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

"I'll work on it."

"You better."

"I mean it."

"I know."

You smiled, intertwining your fingers with his.

"Now let's go to dinner before Theo tells the entire Slytherin table you're leash-trained."

Mattheo gasped in mock offence.

"It's not a leash."

He looked down at the tie still looped around your hand.

"…It's a very stylish lead."

You burst into laughter.

Behind you, Theodore's voice echoed down the corridor.

"I HEARD THAT!"

The sound of your laughter followed the two of you all the way back to the common room.

Summary: Being Draco Malfoy’s twin means never being alone, especially when Theodore Nott has always been right beside her. Warnings: None. MalfoyTwin!Reader Word Count: 9.5K

. . • ☆ . °.•°:. *₊° .☆. . • ☆ . °.•°:. *₊° .☆ :.

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Ever since they were young, Draco and Y/N Malfoy had been inseparable, not simply because they were twins, but because something deeper kept pulling them back together. A bond that lived under skin and bone. Beyond matching faces and shared birthdays. It was instinct. It was certain. As natural as breathing.

No matter how vicious their arguments became, no matter how cruel their pranks were, they always circled back.

Always chose each other.

They fought loudly, dramatically, the way only children raised side by side could. Doors slammed through the endless corridors of Malfoy Manor. Insults were hurled with the fearless precision of two people who knew exactly where the other was weakest and knew, too, exactly how far they could go before it stopped being a game. Pride bruised. Tempers flared. Threats were made that neither of them ever truly meant.

Yet when it mattered, when the world felt too large or too sharp, they were always side by side.

Draco was her shield.

Y/N was his anchor.

She still remembered the day everything changed.

They had been five, far too young to understand the weight of magic, or the fear it carried when it slipped its leash. The argument was ridiculous in hindsight, something trivial and childish: the last sweet on a silver tray in the drawing room. Draco insisted she’d taken it. Y/N swore she hadn’t. Voices rose, sharp and indignant, echoing off marble walls and gilded frames. Small hands shoved. Frustration bubbled over into something hot and uncontrollable.

And then Draco’s magic exploded.

It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t aimed.

It simply was.

The force hit her without warning, throwing her backward across the room as though the air itself had turned solid. Pain flashed sharp and blinding, and then nothing.

When she woke, she was tucked safely into her bed, silk sheets drawn neatly around her like they could keep the world out. The familiar scent of her room, lavender oil, polished wood, something faintly metallic wrapped around her. Voices filled the air, sharp and overlapping, frantic in a way the manor never allowed.

Her parents stood nearby, but it was her father’s voice that cut through everything else.

Lucius Malfoy, usually so controlled, so precise, sounded furious and terrified all at once as he scolded Draco. His tone was clipped, edged with something dangerously close to panic.

Draco.

Y/N turned her head.

He stood at the foot of the bed, small shoulders shaking violently, pale face streaked with tears. His hands were clenched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them, like he was afraid to touch anything ever again. He looked shattered. Devastated. Like a child who truly believed he had destroyed the only thing that mattered.

His sister.

His other half.

He thought he had killed her.

The realization softened something deep in her chest. So when her eyes fluttered open, she didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She smiled wide and bright, utterly unconcerned, as if the whole thing had been an exciting surprise.

So wide, in fact, that both of her parents froze.

“Mummy! Daddy!” Y/N exclaimed, voice filled with wonder rather than fear. “Dray’s magic finally exploded!”

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then Draco broke.

A broken sob tore out of him, and he launched himself forward, climbing onto the bed and clinging to her as though she might vanish if he let go. His hands twisted in her nightshirt, desperate.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried into her shoulder. “I thought I killed you, sissy—I thought I hurt you forever.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around him just as tightly, small fingers threading into his hair, holding him like he was the one who needed saving.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, steady despite everything. “See? I’m right here.”

Lucius, who had been the most worried of all, felt his anger melt away, leaving only a tight, aching relief he would never admit to anyone outside these walls. His pale eyes softened as he watched his children tangled together on the bed, so alike, so fiercely bonded.

Narcissa’s smile was gentler than the room deserved. Her hand found Lucius’s sleeve, a quiet touch that calmed him more than words ever could.

“I told you,” she said softly. “Draco would never hurt his sister. Not truly. Not ever.”

And from that day on, it was clear to everyone in Malfoy Manor: no matter how sharp their words became, no matter how loud their arguments, Draco and Y/N were two halves of the same soul, unbreakable, protective, devoted.

Each other’s constant.

.

.

.

As the years passed, the world around them slowly expanded. Alliances were formed with careful precision, conversations were held behind closed doors, and names began to matter more than playthings. Soon enough, the Malfoy twins were introduced to other children who came from the same world.

Theodore Nott was the first.

They met when the twins were six, on a cold afternoon at Nott Manor, though Draco would later insist the weather alone warranted dramatic complaints. Theo was quieter than the Malfoy twins from the moment they met him: dark-haired, pale, watchful. He didn’t rush forward like Draco. He didn’t meet Y/N with bold confidence, either.

He observed.

Measured.

And Y/N, who was used to being watched, used to the way adults weighed her worth before they even learned her favorite sweets, noticed it immediately. Not the scrutiny of an adult, but something different. Something… careful. Like he was trying to understand her, not judge her.

The adults called it a playdate.

None of the children believed that.

Lucius and Narcissa watched with polite smiles and sharper eyes. Theo’s father remained silent, his presence heavy and unreadable, like a shadow cast across the room. This wasn’t about toys or laughter.

It was about assessment. Who led. Who followed. Who watched quietly from the corners.

Draco, of course, detonated into the day like a firework. Within minutes, he’d tried to pull Theo into whatever reckless game he and Y/N had invented, issuing challenges and dares with an enthusiasm only a Malfoy child could muster.

Y/N lingered closer, studying Theo with curiosity rather than suspicion, her gaze sharp and quick. She didn’t like people who looked at her as though she were an extension of her father’s reputation. Theo’s eyes didn’t do that. His attention landed on her face, her hands, the way she stood beside Draco as if the space between them had always belonged to her.

Theo didn’t protest. He didn’t laugh loudly, nor did he shrink away.

He simply joined them.

Quietly.

And somehow, without anyone noticing exactly when it happened, he fit.

It was small at first. A steady presence that didn’t demand anything. A boy who stepped out of Draco’s chaos not because he feared it, but because he didn’t need to compete with it. He watched. He listened.

And he remembered everything.

Y/N noticed it most when Draco got carried away. When Draco’s dares became too sharp, too close to cruel, Theo’s gaze would flick to Y/N—not asking permission, but checking. Are you alright with this? Are you laughing, or are you forcing it?

And every time she met his eyes, something in Theo’s chest tightened an unfamiliar pull he didn’t yet have language for. He didn’t know why he cared whether she was truly amused. He only knew he did.

The adults would later say it was inevitable that children of their standing were bound to grow close.

But Theo knew, even at six, that what he felt wasn’t inevitability.

It was choice.

Because Draco was loud and impossible to ignore.

And Y/N—Y/N was the center of gravity.

She didn’t have to raise her voice to be noticed. She could stand perfectly still, and the room would tilt toward her anyway. Draco orbited her like a planet that didn’t know it was tethered. Theo… Theo learned to do it more quietly. He learned to be close without crowding. Present without demanding.

It started as a simple thing: Theo liked being near her.

Then it became something sharper, something that settled into him like a secret.

Theo noticed the way Y/N’s smile changed when she was genuinely entertained—softer, warmer, less guarded. He noticed how quickly she put that guard back up when adults turned their eyes on her. He noticed the second she stopped breathing whenever Lucius’s voice went cold.

And without ever meaning to, Theo began collecting those details like they mattered.

Like she mattered.

Someone who saw her without needing her to speak.

Someone who understood the spaces between words.

Someone who, even then, was already learning what it meant to stand beside her—not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

.

.

.

Months later, Lorenzo Berkshire and Blaise Zabini arrived. The Berkshires were new to England, newly rooted in a country still reeling from the war’s aftermath. They’d heard the stories of the chaos, the devastation, the fear that had once gripped the wizarding world. But more importantly, they understood something far more practical: survival required allegiance.

And allegiance meant choosing a side.

They chose the Malfoys.

And the Notts.

Blaise Zabini’s family was spoken of in quieter tones. His mother’s name was whispered with intrigue and caution, followed by a long list of husbands who had vanished just as mysteriously as they’d appeared. No one questioned it, not when Mrs. Zabini’s inheritance alone rivaled most old families.

That afternoon, the Malfoy twins and Theo were sprawled across the manicured gardens of Malfoy Manor, circling a cluster of protesting garden gnomes. Draco was shouting instructions with far too much authority for a six-year-old, while Y/N laughed as she nudged one of the gnomes back toward its hole with the toe of her shoe. Theo lingered nearby, arms crossed, watching the chaos with the quiet amusement of someone who preferred storms from a safe distance.

“Draco, stop yelling at them,” Y/N said, crouching. “They don’t listen when you shout.”

“They should,” Draco huffed. “This is our garden.”

Theo tilted his head. “You’re arguing with gnomes.”

Draco scowled. “And you’re standing there doing nothing.”

“I’m supervising,” Theo replied calmly, and when Y/N laughed, that same warm pull tightened in his chest like it had hands.

A familiar pop sounded at the edge of the lawn.

Dobby appeared, wringing his long fingers nervously. Behind him stood two boys.

One had shaggy brown hair and wide eyes, his gaze darting between the towering manor and the three children as if he wasn’t sure where to place himself. The other dark-skinned, sharp-eyed held himself with effortless confidence, hands folded neatly behind his back as though he’d been taught to look like he belonged anywhere.

Y/N straightened first, brushing grass from her dress. Draco followed immediately, shoulders squaring as he stepped half a pace in front of her without thinking.

Theo noticed.

He always noticed.

It wasn’t jealousy yet. Not quite. It was simply… a quiet alarm bell in his bones whenever the world moved too close to her.

“Ms. Y/N,” Dobby squeaked, bowing. “Mr. Little Malfoy, sir—this is Mr. Lorenzo Berkshire and Mr. Blaise Zabini.”

Draco eyed them critically. “You’re late.”

Lorenzo flushed. “S-sorry. The Floo—”

“It’s fine,” Blaise interrupted smoothly, stepping forward. His eyes flicked over Draco, then Y/N, then Theo—assessing, calculating. “Thank you for having us.”

Y/N’s smile was polite, practiced, but her eyes were curious, bright. “You don’t have to sound so serious. We were just torturing gnomes.”

Theo added, dry as ever, “Against their will.”

Blaise’s mouth tipped into a small grin. “They look like they deserve it.”

Draco snorted. “Finally, someone with sense.”

Lorenzo hesitated, then blurted, “Your house is… really big.”

Draco smirked. “Obviously.”

Y/N shot him a look. “He means it’s impressive,” she corrected, gentler. Then she offered her hand to Lorenzo first, because she could always sense who needed kindness more. “I’m Y/N. That’s Draco, and this is Theo.”

Theo gave a small nod. “You don’t have to be nervous.”

Lorenzo swallowed. “I’m not.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “He is.”

Draco laughed outright, clearly approving. “I like you already.”

