#men suck

Somehow it turned to a fight. You weren’t even trying to fight when you told him this. You were just talking to him and expressing you missed him.

All he heard was that he wasn’t good enough. That he wasn’t trying. That he wasn’t putting in effort. And Simon shut down even when that’s not what you were saying.

Suddenly the phone calls stopped. The texts stopped. The visits stopped. Your attempts were ignored.

Summary: The one where Y/N finds out Mattheo has been unfaithful. Warnings: cheating, angst Part Two: History, Riddle

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

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It was three in the morning when Y/N’s world shifted. Not slowly, not gently—like someone had reached down and tilted it hard on its axis.

She woke to the sound of her name, pulled from the heavy, dreamless fog of sleep. Pansy Parkinson stood over her bed, framed in the dim amber glow of the dormitory sconces. Her eyes were sharp, urgent, and so unlike her usual languid, unbothered expression that Y/N felt her stomach dip before a word was spoken.

“Y/N,” Pansy said, voice low but firm. “You need to come downstairs. Meet me and the boys by the fireplace—now.”

No explanation. No room for argument.

Pansy turned on her heel and slipped out before Y/N could even form the question that was clawing at her throat. That alone was wrong. Pansy always had a quip, always had a parting remark. But what unsettled Y/N more was the detail her tired brain almost missed: Pansy was still in her silk pajamas. Pansy never stepped foot in the Common Room in pajamas.

Something cold began to seep into Y/N’s chest.

She shoved the blankets aside and reached for the nearest thing—a soft, oversized sweater—and tugged it over her head. The familiar fabric brushed her skin, but it didn’t soothe her. Her hands shook faintly as she gathered her hair, fumbling into a knot that fell lopsided against the back of her head. Slippers on, she padded toward the staircase, each step heavier than the last.

The Common Room was lit only by the fire. Its light danced across the stone walls in warm gold and deep shadow, but there was nothing comforting in it tonight. The air felt too still. Too expectant.

They were all there. Four boys, each holding themselves in that way people do when they’re bracing for impact.

“What’s going on?” Her voice came out rough with sleep, but the quiet urgency in the room sharpened it. Her gaze skimmed the space instinctively, searching. “Where’s Matty?”

Silence.

The name hung there, heavy, and no one reached to grab it. Pansy was already moving toward her, expression unreadable, and guided her gently to the couch. It was the kind of guiding touch people use when they’re about to deliver something you won’t want to hear sitting down.

Blaise and Enzo crouched in front of her, close enough that she could see the flicker of firelight in their eyes. Across the room, Draco and Theo stood with their heads bent together, speaking in low, clipped murmurs.

Enzo took her hand. His palm was warm, but his fingers felt heavy around hers. He drew in a slow, steadying breath. “Y/N… we’re going to tell you something that’s going to hurt. A lot. But you have to promise you’ll try to stay calm.”

Her brows knit, confusion threading with a prickle of dread along her skin. She glanced around the room again, searching for her boyfriend in every shadow. He wasn’t there. The absence roared louder than anything else. The last time she’d seen Mattheo was after dinner—he’d kissed the top of her head, tugged her close, told her he’d “be back in a bit.”

Blaise’s voice was careful, like he was trying not to step on broken glass. “We’re not telling you this to hurt you. We’re telling you because we care about you.”

She let out a nervous laugh that didn’t sound like hers. “You’re scaring me.”

Enzo’s grip tightened. Pansy’s arm came around her shoulders, grounding but tense.

Draco began to pace, each turn sharper than the last. Theo raked both hands down his face, muttering, “Fuck, I need a smoke,” before pulling a cigarette from his pocket. The flare of his lighter briefly lit the planes of his face, then the bitter scent of smoke coiled into the air.

Draco stopped pacing and looked at her. For a second, his expression softened in a way that made her chest tighten, but then it closed off again, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Mattheo is upstairs,” he said, the words deliberate, careful. “He’s in our dorm. Asleep.”

Her heartbeat quickened, catching on each syllable. “Okay… is he hurt? Does he need me to—”

She started to stand, but Enzo and Pansy both pulled her back down, their grips firm.

Theo exhaled a ribbon of smoke toward the ceiling, his eyes meeting Draco’s, then Blaise’s, then finally hers. They all looked the same—like they were about to set something fragile on fire.

