Snow flurried softly around you as your feet crunched in the fresh frost in tandem with Mattheo’s long stride.

You were pleasantly tired after a day spent in Hogsmeade with your friends, and as evening fell and he walked you back to the castle, your limbs and eyelids felt heavy and you longed for nothing more than to drop your head onto the crook of his shoulder. Instead you maintained your near-distance, your eyes fixed on the turrets of the castle in the blizzarding distance.

Mattheo listened to you talk, a gentle smile on his lips as he kept his eyes averted, his focus ahead. He noticed you wrap your arms around yourself against the cold and wanted nothing more than to pull you into his side; even now his fingers twitched for you, but he shoved his hands into his pockets and ignored the sensation with a well-practiced effort.

The two of you shuffled into the empty common room, your footsteps echoing in the dark, the only light the ambient warmth coming off the embers in the fireplace.

“Night, Matty” you mumbled, curling into his arms for a hug.

You were warm from your tired despite the cold walk and he held you firmly against him, reveling in the way you sighed and relaxed into his arms, the way you nuzzled perfectly into his chest, the way his head rested just so on top of yours, letting himself pretend for a moment that this was something.

But just as soon as you were there, you were gone, and your warmth with you, pulling away slowly, your eyes catching his as you offered him a half-smile before you padded to your room, unaware that he watched you the entire way.

He slumped into a plush chair by the fire, letting his head fall back as he wrestled with the pain in his chest, in his sternum, that he rubbed absentmindedly like he could make it go away.

He’d tried everything at this point: potions, alcohol, weed, enough of each until he could barely keep his eyes open, he’d even tried other girls for awhile, but that left him even more hollow and empty than everything else; they were the starkest reminder that none were you, the only girl he wanted, the only one he could never have.

Friendship didn’t come easy to him, but you had been a still small presence in his life since second year. You’d found him in an empty classroom mid-panic attack; his heart was racing, his vision was black at the edges and he’d slumped against the wall to try to control his ragged breaths. You’d come back to grab your book and instead had settled beside him, gently taking his hand and holding it in your own warm one. He had a bite like a viper, but when the panic subsided, he didn’t have the energy nor the desire to be mad or ashamed; you didn’t look at him with pity or judgement you’d simply squeezed his hand again, offered him a smile, a caramel cobweb from your pocket and left.

He'd found himself next to you in Potions after that, and then he was offering you a seat beside him at breakfast. Your calm demeanor became something he craved, like it was a piece of himself that'd been missing; he hadn’t had a panic attack since.

You didn’t know what to make of him and his friends at first but despite your softness, you fit in perfectly; you matched Draco’s intellectual curiosity, Blaise’s ravenous love of reading, Theo’s adoration of food and Enzo’s goofy sense of humor, like you pulled out the very best parts of each of them...

...Which was precisely why Mattheo couldn’t ruin your friendship by wanting anything more. It was inevitable that he’d fuck it up, just like he fucked everything up in his life at one time or another and he wasn’t willing to take the chance, to gamble with the only thing he really held dear.

So, he was resigned to your side, content with your friendship, happy at least that you seemed to agree, having never intimated a thing with him, a fact that stung bitterly but made him all the more resolute. He didn’t stop to think about why none of the guys you saw lasted for more than two dates, why you opted out of every dance, nor the abnormal amount of time you spent with him, because isn’t that just what friends did?

He felt a headache coming on and pinched his eyes closed, rubbing at his forehead until he fell into an unexpected and fitful sleep.

Time passed in the way of dreams, indeterminate and dark until he felt a kick at his feet that knocked him awake.

“Fucksake” he muttered, pulling his feet away out of instinct and rubbing his eyes.

It was dark in the common room; the fire had burned out to smoking coals and the room sat in greys and blacks that were barely offset by the fallen snow reflected in the windows, yet the figure in front of him shone all the more for it and for a second Mattheo felt the familiar chill of him.

The Bloody Baron hovered nearby and though Mattheo further curled away from him it was more of a reflex than it was fear; the Baron didn’t scare him like he did so many others, but Mattheo certainly didn’t like him and he had no idea what he was doing here. His chains clanked over his bloody clothing and Mattheo narrowed his sleep-filled eyes.

“What’dyou want?” he asked.

“Come” the Baron said, tilting his head and hovering away as if intending for Mattheo to follow him.

“Think I’m alright here, thanks” he scoffed, rolling his eyes before rubbing them again.

The Baron snuffed, unamused. “Your demise then” he shrugged, looking down at his fingernails. “And hers” he said more quietly.

“What did you just say?” Mattheo asked.

“You heard me.”

“The fuck are you on about?”

The Baron gestured rather dramatically towards the door and Mattheo begrudgingly stood to follow him. He pulled himself heavily out of the chair; it took an extra effort with his sleepy limbs and he took two steps before he looked down and realized he’d become translucent as well.

He turned around to see his sleeping form still in the chair.

“No no no, what the fuck is this, what's going on?” he asked.

But the Baron had already floated through the wall, and without another choice, Mattheo quickly followed.

“Hey- Hey!!” he shouted after him to no avail as he turned a corner in the dungeon and floated into a dark room Mattheo hadn’t noticed before.

Mattheo chased him quickly, a slew of threats at the ready until he saw the second apparition in the room that absolutely did bring fear into his heart and froze his stride and his tongue.

Merlin stood in front of him, almost a head taller as the Bloody Baron bowed wordlessly and left the room.

Mattheo couldn’t imagine what he’d done, but being half-dead in front of the greatest wizard of all time didn’t feel like a great start.

“Mattheo” Merlin said in a baritone voice with a small, knowing smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet such a renowned fellow Slytherin, formally, at least.”

Mattheo’s eyebrow cocked.

“Excuse the theatrics, I’m here as a matter of urgency. As you may know, I have the gift of prophetic insight into future events. Time is… a fickle thing” he said, his eyes wandering like he was looking into the future at that very moment. “It’s not intended to be meddled with but,” he bobbed his head back and forth, “it seemed rather prudent to take action.”