Theo didn’t laugh, but he watched Y/N as she smiled, and felt that same strange certainty settle deeper: she pulled people in. Whether she meant to or not.

And Theo… Theo stayed close enough to catch anyone who fell into her orbit too hard.

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.

.

Four more years passed, and with them came sharper awareness. The war no longer felt like a story told in hushed tones; it lingered in glances, in careful conversations, in the names their parents spoke with caution.

It was during one of those carefully arranged afternoons that Mattheo Riddle was introduced into their already forming circle.

At first, the adults hesitated. The name alone carried consequences. There had been long discussions behind closed doors, low voices and measured words. But eventually, a decision was made.

By then, the others were inseparable.

Draco Malfoy. Y/N Malfoy. Theodore Nott. Lorenzo Berkshire. Blaise Zabini.

They rotated through one another’s homes weekly, drifting between grand manors and inherited estates. The visits were no longer supervised closely; the parents watched from a distance, now trusting the children to occupy themselves while still observing carefully from the edges.

They were ten. A year away from Hogwarts.

That afternoon, the Malfoy sitting room was filled with the kind of comfort that only came from familiarity. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, turning dust motes into floating gold. The silver accents gleamed. The air smelled faintly of parchment and Narcissa’s perfume.

Y/N sat at the grand piano, fingers hovering over the keys as she worked through a piece Narcissa had assigned her. Theo stood close, too close for coincidence, leaning against the piano’s side, eyes fixed not on the music, but on her hands.

He’d been doing that for years: finding excuses to be near her without announcing it. Standing just off her shoulder in crowded rooms. Sitting beside her instead of across. Quietly becoming the place she could lean without realizing she’d leaned at all.

“You’re rushing the left hand,” Theo murmured.

Y/N glanced up at him, amused. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he said calmly. “Just a little.”

She narrowed her eyes, playing anyway, deliberately dragging the left hand even slower just to spite him. “Are you correcting me,” she asked, “or admiring me?”

Theo’s ears went faintly pink. It always happened with her, like she could reach inside him and tug on every thread he tried to keep neat.

“Both,” he admitted, voice quieter than usual.

Y/N laughed softly, warm and unguarded, and Theo felt that familiar pull in his chest, uncomfortable only because it was too big for him to hide. He liked making her laugh. Liked when she looked at him like the world felt safer with him near.

Across the room, Draco lounged in an armchair, arguing loudly with Blaise.

“There’s no question,” Draco insisted. “The Holyhead Harpies are overrated.”

“They are not,” Blaise shot back. “You just like being difficult.”

“I like being right.”

“You like being annoying.”

Lorenzo, curled up on the rug with a book he’d stolen from Draco’s bedroom, didn’t look up. “You’re both loud.”

Draco scoffed. “You’re reading upside down.”

Lorenzo blinked, rotated the book slowly, then frowned. “So I am.”

Theo’s mouth twitched. Y/N’s smile widened. He stored it away like he always did, another moment of her joy that felt oddly like something precious he was responsible for.

Then the door opened.

Narcissa Malfoy entered with her usual grace, her presence commanding attention without effort. Beside her stood a boy unfamiliar to them, with dark curls falling lazily over his forehead, posture casual but eyes sharp. Confident, but braced, like he expected the air to turn against him at any second.

All of the children rose immediately.

Narcissa’s gaze swept over them, soft but thoughtful. It lingered on Draco and Y/N a moment longer than the rest, as though she were measuring risks she could not name.

“Children,” she said gently, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “this is Mattheo Riddle.”

The name echoed. No one reacted outwardly. They had been taught better than that. But Theo felt the shift instantly, the careful stillness. Draco’s shoulders squared. Blaise’s eyes sharpened with interest. Lorenzo’s grip tightened on his book.

Mattheo felt it too. He kept his smile in place, but Theo saw the tension in his jaw. He was used to the pause. The judgment.

Then Y/N stepped forward.

She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t glance at Draco or Theo for permission. She simply extended her hand, smile warm and unguarded.

“Hi,” she said easily. “I’m Y/N Malfoy.”

Mattheo blinked, startled, before taking her hand. “Mattheo.”

Theo watched his jaw tighten just slightly, something sour and instinctive twisting in his stomach. He didn’t like how easily she smiled at him. Didn’t like the relief that flashed across Mattheo’s face.

And without thinking, without deciding, Theo shifted closer to Y/N. Not touching her. Just there. A quiet line drawn in the air that said: You’re not alone. You never are.

Draco cleared his throat. “Draco Malfoy,” he said coolly. “That’s Theo, Blaise, and Enzo.”

Blaise inclined his head politely. “Nice to meet you.”

Lorenzo blurted, “Do you like books?”

Mattheo’s mouth quirked. “Depends on the book.”

Theo studied him carefully before speaking. “You can sit.”

It wasn’t exactly an invitation. It was permission. Mattheo nodded, grateful, taking a seat near the others. Narcissa observed them for another moment before turning to leave, her hand lingering briefly on Y/N’s shoulder, maternal, protective, before the door closed.

The room fell quiet.

Draco broke it first, as always. “So… wizard chess?”

Mattheo exhaled. “I’m terrible.”

Draco grinned. “Even better.”

Y/N laughed, and Theo felt it the way that sound anchored him. No matter who joined them, no matter how the circle expanded, she was still the center. And Theo knew, even then, that whatever he felt for her wasn’t fleeting. It wasn’t childish. It wasn’t something he could simply grow out of.

It had been building since he was six years old, quiet and stubborn and unshakable.

A devotion he didn’t name yet.

But he carried it like a promise anyway.

.

.

.

It wasn’t until Hogwarts that the boys and Y/N began to understand just how tightly bound they truly were.

They moved through the castle like a unit, even when they weren’t standing together. People noticed. Whispers followed them down corridors. Sneers lingered at the edges of classrooms. Eyes narrowed whenever they passed. Other houses watched them with thinly veiled disdain, judging them before they ever spoke.

They didn’t always say it to their faces.

They were too afraid for that.

But Y/N heard it anyway, murmured insults behind hands, sharp laughter that cut just a second too long. Words like Death Eater. Dark. Tainted. Words meant to peel the skin off.

She told herself she didn’t care.

That she was used to it.

And in a way, she was raised in a manor where reputation was a second spine, where fear was a language people pretended not to speak.

But there was a difference between whispers in passing… And what people did when they thought no one would stop them.

It was a rare afternoon when she was alone.

No Draco at her side. No Theo lingering close. No Blaise scanning a room like a blade. No Lorenzo quietly trailing behind. No Mattheo leaning against a wall with that lazy smile that never quite reached his eyes.

For once, the boys were elsewhere, arguing about Quidditch and house points and some stupid bet that had dragged them toward the courtyard. Y/N had slipped away to breathe.

She sat near the Black Lake with her shoes discarded beside her, skirt tucked neatly under her legs, the grass cool beneath her palms. The water shimmered lazily; the giant squid’s shadow drifted far out in the distance like a secret too large to name. The sun was pleasant. The air smelled like damp earth and leaves.

For a few minutes, she let herself pretend she was just a girl beside a lake. Not a name. Not a reputation. Not a target.

She closed her eyes. That’s when the sunlight disappeared. A shadow fell across her face, sudden and deliberate. Y/N opened her eyes. Three Ravenclaw girls stood in front of her, older third years, maybe fourth. They wore confidence like armor and cruelty like perfume, the kind of girls who only felt powerful when someone smaller was in reach.

“Well,” the tallest drawled, “look at that. Finally alone without your little Death Eater gang, little Malfoy?”

Y/N’s spine went stiff. She hated that nickname, the way people used it, like she was nothing more than Draco Malfoy’s shadow. She didn’t rise immediately. She forced her expression into something cool and blank, the same mask she’d worn her whole life.

“Move,” she said flatly.

One of the girls laughed, as if Y/N’s voice were entertainment. “Still bossy. Figures.”

“You think you’re untouchable,” the first continued, stepping closer. “Because of your brother. Because of your friends.”

Y/N stood, brushing her hands over her skirt even though it wasn’t dirty, anything to keep her body moving, anything to keep them from seeing the way her pulse had jumped.

“I’m not bothering you.”

“No,” the third girl said softly, circling. “But your name does.”

Y/N’s fingers curled at her sides. “I don’t control my last name.”

“Oh, please,” the first snapped. “You control who you stand with.”

“And you stand with them,” the second added, eyes narrowing. “The ones who think they’re better than everyone.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened. “If you don’t like who I stand with, walk away.”

The tallest girl smiled slowly and satisfied. “Or we could teach you what it’s like to be alone.”

Before Y/N could step back, a hand shoved her shoulder. She stumbled, heel sliding dangerously near the edge. Her stomach dropped.

“Stop,” she warned, voice sharper now.

They didn’t. Another shove harder. Her back foot slipped on damp soil. And then the ground vanished. She fell backward into the lake with a splash that knocked the breath clean out of her lungs. Cold slammed into her like a curse, stealing thought, stealing air. Her clothes grew heavy instantly, dragging her down. Her skirts tangled around her legs like hands.

She couldn’t swim.

Panic exploded in her chest. She opened her mouth to scream, and water poured in instead. She thrashed, disoriented, kicking uselessly. The surface seemed impossibly far away, a bright, wavering ceiling she couldn’t reach.

On the shore, the Ravenclaws froze.

For half a second, none of them moved.

Then—

“What the hell—?!”

Draco’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

The boys were running five figures, tearing across the grass from the path above. Draco was first, face twisted with horror and fury. Blaise was right behind him, faster than he looked. Lorenzo sprinted with his robes in his hands so he wouldn’t trip. Mattheo followed, long strides eating distance, eyes locked on the lake.

Theo didn’t shout.

He didn’t hesitate.

He ran past them all and dove. The cold hit him like a fist. It stole his breath so violently his lungs seized his body, screaming to surface, to survive. But Theo forced himself down anyway, eyes burning as he opened them underwater.

Find her.

He saw her shadow beneath the surface hair, floating like ink around her face, movements frantic and weakening.

Theo’s heart nearly stopped. For one terrible second, all he could think was: No. Not her. Not Y/N.

He kicked hard, arms slicing through the water, and reached her just as her thrashing slowed. He wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled upward, fighting against the weight of her soaked clothes.

Up—up—

They broke the surface with a gasp.

Theo coughed, choking on water, but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I’ve got you—don’t fight me—”

Y/N sputtered, half-conscious, terror-stricken. Her fingers latched onto his robes like he was the only real thing left in the world.

On shore, Draco reached the girls.

“What did you do?” he demanded, voice shaking with rage. “What did you do to her?!”

“She—she fell—” one stammered.

Blaise’s voice went icy. “She didn’t fall. You pushed her.”

Lorenzo planted himself between the Ravenclaws and the lake, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. “Step back. Now.”

Mattheo didn’t speak at first. He just looked at them. His expression was calm in a way that didn’t match the moment, too still, too quiet. His eyes flicked from their faces to the lake and back again, and something dark settled there, something old.

The tallest Ravenclaw tried to scoff, but her voice wavered. “It was just a joke—”

Mattheo finally smiled. It wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t warm. It was the kind of smile that made people remember his last name, too.

“A joke,” he repeated softly, as if tasting the word. “That’s funny. Because she could’ve died.”

The girls’ faces paled.

