#second wizarding war

Sirius hated Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

And there was an irony in the fact that, as a boy, he had run away from this very house to James's, convinced he couldn't survive another single second here. Irony in realising he had fled because he couldn't bear life in that dark house, overflowing with resentment and bitterness. He had run because he'd spent his life trapped in his own home, imprisoned by his own family.

And now, he was trapped in the exact same place once more.

The Blacks were long gone, but the wretched feeling the house gave him never eased.

Of course, compared to Azkaban, there was a certain level of comfort. A soft bed, a few of his old books he'd managed to hide from Walburga, hot meals. He was also fortunate enough to no longer deal with Dementors, though Kreacher's constant muttering served as a decent substitute for psychological torture.

Not long ago, he had managed to contact Albus, offering to turn this godforsaken hole into something useful by making it the new Headquarters for the Order. Perhaps having people fighting for the right cause constantly coming and going might make him view it less like a nest of vipers and more like a home. Especially since, by Dumbledore's orders, he had to avoid going outside, avoid being seen, avoid going on missions.

Sirius didn't know what his purpose was now that he was "free". He felt utterly useless, living off the charity of others who were out there risking their lives, hunting for the one who should have been in his place all these years while he rotted in this filthy house.

Still no sign of Wormtail. He found himself remembering Dumbledore's last letter.

Merlin. Was it really too much to ask for something to do? Was he truly such an incompetent wizard in their eyes?

He was still slumped in the armchair in the drawing room when he heard someone apparating outside. He grabbed his wand and sat up straight. Sirius knew Dumbledore was the Secret-Keeper of the place, but after all these years, a little extra caution wouldn't hurt.

Moments later, he heard the click of the front door lock, the turn of the handle, and then the sharp, rhythmic clicking of a heel against the wooden floorboards.

"STAINS UPON THE NOBILITY OF OUR NAME! BLOOD TRAITORS IN MY HOUSE!"

Brilliant, he thought. Walburga had heard too and seemed wide awake now, screeching her atrocities loudly enough to be heard all the way to the Thames.

Sirius tucked his wand into the waistband of his trousers with an irritated sigh and strode toward the entrance hall. His loudmouthed mother’s shrill voice gave him splitting headaches, and he’d already asked people to enter the house quietly, otherwise she'd scream for hours on end. In truth, he'd probably prefer a Dementor’s Kiss over enduring the old hag's shrieking. As he walked, his teeth ground together, and his steps grew heavier on the floorboards. His anger toward the old portrait, however, vanished the second he saw you.

You were standing in the middle of the hall, struggling desperately with the heavy, dusty velvet curtains to cover the portrait. Your hair was slightly damp from the drizzle outside, and your dark woollen coat still hung from your shoulders, half-open, revealing the formal clothes you wore to work at the Ministry.

"Just... shut your bloody mouth... you miserable old hag..." you muttered through gritted teeth, your voice strained and muffled by physical effort as you yanked the heavy fabric, fighting to hide the slight embarrassment of waking the old witch.

"Let me help with that," Sirius said.

His voice, rough and deep, seemed to startle you. You gave a sharp flinch, letting go of the curtain for a split second. Sirius took two quick strides forward, positioning himself right behind you. He stretched his long arms over your shoulders, gripping the velvet firmly and yanking it closed over the frame in one swift movement.

Walburga’s screams were abruptly muffled, reduced to a low drone behind the heavy cloth.

Sirius hadn't stepped back yet. He was still standing right behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body. It was always strange for both of you to be in the same room, after all, a lot could change in fourteen years, even for two people who had been engaged before the disaster with the Potters and his imprisonment.

It had been such a confusing storm of emotions when the Order summoned you again. Sirius had escaped Azkaban nearly two years prior and still hadn't sought you out. Of course, there could have been a dozen reasons for that, and during the year he broke out, most people still believed he was indeed guilty of James and Lily's deaths. Somehow, you had never been able to believe it, even when Dumbledore himself advised you to move on. But then, if Sirius wasn't to blame, why had he never come back for you? Had the agonising years in Azkaban managed to erase you from his heart?

When Dumbledore’s summons finally arrived, you instinctively knew he would be there. You were only more certain when you stood before the house at Grimmauld Place.

Just thinking of the possibility of seeing him again threw you into a spiral of feelings that could hardly be put into words. The immense longing echoing in your chest was the strongest of them, but the uncertainty of his state of mind was just as powerful. There was also the desperate, aching passion that fourteen years apart hadn't been able to extinguish – but there was fear and doubt too, which time had only watered to grow.

When you finally saw Sirius Black again for the first time in all those years, standing in one of the drawing rooms of that massive house, surrounded by the other members of the Order, you couldn't run to him like you thought you would. You couldn't even cry, though you felt like you might burst with emotion at the sight of him. All you managed to do was exchange a few awkward, clumsy words, barely looking each other in the eye. You even remembered Molly's teasing the following day, whispering to you, "Given how you two used to be, I thought you'd throw yourself at him the second you saw him." Well, that was what you had thought you’d do, too. But how do you interact with a fiancé you were separated from for over a decade? You can't just pick up where you left off. What had changed? Who had he become, when even you weren't the same person anymore?

No. You didn't have the courage to do anything. Not that day, and not in the days that followed.

And Sirius? Well, it was a torture shared by both of you. Fourteen years. Fourteen years since he was ripped away from his own life, from everything you two shared, from wedding plans, and even from the warmth your body brought to his soul. Sirius knew you must carry a deep wound from his imprisonment. He imagined you must have spent all this time questioning his true intentions, believing he was a murderer – after all, even Dumbledore had given up on him. He feared you might even feel disgusted with yourself for ever having given your body and soul to such a vile man. Even though the truth had come to light, how could he dare believe things would remain the same between you? How could he believe that someone who had likely spent the last decade nurturing the thought of him as a killer could still love him? Perhaps not even he would do that.

Sirius had a cowardly dread of seeing repulsion, fear, or hatred in the eyes of the woman he loved most. From his perspective, when you walked through that door for the first time weeks ago, his heart beat so violently against his ribs it felt ready to break the bone and leap toward you. In his mind, all he wanted was to run, sweep you into his arms, and kiss you until the world vanished. But when your eyes met amid the other Order members, all you two could manage was a few stuttered, formal words, lacking even the courage to hold each other's gaze for more than two seconds. Unable to face one another, when you used to share a loud, physical relationship where personal space barely existed and passion was a delicious game between you. But how could he touch you now? What right did he have to your body or your love? He was no longer the bold, reckless twenty-two-year-old. What if you were only there out of duty? What if you didn't want what was left of him anymore?

So, the two of you remained like strangers.

Back in the hall, slowly, you turned to face him, closing the distance between your bodies even further. Your eyes met in the dimness of the corridor, lit only by the weak glow of a wall bracket.

Sirius swallowed hard, his grey eyes tracing the contours of your face. He wanted to raise his hand, touch the curve of your jaw, and pull you to him. His arms twitched with a subtle movement, his fingers flexing, but he hesitated.