Mattheo was at a complete loss for words.

“Will you join me?” Merlin asked, outstretching his arm like he meant for them to apparate despite the impossibility of it, though the whole situation seemed rather impossible.

Surely I’m dreaming Mattheo thought.

And because there were no consequences in dreams, he took Merlin's arm and they disappeared in flash of light and sound.

They reappeared in the library.

Mattheo looked around and could see out the window that it was a sunny day in the fall or even late summer, his eyes drifted further around the quiet room until they landed on you. Your hair was shorter and you were wearing the bracelet Pansy had gotten you from Paris, which told Mattheo this was sometime at the beginning of last year.

He wanted to say something and glanced at Merlin who leaned casually against the nearest bookshelf, his eyes fixed on you too and decided against it.

It was odd, having this little slice of you, this moment he hadn’t before. He watched the how the gentle rays of the sun shone on your hair, the way you scrunched your nose as you concentrated on the book in front of you and he felt a warmth blooming in his chest – until Potter showed up.

“YN!” he said.

“Hi, Harry!” you greeted him.

You were a stranger to no one, it was one of your best qualities, yet one Mattheo never understood, especially when it came to pricks like Potter.

Mattheo straightened and moved to intervene, to plop himself conveniently in the seat next to you, which seemed to work every other time Potter came around, but before he could take a step, Merlin outstretched his arm, willing him to stay still.

“Was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade this weekend?” Potter asked. “I’d love to buy you a butterbeer, hear about your summer?”

You blushed.

Mattheo wanted to die.

He rolled his eyes aggressively and scoffed like this was a nuisance, like it didn’t actually deeply bother him.

You twirled your bracelet, and glanced down at it.

“I—thanks, Harry, but I think I’ll have to pass.”

“No problem, then!”

Mattheo felt a hand on his arm and was sucked back into the swirl of light and sound until he reappeared in the Transfiguration Courtyard.

The leaves were darker, but when his eyes found you, he knew it was still last year, he could tell by the sweater you were wearing, and the book in your hands, the second in a series you wouldn't stop talking about.

You were seated in one of the stone alcoves when Cedric Diggory came up to chat with you about the book before smoothly asking you to be his date to a party that weekend.

Mattheo’s nose twitched in anger.

Where am I? he wondered, looking around. He always met you in the courtyard between Potions and Transfiguration, he should be here; if he was here this wouldn’t be happening.

Your eyes searched the mulling students like you were wondering the same thing, and then you were twiddling your bracelet again.

“Thanks, Cedric, but I have a lot of studying to do.”

He smiled and slinked away but Mattheo could only enjoy it for a moment as he watched your eyes search the crowd again before they locked on something that made your whole body freeze up, every limb tense, the smile on your face gone.

He followed your gaze, already furious at whatever it was that made you so upset, to see… him, with Astoria, his arm around her as she laughed before she turned to kiss him in a way that made him cringe. The self-loathing bubbled up inside of him like a spoiled potion and he cautiously turned back to see the wobble of your lip that you bit down on, hard, and a glassiness in your eyes when he felt a strong hand on his arm and the scene blurred in front of him.

This time it was Cormac McLaggen on the way to a quidditch match.

Then Fred Weasley at the Halloween feast that year.

Then George Weasley at the Fall Festival.

“Fucking hell, I think I get the point!” he shouted angrily, feeling burning embers in his veins as he turned to Merlin. “Alright, she’s… yeah… guys ask her out a lot, what do you want me to do about it?”

He turned back to George and the wilting wildflowers he’d picked for you in his hands.

“I mean, really” he said, gesturing at the pathetic attempt to impress you.

He huffed as he looked on, but Merlin was silent, patient, expressionless.

“You don’t think I’ve thought about it!?” Mattheo plowed on. “Every which way it could go? How many different ways I’d end up breaking her heart? I can’t… I can’t make her happy. I’m not built like that, like she is. I disappoint people, that’s all I do. Or, they get too close and push them away because I don’t know what else there is!” he said, nearly yelling, exasperated, past the point of trying to understand why he was having this argument with Merlin of all people who continued to regard him silently.

The wizard simply took a step closer to him and grasped his arm again.

The room took shape and Mattheo knew immediately the scene in front of him was recent. It was a party in the common room, right around his birthday; he wouldn’t ever ever forget the dress you had on that night.

But then the exchange student from Durmstrang approached you.

The one every girl had been eyeing, the one Mattheo knew had caught your attention too, by the way your gaze followed him as he walked by in the Great Hall, the way Mattheo had caught you in quiet conversation with him more than once. It was the first time Mattheo felt like you might have truly liked someone and it ravaged him.

Of course, the guy was dressed impeccably, like a larger more handsome, more polished version of Mattheo.

“YN” he said warmly in greeting and you hugged him enthusiastically.

“I hope I’m not being too forward, but you look stunning tonight” he said.

Mattheo felt the anger, the jealousy in every inch of his limbs, the way it trickled into each fingertip as his hands flexed in and out of fists.

He watched the way the bloke's eyes drank in every inch of you, the way that yours searched him back.

If Mattheo didn’t hit something, someone, soon he was going to be sick.

“Can we not?” he asked, the urgency, the desperation in voice all too obvious as he looked at Merlin. “I really don’t need to see this.”

Merlin nodded towards you again and Mattheo turned in time to see the guy reach and curl a piece of your hair behind your ear.

Mattheo let out a steaming breath and raked his hands through his hair as he spun and paced away only to pace back, desperate to hear what you would say. Had you been hooking up with this guy the whole term behind his back?!

You paused for a long time, leaning into his touch, meeting his eyes but something pulled your gaze away, just over the guy's shoulder that Mattheo couldn’t see.

You bit your lip and looked momentarily… miserable, like you were hexed into saying the next sentence, like you wanted to say the words as badly as Mattheo wanted to be there, which was precisely not at all.