Draco took a step forward, shaking with rage. “You’re going to the Head of House,” he snarled. “You’re going to Flitwick—someone—”

Blaise’s hand shot out, gripping Draco’s sleeve, grounding him before he did something that would land them in trouble too. “Draco,” Blaise warned under his breath. “Not here.”

Draco’s breathing was ragged. “They pushed her.”

“I know,” Blaise said, clipped. “And we’re handling it.”

Mattheo leaned in slightly toward the Ravenclaws, voice low enough it felt private and dangerous. “If you ever touch her again,” he said, “I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your Hogwarts years afraid of empty corridors.”

One of the girls swallowed hard. “You can’t—”

Mattheo’s eyes flicked to her. “Try me.”

Meanwhile, Theo dragged Y/N toward shore, muscles screaming, lungs burning, teeth chattering so hard it hurt. Lorenzo rushed forward, grabbing Y/N’s arm and helping pull her onto the grass.

Y/N collapsed, coughing violently as water spilled from her mouth. She shook uncontrollably, soaked hair plastered to her cheeks. Her eyes were wide and glassy with fear.

Theo dropped beside her instantly, too fast, too desperate, one hand bracing her back, the other gripping her wrist like he could keep her tethered to the earth if he held tight enough.

“Breathe,” he pleaded, voice breaking. “Please—breathe. Look at me—look at me—”

Y/N gasped, chest heaving, and suddenly she was sobbing—quiet, broken sounds she tried to swallow down like she was ashamed of them. Her fingers clenched in Theo’s robes again, desperate.

“I—I couldn’t—” she choked. “I couldn’t—”

“I know,” Theo said fiercely, leaning close, forehead nearly touching hers. His hands shook as he held her, anger and fear tangled together until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. “I know. You’re safe. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Draco knelt on her other side, face white with terror and rage. He touched her shoulder carefully, like he was afraid she’d shatter. “Sissy—” his voice wavered, and he swallowed it down. “Y/N. I’m here.”

Blaise turned back to the Ravenclaws, expression polite but lethal. “Walk away,” he said smoothly. “Now. Before you make this worse.”

Lorenzo didn’t move, jaw clenched, eyes bright with fury. And Mattheo, still calm, still terrifyingly quiet, kept his gaze on the girls until they finally backed away, stumbling over their own feet.

Only when they were gone did Theo look down at Y/N again.

Her cheeks were flushed from coughing, lashes clumped with water, and lips trembling. She looked small, too small for the weight her name forced onto her. Too breakable for the world’s cruelty.

Theo’s throat tightened.

This wasn’t just anger.

This wasn’t just fear.

This was something that had been building in him for years—quiet and stubborn, living in the way he always stood a little closer, listened a little harder, watched her a little too carefully.

Love.

And as he held her there on the grass—soaked, shaking, alive—Theodore Nott knew one truth with terrifying clarity: He had been hers since he was six years old. He just hadn’t known what to call it.

And now that he knew that the word existed in him like a vow, he would destroy anyone who ever tried to hurt her again.

.

.

.

It was in their third year when Y/N began to realize something had shifted. At first, she told herself it was nothing.

The third year changed everyone. Hogwarts felt smaller somehow, corridors darker, expectations heavier. Lessons stopped being games. Professors stopped indulging mistakes. The whispers sharpened, too, as if the castle itself had decided they were old enough to be punished for their surnames.

People didn’t see children anymore. They saw names. Legacies. Consequences. Still, through it all, one thing stayed constant.

Theo.

He had always been there quietly, steadily, without demanding space or attention. Where Draco was loud in his protectiveness, Theo was subtle. Where Draco burned, Theo endured. He stood beside her in crowded corridors, drifted near her shoulder in the Great Hall, waited outside classrooms as if he’d simply ended up there, like it wasn’t intentional at all.

Like it wasn’t always about her.

Theo knew her moods before she did.

When she grew sharp and distant, he didn’t push. When she laughed too brightly—too polished, too rehearsed—he watched closer, gaze narrowing the way it did when he saw something no one else was meant to notice.

When the world became too much, he simply stayed.

Sometimes, she thought he knew her better than Draco did. That realization frightened her more than anything else. Because Draco was her twin. Draco was woven into her like blood. It made sense that he knew her.

Theo… Theo wasn’t supposed to.

And yet. It didn’t crash over her in some dramatic moment. It crept in quietly, through small things she only noticed afterward.

Like the way her eyes searched for Theo first when she entered a room without meaning to, without thinking. Like how her shoulders loosened the second she spotted him leaning against a wall, arms crossed, dark eyes already on her as if he’d been waiting. Not in the obvious way, not like a puppy left at a door—just… present. Ready.

Grounding.

As if the chaos of Hogwarts softened when he was near.

She started noticing the details.

The way he always walked on the outside of the corridor, placing himself between her and the press of students without ever making a show of it. The way he handed her books before she even realized she needed them. The way he remembered things she’d said once, months ago, in passing, like her words were something he kept instead of something he endured.

“You don’t like thunder,” Theo had said one night, voice low in the common room.

Y/N blinked at him. “I don’t?”

“You tense up,” he replied simply. “Every time.”

She didn’t remember telling him that.

Worse—she didn’t remember anyone noticing.

There were nights when they sat together long after the others had gone to bed, the Slytherin common room hushed beneath green light and the slow crackle of the fire. Draco would be asleep already. Blaise distracted with whatever drama he pretended not to enjoy. Mattheo off chasing something reckless. Lorenzo buried in a book, half-asleep over the pages.

Leaving just the two of them.

Theo never rushed to fill the silence. And somehow that made it intimate. Because silence with Theo wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t empty.

It was chosen.

She began to notice how close he sat. Not touching Theo, but near enough that she could feel his warmth, near enough that their shoulders almost brushed when she shifted.

She told herself it meant nothing.

Until it did.

Until one evening, when she laughed at something Blaise said and turned, instinctively, to Theo as if he were the person she wanted to share it with first. Only to find him already watching her. Not in the casual way he watched everything, always attentive, always aware.

In a softer way.

Like she was something precious he didn’t want to startle.

Her breath caught.

Theo’s gaze flicked to her mouth just for a second, quick enough that she could pretend she imagined it.

Then he looked away first, jaw tightening like he was angry at himself.

That was when it truly began. Because once she saw it, she couldn’t unsee it.

She thought about him when he wasn’t there. Wondered where he was during lessons they didn’t share. Felt something twist uncomfortably in her chest when other girls spoke to him, especially when they smiled too brightly, lingered too long, acted like they were entitled to his attention.

She told herself it was stupid.

Theo was her best friend.

Theo was safe.

Theo was constant.

But she was learning quietly, miserably, that safety didn’t always mean the absence of risk. Sometimes it meant the presence of something worth losing everything for.

She started noticing the way he said her name. Not rushed. Not careless. Like it mattered. Like it was something fragile in his mouth. She noticed how his hand would hover near her back in crowded spaces, never quite touching, but always ready.

Like if the world shoved too hard, Theo would catch her.

And then there were moments—small, cruelly gentle moments—that shattered her defenses.

The night she couldn’t sleep after a nightmare, she slipped quietly into the common room, expecting emptiness.

Theo was already there.

Sitting awake with a book open in his lap that he clearly wasn’t reading.

He looked up the moment she stepped into the room, as if he’d been listening for her without realizing it.

“You too?” he asked softly.

Y/N nodded, throat tight.

He didn’t ask why. Didn’t demand details. Didn’t try to fix it. He just shifted closer on the sofa and, without a word, draped his blanket over her shoulders, warm and heavy, smelling faintly like parchment and smoke.

She didn’t give it back.

And Theo didn’t ask for it.

It was then wrapped in his warmth, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, that the truth settled in her chest, heavy and undeniable.

She was falling for him.

Her best friend.

Her quiet constant.

The boy who knew her almost as well as Draco did—if not better, sometimes.

Theodore Nott.

And the most terrifying part wasn’t the fear of rejection.

It was the fear that he already knew.

.

.

.

It wasn’t supposed to be a confession.

That was the thing about it.

Fourth year had settled into something familiar, comfortable routines, shared meals, laughter in the common room, late-night walks that didn’t need explanations. Y/N told herself nothing had changed. That whatever she felt was normal. That best friends stayed close. That comfort didn’t have to mean more.

Theo told himself the same.

He had been telling himself the same for years.

So when they found themselves by the Black Lake that evening, neither of them thought anything of it. Not at first.

The sun hung low, turning the water molten gold. The surface rippled gently, calm in a way that felt intentional, as if the lake were holding its breath. Y/N sat in the grass with her knees drawn up, tracing absent patterns into the earth with her fingers. Theo stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the water like it was easier to look at anything else.

“This place always feels quieter,” she said softly.

Theo nodded. “It’s easier to think here.”

She glanced up at him. “You’re thinking now.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound almost reluctant. “Am I that obvious?”

“To me,” she said.

That earned her a look that lingered a second longer than usual. Not intense. Not searching.

Just… honest.

Theo sat beside her, leaving space between them out of habit rather than intent. Like his body still remembered years of not taking too much.

“I figured something out here,” he said after a moment.

Y/N tilted her head. “About what?”

“About you.”

Her fingers stilled in the grass. “That sounds ominous,” she tried to joke, lightness forced, heart suddenly too loud in her ribs.

“It wasn’t,” Theo said quickly. Then he corrected himself, mouth twitching like he regretted the words already. “Well. It was, but not in a bad way.”

She waited.

Theo swallowed, eyes still on the lake. “Do you remember first year? After… everything that happened here?”

Her chest tightened. Of course she remembered. The cold. The panic. The way the world had vanished beneath her feet.

“You almost drowned,” he continued quietly, voice stripped down to something bare. “I jumped in without thinking. Didn’t even realize what I was doing until I had you.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “I remember.”

“I told myself that was just panic,” Theo said. “Fear. Adrenaline. I told myself anyone would’ve done the same.”

He finally turned to look at her, and something in his expression cracked open just enough for her to see what he usually kept locked away.

“But that wasn’t it.”

Y/N frowned, breath shallow. “Theo…”

“I think I liked you before that,” he admitted. “Probably since we were six.” A beat. Then, softer: “Since you smiled at Mattheo like his name didn’t matter. Since you always pulled me into Draco’s chaos even when I didn’t want to be.”

Her breath caught.

Theo’s voice lowered, as if the lake might overhear. “But that day… that’s when I realized I loved you.”

The word settled between them, heavy and quiet, like the world had paused to listen.

“I was eleven,” he said, almost like he couldn’t believe it himself. “And all I could think was that the world would be wrong if you weren’t in it.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned like she’d been struck clean through.

“You—” She let out a weak laugh, shaking her head as if that could make it less real. “Theo, I didn’t even know I liked you until last year.”

“I know,” he said gently. His eyes softened in a way that made her stomach flip. “You’re terrible at noticing things about yourself.”

She scoffed automatically. “Excuse me?”

“You notice everyone else,” he said. “Just not you.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. Because he wasn’t wrong.

Theo looked back at the water like he needed something steady to hold onto. “I didn’t say anything. Because I didn’t think it mattered. Because I didn’t want to change anything.” His jaw flexed. “And because… I was content just being here.”

Her chest felt too full. Too tight.