You noticed his hesitation, and your chest tightened with your heavy longing. You felt just as desperately how much you wanted to hold him. You wanted to wrap your arms around his neck, cling to him tightly, and bury your head there, breathing in his scent. Would it still be as intoxicating as it was all those years ago?

"Hi, Sirius," you whispered, your voice cracking slightly at the end.

"Hi," he replied, the gravelly depth of his voice vibrating straight down your spine. He took a half-step back, creating a safe distance, and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets–a defensive tic he’d had since his Hogwarts days. "You... I haven't seen you in a while. Is the Ministry keeping you busy?"

"Yes. A lot of paperwork and import reports for the committee," you lied partially, not wanting to bore him with the bureaucracy of your day, though the truth was you were only trying to delay your return to this house. "It’s been a long day."

"I imagine so," Sirius nodded, casting his eyes to the floorboards for a second before focusing back on you. "You've come for the meeting, I suppose?"

You looked around, searching for any sign that anyone else had arrived. "Yes, has everyone else arrived?"

"Not yet. You're the first, as always. Even if you are later than usual."

You wiped your dusty hands on your coat, averting your eyes. "Force of habit. Believe me, I'm not in the least bit excited to discuss Dolores Umbridge and Fudge's delusions."

Sirius nodded, still keeping his distance, though his pupils drifted back to you for a fraction of a second.

"The drawing room is... a bit warmer. I was in there. Left a fire going in the grate. If you like... we could have a drink until the others get here."

You looked at his hands hidden in his pockets, remembering how those very hands used to be so possessive and warm against your skin. The desperate need to be near him, even under the awkward guise of two strangers who knew each other far too intimately, won over.

"I’d love that," you said softly.

You walked past the hall and made your way to the drawing room in silence. The room was bathed in shadow, illuminated only by the reddish glow of the embers in the fireplace. On the old, ornate coffee table, a bottle of Firewhisky was already half-empty next to a single, heavy tumbler. Sirius walked a bit further to the kitchen cabinet, grabbed another matching glass, and returned to pour you a generous measure, sliding the glass across the dark wood of the table before sitting on the sofa.

You took off your damp coat, draping it over one of the sofa arms, and sat down beside him, misjudging the physical proximity so that your knees almost touched over the upholstery.

You held the glass, feeling the warmth of the Firewhisky seep into your cold hands. Sirius swirled his own drink, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid, his jaw clenched as he seemed to battle his own thoughts.

Feeling awkward under the heavy silence, you looked down at your drink before downing the entire shot in a single gulp.

Sirius seemed to be amused by this.

"I remember you used to hate Firewhisky," he remarked suddenly, a bitter, nostalgic half-smile tugging at the corner of his thin lips. "You said it tasted like goblin piss."

A faint laugh escaped your lips, breaking the tension slightly.

"Yes, well. Things change in fourteen years. I suppose this sort of drink gets a bit more tolerable as we get older. Though I do still think it tastes like goblin piss."

"And you drink a lot of goblin piss, do you?"

You gave his arm a playful swat, laughing. "Oh, stop it, you know what I meant."

Sirius let out a short, breathy laugh – a sound so rare lately that it felt foreign even to his own ears. The movement crinkled the corners of his grey eyes, momentarily softening the exhausted, hardened expression that years of imprisonment had carved into his face.

"You're out of luck with this one. Mundungus brought it, Merlin knows where from," he said, leaning his head back against the sofa, though his eyes didn't leave you for a second. "The last time I had a whisky this bad was during our first winter in the Greenwich flat. Remember? None of us knew how to cast a proper warming charm, and it was, what? The coldest week of January?"

A soft, genuine laugh finally slipped from your lips. "I remember that," you murmured, feeling the warmth of the whisky start to spread through your chest, relaxing your tense shoulders. "Nothing could faze you back then, could it? I told you buying that rubbish was a waste of sickles."

"Oh, come off it, it was aged at least-"

"Sixty years? Yes, I remember you saying that," you interrupted, still laughing. "No wonder you bought it from some other Mundungus type."

Sirius laughed. "Now that I think about it, one gulp of Skele-Gro would have tasted much better."

"It did nothing but give me the worst hangover of my life, and you swore it would help warm us up."

"And it did work," he shot back, a flash of playful arrogance crossing his eyes – a perfect ghost of twenty-two-year-old Sirius. "Though I admit the whisky was just a pretext. We didn't end up needing any warming charm after what we did on the living room floor."

Your cheeks flushed hot instantly at the memory. That night, the freezing flat had been entirely forgotten beneath the heat of his skin, in the rhythm of how you used to love each other on the floor of that tiny room, taking your time. Two young, newly engaged people, driven by an uncontrollable physical hunger for one another, consuming every inch of that shared space.

"We were so reckless," you whispered, a nostalgic smile forming, only to wither as the silence threatened to return.

You poured yourself another and took a slow sip of the whisky, trying to focus on the heat of the drink to ignore the fact that Sirius's leg was only inches from yours. The warmth radiating from him seemed to pierce through the fabric of your clothes, emitting a magnetic pull that drew you in like a moth to a flame.

Sirius watched the movement of your throat as you swallowed. His eyes traced down the line of your neck, where a tiny trickle of whisky had slipped past your lips, glistening against your skin. He felt the fingers of his free hand twitch against his knee. The urge to reach out, trace that damp path, and lick it from your skin was almost unbearable.

He still remembered the texture perfectly, how you would gasp softly when he kissed that exact sensitive spot just below your ear. The muscle memory was pure torture. His hands knew precisely where to grip, where to caress. Would you still arch into him if he touched you like that? Would you still feel the same?

Merlin, he wanted to know so badly.

"You ought to dry your hair," he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its lighter edge and turning low, intimate. "You'll catch a cold."

"I'm fine. The whisky is keeping me warm," you replied, lifting your face to look at him.

As you did, the distance between you seemed to vanish. Your eyes locked onto his mouth, onto the contours of those lips you had kissed so many times before.

Sirius noticed your gaze. He held his breath, his jaw tightening as he fought the primal urge to throw all caution to the wind, pull you onto his lap, and sink back into the familiar physical rhythm you once shared. He felt like a teenage boy all over again, wanting to feel the weight of your body pressing against his. Merlin, what was happening to him?

To mask his own desperation, he let out a dry chuckle and gestured with his glass toward your formal clothes.

Think of something else. Say something else. Anything.

"You look far more serious in that uniform," he teased, though his voice was thick with a rasp that betrayed the humour. "Quite the proper witch now."

Your mouth fell open in mock outrage. "Excuse me! I have always been a proper witch."

He scratched his bearded chin, a smirk playing on his lips. "I don't know about that. But you certainly look the part."

"And you haven't changed a bit. Still the samecorny charmer who thinks he's incredibly cool."

"Corny charmer? Since when am I a corny charmer?"

"Since when are you not?"

"Oh, come off it, we both know I'm still extremely cool. In fact, now that we're older, I feel like I'm the only cool adult whenever we meet up."