Theo spoke, voice blunt and merciless now. “Mattheo is upstairs… with Astoria Greengrass.”

The words hit her like ice water to the lungs. Astoria, with her perfect hair and knowing smirk. The girl who’d once laughed too loudly at one of Mattheo’s jokes while Y/N stood right there. The girl who would send Mattheo flirty smiles while Y/N was looking away. The girl whom Y/N and Mattheo had argued about before.

It was her. Mattheo called her crazy but Y/N knew.

Theo flicked the cigarette into the fire, the hiss and crackle loud in the sudden silence. Y/N’s breath caught in a tiny gasp, the sound breaking the stillness. Pansy’s arm tightened around her shoulders, holding her together as the room seemed to close in.

Even the fire felt like it was holding its breath. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel like the glue holding them together—she felt like she was the one cracking.

Y/N looked at the fire in front of her, watching the ambers dance around, before she looked at all of her friends who were waiting for her reaction. She felt her lip quiver before the tears finally started to roll down her cheeks. And before she knew it, she was silently sobbing.

Theo and Draco immediately moved in, joining Blaise and Enzo until they were all gathered around Y/N. No one spoke. They simply closed in, wrapping her in a circle of arms until the warmth of the group became a wordless shield.

She broke.

The sobs came in uneven waves, her chest heaving, her breath catching in painful bursts. The sound tore through the room, raw and unguarded. She had known betrayal would hurt, but no one had prepared her for the feeling of her heart physically dropping in her chest, or the way it stole the air from her lungs.

Eventually, the boys loosened their hold, giving her space without stepping away completely. Pansy stayed right beside her, one arm still firm around her shoulders. Her own eyes glistened, her jaw tight, because watching her best friend gasp for breath like this hurt her in a way she didn’t know how to name.

Blaise, who had always been the most quietly empathetic of the group, stayed crouched in front of her. His hand rested lightly on her knee, an anchor in the middle of the storm.

Across the room, Theo, Draco, and Enzo exchanged glances. Their voices dropped to low, tense murmurs.

“We can’t just leave him up there,” Enzo said, jaw clenching. Draco’s reply was sharp. “Then what? Drag him out of bed and beat the truth out of him?”

Theo exhaled through his nose, scanning the floor as if the answer might be hiding there. “We need to do something.”

The discussion was starting to build an edge when Y/N’s voice, still shaky but steady enough to cut through, stopped them. “No.”

They all turned. Her cheeks were damp, her eyes red, but there was a clarity in her expression now that hadn’t been there minutes ago. She swallowed, forcing the next words out.

“I want to wait until they wake up. Both of them. In your dorm.”

The room went still. Even Enzo, who looked ready to explode moments ago, didn’t argue.

Her voice was calmer than they expected, but underneath, it was steel. “If I go up there now, I’ll scream. Or I’ll cry. Or both. I want them to see me when I’m not falling apart.”

A heavy silence followed. Then, slowly, Theo and Draco drifted back toward her, rejoining the tight circle until they were all there again. This time, the hug wasn’t to hold her together—it was to stand with her.

Pansy pressed her cheek to Y/N’s hair. Blaise’s hand tightened over hers. And for a moment, the betrayal upstairs felt far away, held back by the quiet pact forming in the firelight.

After an hour or so Y/N finally stood. “Let’s go,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “We’ll wait in there.”

They all knew what she meant.

Theo and Draco exchanged a look—half hesitation, half grim approval—before leading the way up the boys’ staircase. Blaise followed close to Y/N’s side, still ready to steady her if her legs faltered. Pansy’s arm never left her shoulders, her presence a shield against whatever was coming. Enzo stayed towards the back of the group, looking around, making sure no one saw them.

The boys’ dormitory was dim, lit only by the gray pre-dawn light seeping in through the curtains. The air smelled faintly of smoke and cold stone. Five beds stood in a row, but everyone’s eyes immediately went to the far corner.

Mattheo’s bed.

The green hangings were drawn shut, one side slightly gaping. Beneath the covers, two shapes lay tangled together in sleep. Astoria’s pale hair spilled out over the pillow, stark against the dark sheets.

Y/N’s stomach tightened, but she didn’t speak.