“And now?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged, helpless in a way Theo never was. “Now I realized I can’t pretend I don’t feel it anymore.”

Y/N looked out at the lake, the same water that had once terrified her, that had nearly taken her, that had shown Theo his heart before he understood it himself.

“I thought,” she said slowly, voice trembling at the edges, “that what I felt was just comfort. That you were just… home.”

Theo’s lips curved faintly. “Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

A shaky breath left her. “I’m scared.”

“Me too,” he admitted, and the honesty in it made her want to cry.

“Not because it’s dangerous,” she clarified quickly. “But because I don’t want to break what we have. Or the group. Or Draco.”

Theo nodded once. “That’s why I never said anything.”

She turned to face him fully now, searching his expression like it held the answer to a question she’d been too afraid to ask. “So what are we doing?”

Theo hesitated, then answered with the kind of truth he always gave her. “We tell the truth. And we go slow. And we don’t make it obvious until we’re sure.”

Her fingers brushed his.

Neither of them pulled away.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Theo smiled, not wide, not triumphant.

Just relieved.

“Okay,” he echoed.

He leaned in carefully, giving her space to stop him.

She didn’t.

Their kiss was gentle and uncertain, two people learning something new about themselves together. When they pulled back, her forehead rested against his, both of them breathing like they’d been holding it for years.

“So,” she murmured, a shaky smile breaking through, “you’ve loved me since I was eleven.”

Theo chuckled softly. “And you only just noticed.”

She laughed, warmth blooming in her chest like something waking up. Behind them, the Black Lake rippled unchanged, patient, keeping their secret, just as it always had.

.

.

.

Pansy Parkinson had always prided herself on her observant nature. But even she hadn’t seen this coming.

The Slytherin common room was loud in the way only Slytherins could manage, controlled chaos wrapped in green firelight and stone. Conversations overlapped. Laughter bounced off the walls. Ambition lingered in the air like smoke, sweet and sharp.

Their group had claimed their usual corner.

Draco lounged across an armchair like he owned it—which, frankly, he did. Blaise sat on the couch opposite him, boots crossed at the ankles, expression bored in the way that meant he was listening to everything. Lorenzo was on the floor with his back against the sofa, skimming through a book he’d absolutely “borrowed.” Mattheo leaned against a pillar nearby, arms crossed, scanning the room with half-lidded eyes as if he was waiting for something to amuse him.

Y/N stood near the sofa, arms folded loosely as she listened to Draco complain about literally everything.

Theo stood beside her.

Casual. Relaxed. Normal.

(He was not normal.)

Pansy lounged nearby with Witch Weekly magazine, which she hadn’t turned a page of in ten minutes, watching everyone like a hawk.

Theo’s shoulder brushed Y/N’s. His body angled toward her, subtle and instinctive. One hand rested on the back of the couch behind her, not touching, but close enough that it might as well have been a line drawn in stone.

Pansy noticed immediately.

And then Marcus Flint’s younger cousin approached.

He had the unmistakable Flint confidence—too much of it, really—and the audacity to think this was a good idea. He lingered at the edge of their space, cleared his throat, and stepped forward like he belonged there.

“Y/N.”

Theo went rigid.

Not dramatic, Theo never did dramatic. Just… still. Alert. Like a blade being drawn an inch from its sheath.

Y/N turned politely. “Yeah?”

“Hogsmeade’s this weekend,” Flint said, rocking back on his heels, smiling like he expected her to be flattered. “Thought maybe you’d want to go with me.”

Theo didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, fully blocking the space between them. “She’s not going.” The words came out sharp. Final.

The corner of the common room went quiet like the air itself had paused to listen.

Theo blinked, realizing too late that everyone was staring.

Y/N frowned. “Theo?”

“She’s—” He swallowed, then rushed on, eyes flicking anywhere but hers. “She’s already busy.”

Draco’s brows knit together. “Busy with what?”

Theo panicked. “With me,” he blurted.

Dead silence.

Blaise squinted. “You?”

Lorenzo sat up like he’d been shocked awake. “Since when?”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, slow and delighted. “That’s new.”

Flint scoffed. “She didn’t say that.”

Theo’s jaw tightened. “She doesn’t need to.”

Flint crossed his arms. “I was talking to her, not you.”

That was a mistake. Draco shot to his feet. “And you’re talking to my sister.”

Flint rolled his eyes. “Relax, Malfoy. It’s just Hogsmeade.”

Theo cut in quickly, words tumbling out now. “We all know how the Flints are with girls—”

Flint snapped, “Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not exactly known for your respect,” Theo shot back, then immediately looked like he wished he could grab the words out of the air. “I mean—historically—”

Blaise nodded thoughtfully. “He’s not wrong.”

Lorenzo added, far too earnest, “It’s kind of a reputation thing.”

Flint bristled. “You lot think you’re better than everyone.”

Draco stepped closer, eyes cold. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

Mattheo smirked. “Also, she’s too pretty for you.”

Draco whipped his head around. “Watch it.”

Mattheo held up his hands. “Protective brother privilege.”

Flint scoffed again. “Whatever. Didn’t realize she needed a committee.”

Theo’s hand slid without thinking to Y/N’s wrist. Firm. Protective. Possessive enough that Pansy’s eyes widened.

“She’s not going with you,” Theo repeated, quieter now, but somehow more dangerous. “Drop it.”

For a moment, Flint looked like he might argue again.

Then he took one look at Draco’s expression, Blaise’s calm stare, Mattheo’s amused menace, and Theo’s hand on Y/N like a promise and decided he valued his skin.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Didn’t want to deal with this anyway.”

He turned and walked off, grumbling under his breath. The common room noise slowly returned, as if it had been holding itself back.

Draco sat back down, irritated. “Honestly. The audacity. Glad you pretended to take my sister out, mate.”

Blaise shook his head. “Flints.”

Lorenzo shrugged. “You did the right thing, Theo.”

Theo nodded faintly, still bright red from the horror of what he’d just blurted out in front of half of Slytherin. “Yeah.”

He tried to play it off, chin lifted, shoulders squared, expression carefully neutral, but it was impossible to look intimidating when your ears were the exact color of Gryffindor banners.

Y/N stared at him. Half stunned. Half amused. Entirely doomed.

Because Theo Nott—quiet, composed Theo Nott—had just announced with his whole chest that she was “busy with him,” and now he was sitting there like a man awaiting trial.

Pansy Parkinson stopped breathing.

Literally.

One second she was lounging like a bored aristocrat, the next she went statue-still, eyes widening so fast it was like someone had cast a spell on her face.

Her gaze dropped.

To Theo’s hand still resting at Y/N’s wrist like it belonged there. To Y/N leaning into him just slightly, barely anything, but Pansy had the observational skills of a predator and the soul of a gossip columnist.

To the fact that Theo hadn’t moved an inch away. Not even after the entire table went silent. Not even after Draco noticed.

Pansy’s mouth fell open. A soundless, reverent sort of horror. “Oh,” she whispered, like she’d just solved an ancient rune.

Theo saw it.

Too late.

Pansy’s eyes widened again—somehow wider—like her brain was trying to expand past the limits of her skull. Her hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh—OH—”

It wasn’t even a word anymore. It was the beginning of an explosion.

Theo reacted on instinct. He grabbed Pansy’s arm like he was intercepting a Bludger. At the exact same time, Y/N grabbed her other arm.

“Nope,” Theo muttered, voice flat with sheer panic.

“Absolutely not,” Y/N hissed, eyes sharp as daggers.

They hauled Pansy upright so fast her magazine slid off her lap and flopped onto the floor like a defeated witness.

Pansy tried to speak.

Tried to inhale.

Tried to make the noise.

Y/N leaned forward, smile bright and fake. “Bathroom,” she called over her shoulder in a sweet, perfectly normal voice, as if nothing suspicious was happening.

“Emergency,” Theo echoed immediately, too fast, too intense, like he’d rehearsed it.

Draco frowned. “Why do you both—”

“It’s Pansy,” Blaise said calmly, sipping his drink like this was weather. “This tracks.”

.

.

.

The door slammed shut behind them with the finality of a courtroom verdict. In the bathroom, Pansy detonated. She doubled over laughing, one hand braced on her knees, the other clutching her chest like she was having a spiritual experience. She wheezed so hard her shoulders shook.

“I KNEW IT!” she choked out between gasps. “I KNEW IT—THE STAMMERING—THE HAND—THE FLINT EXCUSE—”

Theo clapped a hand over her mouth so fast it was practically a reflex curse. “Quiet,” he hissed, eyes wild, scanning the bathroom like Filch might leap out of a tapestry.

Pansy muffled-laughed against his palm, eyes glittering with pure evil delight. It was the most pleased Theo had ever seen her, which was saying something.

“You practically short-circuited!” she wheezed the moment he loosened his grip. “You said ‘busy with—ME’ like you were claiming territory!”

“I panicked,” Theo muttered through his teeth, rubbing the back of his neck like the skin might detach and float away from embarrassment. “It was tactical.”

Pansy gasped again, pointing at him with accusation. “TACTICAL? You sounded like a feral kneazle!”

Y/N covered her face with both hands. “Merlin. I’m never showing my face at breakfast again.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Pansy said, still breathless, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “This is the most entertaining thing Slytherin has had since someone tried to smuggle a pygmy puff into Transfiguration.”

Theo’s voice went flat. “How long do you think before you tell someone?”

Pansy pressed a hand to her chest in mock offense. “How dare you. I have integrity.” She paused, smirked. “Sometimes.”

Y/N dropped her hands, eyes narrowing. “Pansy.”

Pansy held up both palms immediately. “Fine. I won’t tell. Not because I’m kind, but because I like having leverage.”

Theo groaned, tipping his head back against the cold stone. “Of course.”

Pansy’s gaze snapped back to them, suddenly sharp again. “How long.”

Theo hesitated, like saying it aloud would make it worse.

“Four months,” he admitted, and it sounded like a confession in court.

Pansy stared at him for a beat… then sighed dramatically. “I deserve compensation.”

Y/N’s eyes sharpened. “No.”

Pansy pouted. “At least let me enjoy this. I have suffered through Draco Malfoy’s ego for years.”

Theo muttered, “We all have.”

Pansy brightened again, grin returning. “Oh, this is going to be delicious. I get to watch you both panic every time someone breathes near you.”

“You cannot tell anyone,” Y/N warned, tone suddenly all Malfoy—cold, precise, dangerous.

“I won’t,” Pansy promised instantly, a hand over her heart like she was swearing a vow. Then she leaned in, eyes gleaming. “But I will absolutely enjoy knowing.”

Theo made a low, defeated noise.

“And watching you both panic,” Pansy finished smugly.

.

.

.

Back in the common room, Draco sat with his arms crossed, expression sour. “Still,” he said firmly, like he was announcing a law, “no Flints near my sister.”

The boys nodded in agreement, solemn as if they’d just signed a treaty.

Pansy returned moments later, wearing the most smug smile Hogwarts had ever seen, radiating the satisfaction of someone holding a secret that made everything infinitely more entertaining.

And Theo Nott, trailing behind her looking like he’d aged five years in five minutes, realized with absolute dread: This wasn’t the end of the disaster.

It was just the beginning.

.

.

.