“I-I’m not looking for anything right now.”

Mattheo let out a sigh of relief as his whole body sagged.

The prick looked confused but was kind enough in his dejection before he walked away.

Not a second later, Pansy appeared by your side, grasping your shoulder.

“Please for the love of Slytherin tell me you didn’t do exactly what I think you just did.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, swallowed and reached for her cup, tilting it back to finish it in one gulp.

“YN” she said, sympathetic now. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

You shrugged, dejected, defeated. “They’re not him, Pans, none of them are, so no matter how hot, or how nice they might be, it’d just be a waste of time.”

Mattheo’s brow furrowed, as he tried desperately to piece it all together when he watched you flip like a switch: you perked up, your eyes brightened and your smile felt familiar as he saw himself approach.

Then he was yanked out of the moment once again.

He reappeared with Merlin in the cold, abandoned room in the dungeon.

Mattheo’s brow was still deeply furrowed as he looked at Merlin with unmasked skepticism, breathing heavily.

“How do I know you’re not… tampering with this, making me see what I want to see?” he asked accusatorily, feeling like this dream had dipped into nightmare territory after what he’d endured. “I’ve been friends with her for five years, I think I’d know if she was secretly harboring feelings for me” he snapped.

Merlin’s eyebrow quirked in a condescending scowl before he purposefully floated through the door, leaving Mattheo no choice but to follow him.

They appeared back in the common room and moved past his sleeping form, the sight of which made him shiver, right into the girls dormitory hallway, to a door he knew all too well. Merlin floated through and Mattheo paused briefly, before following quietly, even though he knew he couldn’t make a sound.

Only your desk lamp was on and in the soft light he could see Pansy sitting on your bed with you. You were in his sweatshirt, and you looked exhausted. You were crying, softly, but with heavy tears that shook your shoulders and that you wiped at to no avail.

He slumped into your armchair. It was the second time he’d seen you in tears and he really really didn’t like it; he’d never seen this side of you before.

“I-I can’t do it anymore, Pansy. I don’t know what to do. I can’t function, I can’t continue to act like he’s only ever been a friend when it’s so much more. I can’t watch him date another girl, I-I-I…”

She grasped you fiercely and he watched as your face scrunched and your tears flowed faster.

“What do I do?” you muttered.

“You could tell him how you feel?” she suggested lightly. “But if he doesn’t know by now, I really think all hope is lost—.”

He couldn’t help but feel annoyed with her.

“—And suffer the utter humiliation and end of our friendship when he doesn’t feel the same way?! No thank you. None of them would ever look at me the same way again, and I’d be living my last year here even more alone than I feel.”

“Or….” Pansy started. “You ice him out completely, just separate yourselves and think of him like you think of Draco or Theo, just another friend at arm’s length.”

Now he was well and truly pissed off.

You sighed, slumped back onto your pillows and covered your face.

Merlin grabbed Mattheo’s arm and tugged him back the way they'd come.

When they breached the doorway to the same abandoned room, Mattheo slid gingerly onto one of the only chairs while Merlin regarded him with his arms crossed.

Mattheo's rage had ignited but it burned out hot and fast, leaving behind a simmering sadness.

He swallowed, lost in his own thoughts, his own realization that his best friend not only felt the same way he did but had been torturing herself over it.

He felt blind. He felt like an idiot. He felt ashamed that there was nothing he could do.

“I can’t…” he started, his voice breaking, refusing to meet Merlin’s eye.

“I don’t know how to love her” he said quietly after a moment. “I don’t know how to love her like she really deserves. I don’t….” he gestured to his chest, “Have that in me. If you’ve been watching all this time, then you know, I think that was beat out of me a long time ago.”

He had taken on the sad, quiet voice of a boy.

He sniffed and turned his head away, his insecurities on display now alongside his deepest fear: not being enough, not ever being enough for anyone let alone for the girl that deserved the world.

Merlin let the moment rest before gently saying, “Perhaps it’s time to show you why I’m here.”

He took Mattheo’s arm in his own and Mattheo tried to pull away, certain he couldn’t take any more.

“No, please, I—”

He was whisked in a whoosh of light to a dreary suburb of London: smoggy, foggy and raining. He stood outside a dull flat that was as colorless as the sky. It was a part of the city he didn’t recognize and Merlin gestured to the front door.

Mattheo dragged his feet, his emotions wrung like a wet towel as he stepped through it.

The home seemed extraordinarily, ordinary with dull colors, lifeless, and he realized after a moment that it was a muggle home. There was no magic in the air, no electric static that made his fingers twitch, everything lay latent and quiet.

He heard a clink in the adjoining room and walked quietly to a kitchen where he could see you standing by the sink washing a stack of plates, pots and pans by hand. He scoffed at it, at the vision of you doing anything without magic, how pointless it seemed.

He caught a glimpse of your face, pale, but still beautiful, always beautiful, but it was like something was missing, you almost looked sick; you didn’t have the telltale sparkle in your eye. He leaned closer to you until the door opened behind him and he jumped as a guy walked in and you glanced at him half-heartedly over your shoulder.

“Hey” you offered.

“Hey, hun” he said, leaning over to kiss your cheek.

He was ordinary, Potter-like and Mattheo’s face scrunched in distaste as he disappeared upstairs.

“This is… depressing” he muttered.

The guy had been dressed like a muggle and Mattheo had yet to see either of your wands. But then he noticed the small ring on your finger.

“What’s-what’s the deal?” he asked, turning to Merlin.

“He’s her husband. A muggle.”

“A-what?” Mattheo guffawed. He wasn’t even goodlooking. And what the fuck were you doing married to a muggle? Where were your friends? Where was Pansy? Where was he?!

“Hang on, this-this isn’t real though, is it?”

Merlin tilted his head back and forth. “It could be.”

“But why?! Where’s—” he waved his hand around, “Her magic?”

“She gave it up. She didn’t want it anymore.”