You let out a scoff, though in truth you agreed with him. "Keep dreaming."

He chuckled, shaking his head, crossing his arms as his gaze softened with nostalgia. "But seriously, an exemplary Ministry of Magic employee. Who would have thought?"

"Honestly, what is so hard to picture about that?"

Sirius laughed again. "Nothing. Don't take it the wrong way, it's just... I keep remembering how it used to be." Bad idea. Do not go there, he thought, yet he couldn't stop himself from pushing on. "I remember when you applied and got the job, right before... well, before everything happened. You came home in an outfit very much like this one. So proud."

You felt your heart skip a beat at the direction the conversation was taking. Again.

"I remember," you whispered, your voice suddenly fragile.

Sirius hesitated before continuing, and you felt his eyes trail down your skirt to your legs, hidden beneath sheer tights. "It took me exactly two minutes to scatter all your new paperwork across our kitchen floor and strip you bare on top of the table," he murmured, his grey eyes darkening, fixing back on yours with a raw, unfiltered honesty. "You were cross because I'd crumpled the parchment from your new boss..."

But I didn't complain when he made me forget my own name half an hour later.

The explicit mention of that intense intimacy, of the times when your routine was constantly interrupted by the urgent need to possess one another, made your spine shiver. The elephant in the room, which had been growing for weeks, seemed to drain the air from the place, making it so hard to breathe.

Instinctively, you shifted slightly on the sofa, seeking support, and your knee brushed directly against his.

The physical contact, however minimal and suppressed by layers of clothing, acted like a high-voltage electric shock, leaving both of you in a state of semi-paralysis, though neither of you pulled away. The simple touch of your legs seemed to burn, sending a wave of heat straight to your lower abdomen.

Why did I come here again? you asked yourself. Your reasons for coming seemed like distant memories, while the sensation of Sirius Black devouring you felt more vivid than ever, even if it had happened years and years ago. How is this even possible?

Sirius swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling visibly. The teasing was over. Of course, it was entirely his fault. He simply couldn't hold his tongue. Not when everything he said was exactly what was playing on his mind. He looked into your eyes, and the vulnerability mixed with raw lust there was almost painful to look at.

He whispered your name, his voice rougher still, his hand releasing the glass as he reached toward your face.

But the touch never came as another loud crash echoed from the entrance hall.

"FILTHY HALF-BREEDS! BLOOD TRAITORS!"

The old hag's voice echoed through the walls once more, shrill and grating as ever.

You jerked back with a start, your senses suddenly snapping back, left breathless by the pounding of your own heart. Sirius merely closed his eyes, clenching his hovering fist tightly as he let out a sharp breath. The sheer fury of having your moment ruined made him want to smash the bloody glass on the floor, shattering it completely. His jaw clenched so hard that a vein throbbed visibly at his temple before he finally let his hand drop heavily onto his thigh.

Masculine voices and heavy footsteps muffled Walburga’s screams as the curtain was pulled shut firmly by someone else outside.

"Sorry about the racket, Sirius! The door latch got caught on my overcoat," Remus Lupin's calm voice echoed from the corridor, approaching the drawing room along with Kingsley Shacklebolt's firm footsteps.

The two of you pulled apart instantly. You gripped your near-empty glass with trembling fingers, fixing your eyes on the dying embers, while Sirius leaned back against the sofa, running a hand through his hair to shake off the irritation that had fallen over him like a bucket of ice water. By the time Lupin and Kingsley crossed the threshold, the air between you had turned completely cold.

"Ah, you're here already?" Remus noted, his gaze darting quickly between you, the glass in your hand, and Sirius's excessively rigid posture.

"Yes. Wanted a break from all the paperwork," you lied, forcing a steady, professional tone that didn't match the storm raging inside you. Obviously, you wouldn't admit that you’d spent the last few days buried in work just to distract yourself, and now had nothing left to do.

"Excellent, then we can begin as soon as Moody arrives," Kingsley said, his deep baritone filling the room as he headed towards the kitchen.

After that, the meeting went on for two hours.

More Order members arrived, and the dining table in the kitchen was soon packed. You sat at the opposite end from Sirius, sharing space with Tonks and Mr Weasley. Sirius remained at the head of the table, but he didn't seem as present as he usually tried to be to make himself useful. He had adopted a familiar posture of boredom, resting his chin on his hand, grey eyes hooded, pretending to listen to the updates on Hogwarts while his focus remained entirely on you.

Whenever you were asked to speak about the import committee's movements, you could feel his gaze burning against your skin. When you gestured, Sirius fixed his eyes on your hands, when you tucked a stray hair behind your ear, his jaw clenched.

You tried your absolute best to stay focused as well, but the warmth of him that still felt imprinted on your skin made it difficult to concentrate on the tedious details of wizarding bureaucracy. You actively avoided each other. Sirius directed no comments to you, and you didn't seek his approval for any of your points. To any casual observer, you were simply old acquaintances.

When the meeting finally adjourned, you stood up to leave immediately. Molly tried to get you to stay a little longer. She couldn't hide her gaze darting between you and Sirius, and though she never said anything outright, you could tell she was still trying to rekindle whatever you two once had. But her maternal instincts and will to help weren't enough to make you stay, and you said your goodbyes to everyone. As you passed Sirius, who was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, you held your breath. Your eyes met for a single fraction of a second – a fleeting glimpse of hunger, frustration, and longing.

"Goodnight, Sirius," you said quietly.

"Goodnight," he replied, the rough timber of his voice sending one last shiver down your spine before you stepped through the door and apparated away.

-----------------------------

The footsteps of the last Order members to leave Grimmauld Place had long since faded, and even Kreacher had retreated to his den of rags beneath the kitchen sink.

Sirius was alone. Again.

He walked up the stairs to his old bedroom. The posters of motorbikes and girls in bikinis stuck to the walls were symbols of his teenage past, and now they felt like nothing more than pathetic relics of a boy he would never be again.

He collapsed onto the four-poster bed, tossing and turning as he tried his hardest to fall asleep. He hated his sleepless nights, they gave him far too much time to think, much more than he wanted. Tonight, there was only you whenever he closed his eyes.

Sirius could still smell your scent lingering on his own fingers. He raised his right hand in the dim light, staring at his pale, calloused palm against the weak street light filtering through the dusty window pane. That was the hand that had almost touched you earlier. "If he tried, he could still remember the texture of your skin perfectly.

A violent surge of frustration rose in his chest, making him growl in anger. He felt his entire body tense, his cock hard and aching beneath his rough trousers, reacting to the memory of seeing you earlier, of the trickle of drink slipping down your neck, and the way your body had tensed when you talked about the old days.

Fourteen years. He had spent fourteen years locked in a cell where the only thing beyond the instinct for revenge keeping him sane was the image of your face. He had survived the madness by remembering how you gasped when he kissed you, how your nails clawed at his back when he took you.