Mattheo Riddle went to the Astronomy Tower for one reason and one reason only.

Peace.

Well, peace and a cigarette, he definitely wasn’t supposed to have.

Fifth year had been a slow, grinding, and exhausting kind of year. O.W.L's pressure dug its claws into everyone; professors watched them like they were waiting for someone to crack, and the castle buzzed with a tension that never quite settled. Even Slytherin’s common room, usually controlled chaos, felt too loud lately. Too many eyes. Too many conversations that turned sharp the second his name entered them.

The Astronomy Tower was different.

It didn’t care who your father was. It didn’t care what people whispered. Up here, the air was colder, cleaner. The sky felt closer. The stars didn’t judge.

Mattheo leaned against the stone wall, pulled the cigarette from his pocket like it was a secret he’d earned, and flicked his lighter. The flame cupped itself against the wind, stubborn and bright. He inhaled, held it for a beat, then exhaled slowly.

Smoke curled into the night.

For the first time all week, his shoulders loosened.

Then he heard voices.

Soft ones.

Mattheo paused mid-drag, frowning as he angled his head toward the far side of the tower where the shadows were deeper and the starlight brighter. He considered turning around. Not my problem, his brain offered. Not my business.

But then he heard it.

Y/N’s laugh.

Not her polite laugh. Not the one she used in corridors when people were watching, sharp and controlled like a blade.

The real one. Warm. Unfiltered. The kind that slipped out when she forgot she was a Malfoy for a second.

Mattheo froze.

He took another step quietly now, careful in the way only someone raised around danger could be careful. Smoke drifted from his lips as he moved toward a pillar just out of sight, back pressed to cool stone, the cigarette held low so the ember wouldn’t give him away.

Theo’s voice followed low, warm, stripped of the careful distance he usually wore like armor. “You’re going to get us caught one day,” he murmured.

Y/N laughed again, softer now. “You say that every time.”

“And every time,” Theo replied, voice almost smiling, “I’m right.”

Mattheo’s eyebrows lifted. That didn’t sound like casual conversation. He leaned his shoulder into the pillar, eyes narrowing as he peered around the edge, and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Theo stood close to her. Too close for coincidence. Not the polite, careful distance he kept from almost everyone else. This was familiar closeness. The kind that belonged to people who didn’t have to ask permission anymore.

His hand rested at her waist, gentle, like he was afraid of nothing except startling her. His thumb brushed absent patterns against her robes like muscle memory. Y/N tilted her head up, fingers already fisted in the front of his jumper before he even leaned down, tugging him in like she’d been doing it for months.

They kissed.

Not rushed.

Not stolen.

Not hesitant.

Soft and unguarded like two people who had stopped worrying about firsts a long time ago, and now only cared about here. About this. About each other.

Mattheo choked. He turned sharply, clapping a hand over his mouth as he coughed into his sleeve, eyes watering, lungs screaming like traitors.

“Merlin—” he hissed under his breath.

The sound echoed off the stone. Theo froze. Y/N stiffened instantly. They broke apart like they’d been hexed.

“Did you hear that?” Y/N whispered, voice sharp with panic.

Theo scanned the tower, heart clearly hammering even from where Mattheo stood. “Probably just the wind,” he murmured too quick, too hopeful.

Mattheo laughed out loud. “Oh, come on,” he said, stepping fully into view, cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. “Even Hogwarts isn’t that dramatic.”

Theo nearly jumped out of his skin.

Y/N gasped. “Mattheo!”

Theo’s face drained of color so fast it was almost impressive. “How long were you—”

“Long enough to traumatize me,” Mattheo replied dryly, taking one last drag like he needed it to survive this conversation. “And short enough that I’m choosing to pretend I didn’t just witness something sacred.”

There was a beat of horrified silence.

Then Y/N groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Oh no. Oh no.”

Theo raked a hand through his hair and paced once, like movement could undo the last ten seconds. “You weren’t supposed to be up here.”

Mattheo shrugged. “Neither were you.”

He studied them more carefully now, not teasing, not smug. Observant. The way his eyes always went a little sharper when something mattered.

Theo hovered half a step closer to Y/N without noticing. Y/N’s fingers caught Theo’s sleeve as if her body had already decided where safety lived. Neither of them looked embarrassed, not really.

Just… caught.

“How long?” Mattheo asked quietly.

Theo hesitated, jaw tight, calculating the fallout.

Y/N answered for him, voice soft. “Almost a year.”

Mattheo blinked.

Then blinked again.

“A year?” he repeated, disbelief cracking through his usual composure. “You’ve been dating in secret for a year?”

Theo nodded once, grim. “We didn’t want to change things.”

Mattheo let out a low whistle, eyes flicking to Theo’s hand still at Y/N’s waist like it belonged there. “That explains a lot.”

“What exactly?” Y/N asked cautiously.

Mattheo ticked them off with lazy honesty. “The way he watches rooms before you enter. The way you always know where he is. The way neither of you can lie convincingly when asked if you’re tired.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “And the way Theo looks like he’s one bad day away from murdering anyone who breathes too close to you.”

Theo winced. “I knew I was obvious.”

“You’re not obvious,” Mattheo corrected, voice unexpectedly gentle. “You’re consistent.”

That quiet kindness landed strangely in the cold night air.

Then Mattheo’s mouth curved into mischief again, returning. “Also… Pansy knows, I’m guessing.”

Theo stiffened. “How—”

“Because she’s Pansy,” Mattheo said, like it was the simplest answer in the world. “And because she’s been watching you like she’s holding a secret over her own head for entertainment.”

Y/N sighed, shoulders sagging. “She swore she wouldn’t tell.”

“And she didn’t,” Mattheo said easily. “Neither will I.”

Theo studied him, suspicion flickering. “You’re… okay with this?”

Mattheo shrugged, gaze softening just a fraction. “You’re good to her. She’s happier.” Then he added, deadpan, “And somehow you managed to keep Draco completely clueless for a year.”

That earned a weak, helpless laugh from Y/N.

“That part took effort,” Theo admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Mattheo smirked. “I believe it.” He stubbed out his cigarette against the stone and straightened, hands sliding into his pockets. “For what it’s worth, you chose a terrible hiding spot.”

Theo groaned. “This was our place.”

Mattheo’s grin widened. “Not anymore.” He stepped past them, then paused like an afterthought had just occurred to him. “Oh,” he added over his shoulder, voice bright with impending chaos, “Pansy’s going to be insufferable when she finds out I know.”

Y/N groaned again. “Please don’t tell her you saw us.”

Mattheo’s smile turned wicked. “No promises.”

Y/N flushed. Theo scowled. Mattheo laughed as he descended, footsteps echoing down the spiral like punctuation. When he was gone, silence settled again thick, private, almost tender.

Theo turned to Y/N, eyes searching her face like he needed to make sure she was still here, still okay. “You alright?”

Y/N nodded, stepping closer until her forehead rested against his. Her voice was small, but steady. “I think so.”

Theo smiled faintly, breath ghosting against her lips. “That makes three of us now.”

Y/N laughed quietly, and Theo’s hand slid back to her waist like it had been waiting.

Above them, the stars burned on as witnesses to a secret that had survived almost a year. And somehow, despite everything, Draco Malfoy still had no idea.

.

.

.

Blaise Zabini and Enzo Berkshire were absolutely not supposed to be in the girls’ dormitory.

This was important.

This was criminally important.

This was the sort of rule that existed for extremely obvious reasons, like dignity, privacy, and the very real possibility of Draco Malfoy committing a homicide.

Unfortunately, Blaise’s Potions notes—his very expensive, very organized, very aggressively color-coded Potions notes—were currently sitting on Y/N Malfoy’s desk because she’d borrowed them earlier.

And Enzo, in a moment of supreme overconfidence and very poor decision-making, had said:

“We’ll just grab them quickly.”

Quickly.

Those were famous last words.

They crept down the Slytherin corridor like two criminals with the survival instincts of damp socks, their shoes barely making a sound against the cold stone floor.

Enzo kept glancing over his shoulder like Snape might materialize out of thin air.

“If Snape finds out we were here,” Enzo whispered, “I’m blaming you.”

“You need to borrow my notes,” Blaise hissed back. “This is a joint crime.”

“I didn’t realize borrowing notes required breaking into the girls’ dormitory.”

“Adaptability is an important life skill.”

They reached the door.

It was slightly ajar.

Blaise stopped.

He frowned.

“The girls never leave it open.”

Enzo shrugged. “Maybe they forgot.”

“Y/N Malfoy forgetting something?” Blaise said skeptically. “That seems unlikely.”

“Maybe Millicent exploded something.”

“That seems extremely likely.”

Blaise pushed the door open slowly.

It creaked. Both of them froze. Nothing exploded. No screaming. No curses. Encouraged by the absence of immediate death, they stepped inside.

The room was dim, lit only by a floating candle near the window. Green curtains stirred softly in the draft, and the whole place smelled faintly like expensive perfume and parchment.

Very lived-in.

Very peaceful.

Very much like they had just walked into somewhere they absolutely should not be.

Blaise took two steps forward.

And stopped so abruptly Enzo walked straight into his back.

“OW—what is—”

Enzo leaned around him. And his brain immediately left his body.

Y/N Malfoy stood near her bed. Theodore Nott was right there. And they were kissing. Not a startled kiss. Not an oh gods someone might see us kiss. A slow, comfortable, deeply familiar kiss.

Theo’s hands rested at her waist like they’d lived there for years. Y/N’s fingers were tangled in the collar of his jumper, tugging him closer without hesitation. They were murmuring something between kisses, laughing softly like they had absolutely nowhere else to be.

They did not notice Blaise and Enzo.

At all.

Blaise blinked.

Once.

Twice.

A third time, just to confirm he hadn’t accidentally inhaled something illegal during Potions earlier.

Enzo made a noise. It was not a word. It was a sound. Something between a gasp and the dying squeak of a very confused mouse.

Theo froze mid-kiss. Y/N froze mid-laugh.

They turned.

Four people stared at each other.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

The silence was so intense the floating candle flickered like it was uncomfortable too.

Then Enzo whispered very softly, very sincerely: “…Is this a prank?”

Theo’s soul left his body. Y/N slapped both hands over her face. “Merlin.”

Blaise pointed weakly. “You’re—” He pointed at Theo. Then at Y/N. Then waved his hand vaguely between them. “You’re… doing that?”

Theo opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “…Yes.”

Enzo staggered backward and immediately sat down on the nearest bed like his legs had resigned from their position. “No,” he said firmly. “No, I need to sit for this.”

Blaise dragged a hand down his face. “How long?”

Theo glanced at Y/N. She peeked through her fingers like someone watching a disaster unfold. “… A year.”

Enzo made a choking noise. “A year?!”

Blaise laughed once, sharp and horrified. “You’ve been dating for a YEAR?”

Theo winced. “We were trying to be discreet.”

Blaise gestured wildly around the room. “You are kissing in her DORM.”

“It was locked!” Y/N protested.

Enzo slowly pointed toward the open door. “WAS IT?”

Y/N groaned and slid down onto the edge of the bed.

Blaise began pacing like a man solving a murder mystery. “Okay. Okay. No. This explains everything.”

Enzo frowned up at him from the bed. “What's everything?”