The thought made Mattheo’s stomach twist violently, uncomfortably.

“You can’t just give it up" he argued.

“Sure you can.”

“Never heard of it.”

Merlin sighed. “Magic is threaded into our soul, but if that part of us isn’t something we tap into anymore, then… Poof” he made a small gesture with his hands like a tiny explosion.

Mattheo looked utterly confused as he glanced back at you.

“She took Pansy’s advice” Merlin continued. “She pulled away from you, but it wasn’t enough, so she pulled away from all of your friends, out of Hogwarts, but that wasn’t enough either, so she moved here, got a job and stopped using magic entirely, stopped engaging with it, stopped tapping into that part of herself. She couldn’t use it now even if she wanted to.”

As if on cue, you looked longingly at a dishtowel on the other side of the counter. You reached for it, your fingers sparked, crackled and fizzed and your lips pursed as you walked to retrieve it.

Mattheo began shaking his head.

This was too much too fast.

“No, this-this would never happen. I wouldn’t let this happen, none of us would” he said as he pushed past Merlin and burst angrily through the front door onto the street. He stormed past pedestrians, winding through alleys, letting his feet carry him further and further away like that could fix the problem as he huffed puffs of angry air.

He hated this.

His body shook with rage, with the feeling that once again, everything was his fault.

Finally he whirled to find the wizard at a respectful distance behind him.

“Why is everything my fault?! You’re telling me that I’m destined to ruin her life whether I’m in it or not?!”

“Mattheo” he said, gesturing to the newspaper stand beside them.

Mattheo glanced at it, only to see his mugshot on the front page beneath the headline “Riddle’s Parole Denied in Triple Homicide. Will Serve 90 Years in Azkaban.”

He stared at it long and hard, at the realization that the mark on his arm would fulfill a destiny that was always set out for him, a destiny he’d never wanted. He searched the newspaper version of his hollow, heartless eyes, the barely-there smirk on his cold face that spoke nothing of remorse.

“Without you, she loses her magic” Merlin said quietly. “Without her, you lose everything.”

He reached for Mattheo’s arm and Mattheo was void of the energy to fight him.

The bright light of their apparition blurred but didn’t dim, and the sunlight blinded Mattheo after the dull smog of London.

He shaded his eyes with his hand until they adjusted to take in the garden in front of him.

He was somewhere rural, and the garden was sprawling with flowers in a riot of colors, some nonmagical, some magical that whirred and swayed in the warm breeze as if to their own song. There were sunflowers taller than he was, lilies, roses, hydrangeas and peonies, her favorite he thought absentmindedly. They were a perfect chaotic mess, and after a moment he realized the garden abutted a narrow grassy path with weathered footstones which pulled at him as Merlin’s presence faded away, somewhere behind him, momentarily forgotten.

Mattheo followed the path until he wandered past a small shed and an enchanted broom sweeping the stoop in front of it as a watering can swirled past him towards the garden; a cat lounged in the sun nearby, lifting its head only briefly to acknowledge him before laying itself back down and basking in the afternoon warmth.

A boyish squeal and a peal of laughter followed by the patter of running footsteps interrupted the quiet and he turned his head towards the garden and the trees beyond it but the sound faded just as soon as it had come.

His feet felt pulled again by an invisible thread that tugged him further along the path to a beautiful stone farmhouse that was instantly inviting; the front door itself was propped open and a warm smell wafted from inside, like homemade chocolate chip cookies, her favorite he thought again.

Merlin couldn’t have stopped him now if he’d wanted to as his feet moved purposefully towards the door before he paused to eye the pile of shoes outside. He was taken aback at how many there were, at how they varied in size shape and color; some were even his size, his style if he thought long enough about it. It gave him the slightest pause before he pushed the door open and the aura inside hit him like a wave.

Subtle, soft magic hovered in the air of a small sitting room that was littered with books on shelves and in stacked piles on the floor alongside blankets and the makings of a fort. He felt that familiar thrum in his sternum and rubbed it mindlessly as a clatter in the next room caught his attention. He looked up to see a stack of plates washing and drying themselves in a kitchen sink, cheerful in their work, the magic infused with joy.

Then he heard it: muttered whispers and a giggle and he leaned around the corner to see...you and for the first time his footsteps stopped, like that delicate thread had taken him right to where he needed to be.

You were gorgeous, in stark contrast to the you he had just seen, so much more like yourself, with a shimmering dream-like quality. Your hair was long and natural and your eyes were like the sun on the water, shimmering. Your lips were curved into a mischievous smile and he rubbed harder at the spot at his chest as he felt his insides liquify and his knees wobble.

You were crouched next to a little girl who was maybe two. She had all of your features but a shock of curly hair that was distinctly… like his.

You held a cookie out and were whispering to her and she laughed, a giggle that felt like a sucker punch to his gut as he steadied himself against the doorway with a thud, finding it harder and harder to stay upright in a room full to overflowing with this pressure, this presence of magic and something else that had his chest heavier and heavier and made it hard for him to breath.

Your eyes lifted to look at him. No, not at him, past him, he realized and you absolutely dazzled with a thousand-watt smile he’d never seen before, joy in your every nerve ending that was palpable as you stood up.

“Dada!” the little girl cried, running right past him and into…

Him.

His arms. Solid-form him. A bit taller, a bit broader, with hair a bit more unruly, rosy cheeks and a sucker smile. He’d almost feel embarrassed for himself if he wasn’t so damn jealous.

He lifted the little girl into his arms and shifted her to his side as you followed, leaning into him and kissing him fully, your hand coming to brush against his cheek, your lips urgent as his other arm pulled you closer.

Ghost-Mattheo was teetering on the edge of a breakdown.

“Dad’s home?” a voice called near the back door, a boy, older and Mattheo turned, longing to see the rest of what perfect looked like when he felt a hand on his arm.

“NO!” he shouted.

But it was too late.

In a flash of light and sound they were back at Hogwarts, in the dungeon.