Unable to bear the agonising tightness of his trousers any longer, Sirius muttered a low curse and reached for the buttons. He undid them with slightly trembling, impatient fingers, sliding his hand beneath his underpants until his pulsing, fully erect cock was free.

The moment his hand closed around the hot length, a shaky, hissed breath escaped his clenched teeth. He shut his eyes tight, and on the dark screen of his mind, it wasn't his own hand touching him. It was yours.

He imagined your soft, cool fingers wrapping around him, the touch he craved so desperately, the one that would make him gasp and groan. Sirius began to move, sliding his calloused palm along his length in a firm rhythm. With every stroke, he recalled the look of pure, restrained lust you’d given his mouth. He could clearly picture the curve of your hips, the way your skirt rode up slightly when you shifted on the sofa.

He whispered your name to the empty room, the broken words sounding like a prayer, rasped from his dry throat.

Then he quickened the pace of his hand. He could feel the waves of pleasure that the firm, rhythmic friction sent straight to his lower abdomen. He arched his back slightly against the mattress, his chest rising and falling in rapid, noisy pants. In his desire-frenzied mind, he was pulling you onto his lap, feeling the weight of your body, hearing your soft whimpers echo against his ear, just like it used to be.

He remembered before. The rug on the living room floor. How your hips moved against his, the warm, tight wetness that welcomed him. The wet, obscene sounds. The memory was so vivid he could almost swear he felt your fingernails scratching his shoulders.

The pleasure surged like a violent tide, pooling at the tip of his length with an almost painful intensity. Sirius squeezed tighter, forcing a feverish, relentless pace. His hips lifted slightly off the bed in involuntary spasms, seeking a release that seemed long in coming after being deprived of touch for so many years.

His breathing turned into rapid gasps. He was right on the edge. He surrendered completely to the vision of you beneath him, hair messy and spread across the sheets, begging him to fuck you at last. The memory of how good you were to him. Always so good to him. His beloved. His fiancée.

"Fuck..." he muttered, his voice entirely shattered.

With a few more rapid, tight, desperate strokes, the climax hit him hard. Sirius seized on the bed, his thighs and abdominal muscles tightening violently as he came. A low, hoarse, purely animal grunt was ripped from the depths of his chest, echoing off the walls of the room as he spilled his hot cum over his fingers and stomach.

He lay motionless for long seconds, his heart hammering against his ribs, his hand still loosely gripping himself as the last spasms of pleasure subsided.

Slowly, Sirius opened his grey eyes.

The room was still dark. The bed was still cold. The smell of sex and sweat mingled with the damp mustiness of Grimmauld Place. And he was still alone. He looked at his dirty fingers, feeling an even deeper void settle inside him.

He cleaned himself up with a lazy charm, buttoned his trousers back up, and turned onto his side to face the peeling wall. The act would satisfy him for a short while, but it wouldn't be enough. He knew the hunger would return even worse the next time he saw you. And worse the time after that, and the time after that. Until he became a complete slave to his own passion and succumbed entirely, confronting you, perhaps even begging you to end his agony in the most pathetic way imaginable. He knew, in the depths of his soul, that he wouldn't be able to keep his distance for much longer.

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English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any typos or weird phrasing.

First time writing NSFW and I have absolutely no idea how it reads, but I hope it’s okay! I’ve been wanting to write this story for a while now, and it really needed this level of sexual tension, it wouldn’t have worked any other way so I had to push myself out of my comfort zone a bit. 💦 (Even though I didn't manage to make it as smutty as I originally imagined... but part two is on the way, and that's where I’ll really have to step up my game! 💀)

When his cigarettes weren’t doing it anymore, Mattheo began drinking at thirteen. It wasn’t like his friends weren’t doing it – hell, Enzo was one of the heaviest drinkers of their entire friend group and Theo always had his lighter on him

Mattheo lost his virginity at thirteen to a seventh year girl

He continued this trend of smoking, drinking, and fucking all throughout the years. It became common for him and the rest of the Slytherins to sit in the back of the class, smoking or muttering annoyed comments. When they were younger, the professors would try to give them detention for it, but Draco would just make a remark about messaging his father or Theo would keep direct eye contact with the professor as he kept smoking. Needless to say, nothing changed. If they were actually issued detention (most likely by McGonagall) they just wouldn’t show up. (After McGonagall once cornered all of them in the Great Hall and levitated them out to serve their detention sentence, they all got a bit more respectful in her classroom. That didn’t stop them from doing it to the other teachers. Snape, for example, hardly batted an eye)

Somehow, this didn’t impact their Quidditch playing. Mattheo had joined the team in his third year as a Beater and he actually really enjoyed the game. Flying allowed him to leave his troubles on the ground and while pulling himself out of bed at the crack of dawn just because they wanted to stick it to Oliver Wood was unfortunate, he was a fucking good Beater

There was a couple of girls he would keep around every so often who didn’t mind being in his bed before being tossed away, but inevitably, Mattheo would get irritated by their claims that they were the one to tie down the son of the Dark Lord. That’s all it ever was, wasn’t it? He was the Heir of Slytherin, son of You-Know-Who, the next Riddle… never just Mattheo

He did enjoy Professor Lupin to an extent. The man never pushed him to do anything, which he was thankful for, especially because he knew what would come out of the closet if his Boggart was released. The professor even gave him some chocolate after that class

Of course, his life wasn't as miserable as one may make it out to seem. He had a good group of friends who he genuinely was close to, no matter the social expectations of their parents. They would all lounge around the Black Lake and Enzo would throw a Quaffle up and down in the air as Draco laid in Pansy’s lap and Blaise and Mattheo smoked. Daphne Greengrass would inevitably join them, complaining about some professor and Theo would somehow incorporate a lewd remark in her direction, smirking

It was one day like that when you entered his life. Mattheo was lighting another cigarette. It was dangling from his lips and his hand was curled around his lighter, trying to get it to spark. His eyes were downcast, focused lazily on the light, when he heard a scoff. Theo’s snicker reached his ears just as his gaze flicked up. You were walking past with a gaggle of your friends, looking down at him from where he was seated. Disgust laced your stare

Mattheo had already been having an unlucky day. Maybe he would’ve let it go on a good day, but he had gotten up late so there wasn’t any coffee left in the Great Hall, Flitwick had then called him out in front of the class, he had noticed a tear in his Quidditch robes, and now his lighter wasn’t working. “Oi! L/n,” he called out, motioned to Theo for his lighter. “What’s with the pissy face? It doesn’t suit you.” He caught Theo’s lighter and flicked it open, sucking in a cloud of nicotine

Your friend grabbed your arm, but you were not known to back down when it came to your opinions. “My problem, Riddle?” you asked, turning around on him. “Is that we’re here in this magical world, practically a utopia, and you’re fucking it up with your smoking.”

Everyone around you stilled.