The group spread out quietly—Theo leaning against the wall near the door, Draco taking the desk chair, Blaise perching on the edge of his own bed. Pansy guided Y/N to sit on Blaise’s trunk, her back straight, her face unreadable. Enzo made sure to stand near Y/N and block her view of Mattheo's bed.

No one dared to fill the silence.

It stretched on, thick and heavy, until the pale morning light began to sharpen the edges of the room. The only sounds were the slow breathing from behind the curtains and the occasional shift of fabric as someone moved in their seat.

When movement finally stirred from the bed, it was almost anticlimactic. Astoria shifted first, murmuring something low. Mattheo’s arm tightened around her before he blinked awake.

The second his eyes focused on the group gathered in his dorm, he froze.

Astoria turned her head, confusion flickering across her features—until she saw Y/N.

Y/N didn’t move. Her voice, when it came, was steady and cold. “Good morning.”

Mattheo’s mouth opened, but no words came. The room seemed to shrink, the air growing thick with what was about to happen.

“Get up,” Y/N said, and it wasn’t a request.

Astoria sat up slowly, carefully wrapping the blanket around her naked body. Mattheo finally shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, his expression caught somewhere between guilt and defiance.

The others stayed where they were—silent, watchful. Pansy’s hand was still on Y/N’s shoulder, steady as stone.

“You’ve got five minutes to get dressed,” Y/N continued. “Then we talk.”

No one argued. Not even Mattheo.

The wait was short, but it felt like hours.

Mattheo emerged first, shirt half-buttoned, hair still rumpled from sleep. He didn’t look at Y/N—didn’t look at anyone—just shoved his hands in his pockets and stood near the end of his bed like he was bracing for a blow.

Astoria followed, her hair pulled over one shoulder, chin tilted up just enough to look defensive. She glanced at Mattheo as if for permission to speak, but he gave her nothing.

Y/N rose slowly from Blaise’s trunk. Pansy stayed beside her, her hand brushing against Y/N’s arm in silent support.

No one else moved. The air in the dormitory was so thick it felt like breathing it might choke you.

“Let’s make this simple,” Y/N said, her voice level but cutting. “You and I both know what you did, Mattheo. What you both did.”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. “It’s not—”

“Don’t.” She didn’t raise her voice, but the single word sliced the air clean. “Don’t you dare try to soften it or twist it. You left me last night with a kiss on the head and a lie on your lips. And then you crawled into bed with her.”

Astoria’s lips curled in a faint smirk. “You don’t own him, Y/N.”

Enzo, who had been leaning against the bedpost near the door, pushed off it instantly. “Shut it, Greengrass,” he snapped, his tone low but lethal. “You don’t get to talk to her. Not after this.”

Y/N’s eyes never left Astoria. “You’re right. I don’t own him. But I did trust him. And he made sure that meant nothing.”

Astoria opened her mouth again, but Mattheo’s hand lifted slightly—not quite touching her, but enough to keep her quiet. He still wouldn’t hold Y/N’s gaze for long.

Theo’s voice came from his spot against the wall, low but dangerous. “You know, there’s a lot of things we’ll let slide in this group, Mattheo. This isn’t one of them.”

Draco’s tone was sharper, laced with ice. “You didn’t just betray her. You made all of us look like fools for having your back.”

Enzo stepped forward now, his eyes locked on Mattheo. “You don’t get it. She’s the reason we all still sit at the same table. The reason we don’t tear each other apart. And you just betrayed her like she was nothing.”

Mattheo’s shoulders sagged under the weight of their words.

Blaise, still seated on the edge of his bed, spoke last. “If you’ve got anything to say, now’s the time. Otherwise, you can keep quiet and think about why you just burned the best thing you had.”

The silence after was suffocating. Y/N let it stretch, her eyes on Mattheo, daring him to speak.

When he finally did, his voice was low. “I… made a mistake.”

Y/N’s laugh was humorless, brittle. “A mistake is tripping over your words. A mistake is forgetting a date. What you did was a choice.”

No one argued. Not even Astoria.

Y/N stepped back, her voice quiet now but no less certain. “We’re done, Mattheo. And I hope, for your sake, you think about this every time you close your eyes.”

She turned, Pansy right beside her, and walked out of the dormitory without another glance.