“No! Why did you—! Why couldn’t—!” He was breathing heavily, his chest burning as tried to speak.

“Alright. Okay. That, that was real, right?” he asked urgent, begging.

Merlin tilted his head as he had before. “It could be.”

Mattheo couldn’t stop hyperventilating. He needed that. That truth, that reality, that magic, that peace, that warmth more than he’d ever needed anything in his life. It was better than any daydream, any fantasy, any possible ever-after he’d ever imagined.

“But, what do I have to—?” he asked, turning to face the wizard.

But he was gone.

Mattheo turned in circles around the room, panicked and frantic, still trying to catch his breath as the heaviness in his chest lingered.

He’d already wasted so much time, he’d realized, as he tried to figure out what to do. And then he remembered the conversation you and Pansy were having right this moment in your room.

He ran before he could think any further about it, back to the common room, back to his corporeal form, sinking into his body and becoming whole again which left him feeling tingly, like every limb had fallen asleep as he tried clumsily to pull himself out of the chair.

He tried to organize his thoughts, to come up with what to say or do or beg or plead or promise to make you listen to him, to forgive him, but all he felt was an urgency, a sense of time running out as he ripped down the corridor until he was standing in front of your door.

He raised his hand to knock and could hear your stuttered cries as his fist rapped against the door.

You quieted immediately and he could hear murmurs before Pansy yanked the door open.

Her eyes narrowed with barely concealed hatred.

“It’s not the time, Riddle.”

He made himself lock eyes with her, like he could communicate everything he needed to in a single gaze.

“Please” he breathed and she wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him say the word before.

He pressed his hand against the door to prevent her from closing it and slowly pushed his way in.

He watched you hurriedly wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“Matty, I—” you started.

“—Can we have a minute?” he asked, turning back to Pansy.

“You can’t just barge in here and expect—”

“—Pansy, please. I promise, just a few minutes.” And there he was with that word again.

Her eyes shot to yours. She didn’t like how vulnerable you looked.

“It’s fine, Pans” you relented.

“It’s not, and you know it” she replied as she brushed past Mattheo with a huff and slammed the door behind her.

“Mattheo—” you started.

“—YN—” he stumbled.

You sniffed, as you wiped away more errant tears on the sleeve of his sweatshirt that you curled into your fists and he came and sat gently on your bed at a respectable distance.

“I’m sorry” he said quietly, not quite meeting your eye.

“What? Why?” you asked, confused. “If this is about copying my potions homework, I already told you I don’t care.”

“Nah” he said, shaking his head as it hung, a tick working in his jaw.

“I’ve been an ass” he clarified, trying and failing to properly convey in words what the night had taught him.

“I—” he tried. Sniffed. And then looked straight at you.

“I love you.”

Your eyes widened.

There was a deafeningly long pause.

And then you laughed.

Small at first and then louder, big, like you couldn’t contain yourself. He supposed it was better than having you cry, but it was far from the reaction he was hoping for.

“Ohmygosh. Oh, gods. Did Lorenzo put you up to this? I’m gonna kill him” you said.

You laughed to keep from crying at the cruelness of it all as you leaned forward, pressing your hand to his forehead.

“I mean, really” you said, breathless from your laughter. “You feel warm, you might be sick.”

His stomach churned as he realized that you thought the idea was so far-fetched it had to be a joke.

He reached for your hand and tugged you gently beside him.

“M’not sick” he said patiently, still and calm despite the storm roaring in his ribcage. “And I’m not joking.”

He intertwined his fingers with yours, slow and sure, the way he’d always wanted to and as your palms pressed together, he reveled in the way his hand engulfed yours, how you were warm in his grasp.

“I love—I’m in love with you and I have been for a long time.”

The smile dropped from your face as you stared at him, meeting his eyes squarely for the first time.

“That isn’t funny” you whispered. “D-don’t—you shouldn’t joke—”

“—YN, I’m not joking.”

Fuck. What if you never believed him? What if this was an utter failure? What if he was too late, speeding towards the reality of a world without you in it?

“I was scared” he stumbled on. “Am scared, if I’m honest. Terrified, really, to tell you. Because I think you deserve better, despite how I feel… But the only thing more fucking terrifying than telling you is never telling you at all and living the rest of my life without the chance to do the best I could to love you right… Because I know I can. I know no one can better than I can, actually. Because I love you with everything in me” he said, pressing his hand to that spot against his sternum, his heart.

The only sound in the room was your stuttered breath as your glassy eyes searched his, looking for a hint of a joke and finding only sincerity in their amber depths.

He pursed his lips as he waited for you to say something, anything. His heart was hammering so hard in his chest he could feel the tremors all the way in his arms, his hands.

He looked down and rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand, the touch so small, so gentle, it had no business bringing heat to your entire body.

And then he met your eyes again, and his other hand moved slowly to cup your face. You couldn’t help but lean into the touch, the feeling of his warm palm on your cheek that gently pulled you closer to him until you were a breath away.

Your heart was in your throat and you were flushed warm under his sweatshirt.

You let go of his hand briefly enough to steady yourself against his chest, to feel it taut under your grasp as his lips moved to yours.

“Do you promise?” you mumbled quietly, your fear and vulnerability so palpable, he could nearly taste it.

“I promise” he said, solemn, serious.

You swallowed as you breathed against his lips.

“Because if… there’s no going back” you said, repeating his own fears back to him.

“No, there isn’t” he said, letting his thumb drop to trace the outline of your lips. “And thank Merlin for that” he breathed before kissing you.

His lips were firm and plush on yours, pushing into you with a gentle urgency that you met immediately. You’d spent a lot of time thinking about what kissing Mattheo would be like, more than you cared to admit, but this was dizzying, breath-stealing, indulgent. His lips captured yours, possessive and hungry yet somehow hesitant, the combination of which made you crave more, to reassure him.

You reached your hands over his shoulders, circling his neck and within a moment he was pulling you into his lap where you straddled him as his hands held you to him and he let out a deep hum that you felt ripple through his entire body beneath you.