Oh, shit. Mattheo couldn’t help the wicked grin that curled onto his lips. He slowly stood up, cracking his back as he did so. “Is that it?” he asked, still smirking. Blaise tried to cover his laughter at how terrified your friends looked

Mattheo didn’t know if the reason you weren’t terrified like your friends was because you were dumb or a mudblood. He thought that all muggleborns should have been told about his lineage. Maybe you had missed the memo or didn’t realise the gravity that came with the Riddle name

“Yeah, that’s it,” you replied, placing a hand on your hip. “Smoking’s really bad for you, you know that, right? This has been known for years now.”

Mattheo scoffed and took another drag of his cigarette. “Uh-huh,” he said, unconvinced. “Newsflash, sweetheart, I’m not worried about lung cancer. Kinda the last of my concerns right now.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to be infecting the rest of us,” you argued. 

When Pansy whispered over to Daphne, “who does she think she is?” your eyes finally flicked to the rest of his group and how they were all staring at you, either entertained or thoroughly unimpressed. You got the feeling like you were an animal behind bars they were peering at. You had stepped out of your place and were going to come to regret it if nothing happened soon. It was the feeling all teenagers had at some point and one you would remember well. When your friend tugged at your arm once more, you gave in and let her pull you away

You could still feel Mattheo’s eyes burning into you as you walked away

There were only so many students in a Year at Hogwarts. With the joined classes, it wasn’t uncommon for social circles to mix and wider groups of friends to be created. It was normal for everyone to know everyone. That being said, Mattheo made a point of not socialising outside of his friend group. No one wanted him anyway, so what did it matter?

He knew what your general manner and vibe was. You cared more about school than he ever would and he doubted you had ever taken a shot, much less smoked weed. You weren’t as stuck up as Granger was — he had at least seen you laughing and joking with your friends sometimes — but you weren’t someone he associated with

Mattheo began to keep an eye out for you during fourth year. It was almost unconscious, like a new character had been unlocked in a video game and he began noticing you around. But he didn’t do anything about it

At the Yule Ball (which Mattheo was reluctant to attend), he had been forced into a black suit and dress shirt by Draco. He stepped outside with Theo, unbuttoning the jacket and first couple of buttons, to take a much needed smoke break. He could see Snape breaking up couples on the other side of the grounds, but it was a hushed argument close by that got his attention

He was so close to ignoring it when he heard your name. Maybe it was his nosiness that got the better of him. He jerked a head to Theo who followed after him as Mattheo investigated

“I swear, Pieter, just leave me alone. I’m not even your date,” you were saying when Mattheo rounded the corner

No, Mattheo’s expression didn’t change when he saw a Durmstrang student coming onto you, but an unexpected chill ran through him. He didn’t like how close that boy was to you. He didn’t like how you were turning from the boy, trying to get away. “Oi,” he spoke before he could think

The Durmstrang student glanced over. Even if he didn’t know Mattheo was the son of Voldemort, the general darkness that followed Mattheo around was enough to frighten anyone, especially when Mattheo was staring at the Durmstrang student with the barely controlled anger that got him into so many fights

 “What’s going on,” Mattheo said. Behind him, Theo stared at the Durmstrang boy. The two Slytherins didn’t need to even look angry – it was just their aura that frightened anyone

“Is this your girl?” the Durmstrang boy asked, glancing over at you. You were looking between the two, confusion written over your face, but still coiled up, ready to do what you needed to stay safe. You wanted to believe that Mattheo wouldn’t hurt you, but if push came to shove, you were willing to do whatever it took to stay safe

Mattheo shrugged, dropping his cigarette on the ground and stubbing it out with his dress shoe. “Does it matter?” he drawled. “Seems like she doesn’t wanna be with you.”

For once that night, the Durmstrang boy made the right decision. Maybe it was the scarred over knuckles on Mattheo or the way Theo was looking at him that got him to back down. “Alright,” he muttered, shuffling away

Mattheo’s attention turned to you when the boy disappeared. There was a long moment of silence between the two of you, both of you waiting for the other to say something to break the tension. “You’re welcome,” Mattheo finally said, expectant

You scoffed and crossed your arms. “I had it handled. I don’t need a ‘big, strong man’ to come and save me.”

A flicker of a smirk flashed across his face. “So you think I’m big and strong?” After you scoffed again and rolled your eyes, Mattheo asked, “but seriously, where’s your wand?”

A sort of shocked, maybe even terrified look came across your face. “I… I forgot,” you muttered. “I- I didn’t even– oh, god, I’m so stupid.” You ran a hand over your face. “You’d think that after four years of magic, I wouldn’t freeze up like an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Mattheo chuckled. Theo muttered something about mudbloods from behind them and Mattheo glanced back at his friend. For once, he hesitated. “Just don’t do it again,” he remarked gruffly, his light smirk vanishing

Later that year, after the Triwizard Tournament, when everyone was skirting around him and rumours were spreading, you didn’t look at him with hatred. No, it was more concern that flooded through you, like you were worried for him, not about him. Mattheo brushed it aside as his mind playing tricks on him

At the beginning of fifth year, Mattheo returned to Hogwarts with the Dark Mark emblazoned on his forearm

Whispers followed him wherever he went, but Mattheo had lived his whole life keeping his shields up. He walked down the halls, shoulders back and cigarette dangling from his lips, a dangerous nonchalance emanating from him. When Enzo and Draco began acting up or Mattheo rested his feet up on his desk, the teachers didn’t dare to comment

He kept on drinking and smoking his cares away, but one stubborn part of his brain kept thinking of you. It was brief and fleeting at first and he couldn't understand it for the life of him. He wanted to ask Pansy about it, but knew that she might blab to Draco who would inevitable tell the whole group

He had bigger things to think about, anyway. Umbridge was taking over the castle and even though Draco and Pansy were in her idiotic little group, Mattheo and the rest of his friends refused to be associated with her. It was one thing that united a majority of the students. Now, he didn’t go far enough to join Potter’s stupid Dumbledore’s Army play group (of course he knew about it), but he wouldn’t rat them out either

He knew the stigma Slytherin house got from everyone else and honestly, he was tired of it. He knew he definitely fit that stigma, but there were a couple of younger students who had been put in the house simply because they were ambitious and cunning. There were even some muggleborns in Slytherin and one of them made a goddamn decent Chaser on the Quidditch team

Even though the pink witch was terrorising the castle, Mattheo still was a teenage boy. He couldn’t help the jealousy that overcame him when he saw you getting closer to the Weasley twins. While he hated the Weasley twins and the rest of their clan, he couldn’t help but admit that some of their pranks were decent (like terrorising Draco with reminders of his weasel days)

Mattheo didn’t know why you were getting closer to them and it irked him like no other. He was coming out of detention one day, blood drying on the back of his hand with the stupid scars of one of Umbridge’s vague insults. He saw you in a corner with one of the twins standing over you. Immediately, he stiffened. What were you doing so close to that ginger abomination? Why was he touching you and talking quietly? Mattheo’s jaw clenched tightly when he noticed that the twin was examining your hand. Oh. You must’ve had detention before Mattheo did and now the Weasley twin was tending to your wounds

Conflicting emotions ran through the son of the Dark Lord. His hatred for both Umbridge and the Weasley twin grew tenfold. That pink witch shouldn’t have laid a finger on you. Hell, Mattheo was pretty sure that you had never even gotten detention before. What on earth could you have done to warrant such a harsh punishment? Then, to top it all off, his counterpart on the Quidditch field was comforting you when it could’ve been Mattheo

Of course, would Mattheo have been a good person to comfort you? As much as he hated to admit it, he doubted he would have been able to give you the comfort you needed, though a weird part of him wanted to try

As he passed by, you caught his eye and gave a deprecating little laugh as you lifted your hand in explanation. Mattheo nodded once and then raised his own hand. The Weasley twin squared his shoulders, glaring at Mattheo, but when the Slytherin continued walking, the ginger shifted back. Mattheo could hear the twin whisper to you and Mattheo practically preened when he heard your quiet voice say, “he got hurt too. It’s Umbridge to be furious at, not him.”