Blaise stopped pacing. Memories from the past year began assembling themselves in his brain like an extremely irritating puzzle. “How many times did Pansy say ‘they’ll be back in a minute’?” he muttered.

Theo rubbed his face. Blaise pointed dramatically. “Pansy knows.”

Theo sighed. “Yes.”

“And Mattheo,” Enzo added suddenly.

Theo stared at him. “How did you—”

Enzo shrugged. “Because he’s been smirking at you like he’s watching a very entertaining disaster unfold.”

Theo slumped like gravity had suddenly increased. Blaise crossed his arms, finally studying them properly. Not shocked anymore.

Just thoughtful.

“You’re happy,” he said.

Y/N nodded. “Yes.”

Theo met his gaze. “Very.”

Blaise sighed dramatically, like he’d just been handed an extremely inconvenient responsibility. “Great. Fantastic. Wonderful.”

"Why do you sound annoyed?" Y/N asked.

“Because,” Blaise said, pointing between them, “now I have to supervise.”

Theo blinked. “You were already doing that.”

“Yes,” Blaise said. “But now you’re a couple. Which means you’re statistically more likely to do something incredibly stupid.”

Enzo nodded gravely like a man agreeing to a military operation. “And if you make her cry, Nott, we will absolutely ruin your life.”

Theo raised his hands slightly. “Fair.”

Blaise tilted his head, still watching him carefully. “To be clear, we approve.”

Theo exhaled in relief.

“But,” Enzo added, pointing a finger at him, “she’s basically our little sister.”

Blaise nodded once. “Which means if you hurt her—”

Theo sighed. “You’ll kill me.”

“No,” Blaise said calmly.

“We’ll start with humiliation,” Enzo clarified.

“Then public embarrassment,” Blaise added.

“And then we kill you,” Enzo finished helpfully.

Theo groaned. “I liked you both better five minutes ago.”

Blaise shrugged. “Five minutes ago you weren’t secretly dating Draco Malfoy’s twin.”

Enzo gasped suddenly. “Oh no."

Theo stiffened. “What?”

Enzo looked between them with dawning horror. “We have to lie to Draco. I'm assuming he doesn't know?"

Theo and Y/N shook their heads, signaling Blaise and Lorenzo of the true horror.

Blaise immediately nodded. “Of course. Constantly. Convincingly. For an unknown amount of time.”

Theo swallowed. “You won’t tell him.”

Blaise snorted. “I like living.”

Enzo nodded seriously. “I enjoy my limbs unbroken. And for the record,” he added earnestly, “this is the worst possible way I could’ve discovered this information.”

Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m sorry.”

Enzo shrugged, already recovering. “Worth it.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and strode over to Y/N’s desk, snatching his precious Potions notes like a man reclaiming stolen property.

“Next time,” he muttered, flipping through them to make sure nothing had been ruined, “try revealing life-altering secrets somewhere less inconvenient.”

Enzo lingered by the door, giving them one last deeply judgmental look. “Also,” he added, pointing at them both, “if Draco kills us for this, I’m haunting you.”

Theo sighed. “Fair.”

With that, Blaise grabbed Enzo by the collar and hauled him toward the door. “Let’s go before we witness anything else we can’t emotionally recover from.”

They slipped out into the corridor, the door closing behind them with a quiet click. Silence settled over the room again.

Y/N leaned back against the bed, covering her face as she laughed weakly. “Well,” she said between breaths, “that happened.”

Theo stepped closer, resting his forehead against hers. “We are running out of people who don’t know.”

She smiled softly. “At least Draco’s still clueless.”

Theo closed his eyes. “For now.”

And somewhere down the corridor, Blaise and Enzo walked in stunned silence, carrying the weight of the dumbest, most inconvenient secret Hogwarts had ever witnessed.

.

.

The Astronomy Tower was wrapped in stillness.

Not the eerie kind, just the soft, breathing quiet that came when the castle finally let go of the day. The stone beneath them held the cool of the night, and above, the sky stretched endlessly, stars scattered like secrets that had learned patience.

Draco and Y/N sat shoulder to shoulder against the curved wall, knees bent, cloaks pulled tighter around themselves against the wind. Below them, the Black Lake reflected the moon in broken pieces.

This was theirs.

No expectations.

No watching eyes.

Just twin time.

Draco flicked a small pebble over the edge and watched it vanish into the dark. He didn’t rush. He never did when it mattered. His fingers drummed idly against the stone, a rhythm she’d known since they were children, his tell when something heavy pressed at his chest.

“You’re unusually quiet,” she said softly.

He huffed. “So are you.”

She smiled faintly. “I’m enjoying it.”

“Mm.” He paused. “I’m building courage.”

That made her turn her head toward him. “Since when do you need courage?”

Draco glanced at her, silver eyes catching the starlight, and for a moment he didn’t look like the polished Malfoy heir or the sharp-tongued Slytherin prince everyone else saw.

He just looked like her brother.

The boy who used to steal her sweets and swear he hadn’t.

The boy who once cried because he thought he’d hurt her with accidental magic.

Just Draco.

“I know,” he said quietly.

Her breath caught.

“…Know what?”

Draco exhaled slowly, gaze drifting back to the sky. “About you. And Theo.”

The world didn’t collapse.

It simply stilled, like everything had been waiting for this sentence.

She swallowed. “How long?”

“A while,” he admitted. “Long enough that pretending I didn’t notice started to feel insulting.”

She nodded slowly. “I was going to tell you.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “That’s not why this hurts.”

That word—hurts—settled deep in her chest.

She shifted closer. “Draco…”

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. “It stung that you didn’t tell me sooner. Not because I’m entitled to every part of your life—but because you’ve always told me everything. Even the things that scared you.”

Tears burned behind her eyes. “I was scared,” she whispered. “Not of you. Of what it would change.”

He nodded, accepting that. “I figured.” He hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh—soft, almost fond. “You know,” he said, “Mum knew before either of us did.”

She blinked. “She did?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Draco replied. “She always does.”

He leaned back, hands folded over his stomach, voice slipping into something more reflective. “She used to say it to Father and me when we were younger. That Theo watched you differently.”

Her heart tightened.

“Father would scoff,” Draco continued, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Said Nott was just quiet. Reserved. Polite.”

“And Mum?” she asked.

“Mum said that boys don’t look at girls like that unless it’s already decided somewhere deep inside them.”

She laughed weakly through the ache. “That sounds like her.”

“She told us Theo didn’t see you as a sister like the other boys do,” Draco said softly. “Not really. Even when you were small. Even when the rest of us were just… loud and stupid and pulling your hair.”

She closed her eyes, memories flooding back, Theo always standing a step closer, always calmer, always watching.

“She said he saw you as something else,” Draco went on. “Something precious. Something to be careful with.”

Her throat tightened.

“And Father?” she asked quietly.

Draco snorted. “Father pretended not to notice while glaring at every boy who even looked in your direction.”

She smiled sadly. “That tracks.”

He glanced at her again, expression gentler now. “So yes. I suppose I always knew it was bound to happen. You and him.”

She rested her head lightly against his shoulder, just as she had a hundred times before. He didn’t move away.

“I didn’t keep it from you because I didn’t trust you,” she said. “I kept it from you because I needed to know it was real. That it wasn’t just comfort or familiarity or something that would fade.”

Draco hummed thoughtfully. “And now?”

“And now I know,” she whispered. “And I wanted to tell you when I was ready. When it was mine to give.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then he lifted an arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her in. “I would’ve waited,” he said softly. “However long you needed.”

She pressed her face briefly into his sweater. “I’m sorry it hurt.”

“I can live with a little hurt,” he replied. “But I can’t live with you thinking you had to protect me from your happiness.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him. “You really are okay?”

Draco met her gaze steadily. “I’m still overprotective. I still glare at people. And I will absolutely hex Theo into oblivion if he ever hurts you.”

She laughed through tears. “Naturally.”

“But,” he added, voice dropping, “I’m glad you’re loved the way you deserve. And I’m glad it’s someone who’s always known your worth—even before you did.”

Her eyes shone. “You always knew it.”

He smirked faintly. “Someone had to. You’re my other half.”

They fell into silence again, the comfortable kind this time. The stars continued their slow journey overhead, and the lake below reflected their light in gentle fragments.

Nothing had broken.

Nothing had been taken away.

If anything, something old and precious had simply been folded into something new.

And for the first time since the secret began, Y/N felt like she wasn’t carrying it alone anymore.

.

.

.

The next morning, Hogwarts woke up like nothing monumental had happened.

The Great Hall buzzed with its usual chaos—clinking cutlery, animated conversations, the low roar of students arguing about homework, Quidditch, and absolutely nothing of consequence. Sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling, bright and deceptively peaceful.

Y/N walked in with Theo at her side.

That alone was not unusual.

They had mastered the art of looking normal. Walking close but not too close. Talking quietly. Laughing at the right moments. Separate plates. Separate seats.

Except today—

Today felt different.

Y/N felt lighter. Relieved. Like she’d finally set something down she’d been carrying for far too long.

Theo, on the other hand, looked like a man waiting for his execution.

They reached the Slytherin table.

Draco was already there, posture immaculate, flipping through the Daily Prophet with an expression of mild disdain. Blaise and Enzo were mid-argument. Pansy sat between them, watching Theo with far too much interest. Mattheo leaned back in his chair like a man who knew a secret and was enjoying every second of it.

Theo slid into his seat. Y/N paused beside him.

Theo looked up. “What—”

She leaned down and kissed him. Just like that. A soft, certain kiss pressed to his lips like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The Great Hall did not explode.

But Theo’s soul did. His eyes went wide. His body locked. His brain was fully disconnected. He pulled back so fast his chair screeched across the stone floor.

“What—” he hissed, looking wildly around the table. “What are you doing?!”

Blaise blinked. Enzo choked violently on his pumpkin juice. Pansy beamed like someone had just handed her front-row seats to a show she’d been waiting years for. Mattheo’s smirk widened.

And Draco—

Draco slowly lowered his newspaper.

Theo’s heart stopped.

“Oh gods,” Theo whispered. “Draco—”

Draco looked between them. Then he rolled his eyes. “For Merlin’s sake,” he drawled. “You’d think someone died.”

Theo stared at him. “You—You saw that.”

“Yes,” Draco said flatly. “I have eyes.”

Theo’s pulse thundered. “And you’re—?”

“Annoyed,” Draco said. “But not surprised.”

Theo blinked. “You… knew?”

Draco took a calm sip of tea. “Obviously.”

Theo turned slowly to Y/N. “You didn't tell me you told him last night.”

“I didn't,” she said calmly, sitting down. “He figured it out on his own. He was very mature about it.

Draco sniffed. “Don’t exaggerate.”

Theo ran a hand through his hair. “I thought I was about to be murdered at breakfast.”

“You still might be,” Draco said lightly. “Just not for that.”

Theo swallowed. “Right.”

Draco leaned back in his chair, finally giving Theo his full attention.

“Listen carefully, Nott.”

Theo straightened instantly.

“I see you as my brother,” Draco said. “Have for years.”

Theo nodded cautiously. “Same.”

“That,” Draco continued calmly, “is the only reason you’re allowed to sit there breathing.”

Theo exhaled. “Fair.”