His tongue was velvet over yours, searching at first and then desperate and eager as he reached a hand to card into your hair in a way that was both gentle and possessive causing you to shiver as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth.

You pulled back gently to catch your breath but he denied you, pulling you back into him and you laughed against his lips.

“Mattheo?” you mumbled.

He paused, his eyes fluttering open, his pupils blown wide as they drank you in with a smile and flushed cheeks.

“I love you too.”

there was a party today. you had heard about it when two slytherins you didn't know the names of, had discussed their outfits for the night.

you couldn't remember when you had last been to a party.

you couldn't even remember when someone had last invited you to one. you had stopped showing up at things a long time ago. and some time after that, people had stopped wondering where you were— and you were relieved.

it was easier to spiral when no one noticed.

when there wasn't someone you had to constantly find excuses for. why you didn't leave the bed. why you didn't eat for two days before you had a real meal on the third. why you weren't you anymore.

it was easier when you didn't have to explain. it was easier, because you didn't know how to explain.

it felt like any room you entered these days was filled with people who could see through you, knowing you weren't who you pretended to be. that you weren't worth their time. it was easier to realize that than to continue pretending.

you avoided mirrors when you walked through the halls of the castle. you didn't raise your hands in your classes, if you even went to them in the first place, and you stopped caring about what others thought of you.

all of it had been going great, until the last person you had expected, showed up at your door.

mattheo riddle and you had been friends since your first year in hogwarts. you had naturally floated toward his group, being born as a pureblood in one of the richest families in the wizarding world.

if money would've been able to fix whatever the hell was wrong with you, you were sure you would’ve never had any problems in the first place.

mattheo and you had known each other much longer, even before hogwarts, but you wouldn't have considered each others friends, so you never really counted that.

mattheo’s group had once felt like home— not because of how much they liked you, but because they never asked why you were quiet some days and reckless the next. they had grown up around chaos too. they understood the unspoken rule: you don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.

at some point, they had stopped being your friends and started being people you avoided in the hallways. you’d cut them off so gently they hadn’t even noticed at first— a missed class here, a forgotten lunch there. and then, eventually, nothing at all. you thought that was the cleanest way to disappear.

but mattheo had noticed. evidently.

"what are you doing here?" you asked as you opened the door. your roomate had been gone for a few hours, probably at that party you had heard about earlier, so you were alone in the room, leaning against the door and staring mattheo down like he had greatly offended you by showing up.

"oh look, she can actually talk" he noted sarcastically, stepping around you without an invitation and sitting down on your bed, facing you.

you sighed, before you closed the door. "and what is that supposed to mean?"

mattheo wasn't the one to talk about things gently. "well, exactly what it sounds like" he shrugged "i thought there had to be something wrong with your voice, because you haven't opened your fucking mouth in weeks"

"you're so dramatic"

"am i?" mattheo asked with furrowed brows. "because i sure as all aren't the one shutting themselves off in their little rapunzel tower. wanting to be left alone so badly they forgot all basic manners when they enter a room. here's a tip: people appreciate hearing the word 'hello' from time to time."

you shook your head, rolling your eyes at his attitude. "maybe you shouldn't knock on doors when you weren't invited."

"maybe you should stop moping around like someone stole your favorite hair-tie"

"oh fuck off, mattheo" you crossed your arms. "you have no idea what's going on."

"no?" he repeated, trying his best to provoke you. "then enlighten me. what's been going on with you? and it better be good, because i didn't come all this way to hear some stupid excuse of you feeling tired." he leaned back, waiting for you to talk.

"but i do feel tired" you said, your tone totally different than before, "i feel so tired, mattheo"

mattheo looked you up and down. he noticed the bags under your eyes, how you had basically shrunken under his gaze and the way you coudln't even look him in the eyes while you talked.

"tired of what?"

"i don't know, of everything" you threw your hands around, pointing around you. "of my life"

"and you think disappearing from everything is gonna solve that?" mattheo asked. "because if you don't live your life you suddenly stop hating it?"

you said nothing, biting down on your lip while simply staring at him.

"this is not how it works, okay?" he stood up, crossing the room and taking your shoulders into his hands, as if to shake sense into your body. "and you think this is fun to watch? think we don't care? that we've simply forgotten you, because you tried to make us?"

"you should've"

"fuck that" mattheo shook his head, exasperation flowing his features. "enzo and theo ask about you daily, pansy tries to take notes in class to save them for you, draco sits at the library every thursday waiting for you to show up, even though he knows you won't. and blaise still brings up that stupid inside joke the two of you had every time someone orders peppermint tea. we didn't stop caring just because you wanted us to"

you pulled your shoulders back, frustration bubbling over. “you don’t get it, mattheo. you can’t just care your way through this. It’s not that simple.”

he tightened his grip on your shoulders, eyes fierce. “try me.”

you pushed his hands away, running your owns through your hair as you turned away from him. "i don't need whatever you're trying to do, okay?" your voice grew louder. "i don't need someone to tell me there's something fucking wrong with me, because i already know it"

“i’m not here to tell you anything,” he repeated, his voice low but steady, following a step behind as you turned away. “i’m here because i’ve been there.”

you paused, shoulders stiffening at the weight in his tone— not angry, not sarcastic, just… raw.

“don’t lie to me, mattheo,” you muttered. “you don’t know what it’s like.”

"oh, i know what it's like, okay?" he breathed, waiting a few seconds, before he finally continued "to look in every mirror and hate what you see, to not want to get out of bed because you feel like whatever you do, you have no fucking control over what will happen, to stop enjoying things you once loved and to stop wanting to be around people who you once loved."

"mattheo—"

"i'm not trying to tell you what the fuck is wrong with you" mattheo interrupted. "i'm trying to tell you that there might be a way out of it. but staying here and shutting everyone out won't make it better. because after a while, people start accepting that you don't want to see them, parties get thrown without anyone even thinking about inviting you and some day you really won't have anyone who cares and then you're genuinely at the worst fucking point. a point with no return."