It was in sixth year during one of Slughorn’s weirdass potion classes that things were clarified. Amortentia was not on his list of potions he wanted to brew, but goddamn if the smell of your bodywash didn’t fill up the classroom. He didn’t even recognise some of the scents he was smelling, but it was undoubtedly you. Slughorn waddled over to the Slytherins and asked Blaise, Pansy, and then Mattheo. As Mattheo’s nostrils flared and he glared at his professor, Slughorn took a step back. “Ah, well, some things are better left unsaid, hmm, Mr. Riddle?”

Of course, Theo and then Enzo and then all of his friends wanted to know what he smelled. He refused to tell them

Mattheo found you in the library one day. It was growing colder and so you were bundled up in a sweater of your house colours. He had made sure not to smoke that morning because he knew you hated the smell. For once, the son of the Dark Lord was nervous. He had never been anxious around girls before

He stood in front of your table until you glanced up and noticed him. “Hey,” he greeted in a mutter. You repeated the word and invited him to sit. He shook his head and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Nah, it’s okay. Uh, I actually… Well, I wanted to thank you, I guess.” The last time he had thanked someone was when Blaise let him borrow his quill. “For- for treating me like- uh, well, like another student.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Like normal, you know?”

“I didn’t realise I was doing anything different,” you told him. This was not a conversation you were expecting to have today

He nodded and cleared his throat. “Well, you did. So… thanks.” He pressed his lips together and stood there awkwardly. After a beat, he cleared his throat again. “I’m gonna go.”

Mattheo had never felt such relief when, as he turned on his heel, you asked if he wanted to stay

You didn’t know what the fuck was going on. Why the hell was Mattheo Riddle suddenly acting all nice? He could be next to literally any other girl right now, ones that were probably prettier or smarter, but no. He was sitting next to you. Part of you thought it was a bet or he was drugged or something, but by the end of your study session (you were studying, he wasn’t), you couldn’t help but trust him just a little bit. Maybe that was why you said yes when he asked you out on a date

You only told your closest friends what was happening. If your roommates found out, you were sure the entire castle would know by breakfast. You didn’t wanna put that on you or Mattheo. That exact reason was why he didn’t take you to Hogsmeade or somewhere public

Your first date was in the Room of Requirement. Mattheo had turned the place into a comfy little room with a sheet draped over one wall to act as a projector screen for the movie he had chosen. It was oddly charming, especially knowing he could’ve made an actual projector screen appear with fancy movie theatre chairs, but nope. Instead, there was a bundle of blankets and pillows which were constructed into the comfiest seating arrangement ever. It was not what you had expected from the boy who had millions to his name

It was not the Mattheo you had seen snog a girl at a party before, hands groping along her chest. It was the Mattheo who was nervous and seemed to actually care about you that showed up on your date. Instead of flowers he got you all the snacks and candy you could wish for

He couldn't figure out for the life of him how to work the muggle projector

You had to take over and show him. You made a playful comment about how muggleborns weren’t all useless and he muttered a sorry for his past words

He was in awe of muggle movies. He had seen a couple once or twice, but was still enraptured. It also didn’t help that he had chosen an animated film, so the entire time he was just staring up at the screen, eyes wide

At the end of the date, Mattheo revealed that it was the first date he had ever taken a girl on. “I’ve just always skipped that part, you know?” he grinned before adding, “not to sound crass or anything. Please don’t dump me.”

You rewarded his efforts with another date

Mattheo was slow to let you in. Things were very secretive when it came to Mattheo Riddle. He didn’t tell any of his friends he was dating you (to be fair, neither did you) and he did his best to not interact much outside of the dates. He was his cocky, cool, and arrogant self in class, but when evening came and he met you a couple paces from the door to your common room to take you to the Room of Requirement (that’s where most dates took place), he would whisper a compliment about how good you looked

It was clear neither of you completely trusted the other at first, but that was expected. The first couple of months were, as mentioned above, very slow going, but eventually, you two began to let the other in. You would lean against him during movie nights and he would wrap an arm around your shoulders. When the Room of Requirement became a restaurant, he would offer you his fork of pasta to try. His voice would soften as he told you about his childhood when you two were at the Astronomy Tower, looking up at the stars. You would crack jokes about how horrible he was at mini-golf when you insisted that’s what the Room of Requirement became. He would make a point of adjusting your form when you tried out pool (even if you didn’t need help at all)

As you dated Mattheo and he slowly let you into his life, you realised there was a whole part of the wizarding world you didn’t know existed. There were hierarchies and rules everyone had to follow, especially when they came from the Sacred Twenty-Eight and the rigid pureblood community. You felt so bewildered when he first mentioned this to you

Mattheo had clearly grown up in a very structured world with parents that didn’t care if he lived or died. It was one thing to grow up like Draco Malfoy where you were protected at every turn, but still attended galas and dances; it was something entirely different to be Mattheo Riddle who was passed around from obscure relative to relative as his mother rotted in Azkaban and his father still held power from beyond the grave over all of the homes Mattheo visited. He had never really fit in anywhere because everyone he stayed with had been a follower of Voldemort, so it was like there was a power imbalance between this kid who held the Riddle name and whatever adults he was staying with. It led to none of the adults really lecturing him or teaching him what was wrong or right. The places he stayed were never a home, they were just a house he slept in. He had finally moved in with the Malfoys when he was seven and had been introduced to his half-brother, Lorenzo, who he hadn’t even known existed

The Malfoys finally gave him some structure, but they still clearly favoured Draco over any of the boys. Lucius was pissed that Bellatrix had basically just dumped her kids onto him (this isn’t what he had signed up for when he married Narcissa), though did feel as if it was an honour to raise the son of his late Master, whereas his wife was a bit more accommodating

That was where Mattheo mostly learned about the expected way he was supposed to act and the true gravity of his father’s name. Lucius Malfoy loved to lord Mattheo’s lineage over the young boy and whip him into shape

You learned that yes, Voldemort was back, and it was the summer between your fourth and fifth year that Mattheo had finally met his dad for the first time in his life