Draco glanced at Y/N, his expression softening just slightly. “If you ever hurt my sister—”

Theo didn’t hesitate. “I won’t.”

“I know,” Draco said.

Then he leaned forward just a little. “But if you do, my father and I will end you.”

Theo nodded solemnly. “Understood.”

Blaise leaned across the table.

“Is this the part where we clap?”

Enzo whispered, “I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Pansy sighed dreamily. “This is exactly how I imagined it.”

Draco paused. Then, very slowly, he turned his head toward the rest of the table. His eyes narrowed. “Actually,” he said thoughtfully.

“Oh no,” Blaise muttered.

Draco looked from Blaise… to Enzo… to Pansy… to Mattheo.

“You lot,” Draco said slowly, “owe me an explanation.”

The table went silent.

“An explanation,” Draco continued, voice dangerously calm, “for why every single one of you apparently knew about this before I did.”

Pansy froze.

Enzo stared at the ceiling.

Blaise suddenly found his toast extremely interesting.

Mattheo leaned back in his chair, grinning.

Theo whispered, “Oh no.”

Draco pointed at Blaise first. “You.”

Blaise cleared his throat. “Technically—” he pointed at himself and Lorenzo, “—we discovered it accidentally,” Blaise finished carefully.

Draco turned to Enzo. “You.”

Enzo held up his hands immediately. “In my defense, I was traumatized.”

Then Draco turned to Pansy. She smiled sweetly. “I took an oath of silence.”

Draco looked unconvinced.

Finally, his gaze landed on Mattheo. Mattheo didn’t even try to pretend. He just shrugged. “I thought watching you figure it out would be funnier.”

Draco stared at all of them. Slowly. Then leaned back in his chair. “Incredible,” he said dryly. “I am surrounded by traitors.”

The table shifted uncomfortably.

Then Draco smirked. “Though technically,” he added lazily, “I knew before all of you.”

The table froze. “What?” Blaise, Enzo, Pansy, and Mattheo echoed in unison.

Draco took another sip of tea, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. “Oh, please,” he said. “Nott’s been in love with my sister since first year. Though I'm sure he had liked her before that.”

Theo choked.

“FIRST YEAR?” Enzo blurted.

Pansy whipped around to stare at Theo. “Merlin, Nott, you’ve been pining that long?”

Theo buried his face in his hands. Draco continued calmly, as if he were explaining basic arithmetic. “He has been following her around like a bodyguard for years. It wasn’t hard to notice.”

Mattheo leaned back, laughing. “So you’ve just been sitting on that information?”

Draco shrugged. “I was curious how long it would take them to figure it out.”

Y/N groaned. “Draco.”

He smirked. “And watching Nott panic around you for years has been extremely entertaining.”

Theo looked personally betrayed. “You let me suffer.”

Draco nodded once. “Correct.”

Then his gaze shifted back to the rest of the table.

“Which brings us back to my original point.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “You still owe me an explanation for why none of you told me.”

Blaise sighed. “Because,” he said, “you’re Draco Malfoy.”

Enzo nodded solemnly. “And we enjoy being alive.”

Theo muttered, “They were trying to protect me.”

Draco shot him a look. “They were protecting themselves.” Then he turned back to Y/N. “And you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Public displays of affection,” Draco said dryly, “kept to a minimum around me.”

She smirked. “Jealous?”

“Traumatized,” Draco corrected.

Theo cleared his throat cautiously. “So… we’re good?”

Draco nodded once. “We’re good.”

Theo sagged in relief. Then Y/N leaned over and kissed him again. Theo nearly fell out of his chair.

Draco groaned. “I said minimum.”

Mattheo laughed. “You’re never going to survive this.”

Theo stared at Y/N. “You’re enjoying this.”

She smiled sweetly. “Immensely.”

Draco stood, folding his newspaper. “Eat your breakfast,” he said. “Both of you.” Then he paused and looked at Theo. “And Nott?”

Theo looked up nervously. “Yes?”

Draco smirked. “Good luck telling my father you’re dating his daughter.”

Theo stared at him in horror. “…You’re going to enjoy that conversation, aren’t you?”

Draco nodded, repeating Y/N's words. “Immensely.”

And just like that, the secret was no longer a secret. It sat openly at the Slytherin table—protected, accepted, mildly threatened, and very much alive. Exactly the way it was always meant to be.

.

.

.

REMINDER: If you want to be on the taglist feel free to comment or message me :) and if I missed you pls lmk

(feat. accidental truth serum, public chaos, and one very flustered reader)

It starts during double Potions.

Snape’s droning on about the stability of truth serums, and Mattheo Riddle (gorgeous, brooding, completely full of himself) is stirring his cauldron with that signature air of boredom and menace.

You’re seated next to him. Unfortunately.

Well, technically it was alphabetical. But you’re starting to think fate just has a sense of humor.

Snape snaps his fingers. “Taste test. Two drops each.”

It's obvious he thinks no one made the potion right.

You arch a brow. “Taste the potion? Isn’t that, like, illegal?”

Mattheo shrugs. “Probably. But I’m dying to know what secrets you’re hiding.”

You roll your eyes and raise your vial. “Bottoms up, Riddle.”

And then.

He drinks. You pretend to drink.

You blink. He blinks.

And then... chaos.

“Your eyes,” he says dreamily, “should be illegal in academic settings. I can’t focus. I think I failed last week’s quiz because of them.”

You look over at him in horror. “What?”

“Oh no,” he says cheerfully. “I think it’s working.”

Snape narrows his eyes. “Mr. Riddle, is there a problem?”

Mattheo turns to him, absolutely beaming. “No, Professor. Unless you count the fact that I’m catastrophically in love with the girl next to me and have been writing her name over and over in the margins of my Arithmancy textbook for three months.”

There is a beat of silence.

You drop your quill.

Snape sighs. “Hospital wing. Now.”

“But I feel fine,” Mattheo says. “Better than fine. Actually, I feel free. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to tell her that her laugh makes me feel like I’m choking on happiness?”

You slap a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry, Professor,” you mutter, dragging him out of the classroom as fast as your legs can carry you. “He’s clearly unwell. Tragic. Don’t wait up.”

In the hallway, Mattheo’s grinning like a madman.

“Wait,” he says, eyes wide. “Did I tell them about the dreams yet?”

You freeze. “WHAT dreams?”

He looks slightly panicked. “Oh no.”

You push open the hospital wing door and hiss, “Mattheo Riddle, if you say one more thing that makes me want to throw myself out a window—”

“I think you’re smarter than me,” he blurts. “It’s not fair. You’re so clever. I watch you solve things and it’s like... like watching lightning happen in real time. And you don’t even brag about it. It’s disgusting. I’m obsessed with you.”

You gape at him.

Madam Pomfrey appears with a raised brow.

“Veritaserum, I assume?”

You nod numbly. “Yes. And please. Make it stop before he proposes.”

Mattheo places a hand on his chest, gasping. “Do you want me to?! Because I will. I have the ring picked out.”

A/N: missed this trainwreck | mattheo masterlist |

starring | mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary | You and your boyfriend bet on who depends on more physical attention, so along with that bet, neither of you were allowed to touch the other. Unless you wanted to admit defeat. So, in the spirit of your little game, even Umbridge added a rule to help play along.

word count | 2.8k

yuna's voicemail | So this fic was in my drafts for more than a year and so the writing might sound weird or cringey because that was younger me hahaha. I wrote this after watching Order of the Pheonix for the first time. Don't come after me, i know it's horrible ahhhhh

summary: mattheo and alcohol don't mix, add in a heartbreaking quidditch loss, and everything goes to shit

warnings: angst, yelling, anger, cursing words: 2.5k

based on this ask!! :)

300:80. That's how bad Slytherin lost—220 points. Slytherin hadn't had a loss that bad since they lost to Gryffindor their second year, when Harry "Golden Boy" Potter caught the bloody snitch in his mouth.

Everyone's game had been off since Tracey Wolfs became captain, only coming out on top of the short list because his cousin was one of the star female players on the Holyhead Harpies. He got none of the so-called "family talent" he bragged so much about. Mattheo knew making Wolfs captain was a no-go, which made the devastating loss burn a little bit brighter.

Watching a sea of red and gold erupt in a cacophony of cheers ticked him off even more, driving him to slink off the field, broom limply dragging behind him as he bypassed you and the locker rooms to shower and sulk in his dorm.

It was childish, really, leaving you, bathed in green and his name, on the stands and with a smile, expecting the usual from him. Mattheo usually flew up to your spot in the Slytherin section, a sly grin on his face, and would leave you with a kiss just as fast as he came. That, obviously, did not happen.

But if Mattheo was being honest, he was dejected and embarrassed and felt like he had disappointed his father, of all people. He could claim nothing bothered him, that Voldemort had no control over him, but it'd be a lie. A bold-faced one at that.

That cool, calm, and collected facade he wore as a second skin cracked, and no one, especially you, was going to see it.

────୨ৎ────

The party in the Slytherin common room was in full swing, everyone deciding a good party shouldn't go to waste, opting to drink away their sorrows. It was only missing one person, their star player—Mattheo.

He was sitting on his bed, staring at the wall, possibly plotting the death of the entire Gryffindor team and Tracey Wolfs. An almost empty bottle of firewhiskey sat capped on his bed, right next to his crossed legs.

Alcohol and Mattheo didn't mix, the whole school knew that, you knew that. It was a dangerous combination, one that turned his blood sour, personality vitriolic.

So, when you knocked on the door, a small smile on your face, a drink in your hand, his foggy brain turned off all sense of logic.

"Hey," he gruffed.

You knew he'd be upset, but something looked different. Felt different. The whole thing was unfortunate, really.

"Hi, love," you murmured. "Can I come in?"

A thick pause of silence passed as he stared at you. "Sure… You went to the party?"

"Yes, I was just waiting to give you some time." You moved to his bed, staring at the bottle of alcohol sitting on his comforter. "…Looks like you had your own party."

He didn't laugh, he just stared holes into your forehead. "Mhm. Did."

"Are you okay? After what happened?"

A sigh slipped past as he plopped himself unceremoniously next to you. "Fine. Truly. That git Wolfs won't be, though."

"Mattheo," you chastised, a hand going to your forehead. "You can't hex your own captain because he made a few bad calls."

"Can't I?"

"No."

"Pity."

Your hand dropped from your forehead, which was most likely wrinkling by the second, and slowly reached for his hand. He pulled away before you could even brush the pad of your finger across his skin.

The rejection stung more than you cared to admit.

"You've hardly looked at me since you… since the match." Your voice was light and quiet. "I'm worried about you, is all."

"I said I'm fine." He spat the words out like the sheer idea of them turned his mouth bitter.

"Yes, you've said that."

"I've said it because it's true."

"No, it's not."

His jaw flexed, his eyes closed.

"You left the pitch solemnly. Disappeared for hours without even a word to me. And now, you've almost drank yourself to alcohol poisoning." You glanced at the bottle. "You hate all kinds of whiskey, even the expensive kind."

"I like it now."

The silence was heavy and it carried a certain sense of dread that settled low in your stomach.

"Losing hurts. I know that. But you have got to see that this is only one match."

His gaze traveled upwards. It was the first time he'd truly looked at you all day. "One match?"

"Now, you know that's not what I meant-"

"Then what did you mean?"