"we're already way past that point" you shrugged. "so, what does it matter?"

"we're not, okay?" mattheo replied angrily. "because that's not something you just decide like that. you still have us, even if you don't want us to care. and you're fucking stupid if you really think i will continue watching this until you reach a point of no return."

"then stop watching!" you snapped, spinning back toward him. "if it's so hard for you, mattheo, then leave! stop showing up at my door, stop dragging me out of my own head just to yell at me for being different than you want me to be! i didn't ask for this—"

"you didn't have to!" he interrupted, stepping closer, eyes burning with something wild and sharp. "because it's not something you ask for. if people care about you, they're going to show up, whether you want them to or not."

tears welled up in your eyes, as you stared back at him.

"you think this care?" you asked in disbelief, trying to swallow the tears as you screamed. "barging into people’s lives when they’ve made it very clear they don’t want you there? yelling at them for not being who they used to be? you think that makes it better?”

“i think someone has to care enough to try,” mattheo shot back, brows furrowed. “and clearly, no one else is knocking down your door!”

“because i don’t want them to!” you shouted. “i didn’t ask for anyone to play hero or to fix me or care! i don’t need pity, mattheo!”

he stepped forward, jaw clenched. “this isn’t pity—”

"then what the fuck is it?" you snapped, the tears now flowing freely. "because this does look scarily close to it. what do you want from me?"

"i want you to stop acting like you’re the only one who's ever gone through hell!” he shouted, his voice rising again. “you think you’ve cornered the market on pain? on loneliness? on pushing everyone away because it’s easier to fall alone than drag people down with you? congratu-fucking-lations if you really think that's an achievement.”

you flinched like he’d struck you— but it wasn’t the volume that cut. It was the truth buried under every word.

“you think i want to be like this?” you hissed, voice shaking. “you think i chose to wake up every day and feel like I can’t breathe? you think i don’t hate it?!”

“i know you hate it!” he snapped, stepping closer again, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to pull you in or throw something across the room. “that’s the fucking problem! you hate it, and instead of fighting it, you’ve just decided to rot in it!”

"oh, fuck you!" you bellowed, stepping back in utter disgust. "just because you know what it feels like doesn't mean you can act so high and mighty, like you have any type of authority over the way i deal with it."

"i'm not trying to!"

"then what the fuck do you want?" you shouted, your voice growing impossibly louder. "you come here to tell me how to deal with my problems, but you don't want to control me, but at the same time you do... it’s just back and forth with you. do i need to spell it out for you to get it? i don't need whatever this is, so what do you still fucking want from me?"

"you really think i came here with a plan?" he screamed back, matching your tone. "you really think i sat down and thought about how i approach this mess of a situation best? no, because you don't sit down to plan how you're gonna save someone who's drowning, you just get there and you try your best to fucking save them, that's how it works."

"you can't save people who don't want to be saved."

"why are you so fucking stubborn?" he bellowed. "i've never met someone as infuriating as you. it's fucking annoying."

"yeah? well congratulations," you snarled, breathless. "add it to the list of things you hate about me."

his expression twisted, like you’d struck him. good. let it hurt.

"you think i can just stop feeling like this?" you spat when he didn't answer. "oh, poor mattheo, he cares so much even when people don't want him to, he’s such a great person. god, it must be exhausting being you with care that comes so easily you don't even know who to place it onto next, you fucking twat"

"i don’t care because it’s easy!" he exploded, angrier than you had ever seen him before, taking a step forward. "i care because I fucking love you, okay?!"

the room grew quiet, your arms falling to your side as you narrowed your eyes at him. mattheo took a breath, but didn't say a word.

"what?" you asked, softly, your voice almost not there. maybe you didn't even want him to hear it.

but then his voice returned so suddenly you almost got whiplash. “fuck. i love you, alright?”

you stared at him, lips parted, every argument you had prepared suddenly useless.

he shook his head, furious at himself now. “i didn’t mean to say that. i wasn’t—this wasn’t how i wanted to—” he stopped again, ran a hand through his hair, defeated. “but it’s the truth. and I’m so fucking tired of hiding it.”

the room fell dead silent. your heart pounded so loud you could barely hear yourself think.

mattheo waited for you to say something, anything, but you kept quiet, so he was the one who spoke.

"you want to know what all this is? this fight, this yelling, me showing up at your door like a bloody lunatic—it isn't me trying to be a fucking hero. this is what love looks like when it’s terrified.”

"terrified?" you repeated, your voice almost giving in. you suddenly felt very lightheaded, like you would lose conciousness at any moment.

"terrified" mattheo nodded. "i don't need you to say it back or anything, that's not the reason behind it. but i need you to survive and i’m terrified you won’t."

"mattheo, i—" you shook your head, biting down your words, unsure what you should answer. all the words were suddenly buried so far back, you couldn't even imagine reaching them ever again.

"you don't have to say anything" he said. "this is not some fucking ‘get better so i can love you’ situation. because i'm gonna love you wether you want it or not, wether you get better or continue to hide in your fucking room for all eternity— so fuck that, okay?”

he took a breath “i want you to get better for yourself" he said softly, even managing to sound friendly while constantly cursing.

"because i remember how you spent hours outside just because you liked the way the sun felt on your body, or how you came to the library every thursday to work on your history of magic papers, not because you actually needed the extra time, but because you knew draco needed it, but would always be too stubborn to ask for your help.”

you sniffled, tearing up even further. the way he looked at you and the words he said broke your heart but stitched it back together at the same time.

“you used to love chocolate cake and pumpkin juice, the sound of snow crunching under your feet, listening to music at parties, dancing, laughing— living."

"mattheo—"

"no, please, let me finish" he muttered softly. "i know whatever you're going through feels impossible to overcome and it won't be easy, i can promise you as much… but even though you probably feel so fucking disconnected to everything that was before this— you aren't, because the you from before, she's still in there" he softly touched your cheek with his hand and you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.