It was clear by the way Mattheo would shut down and his voice would lower when he talked about Voldemort that it was a touchy subject. He didn’t get into much detail, especially at the beginning of your relationship, but you could tell that he had been through much more than any teenager should have

You knew that Mattheo stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas and hardly got any presents (except a few snuck in by Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore because there’s obviously a plan in place for students with rough home lives like Mattheo). You also knew that he detested summers, much like a friend of yours, Harry Potter, did

Mattheo Riddle would tell you all of this, and then pretend not to know you during classes. At first, you didn’t mind and would do the same, but eventually, as months passed, you couldn't help the sting that followed when Mattheo would only glance at you with that dead-eyed stare in the halls. That’s what led him to make your relationship public

You had revealed to him your feelings one day after another movie night in the Room of Requirement. You were laying between his legs and he had begun to knead your thighs when you tensed up. It led to an awkward conversation, but one that needed to happen

There was no over-exaggeration of your relationship to make it public. Mattheo simply began hanging around your desk before and after classes, draping an arm over your shoulder, and spending more time with you – all things he had wanted to do when your relationship was private. Of course there were some mutterings around the castle, but his friends weren’t the most perceptive

The signs were there in front of them: he had stopped smoking as much, was spending less time around them, and seemed overall happier. But it wasn’t until one day, when they were all in the common room that they figured it out. Mattheo checked the clock and pushed himself off of the couch. “Alright, I’m gonna go,” he said

“Your entire social life is in this room. Where’re you going?” Draco asked as he took a sip of butterbeer

Mattheo shrugged and said, “out with Y/n. She’s gonna teach me muggle games.”

Four heads whipped towards him and Pansy and Daphne nodded before continuing their conversation. “L/n?!” Draco asked as Theo demanded, “when have you been hanging out with her?” At the same time, Enzo exclaimed, “out? Are you dating?!” and Blaise scoffed, “you’re kidding, right?”

Mattheo, who was shrugging a light jacket on (because the castle got cold in February), turned back towards his friends, an eyebrow raised. “Uh, yeah? Y/n? We’ve been dating for like, four months now.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell us?!” Theo gasped out

“I haven’t fucking hid it,” Mattheo said. He waved a hand at Pansy and Daphne. “They knew!”

The rest of the Slytherin boys rounded on the two girls. “You knew?!” Draco’s voice only kept getting higher

“Duh,” Pansy rolled her eyes. “It’s pretty obvious.”

Daphne nodded along, painting her nails. “We haven’t met her yet, though. Riddle’s very protective over his lady,” she sang out. “We could meet her today,” she suggested with a sly grin. As all of the Slytherin boys voiced their agreement, Mattheo glared at Daphne

That’s how you ended up teaching the majority of the sixth-year Slytherins how to play Uno

Mattheo was highly disgruntled by the entire thing and kept muttering to himself. He only shut up when you kissed his cheek. Theo and Draco were in constant argument over the rules, since you had taught them “street rules” and were too busy explaining to Enzo how the reverse rule worked to mitigate their argument. Daphne and Pansy had teamed up to try and Blaise was weirdly good at it

They didn’t even seem to mind that you were a muggleborn

As all people are, Mattheo Riddle was a nuanced person. He was sarcastic, witty, and hot-headed, but also touch-starved, flirtatious, and confident. He had his ups and downs like anyone and the two of you managed all of your combined emotions together

People definitely noticed the changes in Mattheo. Whereas he used to slouch in the back of the classroom, staring daggers at anyone who dared interrupt him, he instead made more jokes with his friends and it wasn’t uncommon for his sharp smile to lift his lips

He grew more cocky and he attributed it to the fact that you were on his arm. He loved to flirt with you, even though you were already dating. He would make cheeky little comments and provocative jokes that had him waggling his eyebrows at you

You once made a comment about how you thought he looked very sexy in his uniform and ever since then he had put a bit more effort into his appearance. He would put a bit of mousse in his hair and make sure his tie was knotted correctly. Quidditch kept him fit and it paid off, especially when the two of you were making out and you ran your hands over his biceps or dug your nails into his hair

Mattheo loved showing you off. He was big on PDA. Once you two had had your first kiss, he couldn’t keep his hands off you. His arm would be around your waist, a hand resting on your hip as you walked through the corridors. If it was a weekend and you didn’t need to wear your uniform, he would slip his hand into your back pocket. He adored the thrill of dragging you to a secluded little corner and snogging, even if you warned him that someone could find you 

He had broken off all of his past flings early in sixth year, before the two of you even started dating and if any one of them made a snarky remark about how he had downgraded, he was quick to storm up to them and start a shouting match (he would never hit a girl, but he would track down their boyfriends if they had them and beat them to a pulp)

Yes, Mattheo still did get into fights even though you two were dating. He had gotten really sullen after the first time it had happened while the two of you were together, like he was expecting you to break up with him, but when you had simply nodded along to Madame Pomfery’s instructions on how to apply to healing cream she had given him, he relaxed. Now, it was common for him to go to your dorm instead of the hospital wing

His tendency for fighting had decreased, mostly because he didn’t go looking for them anymore, but he would still square up if anyone said anything. He tried not fight in front of you, though

His biggest turn on was when you wore his Quidditch jersey with his last name on your back

He liked to listen to The Smiths and really connected with their music

Mattheo also liked to draw. He was oddly good at it and would draw hazy scenes from your relationship where one couldn’t tell who the people were, but you could recognise the Astronomy Tower from your dates

He kept one of your hair ties around his wrist. It was a silent reminder to everyone that he was taken and he liked to play with it during classes

He was obviously incredibly wealthy. All of Bellatrix’s money went to him while she was in Azkaban and the Blacks were one of the most affluent wizarding families. That, combined with the money Voldemort had amassed when he was in power was enough to last Mattheo generations. He also had many properties to his name all over Britain, but wouldn’t get ahold of them until either his parents died, or he turned of age

Mattheo really liked the slow moments with you. He loved to lay his head in your lap or lay on top of you and have you trace the scars on his body. It made him feel better about the scars he had gotten from fighting or his father, now that Voldemort was back. He would never ask for it, but he would always look up at you a bit expectantly whenever he wanted it. However, he would never let you touch his forearm where the Dark Mark was. It was clear he was ashamed of it and didn’t want you to think of him in that way

As sixth year winded down, Mattheo got more and more on edge. He was in the tower when Dumbledore died and he was eager to get onto the train back to Platform 9 and 3/4 when the year was done. He hated the idea of going back to Malfoy Manor where both of his parents now were. You wanted him to spend the entire summer with you, but he knew his parents would never allow that. Instead, he got Blaise to say Mattheo was staying with him and his family for three weeks, when in reality, Mattheo was with you. Blaise’s mother had no ties to Voldemort, so she was fine with her son’s lie

The weeks Mattheo spent with you were heaven in his eyes. The world seemed brighter and later, he would tell you they were the only weeks of the summer he allowed himself to remember

You showed him all around the muggle world and it was glorious. Mattheo could leave his last name behind, especially because your family didn’t have a clue what the Riddle name meant. You had told your parents that Mattheo had a difficult home life and they were more than accommodating

He got to sleep in your bed which was the highlight of his time (not because of the sex – though that did happen — but because of the proximity to you)

On the day before he had to go back to Malfoy Manor, Mattheo took you aside and quickly pleaded with you not to attend Hogwarts for your seventh year. “Y/n, I can’t fucking put you in that position,” he muttered, gripping your hand. “I- I can’t save you from everything that will happen.”