"I mean it shouldn't define who you are."

He stood, hands balled into fists at his side. "It's so easy for you to say that."

You laughed, hollow and thin. "Bloody hell does that mean?"

"It's easy for you because you don't know what it means to feel like this," his voice was lower, rougher. "Everyone watching as I get tossed around like an idiot."

"Mattheo-"

"Shut up!" He groaned, running a hand down the side of his face. "You don't know anything."

"I was out there cheering for you, you did not look like an idiot!"

"I know you were cheering, I saw my name on your bloody jumper. Wish it could have helped."

"What?"

He shifted, bending down over you until his arms bracketed your frame. He was so close to you now that you could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I wish it could have helped."

It felt like you were swallowing needles. "I came here so you wouldn't be alone."

His head dropped so you could just see his hair. "Great. Well, you've seen me now so you can get back to your own party."

 "I'm not leaving you like this."

He looked up again, eyes glassy. A flicker of softness passed over him but it hardened just as quickly as it left. "Wonderful."

"Why are you so angry with me?"

"I'm not angry with you! Fuck. How are you so blind?"

"Blind?" You spluttered, pushing at his broad shoulders. "I can assure you I'm not blind. If anyone is blind, it's you. This game, this loss, just made you feel something that you think you shouldn't have! Something that you don't want to admit!"

"Felt what? Tell me. Oh, Merlin, please tell me."

"…you felt humiliated."

Mattheo blinked slowly. He was incensed; angry; irate. It all was too much, and not what he wanted to hear from you. Something, the only thread he had left, must have frayed too thin. "Merlin, when are you going to stop acting like my fucking therapist? All you do is whine and tell me how I screw everything up! I'm obviously… humiliated, according to you, and you're trying to turn this into a lesson like you're my bloody shrink! Get it through your thick fucking skull that I don't need your help. Fuck."

"Mattheo! You-"

"Oh, I what?" He reached out a callused hand, grasping onto your wrist, tugging at the hand pressed against his frame. "What? What? Just fucking say it!"

You flinched, pushing at him harder.

Mattheo loosened, letting his hand drop to his side. Brown eyes met yours, the face he saw reflecting in your iris' didn't look like him—he looked like his father; the same sharp nose, the same curls, and the same tongue that lashed out harsh words to anyone who got too close.

His spine unfurled as he stumbled away from you.

Your name came out like a whisper. Reverent; sad; almost silent. "I- I'm so sorry."

"You almost hurt me."

Mattheo opened his mouth again. Your lips quivered. He stopped.

"Don't… you dare do that to me again, Mattheo Riddle."

He was talking to you now—you knew it. Most likely apologizing again. But the ringing in your ears overpowered any semblance of hearing you might have had left. It was confusing and overwhelming, and none of it was as simple as it should have been.

Tears pooled at your waterline, tearing lines of salt down your cheeks, that, you thought, may scar from how much they burned.

Your boyfriend had never been angry with you like that, never that close to feeling like he would lay a hand on you. His touch had never felt so severe.

Lines blurred at the edges as you stood, shaky hands fumbling for the doorknob that seemed to get further and further away from your clutches.

Something within you paused when Mattheo spoke your name again—bone-dry, broken, and utterly depressing. White noise rushed in your ears.

"Please, I- I can't explain what came over me; I don't know what came over me," he began. "I'd never, never, lay a hand on you. Know that. Please. I'm so sorry for yelling. Please don't leave."

He was begging now, begging for that piece of your heart he had so selfishly stolen from you like a thief in the night.

"Matty, I can't."

"Just hear me out."

With your chest heaving, you turned your head to the side, just catching a glimpse of that face that never left your mind, even when you slept. You wished you hadn't. The regret you felt was immediate. The boy you had known to always be stuck on his high horse, always hidden behind concrete walls made of unachievable expectations and words that cut deeper than knives looked like his wings had been clipped.

He stood before you, his shell cast to his feet.

"You don't understand. I cannot… cannot breathe without you near me. I don't deserve you, and my actions tonight have not reflected that. You have to believe me. I—fuck—drank too much and I knew it wouldn't work out well for me, but I was just so disappointed that it happened. What I did just now was cruel and unforgiving and it wasn't me. Well, it was me, but not how I should have acted. I kept thinking about my father, and you know what happens when I do, and—"

"Mattheo." Your tone tip toed the line between anger and empathy. You turned to face him fully now. "I do understand because I love you. I need time."

────୨ৎ────

Four days passed.

Four agonizing days.

Usually Hogwarts felt massive with its ever changing hallways and moving staircases, but it felt far too small when the only person Mattheo wanted to see wouldn't dare to even glance his way.

You were everywhere and nowhere all at once.

At the far end of the table, smiling softly at something Pansy said.

In your favorite chair in the common room, your nose in a book.

On your knees in front of the greenhouse, clipping away at flowers, your hair shoved beneath your favorite woolly scarf to prevent the snow from dampening the strands.

Every time, he'd hesitate before letting his feet carry himself to you. Though, you were always quicker, traipsing away to do something that didn't involve him.

It wasn't cruel or maddening, just mind numbing… just far away. From him.

He didn't blame you. How could he?

That blasted night played over and over in his head like a broken record. Your pretty face flinching, the warmth of your wrist in his hand, and that look in your eyes which haunted him the most. You looked at him like you were afraid.

That realization settled in his chest like lead.

Sleep didn't come as naturally anymore, dinners were skipped, and trudging to class seemed as strenuous as swimming the length of the Black Lake. So, he spent most of his time in the astronomy tower, smoking the occasional cigarette, but never picking up a bottle of alcohol.

On the fourth day of not speaking to one another, the fourth day of Mattheo treating the astronomy tower ledges as his new bed, you decided to go visit him.

He didn't hear you walk up the stairs, only startling when your silky voice cut through the cool air. "You're going to fall to your death if you get any closer."

Mattheo's head whipped around so sharply he dropped the cigarette he was fiddling between his fingers. It was immediately crushed beneath his foot.

He stood abruptly.

"I can leave if—"

"No, don't. Please."

He sat back down again. "I- I wrote and rewrote a letter apologizing probably a billion times over, but none of them sounded quite right. All of them started with I'm sorry and I didn't think that would cut it."

"It wouldn't have." You words were blunt, but the look in your eyes was softer.

"I know. I didn't want to keep asking for you to forgive me." His gaze was downcast. "I remember everything I said to you. They have replayed in my mind over and over again."

He laughed bitterly.

"I grabbed your wrist." His voice caught in his throat. "Merlin, and you looked at me like you didn't know who I was."

Your jaw clenched. "I didn't."

It was like a bludger to the stomach.

"You looked like, I don't know, something different."

Olive skin turned alabaster as as the blood drained from his face. He couldn't breathe.

"Love, I am so sorry. I don't want you to feel like you can't trust me, or- or, fuck, that I would ever put my hands on you. You know… my father and that I would never do what he did to me to someone else. I've been wracking my brain to find something else to say, what would make this better, but if I'm being honest, I can't figure anything out. I'm scared it won't be enough."

"Matty," you sighed, slowly walking over to him, hands finding the sides of his face. "I know that. I'm sorry that I've been ignoring you, too."

His mouth opened in a silent gasp. "Don't, please, don't apologize to me. You've done nothing, and have never done anything wrong."

Your head shook. "I could have said something to you."

He said your name in a sigh. "This is what I mean," Mattheo hesitated when he raised his hand before placing it on your forearm. "You apologize for things that don't need to be apologized for. I told you things like I don't need your help, which is so far from untrue. I don't know where I'd be without you."

A small, pursed-lip smile graced your lips.

"Thank you. Something you need to understand more than me is that I don't know where I'd be without you, too. Just, I have to stress, if you do something like that again, act like that again, I- I don't know what I'll do, but I know that it will be your second, and last, chance."

His hands skimmed across your arms and moved to your midsection, where he squeezed you into a hug.

"I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I promise, darling."

You mirrored his action, hugging him so tightly you thought he may have trouble breathing. "Good. Will you come to classes and dinner, now?"

"Only if you're there."

"Always," you whispered.

finally i post

I forgot to put my taglist I hate me

mattheo riddle who never ever smokes around you because you hate the smell. instead, he keeps his smoking for late nights with theodore on the astonomy tower. mattheo riddle who wakes up feeling a little rush of dopamine when he sees you sleeping next to him and he’s never felt so happy to see someone. mattheo riddle who starts a fight with any guy who (god forbid) dares to try and ask you out. mattheo riddle who claims to hate the cheesy romcoms you make him watch with you but he secretly starts liking them a little bit more and more each time. mattheo riddle who always helps you out with your charms, dada and transfiguration homework. mattheo riddle who despite whatever others might think, is never ever mean to you. he’s always listening and trying to give you the love he was never shown. mattheo riddle who beats himself up after you guys argue because he wishes he didn’t raise his voice at you and start slamming things around. mattheo riddle whom you love with all your heart and soul, just as he loves you ♡(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

Possibly with some soft smut if you are comfortable with it of course

bsf mattheo riddle x hufflepuff reader

hopefully this matches your request <3 i’ll most likely make a part 2 for this because.. you’ll see ;) 3.5k words

you lived a rather simple uncomplicated life, attending hogwarts as a hufflepuff with no interest in anyone’s drama. though you kept to yourself most times you tried to be nice to all your peers maintaining your classic hufflepuff demeanor, despite this there was one thing that was different about you.

you see, you didn’t see or understand why people don’t like other houses just because of “house rivalry” especially the students who weren’t even participating in any sports or point winning. and with this over your years though you had few friends you had one best friend who at first seemed rather impossible to be friends with.. mattheo riddle.

when you two met you were a fourth year and him a fifth, coincidentally you were going on to a few friends about your annoyance with people automatically assuming the worst of slytherin even though you yourself weren’t in their house or nearly like one. mattheo overheard this heated- adorable voice coming from behind him and he walked towards you carefully.

he sat down in front of you beside your friend as she gawked faces towards you at his presence. “you don’t think we’re too mean, huh?” he questioned small laugh leaving his lips. “i just think that some people are misunderstood and just because some wizards turned out bad doesn’t mean all of them in your house are” you looked at him answering his question with ease

he smirked in amusement and leaned a little closer to you “hm, hufflepuff eh? what year are you puff?” he sat back examining you and you didn’t fail to notice that nickname he slipped in “fourth year but i have an early birthday which is annoying because i could technically be out sooner” you sighed ignoring his staring.

“well, seeing as it’s ravenclaw against gryffindor do you wanna watch the quidditch game with me i know the best view” he stood up and held his hand out for you, you look towards your friends and they’re both nodding their heads for you to go so you did.

from that point on you and mattheo had been best friends, sadly he was in his seventh year and now you in your sixth nothing much had changed in your life. living vicariously through mattheo and his stories about slytherin parties and how you should go to one with him before it’s too late, he’d tell you about his sexual adventures and your jaw would drop everytime.

you yourself also confided in him though with much less interesting things, telling him how you feel unlikeable by guys sometimes because they never try to get or talk to you, or how you feel lonely because you’ve never had a a boyfriend before. hed always help soothe the thoughts away, telling you that it’s only your brain making those things up , “listen y/n, anyone who doesn’t love you is fucking insane”.