"i can tell, because you're crying while we're fighting, and you always did that, even when we were children." he counted on.

"because you looked at me with the same expression you always used to have and because you can feel me touching you right now. you can feel the warmth of my hand and it feels good. because you can still feel things and you will continue to feel them more and more as time goes on. you're not beyond the point of saving, but you have to do it yourself"

"you really believe in me that much?" you whispered softly, opening your eyes and meeting his brown orbs. "even when i tried everything to push you away?"

he looked at you like he couldn't believe you were seriously asking that. "what does it look like?" he muttered sarcastically "showing up unannounced in your room, screaming at you and confessing my love didn't prove that to you already?"

you laughed through your tears and nodded. "i will try, okay?"

"one step at a time" mattheo reminded softly. "i'll be here"

“just for the record” you mumbled, leaning your forehead against his. “the way i felt about you never changed, not even when i was at my worst. because i love you too”

“nope,” said blaise, who had overheard one of the hufflepuff girls talking about how hot the new professor was. “apparently they walked in with a hippogriff and didn’t flinch when it tried to snap.”

mattheo leaned forward. “didn’t they teach us how to charm open the back entrance to the owlery?”

“no, that was fourth year,” muttered draco. “third year was the time they found that wine cellar under greenhouse three.”

“that was good wine,” said lorenzo, almost reverently. “and they shared it. with us.”

pansy raised a brow, amused. “I thought they’d disappeared into some forest job in eastern europe.”

“they did,” theo said. “came back with a scar and a lot more patience.”

“and now they’re teaching,” mattheo added, mostly to himself.

draco just smirked and folded his arms. “they better not act all serious and authoritative towards us.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you walked into your first class five minutes early, boots muddy, sleeves rolled up, a little bit of wind in your hair. the creatures for today’s lesson : bowtruckles, nothing dramatic, were already perched on your arm like old friends.

and very familiar faces were waiting for you.

some taller. some sharper around the edges. but still the same underneath.

you took them in : mattheo lounging at the back with that practiced look of boredom, theo twirling his quill lazily, draco sitting like he ran the school, blaise leaning back in his chair with that half-smile, and pansy pretending she wasn’t waiting for you to acknowledge her first.

your mouth twitched. “well. Look what the castle dragged in.”

mattheo’s eyes lit up instantly. “I knew it.”

you raised a brow, setting the bowtruckles gently on the desk. “did you miss me, riddle?”

he shrugged with zero shame. “you’re basically the reason we survived until fourth year.”

“I was more of a cautionary tale than anything.”

“you were our hero,” theo said bluntly.

“I taught you how to siphon firewhiskey out of Slughorn’s reserves once.”

“yup. that’s what i call a heroic act.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “right, sit up. eyes front. you’re not fourteen anymore.”

draco lifted a brow. “youu’re not that much older than us.”

“three years is a lifetime when you’re a teenage boy,” you said dryly.

they laughed, and for a second it felt like no time had passed at all.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

the class was easy. you always had a knack for creatures and a talent for explaining things without sounding like a textbook. the bowtruckles behaved. the students (your old group especially) hung on your every word like they were waiting for you to pull a trick from your sleeve.

you didn’t. not yet at least.

but after class, when the rest of the students filtered out and the sky began to soften into gold, mattheo lingered.

he leaned against the side of your desk, arms folded, posture lazy but eyes bright.

“so,” he said. “you’re a professor now.”

“apparently.”

“didn’t see that coming. honestly? I figured you’d get arrested for breaking into the ministry. or disappear into a dragon preserve and send us mysterious postcards.”

“I almost did.”

mattheo laughed, low and real. you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed that sound.

you gave him a look, then jerked your head toward the door. “still use the second-floor corridor to sneak out after curfew?”

“of course,” he said. “your map still works.”

you blinked. “you still have my map?”

he looked smug. “theo kept it. said it was the closest thing we had to a holy text.

you shook your head, but warmth spread through your chest like firewhiskey. you hadn’t come back expecting much. maybe respect, maybe curiosity. but not this. this instant, easy pull back into the space you'd carved out years ago.

you were still part of them. in a way.

mattheo kicked at the floor with the toe of his boot, then said, more quietly, “it’s kind of weird, seeing you here. like… full circle or something.”

you nodded. “feels weird. but not bad.”

he glanced up at you again, and for just a second, he looked younger. not the too-cool seventh year with a devil-may-care grin, but the fourteen-year-old you once caught crying on the roof after a letter from home. the one you handed a cigarette to without asking questions, just sat next to until the shaking stopped.

and he remembered that. you could tell.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said, softer now.

you just reached into your pocket, pulled out a lighter. the same beat-up one they all used to sneak from your satchel, and held it up between two fingers. mattheo’s face split into a grin. “you brought it.”

“old habits.”

he chuckled and took it, turning it over once in his hands before slipping it into his coat.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

that night, you found yourself walking the familiar path to the astronomy tower. out of curiosity, maybe. or memory.

and you weren't surprised to find them there : your slytherin crew, sprawled out under the stars like they used to be. someone had brought snacks. someone else had smuggled up firewhiskey. theo had dragged a blanket out, and Pansy had already claimed half of it.

“well,” blaise said, lifting his drink, “look who still knows the way.” mattheo just smiled and patted the space beside him.

you sat, and it was like nothing had changed, except everything had. you were older now. a professor. a mentor. anauthority figure.

but to them, you’d always be more than that.

you were the one who taught them how to live a little. to bend the rules without breaking. to find their own way. and now you were back. maybe that’s what real influence was : leaving a mark so deep, even time couldn’t wash it out.

as the night stretched on and the stars spun lazily above the castle, someone passed you a flask. you didn’t ask where it came from. just took a sip, and passed it back, and let the quiet laughter of your old shadows fill the air.

“I should be giving all of you detention, you know that ?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───