Yet, he understood why you had to go. Mattheo attended with you and you saw a different side of your boyfriend. You saw the side that grew up with the hierarchies and Sacred Twenty-Eight

Hogwarts was hell. You and Dumbledore’s Army tried your best to help every underclassman you could, but many of them were scared of you because they saw you hanging out with Mattheo

Mattheo, meanwhile, was like royalty. The Death Eater teachers gave him special attention and the best grades. By proxy, you were also treated as such. Mattheo made clear from the very start that whoever touched you would face direct consequences from him. He was given the position of Head Boy and you would sleep in his private dorm every night so he could ensure you were okay

He, along with some other Slytherins, were called away every once in a while by Voldemort and that’s when you felt most exposed. The dementors seemed to gravitate towards you, as if they could feel your fear, and you even went so far as to lock yourself in Mattheo’s dorm during weekends

Things reached a boiling point towards the end of the year. The Battle of Hogwarts was inevitable. Mattheo and his friends hadn’t been in class for a week now and when the Death Eaters came marching up to the school, you could pick out your boyfriend from just the way he walked

McGonagall gave you a look when Harry Potter showed up, but you only stared back. Love would not get in the way of doing what was right

The moment the battle started, Mattheo made it his mission to find you. He dropped his Death Eater’s cloak and raced around the castle. Dodging curses and jinxes wasn’t the thing that got his heart-rate up – it was the idea that he might turn a corner and your dead eyes would be staring back at him

He found you telling off Colin Creevey for sticking around for the battle. You were near the Room of Requirement and were trying to get the young boy to Aberforth when you spotted Mattheo. The two of you collided in a hug that spoke more than you could ever say. “Oh, thank god, thank god,” you whispered over and over. Meanwhile, Mattheo was pressing kisses to your forehead, chest heaving

He nearly growled when Colin Creevey took a picture of you two

(He later got the picture from him)

You ushered Colin out to safety before turning back to Mattheo. “I’m getting you out of here,” he declared sharply. You knew better to argue

As you were running through the halls, the two of you practically crashed into the Golden Trio. You locked eyes with Hermione 

Mattheo had always had a complicated relationship with Harry Potter. He couldn't deny the jealousy he felt of Harry. Even though they were both in very similar positions and thrust into a life neither of them asked for, at least Harry had an adult support system and people who genuinely loved him. Mattheo had you, of course, but there was a father and mother figure hole in his heart he could never truly fix

After a moment of charged indecision, Mattheo stepped to the side. The Golden Trio nodded in thanks and went on their way

You squeezed Mattheo’s hand, pride flowing through you

The two of you found your way to the Great Hall. It was there that he locked eyes with his mother. Bellatrix’s eyes flitted over to you. She cast a dangerous red spell across the room and then stepped over dead bodies and rubble to get to you, slowly. “So you’re the girl that has captured my son,” she breathed out and Mattheo stepped in front of you. “Oh, come now, Matty,” she cooed. “Let me admire her.”

“Not happening,” Mattheo snapped.

“Imagine my surprise,” Bellatrix continued, “when I find out that my son is sending letters over summer to a mudblood,” she spit out. You tensed behind her and gripped Mattheo’s hand

“Mum,” Mattheo said harshly, a reminder. Bellatrix raised her wand faster than you could comprehend and shot a curse at you. Mattheo shoved you out of the way and it singed your shoulder. Before you knew it, mother and son were in an intense duel. The Great Hall parted, doing nothing but watching, as the two forces clashed. Spells lit up the room. You wanted to intervene, but couldn’t risk Mattheo’s concentration being broken

Bellatrix was a powerful witch, but Mattheo had both her blood and the blood of Voldemort running through his veins

He had no qualms when it came to killing her

The Great Hall seemed to hold its breath as Mattheo stared at the place where his mother used to stand. Slowly, his head turned to stare at you. You were quick to race over and Mattheo was eager for the comfort of your arms

During the brief break in the battle, Mattheo refused the burning of the Dark Mark. He knew his father wouldn’t hesitate to kill him due to his treachery. Instead, he sat with you as you held him close. You tried to cool the intense pain in his forearm with some spells, but it turned out that numbing the area with ice worked best. You ran your hand through his hair softly, letting him begin to process the emotions working throughout him

You said in the castle with him as Harry duelled his father. Mattheo didn’t want to see himself be made an orphan. He held no regret over what was about to happen and when his Dark Mark finally faded, both of you knew it was over

It took months to get back to normal. Mattheo didn’t want anything to do with the Wizarding World. He knew his name would follow him until his dying days. He took you to one of his properties in a far off corner of England – not to hide away in, but to recentre himself. Eventually, in the back of the garden, he erected two tombstones for his parents

Mattheo Riddle proposed to you on your fourth anniversary when you both were twenty. Your wedding was a small affair, but he couldn’t help but admit he loved to see all of his old friends again. There was a weight off of everyone’s shoulders that made it more light-hearted

He hired Colin Creevey to be your photographer

Mattheo took your last name but kept Riddle as a middle name. He couldn’t completely part from it

His favourite part of your wedding (apart from the wedding night) was having the first dance with you as husband and wife

After a couple more years, you two moved back into the Wizarding World. You bought a house on the outskirts of a small wizarding community where the war had hardly touched. It was a lovely place for friends to stop by and was very homey

Mattheo spent his time loving you. Mornings were slow and calm and both of you needed that time to unwind and be young again

He would come up behind you in the kitchen and weave his arms around you

Mattheo liked to slow dance with you in the living room

He also gained a greater appreciation for muggle things and liked to incorporate them into your house

He liked to work with his hands, even though he could easily use magic. He built a storage shed in the backyard

Mattheo also joined his friends weekly to play Quidditch just for fun. It got him out of the house and really did help his mental state

Theo and Enzo were the people most likely to drop by randomly and you were all too happy when Daphne and Pansy tagged along

When Draco had Scorpius and you went over with food and to meet the baby, Mattheo was terrified to hold the kid. Seeing you hold the kid however… ooh you had a fun night when you got back home

His proudest achievement was definitely being your husband

Mattheo began writing letters to Harry Potter and the pair met up every once in a while in Diagon Alley

Hermione, now Minister of Magic, pardoned Mattheo soon after she came into office and spoke highly of him to the press. Neither you or Mattheo attended the ceremony, but you did send Hermione your thanks and love

War had aged Mattheo and you. Trauma was a complicated thing that waned in its healing. Nightmares plagued him more than they did you and while he knew they would never go away, things had gotten much better as time went on